Chapter Text
Oscar had no right to feel this wired over a work trip, but the moment he and Carlos stepped off the plane and into the sleek, echoing brightness of Milan Malpensa’s arrivals hall, something in his chest tightened painfully. Everything here felt too vivid. The polished marble floors. The cool bite of air-conditioning. The low hum of voices bouncing off high ceilings. And in the middle of all of it: Carlos. Walking just ahead of him, long strides unhurried but purposeful, coat draped over his forearm, dark hair slightly mussed from the flight in a way that made something electric crawl up Oscar’s spine. He tried to force himself to focus on anything else, but his eyes kept dragging back to the line of Carlos’s shoulders, the smooth precision of each step, the quiet command he carried like a second skin.
Carlos hadn’t said much since they landed, a few clipped instructions, nothing more. “This way,” murmured as he guided Oscar toward passport control with a hand briefly touching the small of his back. “Stay close,” when crowds thickened. “We’ll meet the driver outside,” he said without looking back, voice low and steady in a way that made Oscar’s pulse stutter. None of it was cold. None of it was unkind. But Carlos felt… contained. Tightly. Like he was holding himself together by sheer will, allowing only what was necessary to slip through. Oscar saw it in the tension at the corners of his mouth, the slight tremor in his fingers when he adjusted his cuff, the too-fast blink when he thought no one was watching.
Oscar was always watching.
By the time they reached the private-car pickup, the chaos of the airport fading behind tinted glass, Oscar's nerves were stretched thin enough to hum. He felt too close to something he shouldn’t touch. To Carlos, to whatever shadows were clinging to him after yesterday, to his own traitorous feelings that kept rising like a tide he couldn’t push back. A sleek black town car pulled up, the driver stepping out to open the door with practised stiffness, and it was only when Carlos finally turned toward him, eyes dark, expression unreadable, that Oscar felt the undercurrent snap tight between them. The moment hung there, suspended, charged enough to make Oscar’s breath hitch.
Carlos ducked into the backseat first, sliding across the leather with the fluid ease of someone used to being chauffeured. Oscar followed, heart pounding far too loudly for the cramped space, his knee brushing Carlos’s for half a second too long when he settled beside him. The touch was accidental, completely accidental, but it sent a warm jolt up Oscar’s leg, landing somewhere behind his ribs. He swallowed, carefully shifting an inch away, praying Carlos hadn’t noticed the way his breath caught. If he had, he didn’t show it. Carlos simply angled his body toward the window, jaw tight, hands clasped loosely, but not relaxed, on his lap.
The car pulled away from the curb, the city unfolding in clean, modern lines through the tinted glass. Oscar tried to focus on that, the architecture, the bright signage, the harmless chatter from the radio up front, but his attention kept drifting back to the man beside him. Carlos’s shoulders were stiff, his breathing a shade too shallow, and when he exhaled, it came out quiet but shaky enough to make Oscar’s protective instincts bristle. He wanted to ask if Carlos was okay. He wanted to offer something – comfort, distraction, anything – but his throat wouldn’t cooperate.
Then Carlos’s phone buzzed.
Once. Twice. Then again, in rapid succession.
Carlos didn’t flinch, but Oscar saw the way his fingers curled slightly tighter. The screen lit up in his hand, and Oscar didn’t mean to look; he really didn’t, but in the reflection of the window, just faint enough to catch by accident, he saw a name flash across the notifications:
L.
Oscar’s stomach dropped.
The buzzing continued: fourth message, fifth, sixth, each one making Carlos go stiller, like tension was hardening through him inch by inch. He didn’t open any of them. Didn’t unlock his phone. Just stared straight ahead, jaw locking, eyes going distant in a way Oscar hated. A way that made something hot and ugly spark under his ribs, jealousy, anger, worry, all twisted together so tightly he couldn’t separate them.
Finally, Carlos breathed out, slow and controlled. “Ignore it,” he said, voice smooth but scraped thin at the edges. “It’s…not important.”
Oscar didn’t believe that for a second.
And judging by the unreadable look in Carlos’s reflection, neither did Carlos.
Oscar nodded like he accepted that answer, but his chest felt too tight for something so simple. Nothing about the messages looked unimportant. Nothing about the way Carlos’s shoulders had angled inward, subtly defensive, looked okay. And nothing about Oscar’s own reaction, his pulse spiking, his jaw clenching, that wild urge to snatch the phone away and throw it out the window, felt remotely normal. He stared down at his own hands instead, trying to steady the jittery heat building under his skin. He’s your boss. Not yours. Not like that. Get a grip.
But then the car hit a patch of slow traffic, and in the quiet that followed, Carlos let out a small exhale, barely audible, but frayed at the edges. Oscar’s head snapped toward him before he could stop himself. Carlos didn’t look back; his eyes stayed fixed on the blur of storefronts outside, expression carefully blank. Too blank. It was the same expression he wore when deflecting his father’s comments. Or when Lando had shown up in the office. Or when he’d been holding himself together so tightly, Oscar could practically feel the strain in his own bones.
The line between them wasn’t just blurred anymore; it felt fragile. Dangerous. Like one wrong move, one wrong word, and something would crack open that Oscar wasn’t prepared to face. The car rolled forward again, the city lights cutting across Carlos’s face in fleeting gold stripes. Oscar watched the way they traced over his features, the tension in his jaw, the faint tiredness beneath his eyes, the steady but strained set of his shoulders, and something inside him shifted, slow and deep and terrifyingly certain.
He didn’t want to protect Carlos because it was his job.
He wanted to protect him because he couldn’t not.
The car eased to a stop beneath the glowing awning of their hotel, the kind of sleek Milan landmark built for power and discretion. Before Oscar could reach for the door handle, the driver was already out of the car, circling around briskly to unload their suitcases. Carlos straightened slowly in his seat, rolling his shoulders back as though shrugging into a different skin, one less tired, less frayed, more controlled. Oscar watched the transformation happen with a quiet, helpless sort of fascination. The man who’d spent an hour staring out the window in heavy silence had vanished, replaced by the version everyone else got to see: sharp, composed, untouchable.
The driver opened Oscar’s door first. Cool Milan air spilled in, crisp enough to raise goosebumps along Oscar’s arms. As he stepped out, he caught the driver already lifting both suitcases with professional efficiency, Carlos’s sleek black luggage and Oscar’s slightly battered one. Carlos exited the car a second later, posture collected and commanding. For a moment, Oscar felt painfully aware of the gulf between them. Then Carlos glanced at him, eyes flicking briefly over his face, and something in Oscar’s chest tightened.
They walked toward the hotel entrance in silence. The gentle clack of the driver’s shoes followed behind them as he rolled their bags toward the bellhop. Marble gleamed beneath the warm lobby lights, and the revolving doors swirled with a soft hush that felt too intimate. Carlos moved with the kind of quiet authority that turned heads without trying, and Oscar, God help him, felt every step like a countdown to disaster.
Just as they crossed into the lobby, Carlos’s phone buzzed violently in his hand. Once. Twice. A third time. He checked the screen with the subtlest glance, jaw tightening for a fraction of a second before he turned the device face down. Oscar caught the last flash of the notification before it disappeared.
L: Answer me. You can’t run from this.
Carlos’s expression didn’t change.
Oscar’s did.
Hot, sharp irritation, and something uglier, more instinctive, twisted low in his stomach. He tried to ignore it. Tried to swallow it.
But it didn’t move.
Carlos walked ahead, eyes forward, expression unreadable.
And Oscar followed, pulse thudding, already feeling the tension of Milan begin to coil between them like a fuse waiting to be lit.
Carlos didn’t slow down as they approached the reception desk. If anything, he seemed to settle into himself, shoulders straightening, expression sharpening into that cool, focused version of him that made people move out of his way without him ever asking. The receptionist’s posture changed instantly at the sight of him, smile brightening with the kind of recognition reserved for someone important. Oscar stayed half a step behind, trying not to stare at the subtle twitch in Carlos’s jaw, the restless flex of his fingers—small signs, barely there, but enough to make Oscar’s pulse trip.
“Buonasera, Mr Sainz,” the receptionist greeted. “Your suite is ready. Two rooms, connected, as arranged.” Oscar kept his face neutral. He’d been preparing for this since Roberto dropped the itinerary on his desk. Preparing didn’t help. He still felt like someone had grabbed his ribcage and squeezed.
Carlos took the key cards with a quiet “Grazie,” the pads of his fingers brushing the receptionist’s hand. Oscar felt heat prick the back of his neck, not jealousy exactly, but something adjacent and equally ridiculous. He redirected his gaze to the marble floor, pretending to study its veined patterns instead of acknowledging the stupid little flare in his chest.
“The bellhop will bring your luggage up. Elevators to the right,” the receptionist added.
Carlos nodded and turned toward the elevators, motioning for Oscar to follow.
He could handle this. It was just a business trip. Just a shared suite. Just… Carlos.
And if that last thought made his stomach twist, well, Oscar pretended he didn’t notice.
The elevator ride was too quiet. Not uncomfortable, Carlos didn’t really do uncomfortable silences, but quiet in that dense, charged way that made Oscar hyperaware of everything. The soft hum of the machinery. Carlos’s steady breathing beside him. The faint scent of his cologne ,warm, clean, something woody that clung to the air even when he moved the slightest bit. Oscar focused on the glowing floor numbers like they were emergency exits.
Carlos shifted his weight, rolling his shoulders back. “You’re very quiet,” he said, not accusing, just observing. His voice was low, smooth, and it cut through the silence like a touch. Oscar’s throat tightened.
“I’m… thinking,” Oscar managed.
About you. About this. About how close you are.
But he didn’t let any of that reach the surface. He just kept his expression mild, professional, the way he’d practised in the mirror that morning, like a pathetic lunatic.
Carlos hummed, a soft sound that didn’t reveal whether he believed him. “Don’t overthink tonight. We’ll run through the meeting notes in the morning. I’m prepared.”
Oscar nodded, eyes fixed on the mirrored elevator door to avoid accidentally staring at his boss’s mouth. Or the open collar. Or the tired tension around his eyes, tension Oscar desperately wanted to smooth away with his thumb.
A part of him noticed other things, too. How Carlos’s fingers twitched once, a subtle tapping against his thigh. How he exhaled with a sharpness that felt more like habit than exhaustion. How he blinked a beat too slow, like his head wasn’t entirely clear. Small things. Things Oscar had started to clock without meaning to. Things he didn’t know how to name but couldn’t un-see.
The elevator chimed, and Oscar nearly jumped. Carlos stepped out first, and Oscar followed, trying to steady his breathing as they made their way down the softly lit hallway. The carpets muffled their footsteps, but not the quiet thud of Oscar’s heartbeat in his ears. With each step, the connected rooms felt less like a practical arrangement and more like a test he wasn’t sure he’d pass.
Carlos unlocked the suite and pushed the door open with a sweep of his arm, letting Oscar in first. The space was large, modern, all polished wood and warm lighting. Their two-room doors stood side by side at the far end, closed, but undeniably there, the reminder of proximity humming under Oscar’s skin. When Carlos shut the main door behind them with a soft click, something in Oscar’s stomach swooped, absurd and immediate.
“We should get settled,” Carlos said, shrugging out of his jacket. “Then maybe order dinner.”
Oscar nodded again, because words were dangerous at the moment, and followed him deeper into the room, trying to ignore the way everything felt like walking into the start of something he wasn’t ready for.
Dinner arrived quietly, delivered with the kind of efficiency Carlos seemed to demand from the world. He set the containers out on the low table between the couches, movements smooth and practiced, like this was just another item on his schedule.
“Sit,” Carlos said mildly, already loosening his cuffs.
Oscar obeyed far too quickly.
He perched on the edge of the couch opposite Carlos, knees drawn in, hands folded in his lap like physical barriers. The suite felt different now, somehow smaller, warmer, too intimate. The lighting was low, amber-toned, softening the sharp edges of the room. It softened Carlo,s too, and Oscar absolutely did not need that.
Carlos leaned back, one arm draped along the back of the couch, relaxed in a way that felt unfair. He picked up his fork and nodded toward Oscar’s untouched plate. “You’re not eating.”
“I am,” Oscar said, then immediately picked up his fork to prove it.
He took a bite and registered nothing. No taste, no texture, just the awareness of Carlos watching him, not openly, but enough. Casual. Observant. Like Oscar was something mildly interesting.
Stop it, Oscar told himself. He’s just sitting there. Men are allowed to sit.
Carlos took a sip of water, throat working as he swallowed, and Oscar’s brain betrayed him instantly.
I wonder what—
No.
Absolutely not.
He redirected his gaze to the table. The cutlery. The logo on the napkin. Anything.
“You’re very quiet today,” Carlos said.
Oscar stiffened. “Sorry.”
“Didn’t say it was a problem.” Carlos’s mouth curved faintly. “Just noticing.”
Of course he was.
They ate in silence for a moment, the kind that hummed rather than settled. Oscar was painfully aware of every small sound, the scrape of Carlos’s fork, the shift of his weight on the couch, the subtle brush of fabric when he moved.
Then Carlos shifted closer. Not deliberately, Oscar told himself. Just enough that their knees brushed.
It was brief. Accidental.
Oscar’s entire body reacted like it had been waiting for permission.
Jesus Christ, he thought, horrified. Get it together. You are a functioning adult.
He adjusted his posture, putting more space between them, heart racing for reasons he refused to unpack. His thoughts, meanwhile, were doing laps.
What if he notices?
He probably already has.
Do not think about his hands.
Carlos glanced at him again. “You’re tense.”
“I’m not,” Oscar said too quickly.
Carlos raised an eyebrow. “You’re gripping your fork like you’re about to file a complaint against it.”
Oscar forced his fingers to relax, heat creeping up his neck. “Long day.”
Carlos hummed, unconvinced, but didn’t push. He leaned back again, stretching slightly, and Oscar had to physically stop himself from tracking the movement. The roll of Carlos’s shoulders. The glimpse of his wrist when his sleeve shifted.
You are censoring your own brain, Oscar reminded himself firmly. This is good. This is healthy.
It did not feel healthy.
Carlos finished his meal first, setting the container aside and watching Oscar with that same unreadable focus. “You don’t have to rush,” he said. “We’re done for the night.”
The words for the night landed far harder than they should have.
Oscar nodded, swallowing another bite he didn’t taste. His pulse felt loud in his ears, his thoughts a mess of static and things he absolutely did not want to name. Every instinct told him to stand up, create distance, and regain control.
Instead, he stayed seated, acutely aware of the space between them and how thin it felt.
He didn’t know when dinner had stopped being about food.
He only knew that by the time he set his fork down, he felt wrung out, overstimulated, and dangerously aware of the man across from him.
And that scared him more than anything else.
They cleaned up in quiet coordination. Carlos gathered the containers, stacking them neatly, while Oscar hovered uselessly for a moment before offering to help and then immediately getting in the way. Their hands brushed once briefly, almost nothing, and Oscar pulled back like he’d touched a live wire.
“I’ve got it,” Carlos said, calm as ever.
Oscar retreated, heart still thudding, and pretended to scroll through his phone while Carlos finished. The suite settled into that post-dinner stillness, the kind that felt heavier than before. Outside, Milan glowed faintly through the windows, city lights blurring into something soft and distant.
Carlos checked his watch. Then his phone.
Oscar noticed because he’d started noticing everything.
Carlos’s jaw tightened for half a second as he read whatever was on the screen. His thumb hovered, hesitated, then typed a brief reply. When he looked up again, his expression was back in place, controlled and unreadable.
“I’m going to step out for a bit,” Carlos said, already reaching for his jacket.
Oscar’s head snapped up. “Now?”
Carlos glanced at him, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “I won’t be long.”
That was it. No explanation. No invitation.
Oscar nodded because that was his job. “Okay.”
Carlos shrugged into his jacket, movements efficient, but Oscar caught the small tells, the way Carlos’s fingers fumbled briefly with the cuff, the faint tension in his shoulders as he rolled them back. He paused by the door, hesitating just long enough that Oscar wondered if he’d imagined it.
“Try to get some rest,” Carlos said, voice even.
Then he was gone.
The door clicked shut softly behind him.
Oscar sat there, staring at the closed door, heart ticking uncomfortably fast. The suite felt different without Carlos in it, too quiet, too empty, like the air had been sucked out. He told himself it was none of his business. People stepped out all the time. Carlos was an adult. His boss. A man with a life Oscar knew nothing about.
And yet.
Oscar stood, drifted toward the window, peering down at the street below. Cars slid past in slow ribbons of light. Somewhere down there, Carlos was moving through the night with purpose Oscar couldn’t read.
He checked the time. Ten forty-seven.
He said he wouldn’t be long, Oscar reminded himself, for no reason at all.
He tried to distract himself, showered, changed, and paced the room. The clock crept forward with infuriating slowness. Eleven. Eleven fifteen. Eleven thirty.
Oscar found himself standing near the connecting door, staring at it like it might offer answers.
This was stupid. Invasive. None of his business.
And yet his chest felt tight with something that wasn’t quite worry but wasn’t not worry either. He replayed dinner in his head, the tension, the flickers of something off in Carlos’s focus. The way his fingers had tapped too fast against his thigh earlier. The way he’d checked his phone like it was a summons.
Oscar exhaled slowly.
You’re projecting, he told himself. You’re tired.
But when the door finally opened again, close to midnight, Oscar knew instantly something was wrong.
Carlos moved quietly, like he didn’t want to be heard. His jacket was gone, shirt slightly rumpled, collar open one button lower than before. He paused just inside the doorway, one hand braced briefly against the wall, head tipped forward like he was collecting himself.
Oscar froze.
Carlos straightened a second later, composure snapping back into place with practised ease. He didn’t look toward Oscar’s room, didn’t seem to realise Oscar was watching through the small crack of his door, breath held.
Carlos crossed the suite and disappeared into his room, the door closing softly behind him.
Oscar stayed where he was, heart pounding, unease curling low in his stomach.
He didn’t know what Carlos had stepped out to do.
He only knew that whatever it was, Carlos hadn’t come back quite the same.
And Oscar had the terrible sense that this was only the beginning.