Chapter Text
Anglosax Intelligence Service Country Brief
The Republic of Hiberia
The Republic of Hiberia is a populous Southern Evropean state on the Mediterranean. Hiberia is an old country with a rich history of multiculturalism.
Twenty-five years ago, a referendum was passed, and the Most Serene Kingdom of Hiberia declared itself a Republic, dissolving the former constitutional monarchy. The queen at the time was the last of her dynasty and reform-minded. She stepped down without much issue. As she was never married, she did not have any royal issue to continue the dynasty. The former queen still maintained a political presence in the country, though she was not allowed to run for executive positions.
A new constitution was drafted, and executive power was vested in a president, who would serve five-year terms up to twice consecutively, and no more than three terms in total. The legislature remains unicameral (i.e., there is only one house of legislation), although it has been noted in the constitution that this can be changed. There is universal suffrage. The nobility was largely nominal to begin with, but some particularly well-known noble families threw their lots in with the republicans. Any remaining royalist noble houses were allowed to leave the country. The Hiberian legislature has made it clear to self-exiled noble houses that any attempt to reinstate a monarchy will be met with military force.
The first two elections, although imperfect, were successful in their purpose. The first ten years of the Hiberian Republic saw major strides in the country, particularly with regard to the overhauling of the education system from pre-school through to higher education. However, this decade also saw the privatization of several formerly public assets - including much of the infrastructure (e.g., public transportation) and, crucially, the health-care system. As a result, many individuals - especially in rural areas - were cut off from opportunities in the capital. Public health issues abound in the rural regions of Hiberia.
Thus, Hiberia slid into a model of urban wealth accumulation at the expense of an impoverished rural class. Fifteen years ago, however, a new executive was elected, a media mogul who ran the biggest private television network in the country even prior to the dissolution of the monarchy: President Julio Fernandez. Fernandez ran on a reform-focused platform and vowed to eradicate poverty and modernize the country. He did modernize the country; he did not eradicate poverty. He is also notorious for his aggressive politicking, threatening and cajoling his way into consolidating power and getting legislative support for his endeavors. Analysts have pointed to his style of politics as the fulcrum for the ease with which he removed term limits - despite some resistance from political factions and much of the academy - and, consequently, why Fernandez is on his third consecutive term.
Outwardly, Hiberia looks immaculate: it is a rapidly modernizing state, with diverse foreign direct investment opportunities, and has a famously robust educational system that creates world-class academics. However, in addition to poverty, failing infrastructure, and the lack of universal healthcare (etc), there is also significant brain drain. A truism has developed: “No one worthwhile stays in Hiberia for long.” Young people, in particular, seem to be leaving in large numbers.
Hiberia is a moderately economically developed country. It is frequently criticized for its lack of transparency in the political process. It is socially progressive - one of the first countries globally to legalize same-sex marriage, for example, and has complete separation of church and state - which is why it has largely remained untouched by international condemnation, but dissent is frequently stamped out. Voter suppression is tied to wealth, or the lack thereof. There is much wealth in the country, but the wealth remains concentrated at the top. Economic mobility is very difficult to come by. Several attempts to control universities have been thwarted by the academy; largely, scholars and analysts note, because so many scholars who teach at universities across the country are actually foreign nationals.
The State University of Hiberia (SUH) is an exemplary educational institution. Its Law faculty is particularly well-noted, but all of its schools and colleges are ranked very high internationally. SUH has recently expanded its international outreach and, as a result, many international students spend 4+ years in the capital of Hiberia, Navar. The goal is essentially a better rate of replacement for the people leaving; but this model is decried (albeit quietly) by many university professors and administrators as deeply unsustainable.
Hiberia’s tenuous balance of social progressivism yet economic and political disparity - to the extent one can call this a balance - is rapidly becoming more untenable. The president has announced his candidacy for a fourth term. His only challengers are from the same party; they are expected to bow out - their running is largely symbolic and meant to inspire a fake sense of democracy. Rural areas around the country have deeply "rigged" local elections as well, albeit with some radical outliers. The capital has never been a stronghold for the president, but other large cities are.
[scribbled beneath this brief is a note from the Anglosax Intelligence Service's Assistant Director for the Mediterranean Region]
FYI - Rumor has it that trouble is brewing around the elections next year. But then again, that’s been a rumor for the last fifteen years. Who’s to say anything will change now?
"Do you have to be so goddamn boring all the time, Norris?"
It was a beautiful late afternoon in Navar, and it figured that Lando was spending it being berated by his flatmate. The sun was still in the sky at 5:30pm. The long days felt like a revelation even a few weeks into living in the Hiberian capital. It was warm, still, but a blessed breeze filtered through the open window, offering relief against the humidity. To cap it off, it was a Friday. So, all in all, pretty ideal.
Except:
"We're in a tropical paradise, and you don't even want to go drinking?"
Ah, there it was. El kicker.
Lando leaned back in his office chair, testing the limits of how far it would go before he risked having the whole thing give out beneath him. He glared at George as best as he could. The effect wasn’t quite so salient as it would have been the right way up, but at least he could see the top half of George's face. Which was great; viewed upside-down, George’s indignant expression became even funnier.
"For some kind of a genius, your memory is awfully selective, George. Also, Hiberia is not tropical," Lando sighed. Jesus Christ, Lando just wanted to chill and play a video game. Or draw. Or read, even. He was fine being dragged out after all that. At least he'd be in a better place to inevitably zone out at whatever bar George or one of the other Anglo-kids had picked out and dragged him to.
"For some kind of a genius," George shot back, "you're such a knob."
Lando applauded the wit. Then he ducked out of the trajectory of a thrown pillow. "Oi!"
"Why can’t you just be cool? We’re in a new country! Jesus, Lando!"
"Oh my god, George, I just don't want to go now. I can meet up with you lot later."
"But you won't!" George exclaimed, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm gonna get back and you'll be passed out on the couch. And another Friday will have passed by, and you will still be a loser."
Okay. Valid. Not the loser bit. Lando knew George didn't mean it like that. Never did. He was annoying, but he wasn't mean. Nothing worth taking personally.
But it was true that Lando wouldn't make the effort to go and catch up to them if he'd already made the choice to stay home by himself at first.
Lando sighed. He sat up straight and rolled his chair around to face George. There was a glimmer of hope in his old friend's face. It softened Lando’s resolve.
Bastard.
"God. Fine. Whatever. But-" Lando hastily added as George cheered and pumped his fists. "I am not fucking drinking. You hear me? And you can tell all your friends that right upfront."
"Yeah, yeah, whatever," George said, turning on his heel and heading towards Lando's dresser. He pulled open a drawer and started picking through Lando’s stuff.
Lando walked over and pushed George away from his dresser. "I can dress myself, mum."
"Not if you want to get laid."
Lando scowled. "Especially if I want to get laid. Which, by the way, I don't need to get. Laid, I mean."
But the incorrigible bastard was still digging through Lando's stuff. He pulled out a light, sage-colored sweater and tossed it at Lando. "Wear this. And, yes, you do."
“I don’t-”
“When was the last time?”
“Over the summer, if you must know,” Lando grumbled. It was a nice sweater, granted, but he wouldn’t say as much in front of George.
“Like up the butt?”
“You’re literally dating a dude! Why is it that every time you ask me about sex, you sound like you’ve never even considered kissing a guy?” Lando cried. “No, I did not have anal sex that time.”
“Whatever, professor,” came the easy reply. George threw a pair of black jeans onto Lando’s bed. “And this too. Point is, you need a good fucking. Up the butt.” He pointedly ignored Lando’s gags of protest. “You’ve been intolerable. As a human being, I mean.”
“And this is why my mum was happy you were also enrolling at SUH?” Lando complained. “So you can tear me down as a person?”
“Probably.”
Finally, George stepped up to Lando and shoved a pair of socks into his chest. He sighed. “Seriously. I want you to be happy.”
“I’m fine,” Lando insisted. “Just because I don’t know what I want to do with my life yet doesn’t mean I’m a shambles.”
“Well,” George said, sucking the air between his teeth in fake sympathy. “You kinda are. But that’s okay. I’m here for you. Whether you get laid or not. Which, again, you should.”
Lando shoved George again, then sat down heavily on his bed. “And you should also go get fucked.”
“I do. Frequently. By my loving boyfriend. Up the butt.”
“Get out of my room.”
“See you in half an hour! Make sure you smell good!” George said as he obeyed Lando’s half-hearted demand.
“Do not get me roofied,” Lando yelled as George shut the door behind himself. All he heard was wild laughter.
No, George wouldn’t actually put him in a position where he’d get hurt. Not on purpose. Lando sighed, still clutching the socks to his chest, and flopped onto his back.
Lando wasn’t unhappy.
He wasn’t happy but he wasn’t depressed.
He was...fine. He was just Lando. He’d figure it out. And if some days felt like he wouldn’t ever figure it out, well, those were still just some days.
He was nineteen. He was just starting college. Honestly, it’d only been like a week since classes had actually begun. George could be a wanker about it all he wanted, but Lando felt okay about himself. He didn’t need George to bully him into going out. He could say no, right now, and be fine.
Still. It was a beautiful almost-evening in Navar.
Lando heaved himself up from the bed with an effort, grabbed the clothes that he had agreed to wear, and stalked to the shower.
George had buried the lede: they were bar-hopping. So he couldn’t get nice and comfortable zoning out at a single bar. Oh, no. He’d barely gotten through his soda, or water, or mocktail (on the rare occasions they had those!), when someone would announce, “Pack it up, lads, let’s go!”
At least there were more kids than just the usual lot from Anglosax. Some Gallian kids. A couple Flems (Lando’s mum would probably be thrilled if he made a few friends from the Flemishlands). There were even some Hiberian people in the crew. It was, frankly, too many people for Lando to keep track of. They were friendly enough, if pretty rowdy, but they were all drinking, to a one, and Lando knew that in a couple of bars’ time any conversations would be pretty hard to come by.
But it was actually kinda nice to go out. He got to take in more of the city, and it really was gorgeous. Everything about it was breathtaking. If he knew more about art history, he could probably appreciate it more. As it was, everything he knew about art was self-taught. Maybe it would be cool to teach himself some art history while he was in Navar.
When the inevitable “pack it up!” order came (this time barked by a Gallian girl who changed things up with an Allons-y!), Lando was pretty happy to burst back out into the open air, now pleasantly cool for September. He was begrudgingly grateful for George’s choice of sweater, even if he wouldn’t have said no to another layer.
They ended up at a surprisingly quiet place, a little out of the way but in a very charming, if rustic-looking, part of the city. The gentlemen smoking outside seemed surprised to see a gaggle of college-aged kids walk in, all slightly tipsy except for Lando who shot them a sheepish, mildly apologetic smile. The bartender didn’t seem as surprised as everyone else; he just waved them in.
The space was nice and open. There was plenty of standing room, which made it feel way less claustrophobic than most of the other places they’d been to. The seating was arranged seemingly to facilitate one-on-one conversation. But a group of ten or so people had pulled together a bunch of the two-seater tables, and were having a lively discussion when they noticed the group of students walk in.
One of them nodded in their direction, chuckling, and the others joined in. Feeling a little self-conscious, Lando helped some of the other students join a few tables together. He hopped up on a stool at one of the far ends.
“School’s back, eh?” a man yelled from the corner-group. He looked to be in his late-30s, with shaggy dark hair and a more-pepper-than-salt beard. “You all old enough to drink?”
“Sí!” George cried out, to Lando’s horror, and the people laughed good-naturedly. Lando smiled despite his embarrassment. There was no malice in the interaction, and that set him at ease. Honestly, everything about the atmosphere seemed so chill. There were one or two people scattered throughout the bar, but the place as a whole seemed to revolve around this group of regulars - because how could they not be regulars?
“Sí, eh? Very good!” the man laughed. Then he called across the bar. “Ay, Carlos!”
Lando turned his head to follow the man’s voice. Then he nearly fell off his stool.
Turning around now was the single most handsome man Lando had ever seen. He looked to be in his 20s, with effortlessly fluffy, dark hair, and a scruffy not-beard. His skin was sun-kissed and freckled, his smile easy and real. And Jesus Christ, was Lando grateful this wasn’t some dingy old dungeon of a pub, because he could admire the cut of this man’s jaw, the strength of his nose, his full lips.
Carlos.
Of course he was a Carlos.
Lando would have been content to keep staring, but Carlos’, “¿Qué, Nando?” shook him out of it. Thank god for that, too. Not a great way to start a crush, getting caught staring.
Even his voice was hot. Yeah, fine, okay, it was a crush-at-first-sight.
“Help Luis bring beers for all these kids, eh? We have to welcome them to Hiberia!”
“Señor, I’m Hiberian!” protested one of the girls who’d accompanied them tonight.
Nando - Nando? - tutted loudly. “Have you bought them all drinks yet?”
“Ah. No?”
“Then you’re not doing your job, eh, niña? Vamos, Carlos-”
“Nando, you’re drunk, but for you I will do this,” Carlos laughed, walking around the back of the counter to help the barman - Luis? - with pouring beers. Did Carlos work there? He wasn’t wearing a uniform or apron. He was wearing a neatly-pressed, blue button-down, a large leather duster, and dark jeans. That didn’t scream “server” to Lando. He just seemed like some dude.
Some really hot dude.
Shut up, Norris.
Luis handed Carlos a tray to set the pints on, then slapped his back, saying something to him in Hiberian. Carlos laughed, and the sound made Lando feel warm. What the fuck. Then, Carlos was walking towards him - them - and Lando stiffened as Carlos started handing off drinks to every one of the students, heralded by cheers. It didn’t escape Lando’s notice that some of the students gathered were giving Carlos the old double-take.
It made Lando feel weirdly possessive.
Finally, after everyone else had gotten their beers, Carlos approached Lando, a broad smile on his handsome face. Regretting his life choices more now than he ever had before, Lando just held up a hand and stammered, “No- no thanks.”
Carlos blinked his very brown eyes and endless eyelashes. What the actual fuck. “You’re passing up a free drink? Aren’t students always starving or thirsty?”
Lando smiled, shaking his head, “No, no, it’s just, I don’t drink.”
“Oh!” Carlos said. Lando felt so stupid. So childish. But Carlos just smiled in response. “Can I get you something else, then?”
Lando’s stomach flipped. “Y-you don’t have to!”
“No, no, I insist. I will just take this beer for myself-” and here, Carlos leaned in conspiratorially. Lando’s brain nearly melted out of his nose. Carlos smelled so good. “Do not tell Nando, please. He will kick my ass if he finds out I’m taking advantage of his soft spot for students.”
Lando couldn’t help it. He laughed, loud and sincere, for the first time that day. “I promise. My lips are sealed.”
Carlos grinned at him, and Lando was struck by how that made his face even more handsome. “You are very generous. So! Your drink. What would you like?”
Lando matched Carlos’ grin. His heart was still fluttering at the proximity, but he felt weirdly at ease. “If you insist-”
“And I do!”
“...then I’ll have a ginger ale, please.”
“One ginger ale, coming right up!”
“W-wait,” Lando said, reaching out to touch Carlos’ shoulder before he could stop himself. Carlos immediately turned back to face Lando. “Do you work here?” Lando asked. He was relieved that his tone didn’t sound immediately pathetic.
“Me? No, no. Luis, he’s a good friend of my father. He’s like my uncle.” Then, stunningly, Carlos said, “Ah, lo siento. I’m Carlos Sainz. You are…?”
“Lando Norris,” Lando said, blushing a little. Carlos’ features lit up, as though he had just learned a very important piece of information. It made Lando feel immensely gratified and marshmallow-soft all at once.
“Well, Lando-” and the way Carlos said it was magic, with the two syllables melting into one another, the resulting emphasis on the “n” flicking off his tongue like something indulgent, “I would like to buy you a drink.”
Oh.
Lando smiled at him, suddenly feeling a surge of confidence. “Then yes. I’d love a ginger ale.”
“And I would love to get you one,” Carlos said, softly, and there was no way in hell that this hot Hiberian guy wasn’t flirting with Lando.
Lando just smiled at him. Carlos grinned back, tapped the table twice, then headed to the bar. Lando tried to see if he could catch George’s eye, but, sure enough, the idiot had his arm around Alex, trying to get a kiss or two out of him. Lando rolled his eyes. George would have to hear all about it tomorrow, once he got over his hangover.
Hear all about what? Lando thought to himself. Then, as he saw Carlos walk back, a smile still extant on his beautiful face, carrying a glass of ginger ale in one hand, and Lando’s - now his own - thing of beer in the other, Lando realized he would be happy to report however the evening turned out.
“For you, Lando,” Carlos said, as he set the glass of ginger ale in front of Lando. Then, hesitating for only a second, he gestured at the table and asked, “Can I...?”
Fuck. “Oh my god, please, I’m so sorry!” Lando exclaimed, rising from his stool. “Here, let me-”
“No, no, I can pull up a chair-”
But it was so crowded at the table. Carlos would be knocking elbows with Alex, and he did not want that view. “Here,” Lando said, pointing to a separate table - still set up for one-on-one conversation. “We can go there?”
“I don’t want to take you away from your friends-”
“God, no, please do,” Lando said urgently, and Carlos laughed. That made Lando happy. “They’re all going to be shitfaced by the time we leave, so I would love you to take me away. F-from my, uh, friends.”
“Well, if you’re okay with it.”
In response, Lando hopped off his stool, drink in hand, and walked over to the other table. Carlos laughed again and followed him there. They settled down at the table, and Lando smiled at Carlos. “Thank you. I feel like I can think again.”
“Bar-hopping, eh?”
“Yep,” Lando sighed.
“Who convinced you?”
Lando nodded towards the back of George’s head. “That one. Old friend. Never said anything about the hopping part.”
Carlos winced sympathetically. “Ah. Yes, that is unfortunate.”
“This place is nice, though,” Lando said. Carlos’ grin had a tinge of pride to it.
“Yes? I’m glad you think so. My friends and I, we are here a lot. I defended my thesis here first before I actually defended it in front of my professors,” Carlos chuckled. “Nando, over there? Way scarier than any of my professors.”
Lando smiled. That wasn’t surprising. “Did you study at SUH?”
“I did. Finished my masters last summer. Gracias a dios,” he added, lifting his beer heavenwards. Lando laughed, and lifted his own glass up to the sky. “What about you?”
“Ah, I just started. Dunno what I’m doing yet. Took a year off after I finished my A Levels. Dunno if I figured anything out, but I didn’t want to stay in Anglosax.” Lando laughed a little, shaking his head. “Nearly twenty and still undeclared in college.”
Carlos shrugged. “Ah, that’s normal. Keep your mind open. You might surprise yourself.”
Lando smiled at him. “That’s what I’m hoping for.”
“Well, that’s the easy part,” Carlos sighed, leaning forward on his elbows. He nodded over to the gaggle of students, who were getting increasingly rowdy. Nobody - none of the regulars, anyway - really seemed to mind, though. The regulars were still chatting away, showing each other things on their phone, and having spirited debates in Hiberian. “The hard part, Lando, is that you do not drink in college, and your friends, they seem like they like a drink.”
Lando nodded miserably, running a hand through his hair. “I know. I just...can’t. I hate the taste. I hate the smell, especially when it’s liquor. I hate...what it does.”
He quelled an influx of disjointed memories and took a long sip of his ginger ale. It was sharp against his throat. That helped. Carlos was looking at him, a little concerned, but Lando just smiled and shrugged. “So, no drinking for me. And hopefully they’ll calm the fuck down and stop drinking as much. Eventually.”
Carlos nodded. Then, he looked down at the beer in his hand, raised it, and said, “This? This is only my second beer tonight. It will also be my last one.”
Lando blinked in surprise, then gasped. “You don’t have to stop drinking on my account!” he protested.
“No, no, I want to,” Carlos said, and his voice was filled with conviction. “Something tells me I’ve gotten very lucky today. I want to make sure I remember everything.”
Lando blushed hard, but he couldn’t help the grin that spread across his face. He felt so at ease, so relaxed with this man, Carlos, despite having just met him. “Very bold,” Lando said slowly, raising an eyebrow. “You think you’re getting lucky tonight?”
Amazingly, that flustered Carlos. Lando watched, enraptured, as Carlos ran a slightly self-conscious hand through his hair. It fell back into place, only slightly more disheveled than before. Sexy.
“Ay. I forgot what else getting lucky means. No, no, lo siento, I mean really. I think meeting you today? I think it’s a lucky thing.”
He was still a little red, but Carlos had gotten his articulation back. He smiled, raising his beer towards Lando. “I mean, Lando,” he said, and Lando could spend the rest of his life listening to Carlos say his name, “that if all we do tonight is become good friends? That will be a very lucky thing for me, indeed.”
Lando smiled, clinking his ginger ale against Carlos’ beer. “You’re being very nice to some foreign kid you’ve just met.”
Carlos winked at him. Lando felt his insides melt.
“What can I say? I have a good feeling about you,” Carlos said, and it felt intimate.
An accomplished, intelligent man, respectful and kind, and gorgeous to boot, and he was flirting with Lando. Hard. And it wasn’t a turn-off. In fact, it made Lando feel deeply flattered - and emboldened.
Lando reached towards Carlos, lightly touching his elbow. He leaned in close to Carlos, and murmured, “If you keep this up, I wouldn’t count against getting even luckier.”
Carlos’ eyes widened. Then he blew out a breath, grinning widely. “Querido, I don’t count my chickens before they hatch.”
Querido.
“Good. I did say ‘if.’”
Carlos laughed, and Lando suddenly felt something shift inside him. His stomach was still fluttering, his heart pounding. But he still felt so at ease. So happy.
Happy.
“Ah, you’re nearly done with your ginger ale. Should I-?”
“No,” Lando said suddenly. “No. Um. I’m kinda all barred out, to be honest. Would it be- could I ask you to maybe, um, go on a walk with me? Show me around?”
He would not blush. He would not blush. Lando doggedly continued, watching Carlos tilt his head as he listened. “I’ve only made friends with the other Anglosax kids. They just want to go to the touristy spots. I want to see Navar, like, properly.”
“Well,” Carlos began. “This is a good night city.”
Lando smiled. “And it’s beautiful out. Kinda sucks to be indoors.”
Lando watched Carlos look over at his group of friends. Lando realized - and this did make him blush - that all the regulars had been glancing on and off over at them. Upon catching Carlos’ eye, Nando raised an eyebrow. The others shot him meaningful looks.
Lando looked away. Stop blushing. Stop it. Stop it!
“Yes. I would love to show you around.”
Lando looked back at Carlos, and was treated to a brilliant, wholehearted smile. I’m so very fucked, Lando thought to himself as he hopped off his stool and took Carlos’ proffered arm.
If Lando was fucked, so be it. This was the most fun he’d had in a crazy-long time. No matter what happened by the end of the evening - if anything - it’d still be a one hundred percent improvement compared to his regular day-to-day. Letting Carlos guide him out, Lando pulled his phone out of his pocket and shot George a quick text:
- Maybe c u home. Maybe not. xx u prick
He’d get it.
It was nearly 11pm. Lando had gotten to the last bar - The Lion’s Justice, it was called in Anglo; La Justicia was what everyone called it (Hibernian pub names were as weird as Anglosaxon ones, apparently) - nearly two hours prior. They had walked, endlessly, since, and Lando’s feet were fit to explode.
But, Christ, he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had so much fun with another person. Carlos wasn’t just charming, he was hilarious and goofy. Lando had stitches in his side from laughing at some of Carlos’ stories, especially about what a dumbass kid he’d been.
It was at the end of one of these stories that Carlos smiled and sighed. Lando’s hand had been fixed in the crook of Carlos’ arm since they’d left La Justicia. It was so goddamn cozy.
Well. Lando was a little chilly. But it was still pretty goddamn cozy. Lando could feel how filled out Carlos was underneath his jacket. He had a pleasant heat to him. Frankly, Lando felt like his hand fit perfectly in Carlos’ arm, but that was the crush talking.
“What is it?” Lando asked, watching Carlos’ face.
“I was an idiot,” Carlos said, quietly. He sounded thoughtful. “I didn’t care about my future. Just wanted to fuck around. Have fun. Get into trouble. It was nice, but...I didn’t care. My father is a lawyer, you see. He teaches now, at the law school.”
“Oh! At SUH?”
“Yes,” Carlos smiled. “He is a brilliant man. So brilliant, actually, that everything I am is because of him. Usually, my mother would pick me up from school when I got into trouble. This time…”
Carlos sucked in a breath and grimaced. “This time, it was my father. And when you are a kid with a father like mine, you are terrified of him.”
Lando grimaced too. He knew that fear all too well, though his mother was no less formidable. But he wasn’t half the idiot Carlos had apparently been as a kid. “What did he do?” Lando asked, his voice hushed to match Carlos’.
Carlos chuckled. “He didn’t do anything. He shook hands with the principal, we got in the car, and we drove home. He didn’t say anything.” Carlos shivered. “That was awful. Dios. Horrible. I wanted him to say something, yell at me, tell me what a piece of shit I was. Instead, he was just quiet. Big man like him, and so quiet. That’s when I knew I had really fucked up.”
Lando squeezed Carlos’ arm. Carlos smiled down at him, gently pulling him closer. Their pace was slow; they were strolling by a canal, on a cobblestoned, pedestrian-only street, lit up with beautiful, soft colors. It was...romantic.
“We got to the house,” Carlos continued, turning his gaze away from Lando. He seemed a little somber. Lando longed to touch his face. “He braked in the driveway. He turned to me. I didn’t want to look at him, but I- I don’t know. I looked him in his eyes. And he said: ‘Carlos, what do you care about? Because one day, you will have to decide what it is that matters to you. And you will have to choose how to care.’”
Lando stopped and stared at Carlos. In any context, those words would have hit him like a freight train. But Carlos, twenty-five years old (as Lando had recently learned; his birthday had been just over a week ago), looked like his father had just said those words to him, fresh.
Carlos swallowed. “He put his hand on my shoulder, then he left the car. I stayed there. I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I couldn’t even breathe. When I finally found the strength to leave the car, I knew I had changed. I knew something was different inside me.”
Carlos smiled, and Lando’s heart beat faster. “I started giving a shit. About school, about chores, about my family, about the country, the world. I studied so hard that my mother was terrified I was going to be a lawyer. I actually went to the liberal arts school-”
“Like me!”
Carlos grinned, poking Lando’s nose. Lando scrunched up his face. “Like you. I studied Politics, Philosophy, and Economics. Took some classes in the law faculty. One with my father.” Carlos smirked. “I had to see for myself if he was as great as everyone said.”
“And?”
Carlos sighed wistfully, but he looked so proud. “He was the best.”
Lando smiled. Carlos continued, “I graduated early, got into grad school the next semester, did some fieldwork abroad for my thesis, came back, and realized I had to-”
Carlos stopped. He was looking at Lando, an odd expression in his eyes. Lando leaned in. “Had to what?”
Shaking his head, Carlos chuckled, “Bore you to death with my life story, I guess.”
“That wasn’t boring!” Lando protested. “I still don’t know what I’m doing with my life. I’m open to ideas.”
But Carlos just looked at him and frowned a little. “Why here?” he asked, suddenly.
Lando thought to himself for a little while. Carlos had shared so much of himself with Lando; Lando wanted to give him a thoughtful answer, not the same canned bullshit he gave everyone who asked.
“I wanted to leave home,” Lando said, finally. “I took a gap year to just figure stuff out. I travelled a little, but not a lot. Mostly just worked so I could make money. Feel a bit more independent, you know?”
Carlos nodded. Lando continued, “That’s why I’m 19, nearly 20, starting college. Little late, but I don’t care about that. Honestly, it helped to take the break. I could stop stressing about what other people were doing, which schools they were going to, and think for myself for once. Honestly, Carlos? I did really well in school, but I never liked what I was doing. And I’ve never left home, not really. My dad traveled a lot, for business, but he didn’t really take us with him. He mentioned really liking Hiberia, though.”
Lando paused. When he continued, his tone was wondering: “I don’t know what it was. The way he described it here. Like how much people gave a shit about each other. How warm everything was. Not - like - the weather. Just...people. The place. It felt...ideal, kind of.”
Carlos snorted slightly. Lando, suddenly indignant, glared up at Carlos. “Yeah, yeah, make fun of the sheltered kid.”
He felt bad immediately. Carlos’ eyebrows shot up, and he put his hand atop Lando’s. “Ah, shit, sorry, sorry. I wasn’t making fun of you. I promise.”
Any residual annoyance Lando felt towards Carlos dissipated when he brushed his fingers across Lando’s knuckles. Lando shivered, and Carlos frowned. “Hold on-”
He shrugged his jacket off, and offered it to Lando. Lando should have protested. But, frankly, the idea of wearing Carlos’ clothing trumped any sense of propriety he had. Lando let Carlos help him into the jacket, then slipped his arm back into Carlos’. Satisfied, Carlos explained, “I laughed because I think when you’ve lived anywhere for long enough...well, nothing is ideal.”
He sighed. “We are a very young republic. There is a lot to do. We are...definitely not ideal. But you are right about one thing, Lando.”
Lando looked into Carlos’ eyes, anchored there by the intensity of Carlos’ gaze. There was honest-to-god passion in his eyes, mesmerizing and unnerving at the same time. Lando bit his lip. God, Carlos was already so beautiful, so gorgeous, but with this life, this fire in his eyes, the set of his jaw, the jut of his lip, he looked like something beyond touch, beyond life. He looked like fire itself.
“The people,” Carlos said, his voice a quiet battle-cry. Lando was in thrall. “The people here, Lando, are worth everything. That alone makes this place worth everything.”
Lando realized he wanted to throw himself head first into the flames.
Lando slipped his hand out of the crook of Carlos’ arm, and took his hand, instead, in earnest. Carlos immediately started and looked down at their hands, fingers intertwined. Then, Carlos looked at Lando, that fire still in his eyes. Lando squeezed Carlos’ hand; Carlos squeezed back.
A moment passed like that, their gazes locked, fingers woven together. Lando wondered whether he could hear Carlos’ heart pounding; but, likely, it was probably his own heart beating loud enough for the both of them.
“Lando…” Carlos said, brushing a stray curl away from Lando’s forehead. Lando shivered, again. Christ. He stepped into the touch, closer to Carlos.
The night felt even cooler, all of a sudden, in spite of the jacket. Lando ached, ached for closeness, for Carlos’ heat.
“I’m glad you chose to be here, Lando,” Carlos said, his voice low and rich. “I’m glad I get to meet you.”
Lando kissed him. Threw his arms around Carlos’ neck, and kissed him, hard, with an intensity that made Carlos stagger back, but god, was he stalwart; Carlos just steadied himself and held Lando by the waist, kissing him back just as passionately.
It felt so good. It felt so perfect, so right. Lando had never kissed like this, with as much vigor as hope behind the kiss, and fucking hell, there they were, in the middle of a street, just making out. It went on, and on, and on, Carlos’ arms getting tighter and tighter around Lando until all that was left was for Lando to melt into Carlos.
When Lando pulled away, in lieu of a breath, he just whispered, “I think we both got even luckier.”
Carlos raised his eyebrows, panting lightly. The most gorgeous man Lando had ever seen, and he’d kissed him.
What a night.
“Lando,” Carlos said, slowly. Lando kissed his jaw, and Carlos made a strangled noise. He persevered: “I am a very stupid man. So I want you to tell me exactly what you mean.”
Lando laughed, pressing his hands to Carlos’ chest. He could feel Carlos’ heartbeat. It made his own quicken. “I live in student housing. I assume you have a place?”
Carlos closed his eyes briefly. When he opened his eyes, they were deep with intent. Lando licked his lip. He wanted this man. He needed him. “I have a flat. I live alone. If, uh. If that is relevant.”
“That is very relevant. I would like to spend the night with you there.”
Carlos drew a sharp breath, then cupped Lando’s chin in his hand. “You’re right,” he whispered, then kissed Lando, his tongue brushing the bulb on Lando’s upper lip. Lando made a helpless noise, desperate for more. Carlos gazed at him, then breathed:
“I have just become the luckiest person in the world.”