i just don’t recognize this fool that you have made me - dontburnme (2024)

Logan hears about it before he sees it.

As he walks through the paddock, British weather not sparing them anything, he notices employees decked out in Ferrari red look at him weird, some even whispering if they were with their friends. Logan frowns, looking down at his Williams kit, wondering if Daniel or Oscar slapped stickers on him.

He ignores the passive aggressive comments that come from some of them when they walk by him, calling him a non-driver, or muttering to their friends asking who let an American into the paddock.

It goes like that until he makes it to his garage, the first thing he does is go up to Alex. Oddly enough, it seems like Alex is looking for him too–he looks distressed, panicked.

“Logan, where were you?!” He gasps, running up to him, phone gripped in his hand. Logan looks at him weirdly, clutching the strap of his backpack. “I just got here, Alex, what happened?”

Alex looks at him bewildered, like Logan knows what’s going on. He f*cking doesn’t. Suddenly he’s unlocking his phone, shaking his head. “Honestly Logan, at least tell James or something before he goes and ruins our sponsorships.”

Logan stops Alex, grabbing his arm, and furrows his brows. He asks slowly, “Alex, what the hell are you on about, mate?”

Alex’s jaw drops open, blinking, taken aback as if he didn’t just accuse Logan of being the reason sponsors were pulling their funding. He goes back to his phone, scrolling, before he taps on something and turns the screen towards Logan. It’s one of Carlos’ interviews, albeit one he’s never seen before,

“My boyfriend-” Carlos seems to be thinking about something, eyes wandering towards something behind the camera.

“Your what, Carlos?” The reporter looked at him with wide eyes, mic poised between them.

“Uhm, sorry, not my boyfriend. Uhm, Sargeant-” Carlos continued, unbothered, before he was being pulled away by his PR officer, a distressed look on her face.

The video cuts back to the reporter before Alex pauses, raising his eyebrows.

Logan’s eyes widened. “What the f*ck?” He hisses angrily, holding his head in his hands. There was no f*cking way that was real, there was no f*cking way.

“Is that public?” Logan asks, muffled behind his hands.

“No, it was for post practice interviews posted on the app, so it had to go through editing anyway.” Alex says, matter of factly, tone indescribable.

Logan drags his hands away from his face, sighing. But- “Then how the f*ck did you get that?”

Alex offers him a small smile, looking at the ground as he pockets his phone. “I know his PR officer, sent me the video to talk to you.”

“Oh, alright, uhm.” Logan puts his hands on his hips as he throws his head back again, frustrated. He and Carlos haven’t talked in two weeks, since Spain, and Williams and Ferrari drivers don’t cross paths too often to warrant anything. He doesn’t even have his number or anything, because he dropped his phone into a lake back in Austria and lost access to all of his passwords. So, Carlos is getting punched in the face.

“Is this why those Ferrari employees were looking at me weird?”

Alex nods, pursing his lips. “Probably, mate.”

They stand there, staring before Alex sighs, scratching his head. “Well, uhm, you might want to talk to him.”

Logan shakes his head, eyes widening. “Wait, no, we’re not even dating, Alex!” He exclaims, but Alex pats him on the back and turns away to walk to his garage, ignoring what Logan’s just said.

Looks like Ferrari will have to use Oliver as their second driver today.

He doesn’t see Carlos after the race, but he does see Charles, out of all people. He’s still jittery, his second point of the whole entire season, right behind Daniel. He gets slaps on his backs and handshakes and hugs from his team, Alex jumping on him and Lily cheering.

He grins when they post him on their instagram, a horrible boomerang of him with the background POINTS flickering. James gives him a rare smile, congratulating him before the debrief, something Logan almost falls asleep in. Alex gives him another high five before getting him in a chokehold and rubbing his knuckles into his hair, cheering God bless America as they walk through the halls of the hospitality.

As he walks down the paddock, he gets a text from Oscar, congratulating him, along with a gif of one of his F2 wins, something Logan grins at. Busy typing out a message and looking for a gif of Oscar’s F1 podium, he doesn’t see Charles f*cking Leclerc charging right towards him, his PR officer hot on his heels.

“Sargeant!” A French accent hollers, making him stop and frown, being met with the sudden sight of Charles right in front of him, panting. Logan looks over his shoulders, looks around, making sure there’s no other Sargeant that Charles could be looking for before he answers. “Uh, hi?”

Charles suddenly leans into him, into his ear, whispering. “I just want to test something,” and then Charles is laughing in his ear, almost falling into him as he drags it out, while Logan stands there confused, a little flushed in embarrassment. He looks at the PR officer, who looks tired, boredly looking at them as she waves to some of the other Ferrari personnel that walks by. They don’t seem bothered by their stair driver’s antics, rather looking at Logan like he’s the one laughing maniacally into Charles’ ear.

Logan pushes Charles back with his hand on his shoulder, uncomfortable as he looks down at him. “Mate, are you ok?”

Charles’ smile gets brighter, dimples forming as he nods. “I am better than ever,” and then he’s walking away with no other words, Logan left standing in the middle of the paddock like an idiot. Was there something he wasn’t understanding?

Logan shakes his head, continuing to walk, hugging Daniel when he stumbles upon him near the Red Bull garage, talking to Max.

When he opens TikTok on his burner account ten minutes later, in the safety of his driver’s room, he’s met with five TikToks of pictures of him and Charles in the middle of the paddock, Charles laughing against him as Logan looks down at him. Unfortunately, the pictures don’t capture Logan’s embarrassment enough because the captions vary from Charles laughing at something Logan said in the middle of the paddock was not on my bingo card to did Ferrari finally break Charles?

He clicks the white charles leclerc logan sergeant silverstone search result on the bottom of one of the TikToks, and is met with the photos reposted dozens of times, different moments, before he finds the holy grail of the video. It captures the moment when Logan pushes Charles away, leaning down to say something, and obviously the recorder wasn’t close enough to hear what they were saying. Logan watches in horror when he realizes Charles is looking intently at him, like he hung the stars or something, and it paints the picture that Logan and Charles are like, secretly dating or something because Leclerc fans were crazy like that.

Against his better judgement, Logan opens the comments, where most of the comments ask when the f*ck this happened, while others make them a new driver pairing name: Le Sarge.

Logan doesn’t know whether to cry or go and cry in Alex’s room.

“Did you see it?” Charles is crowding up into Carlos’ space, making him frown. “See what, cabrón?”

Charles huffs, before he says, “Le Sarge,” and leaves, like that explains anything.

What? Is all Carlos is left thinking.

He does see it eventually, one of the reporters mentioning it, making him stutter in confusion as he asks to see what she was talking about, the question being “How close would you say Charles Leclerc, your teammate, is to Logan Sargeant?”

His PR officer pulls him away from the interview, after the reporter quickly follows up with how is your search for a seat going?, closing the interview just two minutes after it started, pulling out her phone and shoving it into his hands.

It’s pictures of Charles laughing into Logan’s ear, almost resting on his shoulder. Another is Logan resting a hand on Charles’ shoulder, leaning down to talk. It was almost like they were going to kiss.


“What is it with you and the Ferrari boys?” Alex cries out, barging into his room, pointing at the pictures now posted on Twitter. Logan holds his hands up, resided. “It was Charles, not me. He was the one that came up to me, alright?”

Alex suddenly narrows his eyes, a little horrified. “Did you- with- both of them?”

Logan jaw drops open. “What? How- how much of a slu*t do you think I am?” Before Alex can even answer, Logan’s continuing. “Charles is perfectly straight, by the way. I saw his girlfriend when I was walking into the paddock,” He adds, dryly, sitting back as he crosses his arms across his chest.

Alex just shrugs before he points to his phone again, “Then why is Charles laughing like you’re the funniest person in the world?”

Logan groans, rolling his eyes. “I didn’t even say anything! He was the one that came up to me, pouncing me to just laugh in my ear. It was so weird.” He grimaces, thinking of the comments of him and Charles. Wrong Ferrari driver, he wants to comment, wants to think, but doesn’t.

Suddenly Alex’s phone is ringing and Logan swears he sees Carlos branded across the screen as Alex answers it hesitantly. Logan watches Alex curiously, as Alex nods and says yes to whatever the other person is saying. Alex hangs up, who looks at him sheepishly, blowing out a breath.

“Uh, Carlos needs to give you something.”

“Oh, does he now?” Logan deadpans, before he gets up, calling over his shoulder. “Tell him I’m in a meeting!” And he walks out, Alex letting him, before he makes his way out of the hospitality-

Bumping right into Carlos. Jesus Christ.

“Carlos,” Logan stops on the steps, nodding before walking straight past him. Just as Logan brushes past Carlos, he’s grabbed by his arm, stopping him just by Carlos to whisper in his ear. “Mi amor-”

Logan scoffs and pulls away, narrowing his eyes as he points at him. “You don’t talk to me for weeks and now you, now- now you’re accidentally calling me your boyfriend?” It comes out harsher than he wants to and he gulps when Carlos’ face falls. It’s Carlos’ turn to scoff before he’s hissing back. “And you’re cuddling up with Charles, hm?”

Logan rolls his eyes, holding his arm towards his chest, the warmth of Carlos’ fingers branding him, deep within his bones. “Carlos, we f*cked twice, other than that we’ve never been friends, never crossed paths. Why now?”

Carlos stays silent, avoiding his gaze, and Logan walks away, rubbing away tears. “f*ck this,” he mutters, clenching his fists, nails digging into his palms. He straight up glares back at the Ferrari personnel that are still looking at him like he was the one that ordered the execution of Jesus Christ, which gets them skittering away, eyes wide when they realize Logan has noticed.

Sure, he’s hooked up with people more than once, but it was because they were both drunk and horny as hell–and they usually don’t end up hinting towards a relationship. Truthfully, Logan doesn’t really know Carlos, only got f*cked by him twice and sucked his dick, so really the only thing Logan knows about Carlos is that he’s godly at sex. Maybe I am a slu*t, he thinks as he kicks a rock in front of him, watching the pebble fly four feet ahead him, rolling into the grass.

He takes a walk around the paddock, getting involved in some PR Red Bull was doing with Yuki, Checo, and Max when Checo accidentally sends a ball flying past Logan’s head. They all shriek, screaming apologies as Checo comes running towards him, eyes wide as he asks Logan if he’s ok only a hundred times. Logan notices the camera has panned towards them crowding Logan, making him flush red and brush it off, chuckling at Checo’s panicked look.

He waves at the camera still pointed at him before he turns on his heel to leave, saying hi to Lando and Oscar who are sitting outside their hospitality, and then are yelling at Logan to join them. He snorts before he’s jogging up to the fence, Oscar stood up to open the gate for him.

Logan daps Lando up as he sits beside him, getting offered a bag of crisps. He shakes his head and leans back, taking in the rare British sun. He’s glad he didn’t have jet lag during this Grand Prix, only having to travel two hours from home to get here.

“First point of the season, mate, how are you feeling?” Lando asks, co*cking his head to the side to hide it in the shade of the umbrella held above them. Logan grins easily, ruffling his hair. “James has never smiled at me so much, I thought I was dreaming.”

That makes Oscar giggle and Lando clap him on his back. It seems like the pair had ulterior motives, though, when Lando leans in, conspiratorially. “So, Carlos.”

Logan shifts uncomfortably in his chair, cursing the way the sun captures the flush on his pale skin. “What about him?”

Oscar shrugs, licking his fingers. “Just wondering, you know, where he is nowadays.”

Logan glares. “You and him were wheel to wheel the entire race.” Oscar shrugs again, deadpan flat look on his face as always. “Not really, I did overtake him for fourth. He was just in my mirrors.”

Lando giggles, eyes scrunching. He turns back to Logan, resting his chin on his fist. “Just wondering how the two of you are going.”

Logan freezes, shaking his head as he gets up. He ignores Lando and Oscar’s shouts steadily increasing in volume as he walks away, calling over his shoulder. “He’s not on a leash, mate, ask him how he feels.”

He walks out of the McLaren hospitality with a frown on his face, going in the direction back towards Williams, clenching and unclenching his fist in annoyance. Why the f*ck was everyone in his business? He thought, frowning. When you f*ck a famous driver, suddenly everyone’s asking how you are; how their doing. As if he even cares.

Alright, maybe that’s an exaggeration, but still. He and Carlos aren’t going to be crossing paths ever again if he signs a contract with Prema.

He drags himself towards his driver’s room, ignoring the fact that he just walked by George in the hall, and falls face first into his bed, groaning into one of his pillows. He digs his phone out of his pocket, and lifts his head to place it on his nightstand. He frowns when he sees a sticky note on it, something written in black. He knows he didn’t put that there because he doesn’t have any sticky notes in here.

He reaches over to peel it off, and reads it, tilting his head in confusion. I’m sorry, is all it says, scrawled out in an unfamiliar script. The loops are dramatic, seemingly rushed. He sighs, placing it back onto his nightstand and falls back into bed, closing his eyes.

He sees more of Carlos on instagram and twitter than in person during the weeks following up to Hungary. Specifically, most of the media is centered around Carlos dancing in clubs, kissing girls, and Logan sort of wants to cry.

Uh, not like he was jealous of the girls. Just like, in a friendly, no hom*o type of way. Actually, Logan wished he was Carlos, so he could be with that many girls. Damn Carlos for being that f*cking good looking. If Logan closed his eyes for long enough, he could remember the feeling of Carlos pressed into him, mouth trailing over his tan skin-


Logan whines into his pillow, hugging it pathetically to his chest. Wasn’t he the one that rejected Carlos’ advances? Why is he the one annoyed over the fact that Carlos is moving on, probably f*cking girls left and right? But will he call them ‘mi amor?’ an evil voice whispers into his mind, residing in compartments Logan’s spent so many years building, making a vault.

Logan fears he’s delusional beyond fixing. He ignores how he has Carlos’ contact now, sitting deep down in his messages, if he scrolls just far enough. He also ignores the news on almost every platform he has that Carlos Sainz signs contract with Alpine for the 2025 season. He doesn’t need another reminder that the talks with Prema are going absolutely f*cking nowhere.

He especially ignores the blurry video that comes up on his TikTok of Carlos making out heavily with a girl in a club in Monaco, Logan already feeling the money oozing out of the pixels of it.

“Mi amor,” Logan mocks, rolling his eyes and making his voice deeper. f*ck Carlos for f*cking him up like that.

Logan contemplates getting f*cked in the back of a gay bar, but the closest one is three hours away, in a place Logan is sure he wouldn’t run into anyone he knows. He’s not getting outed as the first bisexual driver in Formula One history because he got caught in a gay bar–or worse, he’s f*cking a fan. Logan simply shivers at the thought, gagging.

However, something he can do, though, is be anonymous on Grindr.

So he spends three hours that afternoon getting sent unsolicited dick pics and sexting men that want to roleplay infidelity. Desperately, he gets off maybe three times, feeling more guilty every second that goes by, more guilty by every man he says that he’d loved to get f*cked by, bent over the couch, hand slapped over his mouth.

He deletes Grindr by the twentieth dick pic he gets sent, in blurry lighting and dark shadows that make it look like it was taken in an alleyway. At least the guy had a nice v-line.

Exhausted, Logan lays down on his couch, groaning at the way his arm aches and the way that feels like he won’t be able to walk. In fact he’s so exhausted he doesn’t bother to look at who’s calling him, used to the fact that it’s probably James or Alex or Elias.

“Yo,” he says, rubbing a hand over his eyes, blinking away chrysanthemum shapes when he rubs too hard. All he hears is the wind blowing and maybe some music in the back, but other than that it's silent on the other hand.

“sh*t, sorry.” The other person sounds rushed, husky voice that makes Logan frown at the familiarity. It also sounds-


Before Logan can even open his mouth, he’s hung up on and Logan quickly checks his recents in his phone app to confirm that yes, Carlos just called him. Logan almost throws his phone across the room in anger, angry that Carlos doesn’t sound bothered, doesn’t sound any more different. Logan’s angry that Carlos is Carlos, and he’s also angry that he didn’t speak to Carlos properly since Spain, a rushed morning back to his hotel before he’s hoping on a business class flight to Austria. He’s angry that he didn’t try reaching out, he’s angry that Carlos didn’t try reaching out, he’s angry that he didn’t let Carlos speak, and he’s so f*cking angry that he didn’t realize that he maybe likes Carlos.


Because Carlos was cooking him breakfast in his villa in Spain, drove him to his hotel and helped him pack his stuff, Carlos forcing them to stop when he wanted to make out. Because, well, Carlos showed Logan he could let his guard down, could trust someone–all in the span of two days.

Logan’s worried he had just lost the opportunity forever, and it makes him sob desperately into the decorative pillows on his couch, the ones that his mother gave him before he left to start his racing career. He spends an hour crying about a lot of things: Carlos, how much he liked Carlos, his seat, James f*cking Vowles being a dick, his seat again, his shortlived F1 career, his paused talks with Prema, the car, the car, the f*cking car.

It’s a good cry session that makes Logan feel disgusting, snot dripping from his nose and tears running down his neck and into his ears because he decided to lie on his back. His voice is left hoarse, hands shaking as he pours himself a glass of water. He leans against the counter, head resting on one of his cupboards, as he closes his eyes.

He breathes in and out, practicing the breathing exercises Daniel taught him during his first race because Daniel accidentally walked in on him having a panic attack. He remembers the shock on Daniel’s face that soon turned into worry as he creeped towards Logan, asking gently if he could sit and help.

Logan, who could barely hear him, only nodded, anxious that maybe Daniel could do something to ruin his career, like leaking this to the press. They spend thirty minutes two hours before the race breathing in and out, Daniel crouched in front of Logan who was sitting on the floor, back pressed uncomfortably into the brick wall.

From then on, he was eternally grateful for Daniel.

He completes the last exercise, snorting when he realizes it’s actually been thirty minutes since he’s started. He takes a soothing shower, standing under the hot water as he scrubs at his skin till it’s cherry red, burning from the hot water and exfoliation. He spends ten minutes looking in the mirror, tracing over his collarbone and the sides of his waist, remembering Carlos’ lips branding him, like he was his. He remembers the bruising handprints left on the back of his shoulders, remembers the tender skin under his ear as Carlos whispered, biting slightly at it. He damn right nearly starts crying again when he remembers Carlos’ mi amor being whispered in his ear, in Spain in his bed, in Austria at the gates of the Williams hospitality.

He bites at his fist, breathing in and out, as he tries to will himself away from the thought.

You let him leave.

He dresses himself in sweatpants two sizes bigger than him, falling off his waist when he walks, and a hoodie that engulfs him like a warm hug. Delusional, he thinks of Carlos hugging him in bed, putting his own arm around his waist when he lies down on the couch to watch the latest season of Great British Bake Off to feel it again. Stupidly, he makes himself a sangria, which he almost starts crying into. God f*ck, Logan was acting like he was just broken up with.

Inspired, he tries to make churros–uhm, for no specific reason–and almost burns himself with the oil when he accidentally splashes water into it while sipping from his glass. At least the churros were decent, his dinner as he watches the blank night sky in the low light of his apartment.

He goes to sleep full with an ache in his chest, heart beating against his ribcage, wanting to jump out.

When Logan sees Carlos entering the paddock with a woman wrapped around his arm in Hungary, his heart drops to his stomach. He chokes on his breath, rushing to get to the hospitality, clammy. He throws his bags onto the floor, the door slamming shut behind him as he practically falls to his knees, gasping for a breath, already feeling his lungs closing and his heart beating out of his chest.

He claws at his chest, feeling hot, feeling his ears start to ring. He can’t f*cking see, everything a blur, and he wants to scream. He tries to move off his knees but his body just won’t f*cking listen, won’t f*cking cooperate, and he feels his knees starting to tingle. He drops his head onto the floor, sobbing, desperately trying to breathe, feels like he’s suffocating, like someone’s choking him, hand pressing down on his throat.

Am I dying? I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying-

Logan claws at his throat, seeing black dots, and he tries to open his mouth, tries to inhale and inhale some more, but it’s not working. His lungs refuse to expand, refuse to let him live, and Logan tries it again, rubbing at his heart. Blood rushes to his ears and he cries out when he starts to hear his heart beating, pumping louder and louder, threatening to beat out of his chest.

He clutches his shoulder, pressing his head into the floor as his nails sink into the left side of his neck, trying to intubate. He sobs because it doesn’t f*cking work, and it makes the walls feel like they’re closing in on him. His hand feels wet but he grips tighter at his neck, hand shaking as the burning hot stinging flashes through his nervous system.

He pushes harder into the floor, the cold seeping through his skin, feeling himself rock back and forth, pushing back against his heels, knees sunken into the floor.

Why can’t I breathe?

His neck suddenly becomes blistering in pain, and Logan gasps out, opening and closing his mouth, trying to breathe through his throat as he clutches at his chest again, rubbing circles into his heart. His arm feels frozen, hand dug into his throat, and he feels blind and deaf, feels like he’s going to get snatched, feels like he’s going to die.

“Please,” he manages to whimper, but his voice is hoarse and foreign to him, and he clamps his mouth shut, scared. He shakes his head, shakily moving his hand from his throat, eyes flying open and jaw dropping at the smoldering burn left, and moves his hand to his hair, running them through it. He can’t see, but he can feel, can feel the wetness on his fingertips, can feel the stinging in his throat and the burn of his heart, can feel Carlos.

His breath hitches all over again and he suddenly tips over, onto his back, sobs wrecking from his throat as he hugs his limbs to himself, neck feeling warm and cold and wet. He tries to remember what Daniel told them all those races ago, tries to breathe and think at the same time, but he can’t think and he can’t breathe.

He presses his temple into the floor, suddenly feeling his fingers go cold, and he clenches them against his legs, breath stuttering. His heart seems to only go faster, thoughts of Carlos suddenly the only thing he can think of. Then, that turns into Carlos and Rebecca, how they would kiss, how Carlos would call her, how Carlos would love her.

His hand feels sticky when he brings them up to his face, grabbing at his jaw. He drags it down to his neck again, pressing on the wet spot, and sinks in again, nails digging in, sharp and cutting, into the back. He wraps his other arm around his waist, also trying to grip, but it feels weak, as his right side goes crackly, gets filled with pins and needles, poking at his side, digging deep into his core, gripping at every fibre of his being.

He tastes salt, and then he hears nothing.

It hurts.

It hurts.

His eyes can barely blink open against the growing pains in his entire body, his entire left side feeling like it’s been cut open. He’s curled into himself on the floor, near the door, and his head is pressed into the floor, blinding.

He stays on the floor, trying to catch his breath in small puffs, his throat burning with unshed tears and asphyxiation. From where he’s on the floor, he can see the legs of the table and underneath the couch, the swirl of the fake marble tiles.

His muscles feel tense, like they're about to snap in half, stretched thin like a rubber band. When he tries to shift, his breath catches in a silent scream, muscle cramps forming in both of his calves and his forearms. He squeezes his eyes shut through it, trying to press himself further into the floor, jaw dropped open in the shock of the pain.

When he brings his hand wrapped around his neck, he hisses as it stings, confused why his skin feels tacky.

It’s red.

He looks at his fingers in growing horror, his fingers and palm stained with dried blood, covering the tips and nails, wiped across his palm. When he flexes his fingers in morbid curiosity, blood flakes off in nearly microscopic pieces onto the ground.

His eyes widen in realization and he slowly places his hand on his neck, choking back a breath when the entire left side of his neck feels tacky, and when he presses, he can feel the cuts. He can feel the holes in his neck, the ones on his side and the ones on the back, less tacky.

Urgently, he tries to push up onto his arms, but his arms feel like jello, and he pants, crying because he can’t move. It’s f*cking ridiculous, the way one hand is stained burgundy and the other is still its pale, milky white, slightly tanned from his days in the sun.

He lies on the floor, still on his right side, trying to fight his own body, but he feels so weak. He feels so useless, and he slumps into the floor, ignoring the set of chills that runs down his spine while shivering through the sudden flush of heat in the bottom of his stomach.

He looks at his stained hand, dark red in his fingernails, staining his hand. He wants it off.

Logan rolls onto his stomach and pushes up with his hands, almost falling forward if he hadn’t gripped onto the wall he was beside. He breathes in and out, before he brings one knee up, planting his foot into the ground, and shifting his weight into it.

He almost falls forward when he stands up, his legs practically jello, but he grips the wall again, steadying himself as he leans onto it. He stands there, ignoring how he can’t really feel his legs, and slowly starts to step towards the bathroom, sprawling himself over the sink as he drops to his knees, pressing his head into the porcelain.

He breathes into the edge of the sink, hands blindly moving around to find the handles. When he does, he tugs and scrubs at his hands under the hot water, not being able to watch.

Not being able to handle the hot water anymore, he turns the sink off, having to blindly find the handles again. He lifts his head up, ignoring the way his neck cracks, and looks up at his hands over the edge of the sink.

His nails still have blood embedded into them, clinging to the crevice. He grips the edge of the sink as he pushes up onto his feet, leaning into the door frame, his eyes catching himself in the mirror.

It’s so f*cking bad.

There’s blood smeared on his face, seemingly dragging up and staining a few strands of the front of his hair. It’s a stark contrast against his blond hair, red and so angry. His eyes and cheeks are puffy, evident tear tracks all over his face, dried down into trails. And then-

And then he looks down, below his jaw.

He looks at his neck in disbelief, irritated scratch marks evident on the front of his throat, skin broken. He then turns his neck slightly and sees dried blood dripping down from four vertical cuts just under the shell of his ear, and when Logan leans in, blood is dripping down from four crescents. He turns his head to the side, gaining a better view, and he can see the blood smeared both onto the side of his neck stretching from the front to the back, and his collarbone, some of it already pooled there. He breathes out, one, two, three times before he turns around, and looks behind him.

He chokes on another sob when he sees it– four more crescents aligned perfectly in another vertical line, just an inch or two away from where the hair starts on his neck. This time, the blood flowed sideways, going right, stopping just an inch before it would have hit the right side of his neck.

His hand shakes as he brings it to his mouth, breath stuttering as he takes in the disarray.

What the f*ck did I do to myself?

He can’t remember much, only the sinking feeling of dying because he couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get his heart to stop pounding.

Drowsy and nauseous, he finds his first aid kit snuggled deep in the cupboard above the sink, clenching his jaw and silencing bare screams as he brushes rubbing alcohol over the wounds. He uses three packets of wipes to get all the blood off, breathing raggedly through the sting, before he tapes pieces of gauze to each line of crescents.

It looks terrifying to say the least, and Logan feels like death.

He uses cold water to wash the blood off his face and in his hair, shivering as he walks through his room, searching for his phone. He finds it in his pocket after ten minutes of nothing, making him huff.

He curses, loudly, when he sees hundreds of missed calls from several people, ranging from the most recent of thirty minutes ago and to the first ones three hours ago. Most of them are Alex and Lily, text messages that slowly become angrier following.

Apparently no one knew where Logan was, didn’t know if he was even in the paddock, and apparently he had a million meetings he was supposed to be in. There’s a few short, scattered text messages from James, but Logan knows he’s so f*cked.

“A panic attack at the worst possible time, just my luck,” he mutters to himself as he pulls on a hoodie, pulling the collar up to try and hide the stark white gauze. When he looks in the mirror, it does look like it seems to hide enough, but he’s still worried if someone were to look close enough, they would say.

Oh well.

He bites his lip as he redials Alex, and it immediately gets picked up. “Logan, holy sh*t mate,” Alex says, exasperated, anger tinged around his voice.

“I-” Logan tries to say, but Alex is cutting him off, voice seemingly rising. “You know how awkward it was to tell James I didn’t know where you were? Logan, Jesus Christ mate, are you even in the paddock?”

The tone makes Logan shrink in on himself, not used to hearing Alex so irritated, so loud. “Uh, yeah I just arrived, accidentally overslept.” The lie scratches at his tongue, gripping.

“You overslept?” Alex repeats, infuriated. Logan chuckles awkwardly, trying to warm the air. “My phone died on the flight, and I couldn’t find my charger.”

“Logan, James is absolutely pissed. You missed our debrief, a sponsor meeting, and PR.”

Logan presses his fingers into his eyes, squeezing. “sh*t, I’ll- I’ll talk to James.”

Alex laughs, humourless, cold. “Logan, don’t ever do that again.” And he’s hung up on.

Logan feels his eyes burning in humiliation, hand shaking as redials James. It goes through once, twice, and then it’s picked up.

“Logan, what is happening?” James is talking into his ear, calm, but Logan knows he’s out for blood.

“Sorry, sorry, my phone died so I couldn’t set an alarm and-” Logan’s talking quickly, trying to find the right words to say and not say, stumbling.

“This is not a good look, Logan. Do you know how much you have missed?”

“Yeah, uh, Alex told me.”

James laughs, humourless like Alex did. “You are so behind, Logan. Is there any exceptional reason that can explain why no one knew where the hell you were?”

Logan breathes in and out, pacing. “I was, I was at the hotel still. I just got in.”

“Oh yeah? Then why are there no pictures of you entering the paddock?”

sh*t, sh*t, sh*t. “Got in later than expected, cameras weren’t on the gates then.”

“Never, ever, do that again. Report to your team for notes and then go to Alex for PR.” James hisses into the phone before the line goes dead, blood rushing into his ears.

Logan lets the tears that crowd in his eyes fall, gushing in hot bursts of streams down his face, dropping onto his sweater. You’re so f*cked, you’re so f*cked, you’re so f*cked.

His shoulders shake as he crouches down, touching the ground, choking down his sobs. His hand moves up to his neck, pressing over the tape, before he rips, pulls it away, and his wounds hit the cold air, moist. He angrily throws the ball of gauze across the room before reaching back and pulling the other one, ignoring the way his skin tugs and pulls from his body, threatening to rip.

He rubs at his neck as he stands up, dizzy, walking to the washroom and splashing water on his face aggressively, breath heavy as it splashes all over his clothes. He rubs at his face with the front of his hoodie, gasping into it, disorientated.

He ignores the way his shoulders sting and neck burns when he pulls his hoodie off, fabric getting caught in the flaps of peeled skin, and pulls on the team jacket.

Through blurry vision, he practices his PR smile in the mirror, breathing in and out as he tries to press cold water into his puffy eyes.

“Hey, guys, what did I miss?” He practices, casual, adding a small laugh. He hates the way his voice stutters, the way it sounds deeper and raspier than usual.

“Alex! PR time, yeah?” He shoots finger guns into the mirror, at himself, and tries not to burst back into tears.

With five deep breaths, counted in an eight and four count, he exits his room and makes his way towards Gaeten.

The meeting with his team is short, awkward, and tense to say the least, most of them refusing to look at him as he desperately tries to ask questions. James tells him bluntly that the next time he’s late he’ll have another manager making sure he has his charger before every flight. PR is even f*cking worse, Alex barely looking at him and the PR team asks them to stop and take a breather when Logan misses another one of Alex’s jokes and Alex gives another fake laugh.

Alex doesn’t let Logan barrel out of the room like he wants to, once the PR team has left.

“Mate…” Alex starts, expression pained.

Logan gulps, rubbing at his fingernails, digging into them to scrape at the blood. “I’m sorry,” he says quietly, clenching his jaw. He feels the back of his eyes burning. “I let the team down, I let everyone down, and I’m sorry that I’m such a mess, I’m-”

“Logan, what?” Logan stops to snap his head up towards Alex, who looks confused, mouth opened a little bit. Alex steps closer, putting a hand on his shoulder and looks him in the eyes. “Mate, I know we were all a bit too overbearing early, still pissed, but-” Alex shakes his head, tilting his head. “But, it’s ok. It was a little humiliating, sure, but you didn’t let anyone down.”

Logan frowns, arms crossing over his chest. “I stressed everyone out because I- I over, uh, overslept.” Logan curses as he stutters over his lie, but Alex offers him a small, warm smile instead. “But you apologized, yes?”

“Yes,” Logan replies, slowly. Alex nods, patting him on the back. “C’mon, they’re serving your favourite in the mess, and we won’t have to do much PR today.”

Logan breathes out, relaxing, and nods, following Alex.

Logan watches the reel, pained, over and over as he watches Carlos place a kiss on what he learns is Rebecca’s lips, giggling. He stares at it, blinking, eyes defocusing.

“Logan?” Alex suddenly appears over his shoulder, glancing at his screen, as Logan quickly places it on the table face down. “Oh, hey, mate.”

Alex sits down, sipping at his tea. “What were you watching?”

“Uh, nothing.” Logan offers a tight smile, drawing circles into his neck, rubbing. Alex raises a brow, a non-fooled expression on his face. “It’s that video of Sainz and his girl, right?” He asks, gently, not matching his expression.

Logan freezes, shoulders coming up to his ears. “I don’t care.”

“Yeah?” Alex leans forward, placing his mug on the table. “Then why have you been watching it for the past ten minutes?”

Logan feels caught, looking at Alex with fear in his eyes. “I like him.” He blurts out, whispering above the sound of the fan whirring above them, and Alex doesn’t look surprised, but rather nods, smiling. “I know, mate.”

“I just, I never considered it, you know?” Logan prompts, sinking into his chair.

Alex grabs his cup again, frowning. “Having a boyfriend?”

“No,” Logan shakes his head, and gulps. “Him.”

Alex’s brows shoot up into his hairline.

“I thought it was something fun, you know? We never, we never hung out like that. I didn’t realize what he wanted until I thought about it. Until I saw the videos.” Logan laughs sadly, rubbing at his eyes, before he looks into Alex’s eyes, gulping. “You guys couldn’t reach me because I was having a panic attack over his girlfriend.”

“Oh,” Alex says breathlessly, mouth dropping. “I’m so sorry, Logan,” his hand goes to cover his mouth and Alex rubs his hands over his face, worried. Logan just shakes his head, patting Alex’s knee. “No, it’s not your fault, yeah? It was only five minutes, really, just couldn’t move, and then I fell asleep.”

No, it wasn’t, liar.

Alex still looks caught, frowning. “We shouldn’t have stressed you out like that, sh*t,” and he runs his hands through his hair, looking away. Logan shakes his head furiously, kicking lightly at Alex’s leg to get his attention again.

“Don’t worry, Alex. It wasn’t your fault, it was just a bad time and I couldn’t communicate properly.”

Alex hisses, clenching his jaw. “The next time it happens, you’ll tell me, please?”

Logan giggles, feels something growing in his stomach, and nods, hesitantly. “Nothing really happens, and- and it’s rare, so you won’t be hearing much.”

“Ok,” Alex breathes out before he scoots his chair closer, leaning. “Uh, so, back to it.”

Logan’s mouth goes into a flat line, uncomfortable. “It was just a stupid little thing, I blew it anyway.” Logan turns to look outside the window, blinking.

Alex is silent for too long, so Logan looks back, sees Alex look hesitant, rubbing his neck. “Alex?” Logan asks, tilting his head.

“Charles told me Carlos wanted to ask you on a date.”

Logan’s eyes widen, breath hitching. “What?” He almost screeches, heart beating out of his chest.

There was absolutely no f*cking way. Alex had to be lying; Charles had to be taking the piss out of him. Logan laughs, almost maniacally, shaking his head to himself. “Real funny, Alex, real funny.” He moves to get up, leg jittery, but Alex grabs at his arm, frowning.

“Mate, it’s not a joke.”

Logan scoffs, leaning down, eye twitching. “That sh*t isn’t funny.”

Alex’s frown gets deeper. “He was planning to ask you back in Austria, but, uh.” And Alex shrugs, tense, waving his hand and sips at his now cold tea, grimacing.

Logan holds his face in his hands, trying to breathe. “Alright, just. f*ck,” and he squeezes his eyes shut into his hands. He moves his hands away to find his seat, to sit back down, and he digs his nails into his hand, cutting.

“How could I f*ck up this bad?” He whimpers, looking at the ceiling.

“Logan, what did you say?” Alex asks, tentatively, worried. Logan blows out a breath, his memories a sludge of nothing. He finds it, eventually.

“I told him, uh, that we only f*cked and never been friends. That basically what he was going to say was useless.” Logan hangs his head low in shame, relishes in the way his nails cut into his palm, wet.

“Oh, damn,” Alex can only say, breathless.

“You could say that twice,” Logan says, quietly, under the hum of the fan, under the thrum of nervousness under his skin. He cups his other hand over his fist, watching as he slowly unclenches it, sighing shakily when he uncovers a small pool of blood forming in his hand.

“You should talk to him,” Alex tries to suggest but Logan can only scoff. “Right, and that’ll go well with his girlfriend?”

Again, Alex gets a look of hesitance, like he knows something, but Logan doesn’t want to know. He shakes his head, standing up. “I have to go call my mom.”

And he leaves, Alex staring at his back.

The race went ok, Logan securing P15 behind Zhou. It’s one of his better races for sure, feeling bad for Charles who got a bad strategy and ended up retiring in the middle of the race. He congratulates Daniel on his P6, talking, before Daniel’s being pulled away by an overexcited Max, beaming from both his win and the fact that it’s Daniel.

He hugs Alex for his P11, getting overtaken by Yuki three laps till finish.

He ignores Carlos on the podium, in third behind Lando, waving at the crowd before they’re spraying champagne all over each other, and Logan watches from the screen in his garage, chest aching. He notices Alex looking at him, frowning, from across the room, talking to his race engineer.

He feels his phone buzz, and the notification makes him frown.

Charles Leclerc, today, 4:00 P.M

Carlos is sad.

Logan Sargeant, today, 4:05 P.M

What does that have to do with me?

Charles Leclerc, today, 4:06 P.M

You americans are so stupid

Cheer him up.

Logan laughs in disbelief, rereading the message probably five more times before he responds.

Logan Sargeant, today, 4:10 P.M

Why do I have to cheer him up?

Get his girlfriend, or you do it.

Charles Leclerc, today, 4:12 P.M

He’s not in love with us.

Logan’s jaw drops, blinking, breathing heavy. He thinks he’s imagining things, so he stands up and goes to Gaeten. He taps his shoulder, and turns his phone and speaks before Gaeten can even look at him.

“What does the message say?”

Gaeten raises a brow, looking at him before he looks down. “I’m good, thanks. Uh, it says ‘he’s not in love with us.’” Gaeten looks back up, chuckling. “Race disorient you so bad you can’t read?”

Logan laughs, exasperated, shaking his head. “No, no, I’m fine, thanks Gaeten.” And he turns on his heel and walks out of the garage, outside, hoping the sun will keep him sane. When he looks at the conversation again, the message is gone.

Logan Sargeant, today, 4:16 P.M

Are you alright? I saw your DNF, mate, I’m sorry

Charles Leclerc, today, 4:18 P.M

I am fine, you know how Ferrari is.

My teammate is not.

Come here, now. Ferrari hospitality.

Logan cannot believe Charles is a real person.

Logan Sargeant, today, 4:21 P.M

Mate, I will get physically attacked by your employees.

Charles Leclerc, today, 4:22 P.M

Then I will tell them not to.

I will tell them to kidnap you if you do not come here.

Logan laughs out loud in so much disbelief he thinks this is a dream. He jogs back into the garage and tells one of the employees that he’ll be back, that he just needs to get something from his team. They nod and Logan leaves, typing.

There’s another message from Charles.

Charles Leclerc, today, 4:24 P.M

They are getting the rope.

Logan Sargeant, today, 4:25 P.M

Calm down, I’m coming.

Charles Leclerc, today, 4:26 P.M


Logan is caught signing a bunch of merch as he walks through the paddock, fireproofs still hanging around his waist, dragging the floor as he bends down to high five kids.

He awkwardly makes his way down to the Ferrari hospitality, getting a bunch of weird looks from the personnel in the other hospitalities he walks by. At one point he walks by RB and is stopped by Daniel, who tells him that he’s going the wrong way, laughing.

“Mate, Williams is like all the way down there,” And Daniel points in the direction behind Logan, choking on his laughter.

Logan rolls his eyes, before he leans into Daniel, whispering. “Charles is literally threatening my life if I don’t go to Ferrari–I’d rather live.” Daniel bursts out laughing again, like it’s normal, before clapping his back and leaning over the fence to give him directions on how to get past people who ask why he’s there.

He throws up a thumbs up and keeps walking.

Surprisingly enough, when he arrives at the Ferrari hospitality, red and towering, the employees don’t bat an eye, walking past him as if he isn’t in Williams gear. Logan, still a bit terrified, waits outside by the gate, pulling out his phone.

Logan Sargeant, today, 4:35 P.M

I’m outside.

Logan scratches his head, waiting for Charles to respond, when he gets a few pings from his email, forcing him to respond. It’s a bunch of things, from planning PR for his sponsors to being asked to review some data by one of his engineers, and it gets Logan a little too focused on his phone than his surroundings.

“Sargeant?” Carlos suddenly appears behind him, over his shoulder, and Logan jumps, dropping his phone.

Logan flushes as he drops down to pick his phone up, turning towards Carlos. “Uh, hey man.” He offers an awkward smile, noting the way Carlos looks normal, noting the way he looks weirded out.

“What are you doing here?”

Logan blinks, turning his phone in his hands. “Uh, Charles needed to give me something, I was just waiting for him.”

Carlos furrows his brows, before he opens the gate and steps through it. “Well, then you would know he’s not even here, yes?”

Oh, for f*ck’s sake.

“I’m going to f*cking kill him.” Logan groans, rubbing his hands over his eyes. Of course leave it to Charles to entrap him like this. He looks back at Carlos, offering a nod before he turns on his heel, calling over his shoulder. “Thanks, Carlos.”

Logan walks away, shoulders hunched to his ears as he angrily types a threatening message to send to Charles, which may or may not include kidnapping Leo. He’s about a sentence in when-

“Wait, Logan!” Carlos is shouting, and, well, Logan is just a man, so he stops, and turns.

Carlos clears his throat, before he puts his hands on his hips and continues. “I can help you find whatever you’re looking for in his room.”

Logan blinks, shocked. He looks around before he’s walking back towards him, face blazing red. “Uh, yeah, sure. It’ll probably take a minute.” Carlos nods, opening the gate for Logan before leading him inside, through the bright red walls of Ferrari. It sort of hurts Logan’s eyes.

They then get to a blank door on the right side of the hall, nondescript. Carlos pushes on it, leading them into what Logan guesses is Charles’ room, things scattered everywhere. There’s literally five pairs of jeans hanging over the chair.

“Here you are,” Carlos puts his hand out, towards the room and Logan nods, breathing in. He taps on he and Charles’ messages.

Logan Sargeant, today, 4:40 P.M

I’m going to castrate you in your sleep

Charles Leclerc, today, 4:40 P.M

I do not even know what that means.

What are you talking about?

The response is almost immediate and Logan wants to kill Charles. “What are you getting anyway?” Carlos speaks, sudden, and Logan really did forget he was there.

“He was going to give me-” Logan stops to survey the room, before he smirks when his eyes catch something bright red. “He was going to give me his Switch.” Carlos raises a brow, “Really?”

Logan grins, “Yeah, promised me it when I won a bet earlier.” He turns, walking toward Charles’ desk, and he doesn’t realize Carlos’ eyes have drifted down towards his neck, doesn’t realize Carlos has inched closer.

As he picks up the device, grinning wider when he realizes it’s fully charged, he’s about to turn around and leave when a thumb is pressed into the side of his neck. He flinches, pulling back, turning to look at Carlos, his face dropped in horror.

“What the hell, Carlos?” Logan asks, taken aback, pulling away as far as possible. He feels like he’s been burned all over again and Logan sort of wants to cry.

“What happened to your neck?” Carlos’ eyes don’t leave the side of his neck, his thumb still in the air. Logan turns away, swiping to pick up the case discarded near it. “Nothing.” Logan replies, “None of your business, anyway,” he adds when hears Carlos step closer, on alert.

“What happened to your neck?” Carlos repeats, stepping closer, eyes challenging. Logan keeps his mouth shut as he holds contact, shaking his head, scoffing slightly.

Carlos steps closer and suddenly his arms are caging Logan against Charles’ desk, eyes blown wide as Carlos looks up at him. “Dude,” Logan chokes out slowly, “Move.”

Carlos tilts his head, leaning closer, their faces just inches apart. “Your neck, mi amor.” Carlos’ eyes flicker down, and Logan feels his breath get heavier, blowing against Carlos’ face.

“None of your damn business,” Logan grits out in a whisper, teeth grinding. Carlos chuckles, breath brushing over Logan’s lips as he suddenly dips forward towards his neck.

Logan swears he really does try to move away, but Carlos is faster than that, lips latching onto the skin below his ear. Logan gasps at the contact, holding back a groan at the feeling of Carlos’ warm mouth against the sensitive skin of his neck.

“Carlos, sh*t,” Logan cries out, grabbing Carlos’ hip to steady himself, as he moves down his neck, kissing at each wound. He wants to pull away, but he can’t, not with the way he’s caged against the desk, at Carlos’ mercy.

And it’s not like he wants to.

Carlos is soon pressing into him as he moves his lips to the back of his neck, stroking Logan’s jaw with his hand, Logan’s head thrown back, mouth open. His breath shutters as Carlos’ tongue darts out, licking at the skin that connects his neck to his shoulder, hot breath and spit trailing over it.

Logan closes his eyes, breathing, “Carlos,” tightening his grip on his hip. He feels Carlos’ laugh rumble his skin, making him shake in pleasure. It sort of pisses him off. Carlos’ mouth starts to open and close against his skin and it makes Logan realize he’s talking.

“Mi amor,” Carlos whispers against his skin. And again. And again, and again, and again. He does it as he trails his mouth back to the front of Logan’s neck and right as he removes his mouth from Logan, moving to rest it on his cheek.

Logan, blissed, turns his head, moving back to look at Carlos, who’s already looking at him. Logan gulps, eyes travelling involuntarily back to Carlos’ lips, wet and inviting.

“C’mon, my love.”

Logan can only be so strong.

They move at the same time, their lips pressing together in the middle, making both of them groan. Logan’s quick to pull Carlos closer, closer, and closer, gasping through hot breaths as he presses himself flush against Carlos. One of Logan’s hands flies into Carlos’ hair, gripping and tugging, pulling at the softness. He rubs Carlos’ hair between his fingers as his tongue slides between his lips, pushing. Carlos’ arms go to wrap around his waist, impossibly hot against the small of his back, being pressed further into the desk, Switch put down eons ago.

Logan tilts his head to the side, tries to push his mouth deeper into Carlos’, earning him a moan. Logan groans, swirls his tongue in Carlos’ mouth as he tries to meld himself into Carlos, wants them to become one, never wanting to let go.

And then-

“You have a girlfriend.” Logan pulls back, disgusted, breath heavy as he looks at the way Carlos looks so taken apart– so much like his.

“No, wait,” Carlos tries to say, but Logan shoves him away, wiping at his mouth and his neck. “What the f*ck is wrong with you?” He hisses at Carlos, who gulps, holding his hands up. “I can explain, mi amor-”

“DON’T CALL ME THAT!” Logan shouts, voice roaring. Carlos flinches and Logan stops, looks away, hugging his arms to himself. “Don’t call me that,” he repeats, whispering.

“Please, Logan, look at me,” Carlos pleads, moving towards Logan. Logan can only choke back on his tears, turning away when Carlos stands in front of him. His lips are bright red and swollen, hair a mess, and oh god, it’s too much how Logan wants to lunge back in, dive back into it.

He remembers–much to his own regret–the last time he cried in front of Carlos. Yeah, his dick shoved down your throat, his mind helpfully supplies, taunting. It’s honestly a joke that’s the first and last time he cried in front of Carlos.

Logan feels a tear roll down his face, and he looks back up, Carlos looking terrified. “Logan, please,” he continues again and Logan sobs, looking away again.

“Get away from me,” Logan can only manage out shakily, bumping into the desk as he tries to move away. He feels used, feels like an afterthought for Carlos. He looks at Logan, pained expression, mouth opening and closing as he tries to think of something, but Logan can’t bear to look at him.

“She’s not my girlfriend.” Carlos blurts out from across the room, panting, eyes watery.

Logan’s head snaps up, narrowing his eyes. “What?” He wraps his arms tighter around his chest, grounding.

Carlos nods, softening his voice. “She’s one of Blanca’s friends, wanted to make her ex jealous.”

Honestly, it makes Logan feel even worse. He laughs in disbelief, tears streaming down his face in the middle of Charles f*cking Leclerc’s driver’s room. He remembers. “So all of those clubs, parties, videos, were they all of Blanca’s friends, too?”

Carlos’ face falls, taking a tentative step forward, breathing in sharply. “What?”

Logan points a finger, teeth baring against his mouth. “Every video I saw of you, it was a different girl every goddamn time, Carlos.” He laughs, incredulously, turning as he runs his hands through his hair. “You’re kissing one girl in Monaco, another in Spain. Kissing one in one club, another in the next.”

“But they weren’t you,” Carlos offers, distressed.

Logan whirls around, glaring. “You know I was this f*cking close to using Grindr to find a guy that’d f*ck me?”

Carlos’ face quickly morphs into something of that of anger. “Well did you, Logan? Did you find someone that’d f*ck you?” He spits out his words, and it makes Logan smirk.

“Oh, so many.”

Logan sees his jaw clench, the way his pupils become blown. “I’d take my time, you know?” Logan taunts, walking towards Carlos, looking down at him. “Use their fingers, bend over the couch.”

He can hear Carlos’ breath become unstable, unsteady. “Or, I’d get him down on his knees, make him take care of me.”

Carlos growls, nose flaring. “f*ck off, Logan.”

Logan laughs in Carlos’ face, rolling his eyes. “You’re so easy to rile up, you know?” He whispers, clicking his tongue. “It was,” He gets lower, mouth brushing the shell of his ear.

“So good,” He taunts, finally.

He looks into Carlos’ eyes, tilting his head as he watches him absolutely seethe. “Is there something wrong, Carlos?” He mocks, smirking.

“Say it,” Carlos leans down into his ear, biting, slamming into him. Logan’s eyes roll back, jaw dropping into a moan as he shakes his head. “No,” He gasps out, Carlos stopping to sit on the back of Logan’s thighs, rolling his hips, hand resting on the dip of his back.

“I’m f*cking you better than all of those men, aren’t I?” Carlos taunts, swirling his hips in small circles, making Logan muffle his moan into the pillow.

Carlos shifts back onto his knees, leaning forward, pushing his co*ck deeper into Logan, steadying himself on his fists by Logan’s sides. He hovers above him, waiting. “I bet you wished all those men were me, hm?”

Logan tries to press into Carlos, but Carlos only tsks, hand pressing into his back. “You can move when you say it, mi amor.”

Logan lets out another moan before he turns his head, cheek squished into the pillow, panting. “No,” he repeats, fisting the sheets into his hand.

It’s the wrong answer, Logan knows, because Carlos pulls out, Logan crying out. “I could be f*cking you better than this, in a better place,” Carlos whispers, rubbing his finger down his spine. His finger stops. “But, you have to be so stubborn.”

Logan sobs into the pillow, overstimulated. The sheets don’t give much friction against his hard co*ck, desperate attempts to rub into the feeling. He squeezes his eyes shut, before he accepts, falling.

“Carlos,” he whimpers, turning his head to face Carlos above him. “Mi amor,” Carlos answers, tilting his head.

“I want only you.”

Carlos groans, tension falling from his shoulders as he flips Logan onto his back, sliding back into Logan, thrusting. Carlos claps a hand over Logan’s mouth, cursing silently as he watches Logan go cross eyed as he slams into him, moving to brush at the head of his co*ck.

“You’re so f*cking good for me, Logan.” Carlos moans, watching Logan’s hips snapping up to meet his thrusts. “Come for me, Logan, do it, you deserve it.”

Logan gasps under his hand, back arching off the bed as he presses himself deeper onto Carlos, fisting the sheets, eyes rolling back.

Carlos presses kisses into Logan’s neck, mouth brushing over the wounds again. “I’m sorry,” he whispers in the quiet of the room, suffocating.

Logan frowns against his chest, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, too.” Carlos looks down at him, frowning too. “You weren’t the one that lied about having a girlfriend.”

Logan sighs, moving to sit up, resting on his elbows. He rubs at his eyes, clearing his throat. “I’m still just as much as a dick, yeah? I rejected you, hurt you, and taunted you.”

“What do you mean taunted?”

Logan looks down, moving to trace patterns onto Carlos’ arm. “I, uh, didn’t get with anyone on Grindr.”

Carlos’ mouth drops open, laughing. “Are you serious?” Logan shrugs, hiding. “Made me sound much less of a loser, I guess.”

“Hey,” Carlos lifts his chin up with his finger and presses a kiss against his nose, before moving to kiss his mouth, licking. “You’re not a loser.” He pulls Logan back into his chest, petting his hair.

“I still lied to you, though,” Logan speaks into Carlos’ neck, resting. He feels him shrug before he continues. “I thought Spain meant nothing, thought it was just some fun.” Logan feels Carlos tense under him, so he kisses his neck.

“I didn’t realize it was fun because it was you, Carlos. I didn’t know I actually liked you until I saw all of those videos of the clubs and then had a breakdown over that.”

Carlos’ hand stills in his hair, tugging to lift his head up. “You what?”

“Don’t worry, it was just me crying for an hour straight. And then I got up to make churros.” He frowns at Carlos’ wide eyed state. “What?” He questions, confused.

“I made you cry?” He asks quietly, voice wavering. Logan shakes his head, shifting to be eye to eye. “A lot of things made me cry that day, babe. You weren’t the only thing, yeah? You have to know I was beyond stressed at that point.”

Carlos silently joins their hands together as he brings it to his mouth, resting his forehead into it. Logan smiles sadly, laying back down. “Carlos, it’s ok. I understand what you did, and we both admittedly hurt each other’s feelings, albeit me hurting yours a lot more.”

Carlos squeezes his hand tighter. “You didn’t make me cry, though.”

Logan sighs, before he tugs their hands away from Carlos’ forehead, towards his chest. “You were asking me about my neck wounds earlier.”

“Please don’t say it was me, mi amor, please,” Carlos whispers, a pained expression on his face. Logan averts his gaze, playing with his fingers. “It was a panic attack,” he starts softly, “I saw you and Rebecca entering the paddock.”

“Oh my god,” Carlos chokes out, his head falling into Logan’s chest, squeezing their hands against his own chest. Logan threads his fingers through Carlos’ hair as his shoulders shake, tears dampening his bare chest.

“I’m so sorry, Logan, please forgive me.” Carlos cries into his chest, head pressing deeper into his sternum. “Oh, my dear,” Logan whispers, “You were already forgiven. It isn’t your fault.”

Carlos lifts his head, eyes red. “I, I don’t even know how you hurt yourself, how- how is it not my fault? I gave you that panic attack,” he breathes heavily, lip quivering. Logan smiles sadly, looking at him, wiping away his tears. “I dug my nails into my neck because I couldn’t breathe.” It hurts Logan so much to continue, but he wants Carlos to know how he feels if they want this to work.

Carlos closes his eyes, tears streaming down his face, as he hugs Logan tightly against his chest, shaking. Logan presses a kiss to his temple, before he leans around to kiss away his tears. “I’m sorry, babe,” Logan whispers against Carlos’ cheek.

Carlos pulls back, horrified, stuttering. “No, mi amor, why are you sorry?”

Logan slowly untangles their hands, opening his hand in front of Carlos’ face. “Oh,” Carlos’ voice wavers as he realizes what the wounds are, what they’re from, and he closes his eyes again, tugging Logan’s hand towards his mouth. Carlos looks up at Logan as he kisses his hand, sorry’s and it’s not your fault translated through his kisses, healing.

“I’m not doing this to make you feel bad, Carlos,” Logan finally says, voice just above a whisper. “I’m doing this so you know how I feel, so you can understand what I do and don’t do.”

Carlos looks at him through watery eyes, bringing Logan’s hand to his jaw, cupping. “I hurt you-”

“No,” Logan corrects, “I hurt myself.” Carlos looks at him, exasperated. “Carlos, I don’t want to hide things from you. We hurt each other in the past month, and I want you to see my pain. Not because of you, but because of everything. I know you want to feel bad, I get it, but it’s not your fault.”

“I don’t understand,” Carlos mutters, nuzzling his jaw into Logan’s hand.

It takes a second for Logan to find the words. “I’m self-destructive, and I can shut down so fast. I’ll suffer in silence, and it sometimes affects how I can live.”

Logan sighs, rubbing his thumb against Carlos’ cheek. “I was MIA for three hours during that panic attack. I seriously got in trouble, like, you should’ve heard James and Alex.” He laughs, remembering. He’s the only one laughing.

He clears his throat, Carlos unmoving, watching Logan so intently like he was going to disappear if he blinked. “And you know why I was MIA for so long?”

Carlos hesitantly shakes his head.

“It’s because I didn’t get help. I tried to get through it by myself, I tried to patch myself up after. I need you to know that I want you to reach out, even if it’ll hurt my feelings, even if it’ll hurt yours.”

Logan takes a deep breath in, in and out. “What I’m saying is, we need to communicate and that I need you.”

Carlos finally smiles, through his tears, pushing into Logan’s hand as he pulls him closer. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

Logan laughs, gleefully through quickly watery eyes, and leans forward to press a kiss onto Carlos’ mouth. It’s nothing special, but Logan knows he’ll be thinking about it forever, thinking about it when he’ll have nothing.

For now, though, he’ll have Carlos.

“For as long as you’ll have me,” Logan repeats in a whisper against Carlos’ mouth when they break apart, resting his head on the side of Carlos’ neck.

i just don’t recognize this fool that you have made me - dontburnme (2024)
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