#al14

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Arthur moved the iced coffee to his other hand to pull keys out of his pocket and open the door.

“It’s me! Morning!” he called out cheerfully, making his way into the kitchen to put the cup down on the work surface just as you walked into the room, hair still damp from the shower.

“Wait, you actually brought me coffee?”

“Well yeah, I said if you went for a run, I’d get you iced coffee from your favourite place, I knew bribery would work,” he said with a wink.

“And I knew there was a reason I let you have keys to my place!” You picked up the coffee happily and took a big sip.

You and Arthur had been best friends for years. You’d randomly met at a bar in Monaco one night and immediately hit it off. Unfortunately for you, Arthur saw you as just a friend, a best friend who he spent most of his time outside racing with, but a friend nonetheless. Part of you had fallen for him all those years ago in the club as the neon lights lit up his eyes making them sparkle, but over the years you’d fallen head over heels for your best friend. Quite simply the dumbest thing you’d ever done but you’d decided friendship with Arthur was better than no Arthur at all. So, you kept your feelings hidden, tried to disguise your sadness when he dated other girls and just focused on being grateful you had him in your life.

A few days later, Arthur was in Maranello, taking a break from the sim during the midnight hours when his phone buzzed with a text from you.

“You are hotel…without the ‘el’.”

He re-read it confused before finally figuring out you were trying to say he was hot.

“Was this meant for someone else? Are you drunk?” he responded, still somewhat baffled.

“No, it was meant for you but yeah I’m drunk. I’m trying out pick up lines.”

Arthur’s brain was exhausted from the hours spent in the sim and he was still perplexed why you were suddenly sending him messages like this.

“Oh wait, you meant trying out so you can figure out which ones would work for a guy you like? Wait, do you have a crush?” typed Arthur, proud of himself for figuring it out. His phone lit up with a single word answer “Yeah.”

Miles away in a club in Monaco you put your phone down with a deep sigh and took another shot of tequila. “It’s you, dumbass,” you muttered sadly under your breath, phone vibrating gently on the table with a response.

“I can definitely help! Send me all the pick up lines and I shall tell you which is the best!”

And so it began.

You and Arthur used to send good morning texts. But this morning he had woken up to a silly pick up line instead.

“Are you a triangle? Because you’re acute one. And you look good from every angle.”

“Wait, what is acute?”

“It’s maths, Thur! Nevermind. I’ll cross that one off my list…”

“If you were a fruit, you’d be a fineapple, and if you were a vegetable, you’d be a cutecumber. And if you were mine, that would be pretty awesome.”

Arthur read the message and sighed, hand running subconsciously through his hair.

“You don’t even like cucumbers?”

“Ah but cutecumbers. Yes please.”

He rolled his eyes fondly as he typed his response. “You are an idiot.”

The reply came back immediately. “Ah I learned from the best (you, obvs) <3”

“Are you French? Because Eiffel for you. Get it? I fell, Eiffel. No, this one is bad. Also, don’t reply to this because I am not having another argument with you about how you say you are French when you are Monegasque…”

Arthur rubbed his tired eyes, he’d just woken up and found himself grabbing his phone to see what you’d text him this morning. Upon reading it, he grinned.

“Ah but I am French,” he replied, knowing it would wind you up, despite the fact that you were from neither France nor Monaco.

“Do not start or I will screenshot this conversation and send it to Charles to deal with. I’ve seen your passport dude, it’s MONEGASQUE.”

Arthur would be the first to admit that winding you up was one of his favourite things and today was no different.

“Ah that was a decoy,” he replied, laughing to himself.

“A decoy?!? Stop making up stuff, Leclerc!”

“Yes. A decoy. All French people have them, so no one knows we are French. Like spies.”

It had been a couple of weeks of daily pick up lines from you and Arthur found himself looking forward to seeing what you had come up with each day. As if on schedule, his phone buzzed on the table, lighting up with a notification from you.

“Do you have a plaster? I just scraped my knee falling for you. And I fell pretty hard, so it looks like I might need two plasters, if you have them?”

Arthur giggled. Actually giggled before covering his face with his hand. He suddenly had a thought and went to look in his bathroom cabinet. He found a pack of plasters hidden at the back and pulled them out. It was fairly full but he removed all of them except two and took a photo. He began typing, “unfortunately I used up most of mine when I fell for you but you can have these two ;)”, he attached the photo and hit send. Why was he flirting with his best friend? And why was it giving him butterflies in his stomach waiting for a response. This wasn’t normal. They didn’t do this. Maybe he was sick or something. That must be it. Definitely the reason his heart skipped a beat when his phone lit up with your response. It was a selfie of you from the shoulders up. You had covered half your head and face haphazardly with a white bandage and were grinning like a dork at the camera. “Nevermind. Fixed it,” was the accompanying text. He couldn’t help it. He let out a laugh, the kind that comes from your belly and is impossible to prevent, the kind that takes over your whole body, shoulders shaking, nose scrunching and everything. “Cute,” he found himself replying before he could stop himself. “Why thank you Little Leclerc, I can save you some of the bandages if you like, cover up your entire face so you might have more luck with the ladies?” Arthur found himself chuckling, feeling back on firmer ground. This was what your friendship was like. Banter, taking the mick out of each other (but never really meaning it), being there for each other. The flirting was just a deviation from the norm, it didn’t mean anything.

A few days later, Arthur was trying to pack for his next race when his doorbell rang. When he looked through the keyhole and saw you, he opened it and was already walking off when you began speaking. “Hey, you got a jersey I can borrow? I’m really just looking for something with your name and number on it,” you said, barging past him and heading straight for his bedroom closet before pulling out half his clothes to look through.

“You know what, forget the jersey, can you just please kiss me?”

“Wh-what?” Arthur stuttered.

“Ok, you didn’t move, so distraction doesn’t work…” you said thoughtfully. Arthur was barely listening, too busy wondering why he had almost moved to kiss you and why he was now desperate to know if your lips felt as soft as they looked.

“Where are all your Ferrari shirts, Little Leclerc?” you asked, staring at the pile of clothes you had made on the floor. Arthur shook himself out of his thoughts, “you stole them all, well most of them. I had to request new ones from the team…” he stated, folding his arms and pretending to look stern, “and you stole about five of my hoodies!”

“Borrowed,” you corrected with a grin.

“So I can have them back?” asked Arthur, hopefully.

“Not a chance babe,” you replied, sticking your tongue out and tapping his chest as you made your way to the kitchen, leaving Arthur questioning why you’d suddenly called him babe, and why he had really really liked it.

You were running late. Arthur was going to kill you, he needed someone to attend some sponsor event since Charles couldn’t make it and you’d agreed. But then you’d spent an hour picking a dress and your timings had gotten completely thrown off. You’d opted for an ankle length black gown with a low neckline and a slit up the side hoping you weren’t too overdressed. You grabbed your keys and bag and ran out the door, jumping into the waiting taxi. Thankfully you ended up only five minutes late and ran up the stairs of the venue to find Arthur waiting for you. He was dressed in a navy blue suit and white shirt with the top couple of buttons casually undone. He looked so good you nearly tripped up the steps but caught yourself just in time. “Hi,sorry!” you said, glad you could attribute your breathlessness to running and not how goddamn hot your best friend looked right now.

“Should we go in?” you asked. Arthur still hadn’t said anything and was gazing at you with a strange look in his eyes, which you attributed to anxiety about meeting yet another load of new people.

It had been a few hours, you’d made small talk with a bunch of people, including a few creepy old men who had you regretting your outfit on more than one occasion. Thankfully Arthur had tightened his arm around your waist and made an excuse to move away. For the first time that night you found yourselves alone, taking a moment to regroup before you inevitably got pulled back into the fray.

“I meant to say earlier, you look beautiful by the way. That dress looks great on you,” blurted out Arthur suddenly. You smoothed down invisible creases in your dress, feeling on unsure footing before looking up again muttering a soft “thank you” under your breath. He was gazing into your eyes with an unreadable expression.

You took a chance.

“Hey, are you a magician? Because when I look at you, everyone else disappears,” you whispered, unable to look away. Suddenly, a hand tapped Arthur on the shoulder and he reeled back. Back? When had he leaned forwards, towards you? “Sorry to interrupt Mr Leclerc, they want to take the photos now,” said a well dressed man with an apologetic smile. Arthur followed, still in a slight daze, leaving you wondering what the hell had just happened.

The next day, Arthur got back from his run and fell backwards onto the sofa. He knew he should have a shower but his mind hadn’t stopped whirring the entire time he was out. He couldn’t stop thinking about you. His best friend. You hadn’t sent him a pick up line today and he missed it. More than he should have. He ran his hand through his hair with a sigh thinking back to the sponsor event. He had been disappointed when you were interrupted for photos, he realised. He had really wanted to kiss you and now he couldn’t stop thinking about how stunning you had looked in that dress. The way it hugged your curves, the way you pulled him just a little bit closer every time you met someone new, like you needed reassurance that he wasn’t going anywhere. He wasn’t, he would always be there to protect you. You were his and… oh.

OH.

In hindsight, it probably should have taken him a lot less time to figure out he had developed feelings for you… the signs were right there. “I’m just dumb,” he groaned, covering his face with his hands in resignation.

You were just settling down on the sofa with a coffee and your latest read when there was a knock at the door.

“Coming!” you yelled, running through the apartment to fling open the front door.

“You know, if we were socks, I think we’d make a pretty good pair. But we aren’t socks, yet we’d still make a pretty good pair,” said Arthur, leaning casually against the doorframe. He was fiddling with his hands, the only sign he was nervous. You looked at him confused, hair still messy from your early morning gym session and one of his Ferrari shirts clinging to your frame, loosely tucked into denim shorts.

“I’m pretty sure I was supposed to be the one coming up with pick up lines, Thur. But I’ll definitely add that to the list.”

Arthur’s eyebrows met in a brief frown before he pushed himself off the door frame and walked inside your apartment, hands suddenly on your waist.

“Tell me who your crush is, please?” he asked, desperation in his voice that you completely missed in your panic.

“It’s no one, I mean, you don’t know them so it doesn’t matter,” you answered, voice strained as you tried to move out of his grip but he only held you firmer.

“You never mention anyone and you spend all your time with me. We’re best friends, we tell each other everything, so why haven’t you told me a name?” he asked quietly, eyes never leaving yours.

“Arthur-”

“The pick up lines worked,” he admitted, interrupting whatever you were going to say. “I don’t know if that was your plan all along but they fucking worked. I loved them, they made me smile, they made me laugh, I found myself looking forward to them and wanting to flirt back and somewhere along the way I fell for you. I need an entire factory of plasters for how hard I’ve fallen for you. I’m just hoping you feel the same because if not, it might actually break me.”

You looked deep into his eyes before scanning his face for any sign he was lying but the face that looked back at you was different this time. This one was so full of affection you were almost suffocated by it, making your heart skip a beat. You took a deep breath before speaking.

“It’s you Arthur, it’s always been you,” you confirmed with a small smile.

“Oh thank god,” he muttered relieved before moving to rest his forehead against yours, eyes closed in happiness. “They should rearrange the alphabet and put U and I together,” he added with a smile.

“Arthur, baby, are you planning on kissing me any time soon or are we going to cycle through all the pick up lines you clearly practiced before coming over here first?”

“I thought you loved pick up lines?” asked Arthur, moving his head back to look at you properly with a cheeky smirk.

“Thur, I swear to god-” you started, left hand going to hit his chest in mock frustration. His smirk turned into a full on grin before he grabbed your hand, pulling you towards him.

“Come here,” he said softly before finally, finally meeting your lips with his. A few seconds later he pulled back, “do you like my t-shirt? It’s new.”

“Um, what?” you asked, confused why your favourite harbinger of chaos had stopped kissing you.

“Ask me what it’s made of…”

You sighed wearily before reluctantly doing as he requested, “what’s it made out of Little Leclerc?”