Work Text:
whatsapp msgs. w/ lord percival
lord percival: friendly reminder not to get a red card before playoffs
carlos: i’m not going to get red card
lord percival: just saying that if they go after Oscar you can’t punch them
carlos: you think i can't control myself?
lord percival: …
Carlos: charles???
***
An athletes worst fear is not being traded, it is not a terrible coach or team, not the diminishing of skill. An athlete's worst fear is injury.
The agonizing existence of sitting out of practice. Of recovery. Of taking it easy. Needing help to walk down the hallway, to put on shoes. The twinge that exists forever after the injury, the fear of a reappearance. You go crazy, you lash out, you push yourself too hard too fast. Desperate to do something.
And there’s Oscar. On the ground in the last agonizing minutes of overtime, with a sharp pain blazing through his ankle. Ankles are scary. Twisting your ankle is no big deal, back in the game pretty much immediately. A sprain? A torn ligament? Now that’s worse. And Oscar knows this is not a simple twisting of the ankle.
The whistle had blown seconds ago, ringing in Oscar’s ears. Someones yelling at him, he can’t really figure out who. He needs to get up. There’s three minutes left. A hand lands on his shoulder, jolting him out of his fog.
It’s Carlos. His eyes creased in worry, lips painted in a slight frown. His mouth opens to say something, to help Oscar up maybe, before the yelling starts again. Now Oscar can see it's someone from the other team, from the Hairpins. From Oscar’s old team.
It’s sudden, when Carlos gets up from his squat next to Oscar. He stands and presses himself chest-to-chest to the other player, blocking Oscar from view. He’s yelling something in Spanish that Oscar doesn’t understand, assumedly curse words that Duolingo doesn’t teach you.
The ref gets to the scene, finally. “Break it up! Break it up!”
A hand lands on Oscar’s shoulder again, “Okay Oscar lets get you off the field,” it’s Kim, ready to examine the injury. The walk off the field is embarrassing. The crowd a mix of claps, of screams, of boos.
He’s set on the bench, next to Logan, who looks sympathetically at Oscar, wide-eyed and spooked. He doesn’t say anything, just scoots over to give Kim more room.
“I’m going to take your boot off okay? Tell me if it hurts.” Kim says softly, already focused on his task. Spoiler Alert: it fucking hurts. A sharp exhale leaves Oscar's mouth, eyes squeezed shut.
Oscar opens his eyes, focuses on something that is arguably more painful, the restart of the soccer game. Distantly he can hear Kim say that he’s going to rotate his ankle, see his range of motion. Oscar nods, bracing for the pain but with eyes focused on where Max restarts the game, passing the ball back to Zhou, playing for time.
The ball goes to Pierre on the outside. A pain in his ankle. The ball goes to Carlos in the middle. Less pain. He passes up to Charles. More pain. The other team steals the ball. The hands leave his ankle.
“Looks to be just a sprain. Nothing torn. You should be able to make the playoffs with a brace assuming we win this game.” Kim diagnoses. It’s a relief, a weight taken off of Oscar’s shoulders. They have a few weeks to recover before then, to practice. That time extended should they win this game.
The ball is stolen again by Checo, before going up to Max. Max lobs the ball to the other side of the field where Charles is running up the wing. There is only a minute left. Carlos cuts in central, Max follows suit with Alex taking up the space for the drop. Charles crosses the ball into the goal box, soaring through the air. 30 seconds left. Carlos jumps for it, as does his defender. The ball is redirected by Carlos’s head, rocketing straight into the back of the top left corner of the net.
They won.
All the guys on the bench jump up except for Oscar, unable to do so. Oscar doesn’t jump up, or yell, or scream. He laughs. A whole hearted laugh. Of course it was Carlos.
The game is over, and instead of posing for the pictures or celebrating with the team on the field, Carlos comes running over to him. “Oscar! Are you okay?!” Sliding down onto the turf, Carlos takes up the spot where Kim once was, hands gently holding Oscars ankle. Its different with Carlos here, his hands on Oscar. It's awkward, almost uncomfortable. Oscar hopes he doesn’t look weird from Carlos’s angle.
“Uh..its okay. Sprained.”
Carlos lets out a wounded noise, a sharp exhale. He too knows what it’s like to be injured.
“Kim said if I’m careful with it then I can be back for the playoffs.”
Carlos starts nodding his head vigorously, almost like a bobblehead. It’s..cute. The way his eyes narrow in concentration as well. “Ok, ok, ok, you will go home with me.”
“What? Carlos I can get myself home, I’ll call an uber.” Oscar cheeks feel hot, embarrassment spreading from his head down to the center of his chest, a warm ball of heat.
“No, no, no, you go with me, I take care.” Carlos says, insistent. He shuffles back to stand in front of Oscar, hand held out.
Oscars eyes dart from the hand to Carlos’s face, considering. Carlos looks earnest. His big watery eyes concerned, eyebrows slightly furrowed. Oscar must have been staring for a while, Carlos shifts, eyes drawn now to the turf, head lowered and he moves to take the hand back.
“No!” Oscar yelps, before reaching out and grabbing Carlos’s hand. Carlos’s head snaps up, a boyish smile slowly stretching across his face. He pulls Oscar up, navigating his other arm around Oscar’s waist, careful to keep Oscar’s injured ankle in the air. Oscar's arm lands across Carlos’s shoulder, easy with their matching heights. (Though Oscar feels he's got at least one cm on Carlos)
The short walk to the locker room is awkward. Oscar doesn’t know what to say, oh thanks Carlos I know we’ve been playfully beefing on the internet but now you're being kind of sweet, oh and also I'm insanely attracted to you. He feels very self aware of every movement, of every inch of his body and of Carlos’s. He hopes he doesn’t smell so bad after the game, but 90 minutes of soccer can do that to a person.
Oscar says nothing the whole walk, but neither does Carlos. When they enter the locker room Carlos drops him off at Oscar’s stall. Oscar is immediately swarmed by Lando, Logan, Zhou, Charles, and Max, asking questions over each other about Oscar’s injury. Oscar though is still staring at Carlos, who only nods before heading over to his own stall.
“Are you okay?” Logan asks, eyes filled with worry, hands wringing.
“You can still play right?” Asks Zhou, concern etched over his features.
“Do you need help with anything?” Questions Charles, not waiting for an answer before he decides to grab Oscar's leg, rolling down his socks to help take his shin guards off.
“Do you need me to drive you home?” Interjects Lando, looking awkward but sincere in his offer.
“Do you want me to find him in the parking lot and punch him for you?” Max questions, eyes equal parts angry and concerned, an offer that if Oscar said yes to he’s sure Max would fulfill it.
“I think Carlos has that covered.” Snorts Charles from where he has moved on to Oscar’s other leg, despite Oscars sputtered protests between the bombardment of questions. Max lightly hits the back of Charles’s head, Charles retaliating by slapping Max’s hand away.
“Oh my god, let me answer!” They all suddenly stop moving around Oscar, all frozen, even Charles who has moved on to untying the laces of the cleat on Oscar’s uninjured foot.
“Ok. Yes I’m fine, it’s sprained. Yes I should be able to play in the next game if I take care of it during the rest period and play with a brace. Nobody needs to fight anyone for me. And no I don’t need help with anything, and I don’t need a ride home because Carlos is taking me to his place.” Oscar huffs, kicking his uninjured leg out slightly before taking off his own cleat by himself, thank you very much Charles.
The crowd around Oscar’s stall is still quiet, or as quiet as a bunch of professional soccer players in a locker room can be. When Oscar looks up from where he has put on his regular sneakers, he sees them all eyeing each other, Lando making a hand motion that looks suspiciously like he's gesturing for money.
“You ready?” Interjects Carlos, appearing in the circle of people in front of Oscar. Oscar quickly grabs a sweatshirt hanging in his locker, grabs his phone and wallet. “Yes, Yes I am, let's go.”
He outstretched his hand again, the rest of the group having shifted to the side, whispering while looking over at them.
Oscar is about to take his hand again, when Kim appears in front of him, holding crutches. “Here before you go these are for you, you should only need them for a day or two. Oh! And make sure you ice and elevate that when you get back.”
“Thanks Kim.” Oscar says, hand redirected from Carlos’s outstretched one to the crutches. Crutches are terrible. They are clunky, awkward, and they always hurt your armpits no matter what. Placing them correctly under his arms took more effort than it should’ve and when he looks back up at Carlos he is glaring at him…or at the crutches?
Oscar blushes, embarrassed again, not liking Carlos to see him weakened when Oscar’s whole thing is pretending to be better than Carlos. “Uh..I know the crutches are kind of inconvenient…I can get a ride with someone else if it bothers you.”
Carlos’s head snaps up from his gaze on the crutches, eyes wide, before shaking his head. “No, no I take you, I can take you.” He moves forward and grabs the stuff that Oscar had to set down to get the crutches under him.
“Okay ready?” Carlos asks, gaze drifting over Oscar. Oscar nods, sheepish. “Ok let 's go, vamos, vamos.” They both walk, or hobble in Oscar’s case, out of the locker room, the suspicious sound of laughter starting as the door closes behind them.
Unlike the walk to the locker room, the walk to the car is not silent. The clunky metal sounds of the crutches ring in Oscar’s head, while Carlos seems oblivious, humming the tune to that one obnoxious song he adores so much. “Mm mm mm smooth operator…”
They arrive, finally, at Carlos’s stupid Volkswagen Golf. Carlos rushes ahead of Oscar, opens both the passenger seat door and the passenger side backseat door. “Here, give me the crutches.”
It's a bit of a struggle, getting the crutches out from under Oscar's arms while trying not to hit Carlos’s car that he's leaning against with them. He finally does and hands them to Carlos, who throws them into the backseat of the car.
Carlos goes to grab Oscar's hand, presumably to help Oscar into the passenger seat of the car.
An irrational anger tides over Oscar, embarrassment and frustration burning up in his chest, he dismisses Carlos’s hand. “I can get into the car by myself thanks.” And Oscar does. He hops his way into the passenger seat, closes the door, refusing to look at Carlos as he rounds the car to the driver seat, a new feeling of shame rising in him.
Carlos gets in the car and pulls out into the street on the way to his apartment. Carlos fiddles with the radio, the air, the volume, and eventually the rear-view mirror, unable to stay idle. Oscar risks a glance over at him, which only greatens the shame already welling up in his throat.
Carlos keeps fidgeting, eyes on the road, sometimes drifting over to Oscar before seemingly catching himself and focusing forward again. His full lips rest in a pout. It’s too much for Oscar.
Oscar reaches his hand over and sets it on Carlos’s leg. He hears Carlos softly gasp, but he cannot look at him while he says what he wants to say “I’m..i’m sorry that was rude. You’re just trying to help me and I appreciate it. I just get frustrated sometimes when I’m injured or when I feel like a burden. So, I’m sorry I lashed out, you didn’t deserve that.”
He feels Carlos rest his hand on where Oscars is laying on Carlos’s leg. Eyes flicking toward Oscar for the first time since his outburst in the parking lot. “Thank you. I understand. I no like being injured either. But…you are not a burden, I want to help you. I…care” A blush rises on Carlos’s face, probably similar to how Oscar looks right now.
Oscar flips his hand around and interlaces his fingers with Carlos’s. “I know, thank you. You are doing so good helping me.” The blush on Carlos’s face intensifies with that sentence. Carlos shyly smiles and nods.
Their hands stay intertwined the whole drive back to Carlos’s apartment.
***
Carlos jumps out of his car as soon as it's parked in the apartment parking lot. He runs around to the passenger door, once again opening the door for Oscar. “To remember the moment” Carlos says, before Oscar notices the phone in Carlos’s hand, capturing a photo of Oscar glaring up at him from inside the Volkswagen Golf.
This time when Carlos puts away the phone and offers Oscar help out of the car, Oscar takes it. He lets Carlos grab his crutches as well before he hands them to Oscar so he can position them under his armpits. Carlos grabs the rest of both their stuff in the back of his car before leading the way to the apartment elevator.
In the elevator Carlos seems nervous again, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. Show off. “I uh..it might be messy…”
Oscar shrugs, not unaware of his own reputation of being a bit messy. “It’s fine mate I don’t mind.”
Carlos lets out a small sigh of relief.
The elevator doors open to Carlos’s floor and Oscar is led over to Carlos’s apartment, number 8155. Carlos opens the door wide, insisting that Oscar enter the room first.
He doesn’t know why Carlos was so worried, the apartment seems clean enough for him. A few empty cans thrown around and some blankets out of place but the couch seems clean enough for Oscar to sleep on. Enough pillows and blankets for him to sleep as comfortably as an injury and a couch allow.
Oscar starts to hobble his way over when he hears Carlos make a seemingly offended sound behind him. He stops to turn around and sees Carlos looking at him in confusion.
“What are you doing?”
Oscar looks back and forth from the couch and from Carlos, confused. “...I’m going to the couch…to get ready to sleep.”
Carlos looks genuinely insulted by this. “ You are injured! You don’t sleep on couch, I will sleep on the couch.” He argues, hands gesture between himself, Oscar, and the couch in an attempt to prove him point, “You will sleep on the bed, come.” He gestures, hand waving Oscar over.
Oscar shakes his head, “What? This is your apartment. You sleep in your bed and I can sleep here.” Oscar argues, and unable to not take a dig at Carlos, continues “You are too old to be sleeping on the couch, you’ll break your back.”
Carlos rolls his eyes and throws his hand in the air. “Not funny Oscar.” He looks between Oscar and the door that Oscar presumes leads to the bedroom. “Fine! How about we both sleep in bed, is big.” Carlos looks annoyed, but that ever persisting blush that had been present all night makes its return on Carlos’s cheeks.
Oscar can feel his ears heat up, he looks between Carlos and the door, nibbling on his lips in thought. It can’t be that bad. I mean I’d rather sleep on the bed and I can’t just let Carlos sleep on the couch. Ok, yeah fine. “Okay, fine, both in the bed.” Oscar asserts gaze drawn back over to Carlos.
Carlos jerks, as if he wasn’t expecting Oscar to concede so easily. “Yes, yes, ok..um follow me.”
Carlos’s bedroom is nice. There's some clothes on his floor, a protein bar wrapper on his nightstand, but his bed is big, and has the softest looking blue doona on it. Carlos walks over to what is presumably his side of the bed, muttering to himself in spanish.
Oscar sets his crutches against Carlos’s wall, facing away from Carlos to give him some privacy. Oscar pulls off his sweatshirt and undershirt, standing shirtless and with only his shorts on. This will have to be good enough because he has no pajamas here.
When Oscar hears rustling with the doona he turns around to see Carlos standing shirtless with long checkered pajama pants on. Heat rises even more on Oscar's cheeks as he looks for what is probably too long at Carlos’s smooth waxed and muscled chest. Jesus Christ.
Snapping out of it, Oscar hops over to the bed and pulls down the doona on his side, when he sees Carlos look up at him eyes widened before letting out a small cough. Carlos pulls his eyes away and enters the bed, Oscar doing the same on his side.
“Goodnight Oscarino”
A small laugh escapes Oscar’s lips. “Goodnight Carlos.”
Carlos’s bed is soft, and the awkwardness melts away as Oscar lays in the bed, meer minutes away from sleep. Or at least he was, if Carlos wouldn’t stop shifting and moving everytime Oscar was almost in dreamworld. It is Oscar’s last straw when Carlos continues to move almost fifteen minutes after they said their goodnights.
“Carlos? Can you help me?” Oscar whispers, blearily, still under the fog of almost-sleep.
He can see Carlos whip around in the bed, now facing Oscar.
“Yes, anything.”
“Come here,” Oscar pats the mattress in the middle of the bed, “lay on your back.” Carlos looks confused at Oscar, but follows the directions, laying closer to Oscar while on his back.
“Good.” Oscar whispers, before shuffling closer to Carlos, careful of his injury, before laying his head on Carlos’s chest. He can feel Carlos’s breath halt, frozen and tense. If Oscar were more away he might be more nervous, but the cloud of almost-sleep keeps him calm.
Oscar lifts his head to look up at where Carlos is looking down at him. He looks funny. Chin tucked down creating a fold, eyes wide, mouth hanging open, nostrils so wide Oscar can almost see up them. A pity really, that Oscar still finds him attractive. Oscar leans forward, presses a soft kiss on Carlos’s lips, before whispering, “Thank you, you did so good.”
Oscar pulls back to see Carlos, deer-in-the-headlights expression plastered all over his face. Oscar leans in for one more soft kiss. One that this time Carlos was more ready for, a soft, shy reciprocation.
Oscar pulls away, looks at Carlos’s face one last time. Eyes now watery with joy, small smile lines beginning to become apparent by the corners of his eyes, a wide smile on Carlos’s face. Oscar smiles softly back at him before leaning down once again, this time to rest his head back on Carlos’s chest and close his eyes to sleep.
Drifting away Oscar can hear the fast beat of Carlos’s heart under his ear. A sleepy smile stretches over his face.
“Carlos?” He says softly.
“Sí?” Carlos answers, soft and shy,
Oscar’s smile presses into Carlos’s chest. “Go to sleep.”
Carlos huffs, a silent laugh. He looks up at his ceiling, arm coming down to hold Oscar’s body close, before closing his eyes.
“Yes Cariño”
***
The next morning, Carlos wakes up to the errant rays of sun peaking through his window, Oscar still resting peacefully on top of him. He reaches blindly over to find his phone, and pulls up his whatsapp messages with Charles.
Whatsapp msgs. w/ lord percival
Yesterday:
lord percival: i guess i didn’t tell you not to get a yellow card
Today:
carlos: charles! He fell asleep!!!
lord percival: okay…?
carlos: on. my. chest.
lord percival: LMAOOOOO
carlos: Charles!
carlos: you are not helpful.
***
Charles doesn’t need to know everything.