#appreciatory | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

aduckinpain · 11 months ago

Text

Orange heals when you bleed Red

Tags: Carlando, Carlos Sainz centered, Carlos Sainz Character Analysis, Hurt/Comfort, Rookies Carlando through the years and how they handled everything, Happy Ending, The Singapore radio of 'It's on purpose', Monza, Silverstone, Qatar, Las Vegas, Singapore 2023 Grand Prix, how each of these affected them

Word Count: 2.8k

This work is also on AO3 under user roianamustang (me).

Privilege follows him like a shadow. Sticking to his feet, intensifying in the spotlight, multiplying when numerous gazes fall upon it.

Privilege has him grateful, appreciatory. It has him indebted.

Privilege raised him. Made him who he is.

He shook privilege’s hand as a baby, clutching its hands with his tiny fingers.

He holds privilege’s stick as a man, leads it around. Lets it lead him.

He looks privilege in the eye. Feels his irises swallow the honeyed brown around them.

Privilege was the key to many things in life but success.

Success, the kind he wants, eludes him. It escapes the second he wraps his hand around it. Avoids him like the plague.

Carlos Sainz exhales, breath stuttering, as if imprisoned in his lungs.

His breath clings.

His thoughts escape. Fleeing. Never looking back.

The shadow flutters.

Darkness engulfs.

The red, bright and all-consuming, contrasts.

It never smiles.

Only glares.

Names hold weight, he learned this young. They hold impressions and expectations.

After a certain amount of time, names become a weapon. You can wield them, strike, hide them under your pillow. In any case, the wrong move can hurt you.

Names hold weight.

Life can be tricky.

Success can be shared.

But talent can’t be made. It can’t be invented.

It can be discovered, cultivated.

Talent is a dog learning tricks quicker than others.

But what is a dog without its owner, but a hound ready to bite?

When talent meets privilege, unlike popular belief, it dodges success. Forgets its existence.

At least, that seemed to be his case.

Carlos tried blue at first, met yellow. Lingered in orange and clutched red.

Blue was new beginnings, bright futures.

Yellow was transitory, linked two points together. His present to his future.

Orange was special. It will always be. In sleepless nights and frustrated, unshed tears, orange turned his head at Carlos. But with time even orange moved on, changed, adapted, improved.

Red was an unfathomable dream. It was never in his sights until it showed its cards.

If you asked him what color he bled, Carlos Sainz would always say red.

But red didn’t bleed Carlos Sainz.

It had no plans on getting hurt for him.

In 2015 he met Max Verstappen. Max was young, brash, determined. Max was a risky move a step away from a plunge. Max was everything he wasn’t and didn’t want to be.

Being raised by a prestigious family in Spain, taught Carlos a lot of things. He was measured and sustained, rhythmic, unfaltering. His tutors made sure of that.

So while he found Max delightful, he prided himself on his maturity.

At the end of 2017, Carlos met Nico Hülkenberg. A quiet man, with years under his belt yet no plans of grandiose.

If there was one key factor in Carlos’ personality it would be that, no matter how calm he seemed, competitiveness would be his fuel. While he appreciated the silence that came from his teammate, he could never understand it.

In 2019, Lando Norris walked in his life, stumbled down his stairs, and plopped himself right in the middle of his living room. His presence always there, his gaze always turning.

When the year started Lando was new to F1, and very, very withdrawn. He second guessed about everything and anything that could be said and tended to stay quiet if people didn't directly speak to him. So Carlos took it upon himself to make the young man feel comfortable, more confident. In the beginning, It started slow, but the build up came quick.

Before he knew it, Lando had made a little Lando-shaped hole right there in his living room and his bed. Curled up inside it, covered himself with a blanket and got comfortable. Peered at him from under those unbelievably long lashes, framing green skies.

He took it for granted.

Carlos craved. He was greedy.

He is greedy. Any man with enough power, will always search for more.

So while he clutched the newly found contract of 2021, the new goal sewn of red, Carlos forgot. Miscalculated. Assumed.

Assumed, that nothing would change, only get better.

Assumed, that nothing would change, it would take a bit more work, but the thread wouldn’t break.

He was wrong.

The news weren't taken well. Lando had gone quiet in the meeting. The members of the team started hugging him, even though they still had time.

Lando walked out.

Carlos followed.

Carlos always follows.

He tried opening the door to the driver's room. Called out his name. But after a while decided that Lando would have to get out for work at some point, he’d just intercept him there.

Hours passed and starting to get impatient, Carlos asked Jon the second he saw him.

‘He went home Carlos. He’s gonna need some time for this.’

Concern slowly filled him.

So that night, he walked, he climbed and he knocked.

That night the door opened and the green skies had turned gray. The clouds glared, but they also wept.

They talked for long, his own words of reassurance filled the void, the empty space. Promises whispered. Arms blanketing the man in his arms.

Things would happen, but they wouldn’t change.

He promised that.

But words said in an empty space with no one to listen to, can’t be fulfilled.

Words said in an echo-less chamber, don't even return to you.

Not for a while at least.

His first win in Silverstone felt like a message, an ode, a song. The music flowed in his veins and pulled at his cheeks. It rose his hand up in the sky, it held the trophy.

Your first win is always special, almost a liberty most don’t find, but it would never really top the emotional impact that his, no, their, podium had.

A McLaren 2-3. Orange filled their view. Blinded them momentarily. There was no better moment than that, right then and there. Carlos flinched instinctively when he felt champagne on his face. He opened his arms and let himself feel pride. The second the bottle finished, he wiped his eyes, and hugged the sky.

On that day it wasn’t just adrenaline and pride. It was warmth, safety, familiarity, promises.

He might even say, early stages of love. For him at least.

For the other party, the boat had sailed for a while.

That’s why when the news came, Carlos can’t help but think that while turning to the newly entered ship in the harbor, he didn’t see the small boat he left behind, sinking, turning upside down and floating, unmoving, on the vast sea.

He rowed his own across the still waves, let its anchor besides the ship. He let himself be lifted aboard.

The sky turned dark, a storm came. Before he knew it, he couldn’t even find the remnants of a single wooden plank on angry, dark waves.

He didn't turn around to search for them.

Being with Ferrari, was being a part of history, a legacy. Whether anyone admitted it or not, Ferrari was a dream. It was the dream. The impact it had with one win, would equal another team’s full season.

Ferrari was a name.

Ferrari held weight.

But Carlos, try as he might, couldn’t seem to hold Ferrari. With all his experience of having names on his shoulders, he could never reach it. Arms extended and hands open, the weight was never distributed to him.

Il predestinato.

No matter what he tried, he couldn’t turn into the legend. The destined.

Couldn’t quite get the feel of it.

Until Monza 2023.

It may have not been a win, but a Ferrari podium in the heart of F1 is something that could have healed all of Carlos’ past, present and future.

The crowds, the atmosphere, the champagne, the height. He could feel each scream of his name, let it reverb, paint it red. Closed his eyes and felt the heat, the sun.

He felt green skies gazing up at him.

For the first time, he felt the red take flight.

When he blinked at the sun that morning, he had not expected to be called by Sylvia asking him to check Twitter.

He turned around, slipped his hand under his pillow to pick up his phone and weakly put the code in. Eyes scrunching at the unexpected sight of the screen. Brain foggy.

He would say time froze, but it was his own body betraying him.

It happened again.

His own mother, making assumptions, accusations, thrown around as if she’s veiling them in secrecy.

‘No honor’ she wrote.

There was no permission given, she hadn’t asked Carlos if she could post something that was going to affect him, no warning, no nothing.

Shame and guilt curled in his stomach.

This happened once, with his father. He hadn't reacted well. So she knew. She knew the consequences along with his unwillingness, and yet, hadn’t given it a second thought on pressing that button.

'I'm just being honest to protect you, son.' He didn't need protecting, never asked for it.

Refreshing the page, he saw people start mentioning something along the lines of Charles’ reply.

‘Honor’ as a caption, with his 2019 Monza win.

He called Charles Leclerc, apologies slipping through his lips. Charles knew, he wasn’t phased. He understood. No blame was thrown. Their camaraderie was strong and Carlos Sainz was a grown ass man, who could make his own statement if he wanted to. He completely agreed with the way the situation was handled by his teammate. He closed the call, one last apology was heard. Reassurance was replied.

With newly found anger, he called his mom. This time not for a message. An ultimatum. For both of them.

It changed. Evolved. Because it was almost as if a switch had turned for Lando. He became quicker, more confident, sassier, self-assured.

While Carlos would love to say the pride that was felt was because of his help along the years, he couldn’t help but feel as if he, himself, was a catalyst.

For a while they talked every night. It almost felt like their usual year, they just couldn’t always be physically present with each other. But the season picked up, and they’d have periods of quietness.

It felt strained. It felt strange. This wasn’t them.

It felt foreign.

He was beginning to feel nostalgia for a still-existing friendship. For blurred lines and comforting moments.

After all these years the naive one, seemed to be him all along, expecting things to stay the same, as if people don’t change.

As if life doesn’t move with no permission.

For a year, it felt as if they were killing pretenses.

Carlos felt Lando slipping away.

Carlos felt the season slip away.

Carlos was slipping away.

Oscar Piastri, a new McLaren rookie with a lot of potential and blah blah blah. The important information was that he was Lando’s new teammate. While beforehand he knew Daniel Ricciardo, this one, was uncharted territory.

So maybe the moves he pulled were unnecessary, and the words he said were out of line, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

At least that’s what he excused himself with at the beginning.

When Lando called him one night, serious, he soon realized what it was about.

Okay so maybe it was deliberate and childish.

Maybe he was jealous.

The first step to acceptance and forgiveness was acknowledging the problem in the first place.

The next day, he arranged a small coffee break with Oscar. He was better than this. Respect was always his number one priority. Apologies were listened to by both parties and understanding lingered in the air.

Everything went well.

Now he just had to get his involuntary feelings in check.

Location: Marina Bay Street Circuit, Singapore, The Ritz-Carlton Millenia, Room 455

Date and time: Sunday, 17.09.2023, 16:19 PM

Even trust is too weak of a word to explain the unwavering power Carlos let Lando have in those last laps.

‘A reminder. Norris has DRS. He is in DRS proximity.’

‘Yeah, it’s on purpose.’

He pressed the pedal on the last corner. He passed the checkered flag.

The fireworks exploded.

‘Imagine if we got a 1-2. Imagine!’

They didn’t need to imagine. At the end of the day, at the end of the troubles and tribulations, they were bigger than the universe.

It was always Carlos and Lando.

Lando and Carlos.

Carlando.

Because Lando was right there, showering him in champagne, soaking up his heart. The sky may have been dark but it was shining.

When he wrapped his arms around his light, Carlos felt whole again.

He didn’t need red or orange or yellow or blue.

He just needed Lando Norris, right there, next to him.

In his living room, in his bed.

In that little hand carved space.

The thread wasn’t broken, it just had gotten loose for about a year. So they wound the yarn up, bit by bit, piece by piece.

While Qatar was unremarkable to him, that wasn’t the case for Lando.

Track limits. If Carlos could fight them physically, he would.

So that night, he walked, he climbed and he knocked.

He went in. Took him by his hand. Layed down. Bundled him up. Let him sink in the quietness, gather courage from it. Let him speak in the silence, this time hearing every word.

There were promises this time as well, but they were loud and assertive, assured.

They were heard.

They were true.

Sochi 2021 gave him a taste. The year after he left, he watched Lando slam around like a puppet hanging from its strings. Watched him lose his maiden victory. Watched him crumble.

An already vulnerable year, turned into a nightmare.

And yet he bounced back, and Carlos forgot what it was like watching him tumble on the track.

Las Vegas 2023. A race that hadn’t happened in 70 years and for a good hour or more, a race he wished had never happened in the first place.

‘Yellow flag. Yellow flag.’

‘Who crashed?’

A flash of orange passed his vision. He felt his breath withdraw.

‘Norris on Turn 11.’

‘Is he okay?’

‘Checking.’

A few minutes had passed, but it felt like an hour of racing. Each turn crushing him even more.

‘Keep your calm.’

‘Is he okay, Adami?’

“Yes, he got out of the car.’

The race ended and to be frank, Carlos couldn’t care less. He got out of his car and immediately started asking if any updates were given. When he seemed to get no definitive answers, he tried his hand at texting Lando. Then calling him.

No answer. No reply.

Carlos called Jon.

The next time anyone searched for him, he was in a taxi going to the hospital.

The radio message after the crash looping on his phone. In his head.

Lando was shaking.

Lando was in pain.

Lando.

Entering the hospital doors, Carlos found Jon waiting for him in the lobby. No communication was needed, he just turned and lead the way.

Door after door, every time he passed by a number, Carlos could feel himself hold his breath. Finally they reached it.

The darkness opened a pathway.

‘Fair warning. They’ve given him a lot of painkillers.’

Seeing his look of concern, Jon quickly reassured him that it was purely just because of the unexpected impact and precautionary tests, and let him in.

A loud gasp met his ears the second honey locked eyes with green fields.

‘Carlos!’ the name's vowels dragged out along with a nearly non-existent ‘r’ sound.

Relief was felt through his body, since a long while. His muscles stopped tensing the closer he got to the hospital bed with the clearly drugged male on it.

A goofy grin on his face, was all Carlos needed to embrace the man in front of him.

Lando melted.

Carlos calmed.

The boats found each other again. Anchored together.

Abu Dhabi came and went. Different news kept hitting the internet. Rumors, confirmations, whatever. The future was entirely unknown.

But he’d learned from his past.

He could handle anything, cause he seems to have one constant in his life.

This constant comes with unruly curls and wrinkled smile lines and each morning he makes sure the green sky shines and grins and laughs.

Each morning he raises his head, looks at the warmth between his arms, caresses brown locks and awakes blurry greens.

Each morning he showers kisses across his face. Presses his lips on every birthmark.

Each morning he feels strong, warm, safe, assured.

Each morning he feels content.

And he is Carlos Sainz.

Scuderia Ferrari F1 driver. A dream to others, a reality to him.

And he has Lando Norris. A dream to others, a dream to him.

Success comes in different forms. His came as Auroras in the night sky. Entered smoothly, seamlessly.

This was his privilege, and he cherished it in his heart.

-End-

Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Carlos himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.

They are grown men who at the end of the day we'll never know what sort of relationships they have with each other. The way I've written Carlos' "conflicts" with Oscar and Charles, is that they have talked it through and there is no animosity between them. They can deal with their big boy problems.

Analysis time yay:

Privilege is Carlos' family. They're a well known name across Spain.

Success can be shared, is again a link to the fact that he comes from a privileged past, however this is not the success he craves.

Each color is a team.

Blue is Red Bull.

Yellow is Renault.

Orange is McLaren.

Red is Ferrari.

Carlos' living room is his heart and his bed is his mind. That's where Lando lives rent free.

A person is a boat, like Lando at the beginning and Carlos later, but a team is a ship, like Ferrari. On Lando's case there was a brief mention where his boat was also his love for Carlos.

The continuous use of the sky is directly linked with Lando's eyes or presence.

The destined is obviously Charles.

In the Singapore segment, I've added the hotel and room, because up to the reader's interpretation, at the end where I start using the living room and the bed again, it can also be the actual physical room. And they could be like, cuddling.

Lando's exclamation of Carlos' name was something more like 'Caahlos <3'

Lando is still a dream to him, cause he's reality that's too good to be true. Don't worry though it is definitely real.

Again at the end there is no conflict with Carlos, Charles and Oscar.

That Vegas crash made me really, really want to write Carlando, cause the radio message after absolutely broke me. This is a bit different from the others, but as usual, if it takes time I'm posting it.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some reposts, comments or liked!

If you like this, I have written more stories that can be found on my Formula 1 masterlist. Including: Lestappen, Landoscar with more to come. If it manages to spark your interest, please go support those as well!

31 notes · View notes

aduckinpain · 1 year ago

Text

Orange heals when you bleed Red

Word Count: 2.8k

This work is also on AO3 under user roianamustang (me).

Privilege follows him like a shadow. Sticking to his feet, intensifying in the spotlight, multiplying when numerous gazes fall upon it.

Privilege has him grateful, appreciatory. It has him indebted.

Privilege raised him. Made him who he is.

He shook privilege’s hand as a baby, clutching its hands with his tiny fingers.

He holds privilege’s stick as a man, leads it around. Lets it lead him.

He looks privilege in the eye. Feels his irises swallow the honeyed brown around them.

Privilege was the key to many things in life but success.

Success, the kind he wants, eludes him. It escapes the second he wraps his hand around it. Avoids him like the plague.

Carlos Sainz exhales, breath stuttering, as if imprisoned in his lungs.

His breath clings.

His thoughts escape. Fleeing. Never looking back.

The shadow flutters.

Darkness engulfs.

The red, bright and all-consuming, contrasts.

It never smiles.

Only glares.

Names hold weight, he learned this young. They hold impressions and expectations.

After a certain amount of time, names become a weapon. You can wield them, strike, hide them under your pillow. In any case, the wrong move can hurt you.

Names hold weight.

Life can be tricky.

Success can be shared.

But talent can’t be made. It can’t be invented.

It can be discovered, cultivated.

Talent is a dog learning tricks quicker than others.

But what is a dog without its owner, but a hound ready to bite?

When talent meets privilege, unlike popular belief, it dodges success. Forgets its existence.

At least, that seemed to be his case.

Carlos tried blue at first, met yellow. Lingered in orange and clutched red.

Blue was new beginnings, bright futures.

Yellow was transitory, linked two points together. His present to his future.

Orange was special. It will always be. In sleepless nights and frustrated, unshed tears, orange turned his head at Carlos. But with time even orange moved on, changed, adapted, improved.

Red was an unfathomable dream. It was never in his sights until it showed its cards.

If you asked him what color he bled, Carlos Sainz would always say red.

But red didn’t bleed Carlos Sainz.

It had no plans on getting hurt for him.

In 2015 he met Max Verstappen. Max was young, brash, determined. Max was a risky move a step away from a plunge. Max was everything he wasn’t and didn’t want to be.

Being raised by a prestigious family in Spain, taught Carlos a lot of things. He was measured and sustained, rhythmic, unfaltering. His tutors made sure of that.

So while he found Max delightful, he prided himself on his maturity.

At the end of 2017, Carlos met Nico Hülkenberg. A quiet man, with years under his belt yet no plans of grandiose.

In 2019, Lando Norris walked in his life, stumbled down his stairs, and plopped himself right in the middle of his living room. His presence always there, his gaze always turning.

He took it for granted.

Carlos craved. He was greedy.

He is greedy. Any man with enough power, will always search for more.

So while he clutched the newly found contract of 2021, the new goal sewn of red, Carlos forgot. Miscalculated. Assumed.

Assumed, that nothing would change, only get better.

Assumed, that nothing would change, it would take a bit more work, but the thread wouldn’t break.

He was wrong.

The news weren't taken well. Lando had gone quiet in the meeting. The members of the team started hugging him, even though they still had time.

Lando walked out.

Carlos followed.

Carlos always follows.

He tried opening the door to the driver's room. Called out his name. But after a while decided that Lando would have to get out for work at some point, he’d just intercept him there.

Hours passed and starting to get impatient, Carlos asked Jon the second he saw him.

‘He went home Carlos. He’s gonna need some time for this.’

Concern slowly filled him.

So that night, he walked, he climbed and he knocked.

That night the door opened and the green skies had turned gray. The clouds glared, but they also wept.

They talked for long, his own words of reassurance filled the void, the empty space. Promises whispered. Arms blanketing the man in his arms.

Things would happen, but they wouldn’t change.

He promised that.

But words said in an empty space with no one to listen to, can’t be fulfilled.

Words said in an echo-less chamber, don't even return to you.

Not for a while at least.

His first win in Silverstone felt like a message, an ode, a song. The music flowed in his veins and pulled at his cheeks. It rose his hand up in the sky, it held the trophy.

Your first win is always special, almost a liberty most don’t find, but it would never really top the emotional impact that his, no, their, podium had.

On that day it wasn’t just adrenaline and pride. It was warmth, safety, familiarity, promises.

He might even say, early stages of love. For him at least.

For the other party, the boat had sailed for a while.

He rowed his own across the still waves, let its anchor besides the ship. He let himself be lifted aboard.

The sky turned dark, a storm came. Before he knew it, he couldn’t even find the remnants of a single wooden plank on angry, dark waves.

He didn't turn around to search for them.

Ferrari was a name.

Ferrari held weight.

Il predestinato.

No matter what he tried, he couldn’t turn into the legend. The destined.

Couldn’t quite get the feel of it.

Until Monza 2023.

It may have not been a win, but a Ferrari podium in the heart of F1 is something that could have healed all of Carlos’ past, present and future.

The crowds, the atmosphere, the champagne, the height. He could feel each scream of his name, let it reverb, paint it red. Closed his eyes and felt the heat, the sun.

He felt green skies gazing up at him.

For the first time, he felt the red take flight.

When he blinked at the sun that morning, he had not expected to be called by Sylvia asking him to check Twitter.

He turned around, slipped his hand under his pillow to pick up his phone and weakly put the code in. Eyes scrunching at the unexpected sight of the screen. Brain foggy.

He would say time froze, but it was his own body betraying him.

It happened again.

His own mother, making assumptions, accusations, thrown around as if she’s veiling them in secrecy.

‘No honor’ she wrote.

There was no permission given, she hadn’t asked Carlos if she could post something that was going to affect him, no warning, no nothing.

Shame and guilt curled in his stomach.

This happened once, with his father. He hadn't reacted well. So she knew. She knew the consequences along with his unwillingness, and yet, hadn’t given it a second thought on pressing that button.

'I'm just being honest to protect you, son.' He didn't need protecting, never asked for it.

Refreshing the page, he saw people start mentioning something along the lines of Charles’ reply.

‘Honor’ as a caption, with his 2019 Monza win.

With newly found anger, he called his mom. This time not for a message. An ultimatum. For both of them.

It changed. Evolved. Because it was almost as if a switch had turned for Lando. He became quicker, more confident, sassier, self-assured.

While Carlos would love to say the pride that was felt was because of his help along the years, he couldn’t help but feel as if he, himself, was a catalyst.

It felt strained. It felt strange. This wasn’t them.

It felt foreign.

He was beginning to feel nostalgia for a still-existing friendship. For blurred lines and comforting moments.

After all these years the naive one, seemed to be him all along, expecting things to stay the same, as if people don’t change.

As if life doesn’t move with no permission.

For a year, it felt as if they were killing pretenses.

Carlos felt Lando slipping away.

Carlos felt the season slip away.

Carlos was slipping away.

So maybe the moves he pulled were unnecessary, and the words he said were out of line, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

At least that’s what he excused himself with at the beginning.

When Lando called him one night, serious, he soon realized what it was about.

Okay so maybe it was deliberate and childish.

Maybe he was jealous.

The first step to acceptance and forgiveness was acknowledging the problem in the first place.

Everything went well.

Now he just had to get his involuntary feelings in check.

Location: Marina Bay Street Circuit, Singapore, The Ritz-Carlton Millenia, Room 455

Date and time: Sunday, 17.09.2023, 16:19 PM

Even trust is too weak of a word to explain the unwavering power Carlos let Lando have in those last laps.

‘A reminder. Norris has DRS. He is in DRS proximity.’

‘Yeah, it’s on purpose.’

He pressed the pedal on the last corner. He passed the checkered flag.

The fireworks exploded.

‘Imagine if we got a 1-2. Imagine!’

They didn’t need to imagine. At the end of the day, at the end of the troubles and tribulations, they were bigger than the universe.

It was always Carlos and Lando.

Lando and Carlos.

Carlando.

Because Lando was right there, showering him in champagne, soaking up his heart. The sky may have been dark but it was shining.

When he wrapped his arms around his light, Carlos felt whole again.

He didn’t need red or orange or yellow or blue.

He just needed Lando Norris, right there, next to him.

In his living room, in his bed.

In that little hand carved space.

The thread wasn’t broken, it just had gotten loose for about a year. So they wound the yarn up, bit by bit, piece by piece.

While Qatar was unremarkable to him, that wasn’t the case for Lando.

Track limits. If Carlos could fight them physically, he would.

So that night, he walked, he climbed and he knocked.

He went in. Took him by his hand. Layed down. Bundled him up. Let him sink in the quietness, gather courage from it. Let him speak in the silence, this time hearing every word.

There were promises this time as well, but they were loud and assertive, assured.

They were heard.

They were true.

Sochi 2021 gave him a taste. The year after he left, he watched Lando slam around like a puppet hanging from its strings. Watched him lose his maiden victory. Watched him crumble.

An already vulnerable year, turned into a nightmare.

And yet he bounced back, and Carlos forgot what it was like watching him tumble on the track.

Las Vegas 2023. A race that hadn’t happened in 70 years and for a good hour or more, a race he wished had never happened in the first place.

‘Yellow flag. Yellow flag.’

‘Who crashed?’

A flash of orange passed his vision. He felt his breath withdraw.

‘Norris on Turn 11.’

‘Is he okay?’

‘Checking.’

A few minutes had passed, but it felt like an hour of racing. Each turn crushing him even more.

‘Keep your calm.’

‘Is he okay, Adami?’

“Yes, he got out of the car.’

No answer. No reply.

Carlos called Jon.

The next time anyone searched for him, he was in a taxi going to the hospital.

The radio message after the crash looping on his phone. In his head.

Lando was shaking.

Lando was in pain.

Lando.

Entering the hospital doors, Carlos found Jon waiting for him in the lobby. No communication was needed, he just turned and lead the way.

Door after door, every time he passed by a number, Carlos could feel himself hold his breath. Finally they reached it.

The darkness opened a pathway.

‘Fair warning. They’ve given him a lot of painkillers.’

Seeing his look of concern, Jon quickly reassured him that it was purely just because of the unexpected impact and precautionary tests, and let him in.

A loud gasp met his ears the second honey locked eyes with green fields.

‘Carlos!’ the name's vowels dragged out along with a nearly non-existent ‘r’ sound.

Relief was felt through his body, since a long while. His muscles stopped tensing the closer he got to the hospital bed with the clearly drugged male on it.

A goofy grin on his face, was all Carlos needed to embrace the man in front of him.

Lando melted.

Carlos calmed.

The boats found each other again. Anchored together.

Abu Dhabi came and went. Different news kept hitting the internet. Rumors, confirmations, whatever. The future was entirely unknown.

But he’d learned from his past.

He could handle anything, cause he seems to have one constant in his life.

This constant comes with unruly curls and wrinkled smile lines and each morning he makes sure the green sky shines and grins and laughs.

Each morning he raises his head, looks at the warmth between his arms, caresses brown locks and awakes blurry greens.

Each morning he showers kisses across his face. Presses his lips on every birthmark.

Each morning he feels strong, warm, safe, assured.

Each morning he feels content.

And he is Carlos Sainz.

Scuderia Ferrari F1 driver. A dream to others, a reality to him.

And he has Lando Norris. A dream to others, a dream to him.

Success comes in different forms. His came as Auroras in the night sky. Entered smoothly, seamlessly.

This was his privilege, and he cherished it in his heart.

-End-

Please note that no matter how much I am writing here, it is all artistic speculation of what Carlos himself has decided to show the world. Do not forget that these drivers are real people.

Analysis time yay:

Privilege is Carlos' family. They're a well known name across Spain.

Success can be shared, is again a link to the fact that he comes from a privileged past, however this is not the success he craves.

Each color is a team.

Blue is Red Bull. Yellow is Renault. Orange is McLaren. Red is Ferrari.

Carlos' living room is his heart and his bed is his mind. That's where Lando lives rent free.

A person is a boat, like Lando at the beginning and Carlos later, but a team is a ship, like Ferrari. On Lando's case there was a brief mention where his boat was also his love for Carlos.

The continuous use of the sky is directly linked with Lando's eyes or presence.

The destined is obviously Charles.

Lando's exclamation of Carlos' name was something more like 'Caahlos <3'

Lando is still a dream to him, cause he's reality that's too good to be true. Don't worry though it is definitely real.

Again at the end there is no conflict with Carlos, Charles and Oscar.

Thank you so much for reading! It would mean a lot if I managed to get some reposts, comments or liked!

8 notes · View notes