'i Wish You'd Talk'

'i wish you'd talk'

a carcar short au✨️ written hastily😓 (inspired by 'talk talk' by charlie xcx)

“Your Hungarian Grand Prix Winner, Oscar Piastri! Give a big applause and raise your glass for him, everyone!” the DJ from the booth speaks his name, and Oscar just smiles at the crowd who cheered.

The club is crowded, and Lando is gone probably searching for something (or someone). George and Alex are probably talking about Fernando, who was throwing a tantrum because the FIA guessed him as Brad Pitt, while Charles and Pierre are talking about the Olympics (they are curious to swim at the Seine).

And then there is this guy, who looks so good. Wearing his baby blue linen shirt, hair flipped like it came out from the salon, and face sculpted like Greek Gods. Ferrari does have the best-looking driver line-up.

“Enjoying your view, Oscar?” he said and rolled his ‘R’.

Well, of course. “Nope, you covered my view.”

The man chuckled and took a sip from his glass, “Sorry for that,” and he leaned back to the sofa.

“I was just kidding, Carlos. Just sit like you were,” the younger turned to him.

Oscar instantly regretted that he turned to Carlos because now he looked right into Carlos’ eyes. Beautiful eyes.

For the past few months, both of them have been spending some time together. After the Miami Grand Prix (where all collided), it’s either Carlos going to the McLaren accommodation or meeting at a local restaurant where nobody recognized them while eating delicacies and talking. It’s only both of them, and they found some similarities between them (both have the same race engineer at McLaren, little white dogs, used to drive for Arden) and then so many differences (too much, but they agreed on some discussions).

Carlos is not complicated, he thought. But Carlos has so many layers like cakes. And Oscar finds it very comforting because Carlos has nothing to hide other than his burger restaurant in Madrid.

“Okay, campeón,” Carlos moves closer to Oscar. It felt so right.

When the night gets much darker and slowly turns to dawn, Oscar gets drunker and drunker because Pierre has secretly bought so many kinds of alcohol.

“Carlos,” he nudges Carlos’ shoulder.

“Yes, Oscar?”

“Can we go home?” his eyes begged because Oscar was knackered.

Carlos nodded, “Let’s go,” he helped Oscar to get up and held his waist to stabilize the younger.

Charles looks confused at his teammate, and Carlos just looks at him. “Gotta give him a lift, I’m not drunk.”

The man nodded, “Yes, please. We don’t even know where’s Lando or George. I’ll be with Pierre.”

“Okay, I’ll get going,” said Carlos while Oscar was deep in his sleep on Carlos’ neck.

“Be safe, and don’t–

“I’ll be on the speed limit, Charles,” he smiles at his teammate and walks to the exit.

While waiting for the car, Oscar is sniffing Carlos like he is trying to know what is the smell. “Kid, you’re not a dog,” Carlos chuckled.

“You smelled like rich people, Carlos,” he mumbled. Oscar is rich from his Formula 1 paycheck, but he doesn't smell like Carlos.

“Thanks,” the car arrived and Carlos helped Oscar to get into the passenger seat of his red Ferrari, and he even made Oscar wear the seatbelt.

Throughout the journey, Oscar is only mumbling, and Carlos blames it on Pierre and his choice of alcohol.

“Carlos?”

“Yes, Oscar?”

“I wish you’d talk,”

“Talk about what?”

“Talk to me,”

“About what?”

“Wish you’d just talk to me,”

“Oscar, you’re drunk–

“Talk to me in Spanish, talk to me, just talk, Carlos.”

If Carlos doesn’t remember that they’re on the road somewhere, he probably instantly breaks.

“Just talk to me, Carlos,” Oscar keeps mumbling from his sleep, but somehow he finds Carlos’ thigh and rests his hand there.

Carlos is trying to focus on the road, but he replies nervously, “Sí, sí. ¿De qué quieres hablar, mi pequeño koala?”

He only sighed and fell deep in his sleep, looking like a kid.

And yes, Carlos held Oscar's hand that was still on his thigh. Tightly.