Chapter Text
"What!?" Oscar slaps his hand over his mouth right after he says it.
It is silent for a second.
"You sound… different from what I expected." Oscar winces hard at Carlos's response. This is not how this phone call was supposed to go. No, this is totally out of left field. He needs a second to process this. He can't possibly tell Carlos that he's been a man this whole time, not right now.
"I'm sick," Oscar tells him, trying to raise the pitch of his voice a bit. It's silent again, and Oscar wonders if he's fucked it up with one word.
"Okay," Carlos drags it out a bit. Oscar puts his palm over his eyes, trying not to groan in the pain of embarrassment. He hears Carlos shift on the other side of the line. "Maybe I shouldn't have told you," he mumbles, a small bit of fright slipping into his voice.
"No," Oscar insists. If he were Carlos, there is not a universe in which he would believe that the person on the other end of the phone was a woman. But he remembers how he felt when he realized that he wasn't straight, and it seems like Carlos really needs someone in his corner, and despite it all, Oscar still cares about him. "I'm sorry, you just surprised me. I wasn't expecting that."
Carlos lets out a weak little laugh.
"Yeah," he drags this out as well. "I guess it doesn't make much sense for me to come on an app like this and pay a woman when I am um… not liking women."
"It makes a lot of sense," Oscar assures him. Because he knows that a lot of people grapple with it, hope that it is some sort of fluke, that they will find the right person, and it will make all of those thoughts go away. Because he knows that Carlos, probably more than most, is under a lot of pressure from the fans, from his coworkers, from his family, and this is one more thing, one gigantic thing that could ostracize him so much.
Carlos lets out a breath.
"It's nice to say it out loud," he tells Oscar. He can't help but smile a little bit. He knows that kind of relief. "It's like…" Carlos doesn't seem to find the words.
"Like a knot coming undone," Oscar thinks. Carlos is silent for a second.
"Exactly." Carlos sighs softly. "I have no idea how to navigate this," he admits. Oscar is silent, unsure how to reassure him. "But thank you, Rebecca, you have been a very good friend to me." Oscar's lip wobbles.
"Of course." It comes out strained.
Carlos yawns.
"It is late, I should sleep," he says. Oscar hums. "I am texting you tomorrow." They are both silent for a second.
"Um—Carlos," Oscar mumbles, and for a half second Oscar really thinks he's worked up the nerve to finally tell him.
"Yes?"
"I—thank you," he says, instead. "For trusting me with this." And then he swallows. "You've been a very good friend to me, too."
»»»
"So?"
After sending another update to Dan about his sock color, Oscar glances up from his phone. Lando is watching him, leaning against the counter, eyebrows raised.
"So what?" Oscar asks. Lando shrugs.
"I just haven't heard anything about a particular Spaniard all week," he remarks. "I was wondering, if you finally—" he gestures vaguely, raising his eyebrows a few times. "You know?"
Oscar huffs, walking back out into the counter area of the coffee shop. Someone is waiting to have their order taken, so he distracts himself with it. But when he's done entering it into the system and taking their payment, Lando clears his throat.
"Talk."
Oscar scrunches his nose. It's been a week since Carlos told Rebecca he was gay.
"I have nothing to say."
Lando scoffs, amused.
"Sure," he says, flatly. He crosses his arms over his chest. "You told him, right? Last night?" Oscar remains silent, but Lando reads the guilt right off his face. He takes a calculated breath. "You didn't tell him."
"Lan—I—look I didn't—" No matter how Oscar tries to put it, he can't think of an appropriate way. It's not like he can outright tell Lando that Carlos told Rebecca he was gay before Oscar got the chance to do much else. Even though Lando knows that Carlos is interested in Oscar in that way, he doesn't know that Carlos is gay, just interested in men, and Oscar doesn't know if Carlos would be comfortable with him sharing that information, but he doubts he would.
"Oh my god, Osc." Lando shakes his head a bit, shutting his eyes. Lando is quiet for a bit. "You're coming over to mine tonight, and we're ending this."
Okay, so maybe they stop at the store on the way to Lando's, and maybe they grab two bottles of cheap wine, and maybe Lando unceremoniously opens both, sticks two straws in, and hands one to Oscar.
Lando is stretched out on the couch, staring at the ceiling, and Oscar is sitting on the floor, sucking up the last of the wine at the bottom of the bottle.
"You're such a slow drinker," Lando grumbles. They lost track of the topic two hours ago. The wine is making a little rumbling sound when he tries to drink. The straw cannot meet his high demand.
"I'm trying," Oscar argues. He doesn't really like the taste of the wine, to be honest. He's never loved white wine. He pulls open his phone.
becca55
white wine sucks
Oscar squeezes his eyes shut, feeling a little stupid.
chili81
You're not drinking the right white wine
Yeah, of course, he would say some pretentious shit like that.
becca55
nope, it sucks
chili81
You tend to form an opinion about something and then nothing changes your mind yes?
Oscar grins at his phone, a laugh caught in the back of his throat.
becca55
i'm just right
chili81
Oh, of course
How could I say such a thing?
becca55
i was wondering that myself actually
chili81
One day I will take you to a nice place, and pick out a good white wine
And you will like it, I promise
becca55
that's a big ask
are we going to have coffee too?
chili81
No, no, I won't force you to drink coffee
I wouldn't want to suggest that anyone makes better coffee than you
Oscar's eyebrows raise slightly. His head leans back against the wall, sighing.
"You know what? We should go out or something?" Lando suggests. Oscar groans, shaking his head.
"We're already drunk, Lando, what's the point in going out?"
"So we can find someone else that you can spend your Thursday evenings getting wine drunk and talking about?" Lando suggests. "Like, instead of world-famous athlete Carlos Sainz Jr."
Oscar lets out a little laugh, the kind of lazy thing that only slips out when he's comfortable.
"You think us going to the club drunk is going to be a good way to find someone for me to hook up with?"
"Whoa, mate, I never said hook up with!" Lando protests.
"You meant it."
"We get drunk at the club anyway, what's the difference?"
Oscar shrugs, glancing down at the ground.
"I don't know, it feels wrong."
becca55
my friend is trying to get me to find a hook up
chili81
Lando?
becca55
yup
chili81
Why are you wanting a hook up?
becca55
i don't
he thinks i do
i'm just trying to get over someone
chili81
What are they like?
becca55
carlos
chili81
What?
It is only a question?
becca55
i'm too drunk right now to talk about this
i might say something i shouldn't
Lando snaps his fingers a few times in Oscar's direction.
"Wake up, Osc." Lando glares at him. "We're going out, I've decided."
"Nope," Oscar insists.
chili81
I won't push it
becca55
good
how about you?
your hook up life going well?
chili81
I'm working on a few things
becca55
a few things? oh my
carlos the player
chili81
You know what I mean
becca55
oh he's got projects
he's got a side-boyfriend
two booty calls
chili81
Rebe
becca55
he's got someones dad on speed dial
hide your husbands everyone, carlos is back in town
chili81
You're infuriating
As usual
becca55
you love it
Carlos types for a bit but abandons it all. It has Oscar checking his phone once and then twice in the span of two minutes. His heart is beating in his chest, his stomach flipping over.
becca55
so a few things?
It takes Carlos a minute or two to respond.
chili81
You know how I am
Grade A, highest quality
becca55
oh yes, i'm sure everyone wants you so bad carlos
chili81
But you know what I mean right?
I like him a lot
But I am not knowing if he likes me as much as I like him
becca55
maybe he thinks he is one of your few things
maybe he doesn't know you like him so much
Maybe all of this is coming right out of that part of Oscar's mind he likes to push down.
chili81
More of your professional advice?
I'm honored
becca55
good
i'm all-knowing, obviously
or at least the love doctor or something
chili81
I'm not sure how true that is, but you can definitely make me laugh
I will have to tell him then
What if I told you I was going to be in Oxford?
Would you want to see me?
Oscar's breath catches in the back of his throat.
becca55
you're going to be in oxford?
chili81
One of my projects is there
Oscar snickers at the callback.
becca55
really?
chili81
It's okay if you do not want to see me
becca55
no i'd like to
a lot
Holy shit, Carlos just gave him an out. Why would he say that?
chili81
What are you doing next Friday evening?
"Um—Lan," Oscar mumbles. Lando has been rambling on for the past few minutes, but he stops and meets Oscar's eyes.
"We need to get ready, Osc. We need to look way hotter than this if we're going out."
"That's not what I'm—"
"Seriously, I have way too much self-respect to—"
"Lando, listen." Lando goes silent, but Oscar can't find the words to say anything. Instead, he hands his phone over. "Look."
For a while, it is silent as Lando scrolls through their messages, reading. Oscar sits, nervous. He bites at one of his fingernails, a bad habit he's been trying to drop, and then:
"He knows my name?"
"Oh my god," Oscar mutters.
"Carlos Sainz knows my name, holy shit!" Oscar puts a palm to his forehead.
"You're missing the point."
"Mate, you've got to hook me up with one of the other drivers," Lando insists. Oscar rolls his eyes.
"Lando, he wants to meet Rebecca in person." Oscar looks down at the ground, then up at the ceiling, and then back at Lando. "I'm so fucked." Lando blinks.
"Shit, you're right." He grasps the phone a little tighter, and Oscar squints, his brow narrowing. Lando goes silent, fingers moving.
"Lando—what are you—" Oscar's eyes widen. "What are you doing?"
"Oscar, you're going to hate me for this, but I promise, you will thank me in the long run."
"Lando." His voice rises ever so slightly. "Give me my phone back."
"Oscar, you know I love you."
"Lando, give it back now."
"If I don't send this message right now, you're never going to move on from this. You can't catfish this guy your whole life, it's not good for him, and it's definitely not good for you."
Oscar darts forward, reaching for the phone, trying to catch Lando off guard, but it only makes Lando flinch, reach out, and hit the send button as fast as he can manage.
Oscar's jaw drops. Lando gives him a tight smile, his wrist loose as he extends the phone back toward him.
"There," he chirps.
Oscar scrambles to grab it, to see what damage Lando has done.
chili81
What are you doing next Friday evening?
becca55
getting dinner with u i guess, we definitely have a lot to talk about
Carlos is already typing out a reply, so he cannot unsend it.
chili81
Perfect, I will send you details
I will pay of course
Carlos sends a little winking face.
His hand drops to his lap as he stares hard at Lando. The alcohol is making his head spin. Lando puts both his hands up into the air defensively.
"If you're going to kill me, please give me a thirty-second head start."
Oscar glances back down at his phone. He shakes his head, shutting his eyes, defeated.
"You're right," he says, quietly. "It's time to end this."
»»»
"Tonight, clear your schedule," Charles puts his forearms on his thighs, looking intensely at Carlos.
"Charles," Carlos lets out a little laugh. He rubs at his forehead, trying to figure out how to say it. "I am not really feeling like partying."
Charles groans.
"I only got P-7, you know?" Carlos reminds him.
"But how will I find you a girlfriend if you won't go out with me?" Charles pouts.
He still can't get it out of his head, Charles and Max, that bathroom corridor, whispering quiet things, touching each other, kissing. He can't get it out of his head, like he can't get the desire for a real relationship out of his head. He can see it now, the false smiles, he didn't know how he couldn't, and all he wants is something of his own, like what Max and Charles have.
He wants Charles to know, half so that Charles will get off his back about getting a girlfriend, and the other half so that Charles knows that he can talk about this thing between him and Max.
"I uh—I am having someone," Carlos says, quietly.
Charles's eyes light up.
"See! I told you I'd find you a girlfriend. I think I have noticed you know? You seem happier."
Carlos makes this strange face that is a cross between a smile and a grimace, the corners of his lips trying to move down all by themselves.
"What's her name? Where is she from?" Charles asks.
Carlos glances up at the ceiling for a while, and then back down at Charles, trying to work up the nerve to tell him. The thought of people knowing still frightens him so much that every time the words come out of his mouth, he feels like there is a big hill he needs to summit just to get them to the tip of his tongue.
"His name is Oscar. And he's from Australia."
Charles blinks, and Carlos holds his breath.
"Oh."
Carlos flashes him a tentative smile, hoping that Charles knows that he is waiting on his every breath, every micro-movement of his face. He watches the gears turn.
"And I was trying to find you a girl," he thinks. Carlos nods. "Do you—" Charles glances down. "Do you like girls?"
Carlos shakes his head.
"I mean, there are a lot of things I appreciate about them, but… not in that way—no."
After a few moments more, Charles looks at him again.
"You're like me." It just seems to come out of Charles's list, like he had no control over his mouth or brain.
Carlos's eyelashes flutter.
"I am?"
Charles flushes.
"Um…" Charles drags it out a little bit, realizing what he has said. Carlos squeezes his eyes shut for a second, wondering if he should say something.
"I saw you and Max," Carlos blurts. Charles's head shifts back a bit in surprise. Carlos glances down, not meeting his eyes, rubbing at his palms. "I saw you and Max last weekend at the club kissing."
Charles clasps his hands together in his lap.
"Oh."
"I won't tell anyone," Carlos assures him. "I just thought you should know."
Charles hesitates for a while and then shrugs.
"Tell me about this guy that you like?" Charles asks. Carlos is grinning just thinking about Oscar. "Oh," Charles smiles excitedly. "Oh, you really like him a lot."
"Is that crazy?" Carlos asks, scratching at the back of his neck. "I have only seen him in person twice, but we text so much, I feel like I know everything about him and he knows everything about me."
"What is he like?"
Carlos thinks of Oscar, tripping over his own shoelaces, spilling his coffee.
"He's pretty, of course, in a 'doesn't get much sun' kind of way." Charles laughs at that. "He has his own things he wants to do with his life. He doesn't want to drop everything and follow me around all the time—I guess I mean he doesn't act like it's this big thing, that I am a Formula 1 driver."
Charles bites down on his bottom lip, intently listening.
Carlos presses his lips together, and they tug to the side as he considers telling Charles the next part, the thing that had him pacing his room late Friday night, that had his brow tense and throat sore. That one other thing about Oscar that he is withholding.
"There is one other thing," Carlos starts, speaking slowly. "It's a little weird, though. You have to let me explain before you say anything, okay?"
Charles's eyebrows narrow, and then he nods.
"Tell me."
»»»
It is Wednesday, and Oscar has realized he won't make it to Friday.
He has a few reasons: the first is that Dan called his bullshit and has started asking for a photo of his socks each time, and taking a photo means Oscar has to shave his ankles, just in case. Maybe he got so worked up by the idea of it that he told Dan to fuck off. Dan, logically, blocks him, as he expects Carlos to soon do, so there goes a couple of pounds a day.
Then he has the worst shift at the cafe, a customer gets angry and throws their coffee on him, and even though it's been a full twenty-four hours and two showers, he can still smell the coffee clinging to his skin.
Lando is acting weird, timid, like he thinks anything might set Oscar off, and he's probably right, but Oscar would much rather he just pretend everything is normal.
And worst of all, on top of everything, Carlos has stopped texting him.
Not Rebecca, no, he messages Rebecca plenty. But he's stopped texting Oscar. Which doesn't make a whole lot of sense, because he told Rebecca he'd be in Oxford, which means he's supposed to be seeing Oscar and telling Oscar how he feels. He obviously can't do any of that if he doesn't text Oscar to let him know he's in town.
Oscar's brain does its magical thing, and suddenly he's staring up at his bedroom ceiling, wondering what other college student Carlos must've fallen for during his last visit to Oxford. It's a guy, obviously, which narrows it down a touch, but there are a thousand hot guys on campus, and about ten thousand more Oscar isn't attracted to, but someone else might be. So, it's not like he can hunt the mystery guy down and give his laundry list of grievances.
The customer in front of him clears their throat.
Oscar glances up and then startles.
"C—Carlos?"
Carlos grins at him.
"Surprise."
Oscar stares at him wide-eyed for a solid second and a half, and Carlos's smile falters, just a touch.
"I should've—"
"Texted? Called?"
Carlos nods.
"I uh—" How does he make this sound normal? "I thought you ghosted me."
Carlos shakes his head quickly.
"No, I, no, I wanted to surprise you, really," he says. "I'm sorry, you're right. It was not considerate of me to just show up."
Oscar doesn't even know what to say.
"I'm in town to see a friend, and I thought we should get together, see each other a few times before I have to travel again." How is he supposed to tell Carlos that he is also that friend?
"I thought—" Oscar shakes his head a few times, glancing down. "I don't know what I thought."
"We should talk, no?" Carlos suggests, a little uneasily. Oscar gives him a sharp nod.
"Definitely."
"When do you get off? I could wait." Oscar's eyelashes flutter.
"I only get off in an hour and a half."
Carlos shrugs.
"You would… wait?"
Carlos nods, his lips spread up as he presses them together.
"I will sit right over there, and drink so much coffee that I will shake," he proposes. "If it means that after you get off, we can go for a walk?"
"Okay," Oscar breathes. "Okay, yeah," he says, with more confidence now. Carlos beams. "What can I get you to start?"
After he takes down Carlos's order, Carlos smiles. He gestures at the table in the corner, and Oscar nods.
"Tell Lando I am saying hi?" he asks, tilting his head to the side. Oscar's laugh is caught in the back of his throat.
"He's not working today," he tells him.
"Tell him anyway."
Oscar smiles.
"I will."
The rest of the shift drags on, long and uncomfortable, the same few thoughts running through Oscar's head. Carlos didn't text him at all, Rebecca, but not him, and then all of a sudden, he just shows up. He wants to go on a walk with Oscar, spend time with him before he leaves again. Why wouldn't he text him about coming into town? Every time he looks over at Carlos's table, the man shoots him a little happy smile, like just seeing Oscar has made his day.
Oscar is so deep, he thinks the guilt will erode all his insides and the truth will come gushing out in raucous rapids. He doesn't think he will be able to look Carlos in the eyes when he tells him.
"Can I be honest with you, Oscar?" Carlos asks.
Oscar nearly winces, but holds it back. Better Carlos not be honest with him, better Carlos avoid it for the rest of their short remaining time together. Maybe then he'll feel like they're even in some way. Oscar thinks there is nothing much Carlos could do now that could come anywhere close to the level of harm that Oscar has committed against him.
He glances at Carlos, tilting his head slightly.
"I didn't know how to navigate all of this," Carlos says, despite Oscar's non-answer. Carlos sighs after he says it, he's not quite looking at Oscar, instead, ahead at the street. Oscar's fingers clutch the hem of his shirt. "For a bit, you were the only person who knew I was um liking men."
Oscar tries to force his eyelashes to flutter, his brows to raise, his mouth to twitch, but the imitated surprise is weak.
"I was?"
"I only started telling people two weeks ago."
"Oh." His throat feels like it's covered in honey.
Carlos scrunches his nose.
"Maybe that is a red flag," he suggests. Oscar doesn't know how to respond. "But I have recently become friends with someone, and they made me feel comfortable enough to tell them. She is actually the reason I'm here."
"She is?"
"She gave me some professional advice, you know, like you like to do?"
Oscar bites on the inside of his mouth.
"She is very smart, a lot like you, really. I'm sure you would like her." Oscar glances away from Carlos, at the businesses they're walking past. He digs his nails into his palm.
"Should I be worried?" he asks.
"Oh no, of course not. It is you that I like, Oscar, not Rebecca."
Oscar peeks back at him, and Carlos is looking at him.
"She told me that I should come tell you that…" Carlos pauses, a tiny smile spreading up his face. "That I am serious about this." Oscar squeezes his eyes shut for a second.
"Good."
Oscar is quiet for most of the walk. Carlos doesn't mind. He talks on about finally understanding himself. He mentions how much he likes Oscar a few times more. Oscar reaches out to slip their fingers together, because his hands are doing no good clutching at his hem or digging into his palm, and Carlos's hand between them twitches a few times encouragingly. Carlos glances down and then around with the nerves of someone who has only recently begun to understand himself, and then he smiles and lets out a breath.
"What are you doing on Friday?" Carlos asks, all of a sudden.
The same thing as Carlos, he thinks. A few different responses get caught in the back of Oscar's throat. He hesitates long enough for Carlos to understand.
"Lunch time?" Carlos proposes.
No, he cannot do this. He cannot go to lunch with Carlos as Oscar, nor to dinner with Carlos as Rebecca. No. But what else is he supposed to say? He wishes Carlos hadn't just shown up like this, catching him totally off guard before he could put the mask up. He was working toward telling him on Friday night, but this whole walk, this lunch plan, has totally thrown a wrench in his preparation.
He nods, jaw clenched.
"That works."
Carlos always smiles with such innocent trust. Oscar hopes Carlos can recover from all of this quickly.
"Perfect." Carlos squeezes his hand. "I will send you all the details. You just tell me what works, yes?"
Oscar nods slowly.
Carlos turns on his heel, suddenly in front of Oscar. He reaches out for Oscar's other hand, and Oscar stands there and lets him.
"Let me drive you home?"
"I can walk."
"Oscar." He says it in the way that makes Oscar's heart clench, more car than Osc. "I am not kidnapping you, I promise." Then he shrugs, his eyes darting to the side. "I have spent an awful long time building up a public image just to kidnap you, no?"
Oscar lets out a little laugh, shaking his head slightly.
"It's not that," he assures Carlos. His lips roll over his teeth for a second. "You've been very nice." Carlos frowns a touch.
"Do you think it is too much?"
"No, no." Oscar shakes his head fast. "I just—" keep lying to him. In his hesitation, Carlos's expression changes.
"Let me drive you home," he murmurs.
Oscar should've expected it, but Carlos's car looks ridiculously expensive. Oscar clutches at the door, frightened of leaving fingerprints on the window, and takes a much larger step than needed to get in. It's lower than he expects, and Carlos flushes pink, like Oscar's reaction indicates there's something to be embarrassed about.
Oscar wonders if this is a story he will retell fondly in a few years. If he will laugh about it with some group of friends, tell them he catfished famous racer Carlos Sainz Jr. They won't believe him, of course, and he won't try to prove them wrong, but they'll think it's a great story, and most great stories have at least some element of truth.
When he makes it home, he calls his mother and tells her the entire thing. She tells him he's an idiot, of course, and then he cries because she's right. His knees bent to his chest, his arms wrapped around them, round droplets soaking his pant legs. It's the first time he's cried in a long time, but the stress, the guilt, it's just too much to hold in. She comforts him, as best she can over the phone, but Oscar knows: there is only one thing that makes all this go away.
»»»
On Thursday, he has a long conversation with Lando. He goes back and forth, wondering if he should be offended that the dinner place is fancier than the lunch one. That Carlos would rather take Rebecca somewhere special than take him. Lando tells him he thinks this is unhealthy, and he's glad that Oscar is ending it.
The day goes by too quickly, and then too slowly, and suddenly it is Friday, and he is standing outside the lunch restaurant.
Lunch with Carlos is torturous.
For one, the entire time, Oscar feels like he's going to be sick all over the table. But Carlos seems uncomfortable too, awkward. And Oscar can't seem to form any words, so Carlos is forced to carry the conversation.
It's not that bad. Carlos is a good talker, and Oscar likes to listen to him. He describes things with much more eloquence than he gives himself credit for. He talks about two friends and how their secret relationship encouraged him to follow his heart. He talks about racing, about being frustrated with Williams, not feeling fast enough. And it's interesting, god, Oscar wants to smile and laugh and pretend like this is a normal date. He wants to reach across the table and hold Carlos's hand. But all he can think about is Rebecca.
At the end of lunch, they are both standing to leave, and Oscar is considering moving to a different country and changing his name, and he misses something that Carlos says and:
"Are you okay?" Oscar takes a sharp breath.
"Yeah—" But Carlos's brow narrows, and Oscar shakes his head. "No, sorry. I'm just not feeling so great," he admits. Carlos nods, reaching out to touch his hand.
"You should've said something."
"I'm fine, really," Oscar assures him.
"You have a lot of stress, no?" Oscar's eyes widen a touch, and Carlos's head tilts to the side. "With work and school?" Oh, of course. "You should take it easy on yourself sometimes."
Oscar takes a heavy breath.
"Maybe."
"Are you sure I can't drive you to class?" Carlos asks. Oscar gives him a half smile, shaking his head.
"No, I—" he huffs, "I think I'm probably just going to go home." He almost never skips his classes, but he can't think about anything but Rebecca, and there's no point in forcing himself to go if he's not going to focus.
"Okay," Carlos breathes. "And I can't give you a ride home?" Oscar scrunches his nose.
"I need the fresh air."
Carlos nods once, stepping toward him.
"Let me know how you are feeling later, okay?"
"Sure."
Carlos leans in and presses a kiss to his cheek.
"See you tonight," Carlos murmurs.
The words slam right into the side of Oscar's face.
"See you." His response comes out weak. Carlos is already walking away. Oscar's mouth can't seem to call out after him.
There's no way he meant it like that, right? Not a chance. It must've been a slip of the tongue. It was definitely a slip of the tongue. Oscar stands at their table, watching Carlos leave, until a server comes up to him, a brow raised, and asks if there is something wrong with the food.
There's no way.
Oscar tells himself that over and over again in the hours between lunch and dinner. He paces his apartment, then curls up in a ball on his bed, clutches at his knees with overgrown fingernails.
If lunch with Carlos was torturous, there really is no word to describe dinner.
Oscar has the whole script planned out in his head, apology, groveling, explanation, he walks to restaurant, hands shaking. It is fancy, and he is underdressed. Carlos is sitting at a table, and the place is empty, not a single other person besides the waitstaff. Oscar can see him through the window.
He takes a long inhale, shuts his eyes, and then exhales, and pushes open the door. Carlos glances up because the door makes a sound, and a smile spreads across his face.
Oscar's feet must weigh a thousand stone.
"Oscar," he calls out, still smiling at him. "Or maybe I should say Rebecca?" Oscar stares, quivering, face pale. Carlos gets up, pulling out Oscar's chair for him. "Have a seat." That has Oscar's legs working, slow robotic steps toward the table.
He is gawking at Carlos, but he sits. Carlos takes his place at the table, on the opposite side, facing him, first looking down at the table for a second, and then up, staring into his eyes.
"You have um—a bit of explaining to do, no?" Carlos tells him.
"Uh—" Oscar can't even begin to formulate words. Carlos tilts his head to the side.
"I can start," he offers, ever the gentleman. Oscar nods. "I figured it out when we talked on the phone."
"You did?!"
Carlos's smile widens, and he nods, just once.
"You didn't think you actually sounded like a woman, did you?" Oscar presses his lips together.
"Maybe… at least enough for you." Carlos's brow narrows.
"You think I'm stupid?"
"No, I think you're polite," Oscar asserts. "Too nice to question it too much. I mean, you saw the photos I used, they weren't incredibly well photo-shopped." He glances down at the table, his cheeks flushing, and then he looks back up at Carlos again. "How did you know it was me?"
Carlos takes a second to think about it.
"I think I always knew it was you," he admits. "Ever since we met at the club. Even then, I was trying to figure out where I knew you from. You looked so familiar, I realized you looked a lot like her when we met again, and I wrote it off. I thought maybe I just uh—have a type. But I was certain when I called you on the phone."
"Huh," Oscar mutters, gnawing on the inside of his mouth.
"You gave it away a few times, too. Like you said your friend was Lando, but you were supposed to be Rebecca, no?" Carlos points out. Oscar tries to remember saying that, but he can't quite think of the time. "Maybe you were too drunk to remember that," Carlos remarks. He wraps his fingers around his glass of water.
Oscar sighs, his stomach feeling heavy.
"Why didn't you say anything?" he asks, quietly.
"I dropped some hints that I knew," Carlos points out. He glances down at the table, squeezing his eyes shut. "I just—I wanted you to tell me."
Oscar's breath catches in the back of his throat.
"I kept thinking," Carlos continues, his voice low, "maybe tomorrow he will tell me. Maybe next time. Maybe he just needs more time."
Finally, he looks up.
"And you never did."
Oscar's swallow makes his throat ache.
"I'm so sorry," he whispers. "Everything I told you, except me being a woman, is true. One of my scholarships stopped funding, and I couldn't afford my rent and school fees. I was going to be on the street."
Carlos examines his expression carefully. Oscar's gaze is trained on the table.
"One of my friends suggested the app. And I was making a little bit and then—" he pauses.
"And then you met me."
"Right. I was just tired of everything, having to do something like that just to make enough money to get by. And you weren't like everyone else, so I was just… raw."
"And I liked it so much that you kept being yourself, instead of her?" Carlos thinks. Oscar nods. Carlos lets out a little laugh, shaking his head and glancing down. "I'm such an idiot, you had me Googling whether or not there is such a thing as best friend soulmates."
"I didn't recognize you when I saw you at the club," Oscar explains. "Not until after we kissed."
"You didn't recognize me?"
"It was dark. And I hadn't actually looked at your picture since we first started messaging." He rubs his fingers against the backs of his knuckles. "It was stupid, I was feeling ways I shouldn't feel about a guy I'm catfishing, and I was trying to find someone to distract me from you, and then—" he gestures vaguely.
"You found me instead."
"Yep."
"So you did not know I was Carlos Sainz?"
Oscar shakes his head.
"Not until after that night," he tells Carlos.
"Oh."
"I thought about not messaging you after that, but then you… came looking for me."
"I did not want to meet Rebecca, I told you already," Carlos interjects. "I just wanted to know what her life—your life, was like."
"Well, you found me, not the right me." Oscar gives him an unfortunate smile. "I had worked up the nerve to tell you when we called, it's just, I was sort of expecting you to tell me that you were like… in love with Rebecca or something. I wasn't expecting you to tell me that the whole time you'd been talking to her, you were wishing she were a man. Especially not since the whole time I actually have been a man."
"You thought I was in love with Rebecca?"
Oscar shrugs, hiding his face in his hands.
"You are being very full of yourself," Carlos teases him.
"I didn't mean for it to get so messy. I just—I needed the money. I was desperate."
"I could tell."
"You could?"
"You were so tired. So honest about everything else." Carlos exhales, putting his hands on the table. "That's what made it worse."
Oscar flinches.
"I liked you," Carlos admits. "So much. I told you things that I have never told anyone."
Oscar can't meet his eyes.
"I told you because I thought you trusted me, like I trusted you."
"I do." Carlos shakes his head at that response. There is silence for a beat, and then Carlos sighs again.
"I was angry for a long time."
Oscar looks up at him, and Carlos is not looking back.
"After we got off that call, god, Oscar, I was so angry, and I was embarrassed that I trusted you, which was worse. I was going to block you. I wanted to block you so badly." Weakly, Carlos laughs.
"Why didn't you?" Oscar asks, and Carlos only shrugs.
"I knew I would miss you."
Oscar's fingers running over the edge of the tablecloth, back and forth.
"You're infuriating, you know? I am not joking when I say that," Carlos adds. There's something so gentle about it.
Oscar huffs out a timid laugh.
"That I have heard."
"And you're dishonest," Carlos says, and Oscar grimaces slightly, half ready to get up and walk home, half ready for this to be the last time Carlos looks at him, talks to him. "And stubborn, and freakishly good at pretending to be a woman online."
Oscar tilts his head to the side.
"Not that good," he points out, and Carlos can't help but smile, soft.
"But also…" he meets Oscar's eyes. "You're you."
There is silence for a long while, and Carlos looks down at the menu.
"This is a lot to think about, Oscar," Carlos admits. "I think we will have to get an appetizer if I am going to think about all of this."
Oscar peeks at him, blinking a few times fast.
"An appetizer?"
Carlos shrugs.
"Yeah, I am thinking that finding out my internet girlfriend is actually my infuriating boyfriend will take at least an appetizer's worth of time to process."
Oscar gawks at him again. Carlos's eyes are still scanning the page.
"Do you like calamari?"
"I—Yeah, I guess."
Carlos smiles, his eyes crinkle at the corners.
"I love calamari. It pairs great with white wine." He puts his hand out on the table, a little more than halfway between them, mostly open. It feels like an invitation. Oscar doesn't take it just yet.
"I don't know what to say," Oscar whispers.
"I'm still angry," he admits, though he doesn't withdraw. "A little. At least enough to have made you squirm these past couple of days."
Oscar's lips press together.
"But I really like you, Oscar, all of you." He thinks for a moment. "And I've seen how terrible you have felt about all of this."
Oscar glances away and then back.
"So I'm willing to try," Carlos decides. The words make something radiant bloom in Oscar's chest. The smile that settles on his face is raw and real. "But only if you promise me something."
"Anything."
"No more pretending. Not ever."
He nods almost immediately.
"Never again."
Carlos studies him, then smiles.
"Okay," he says, softly. Oscar reaches out for his hand, their fingers brushing together. "Then, I think I'll get over it."