#cl16 fluff

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username1 omg so true? Like what's going on with him???

username2 he always looks so good

username3 driving for Ferrari does that to you

username0 wait, he has a new car?!

username07 why is he driving so slow

username55 please don't post this, it doesn't concern us

username23 did someone steal his accelerator

username87 true, I actually saw him driving around at 3am, he was going super slow

username74 is he okay

username63 maybe he has insomnia???

username41 Did yall forget that he just became a dad or?

username33 so???

username41 so what if he had his baby there

username88 wait, why is this valid

username6 if this is true, please take down the post

username90 ture, let's respect their privacy

The apartment was quiet in that very particular way that only existed after midnight in Monaco.

Not the glamorous, postcard Monaco. Not the yachts or champagne or music drifting through open balconies. This was the soft, sleepy version—streetlights humming gently, the distant echo of waves somewhere below the cliff, and the low ticking of a kitchen clock that Charles had forgotten to turn off.

Yn was awake.

He knew it before she made a sound.

Charles lay on his side on the couch, one arm draped awkwardly around a folded blanket, eyes half-open, listening. He held his breath, counting in his head.

One.

Two.

Three—

A tiny noise broke the silence. Not a full cry. Just a soft, confused whimper, like she wasn’t sure yet whether she wanted to be upset.

Charles exhaled slowly.

“Hey,” he whispered immediately, already sitting up. “I’m here. Papa’s here.”

He padded barefoot across the living room toward the bassinet by the window. Yn lay bundled in pale pink, impossibly small, her fists tucked close to her chest. Her face scrunched up as she blinked, dark lashes fluttering.

Charles leaned over her, heart doing that stupid painful thing it had been doing since the day she was born.

“How are you this tiny,” he murmured. “You’re not real.”

Her lip trembled.

“Okay, okay,” he said quickly, sliding his hands beneath her with practiced care. He lifted her against his chest, supporting her head exactly the way the nurse had shown him, the way he had practiced over and over until his movements were muscle memory.

Yn let out a quiet cry. Not loud. Just offended.

“I know,” Charles whispered, swaying gently. “I know. It’s terrible being awake at two in the morning.”

He walked slow circles around the living room, rocking her softly. He hummed under his breath—something tuneless, something his own father used to hum when Arthur was small.

Yn didn’t settle.

Her cry grew sharper, her little body stiffening slightly against his chest.

Charles stopped walking.

“Hmm,” he murmured, brow furrowing. “Okay. Okay, let’s think.”

He tried the bottle. She took a few sips, then pushed it away, frowning like she was deeply unimpressed.

He changed her diaper, whispering apologies the whole time.

“I know, I know. Worst thing ever. I’m sorry. I would be mad too.”

Still, she fussed.

Charles sighed quietly and glanced at the clock on the wall.

2:07 a.m.

He looked down at her face, red and scrunched, eyes shiny with tears.

And then he smiled.

“Oh,” he breathed, realization clicking into place. “You want the car.”

It had surprised him the first time it happened.

She’d been only a few days old. Nothing had worked—rocking, feeding, walking, bouncing on an exercise ball at four in the morning like a man who had completely lost his mind.

Out of sheer desperation, he’d buckled her into the car seat and gone for a drive.

She’d fallen asleep before he reached the end of the street.

Since then, it had become their thing.

Charles moved quietly, deliberately, slipping on a hoodie and sneakers while holding Yn against his chest. He grabbed the car seat with his free hand, checking—again—that everything was properly adjusted.

“You and me,” he whispered to her. “Let’s go.”

The garage echoed softly as he opened the door. The car lights blinked on, gentle and dim, as he settled Yn into her seat with careful hands.

“Okay,” he murmured, leaning in close. “You’re safe. Papa’s here.”

He kissed her forehead, right between her eyebrows, then straightened and slid into the driver’s seat.

The engine started with a soft purr.

Charles pulled out of the garage and onto the empty street, driving slower than he ever had in his life.

Monaco at night felt like a secret.

The roads were empty, the city hushed, like it was holding its breath. Streetlights cast golden pools on the pavement as Charles drove, one hand on the wheel, the other resting lightly near Yn’s seat as if proximity alone could protect her.

Within minutes, her cries softened.

Then stopped.

Charles glanced in the rearview mirror.

Yn was asleep.

Her mouth had fallen open just slightly, lashes resting against her cheeks. One tiny hand was curled into the fabric of her blanket.

Charles smiled so hard his cheeks hurt.

“Of course,” he whispered. “Of course this works.”

He drove on, tracing familiar routes—along the harbor, past silent cafés, up the winding roads where he usually attacked corners with precision and speed.

Tonight, he barely touched the accelerator.

Every turn was smooth. Every movement careful.

It didn’t matter.

She slept.

He was turning onto a long, empty stretch near the port when flashing blue lights suddenly filled the mirrors.

Charles’s heart jumped straight into his throat.

“Oh,” he breathed, instinctively easing off the accelerator even more. “Oh no.”

He pulled over immediately, parking carefully at the curb. His hands were steady, but his mind raced.

It’s two in the morning. I’m driving at twenty kilometers per hour. This looks ridiculous.

He glanced back at Yn.

Still asleep.

“Okay,” he whispered. “Okay. Papa’s got this.”

The police car pulled in behind him. A door opened. Footsteps approached.

Charles rolled down the window slowly.

The officer leaned in slightly, flashlight angled toward the car.

“Bonsoir,” the officer said politely. “Everything okay tonight?”

“Yes—yes,” Charles replied quickly, then stopped himself and smiled sheepishly. “I mean, yes. Sorry. I wasn’t speeding or—”

“We noticed,” the officer said, glancing at the speedometer. His tone was neutral, curious rather than stern. “You were driving very slowly.”

Charles nodded. “Yes. I know. I’m sorry if that’s not—”

The officer’s gaze shifted past Charles, toward the back seat.

“What’s going on?” he asked.

Charles followed his look and softened immediately.

“My daughter,” he said quietly. “She’s a newborn.”

The officer leaned slightly to the side, peering in more carefully.

Yn slept peacefully, completely unaware of the situation.

“Oh,” the officer said, his voice dropping automatically. “She’s tiny.”

Charles nodded, unable to stop himself from smiling. “She really likes the car. It helps her sleep. So… I drive.”

“At two in the morning,” the officer added, amused.

Charles chuckled under his breath. “Yes. At two in the morning. Or three. Or whenever she needs it.”

The officer straightened, exchanging a glance with his partner.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat. “Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” Charles replied sincerely.

“You’re doing nothing wrong,” the officer continued. “Just… maybe keep it safe.”

“I promise,” Charles said immediately. “Very safe.”

The officer smiled, stepping back. “Alright. Keep going.”

“Thank you,” Charles said, relief washing over him. “Really.”

As the police car pulled away, Charles let out a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“Did you hear that?” he whispered to Yn. “You charmed the police.”

He drove a little longer, just to be sure she was settled, before heading home.

The next morning—or afternoon, really—Charles was on the couch with Yn asleep on his chest when his phone buzzed.

Arthur.

He reached for it carefully, making sure not to disturb her.

Arthur:

bro 😭

Charles frowned slightly and typed back.

Charles:

What?

Arthur:

Have you been driving like a grandpa lately?

Charles blinked.

Charles:

…maybe

Arthur:

Twitter is losing it

Charles sighed, already smiling.

Charles:

What did I do now

Arthur:

People think you’ve lost your edge 😭

“why is he driving so slow”

“is he okay”

“did someone steal his accelerator”

Charles laughed silently, shoulders shaking just a little. Yn stirred but didn’t wake.

Arthur:

Someone literally tracked your night drives 😭

Charles shook his head, amused.

Charles:

Tell them it’s strategic

Arthur:

I told them you’re training for endurance at 20 km/h

Charles snorted.

He looked down at Yn, her tiny chest rising and falling against his own.

“Worth it,” he whispered.

His phone buzzed again.

Arthur:

You’re a good dad, you know

Charles swallowed, emotion tightening his chest unexpectedly.

Charles:

I’m trying

Arthur:

She’s lucky

Charles turned off his phone and rested his head back, eyes closing as he breathed her in.

charlesleclerc added to his story

leclercsradio

Liked by yourusername, pascaleleclerc, and 4,830,901 others

leclercsradio Charles’ radio during free practice today. Y/N was there to support him, her sign reading “Go get ‘em!” with a silly picture of Charles underneath. ❤️

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username Choose someone who’s supportive 🥹

username not to be that type of person but Y/N is actually the first girl Charles dated that i genuinely like

username actually that’s so valid, she’s so sweet and unproblematic, nothing to hate about her fr

pascaleleclerc ❤️❤️ ❤️ by author

username See even Maman Leclerc approves

username No because she’s always there to support him and he’s always looking for her no matter what 😭

username She’s clearly his comfort person I’m crying this is too much

leclercsradio

Liked by scuderiaferrari, maxverstappen1, lando, and 3,849,092 others

leclercsradio Well, Bryan? Was he wearing the Ferrari shirt?!

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username Charles said let’s focus on the important things here lmaooo

username Bryan and the team have been terrorising Charles for so long it’s only fair he does the same

scuderiaferrari Leo was in fact wearing rosso corsa. 🏎️ ❤️ by author

username Leo’s inside voice: Ouh my god, I’ve never looked so good 🍌

yourusername I’m sorry Bryan 😭❤️

charles_leclerc Don’t be sorry mon amour, he understands I was just checking on my son

bryanbozzi I don’t think I do.

leclercsradio

Liked by danielricciardo, sebastianvettel, maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, yourusername and 6,929,838 others

leclercsradio CHARLES LECLERC WINS THE MONACO GRAND PRIX!!!!!

And if that isn’t enough to make you lose your shit, look at this sweet radio message from Charles to @/yourusername.❤️

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username I heard this radio live and cried even harder

username HE LOVES HER SO MUCH 😭😭

charles_leclerc My biggest supporter, thank you so much for always challenging me to be even better. This is our win, @/yourusername. ❤️

yourusername No, this is all you. I’m so proud of you. ❤️

danielricciardo Get a fucking room oh my god

carlossainz55 I’m on Danny’s side here hermano

username not them being even sweeter in this fucking comment section someone kill me i’m begging

username You fangirls belong into a mental hospital

username Disrespectfully, stfu ❤️

leclercsradio

Liked by f1gossippofficial, and 4,053,939 others

leclercsradio Charles radio after his scary crash in Italy today. He was unresponsive after asking for long term girlfriend Y/N L/N, and was transported to the hospital soon after.

We are yet to wait for more updates.

We hope you’re okay, Charles. ❤️

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username That was a really scary crash, and it’s not looking too good. I hope he’s okay :(

username His first thought was checking if Y/N is okay 😭

username and when he knew she was ok he stopped answering omg i feel sick

username I want someone who loves me this much oml

leclercsradio

Liked by pascaleleclerc, pierregasly, carlossainz55, and 4,062,823 others

leclercsradio We think Charles wanted to ride into the sunset with Y/N today at the GP in Texas.❤️

We also think Bryan is getting sick of this lovesick fool, but maybe that’s just us. 👀🫣

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username He sees something beautiful and immediately thinks about his girlfriend ❤️

username I actually can’t take this anymore, I need a Charles in my life

username Same like where do i find someone like him 😭

username love that he’s the kind of person who sees a pretty sunset and gets all sappy

yourusername Same

username OMFG HI I LOVE YOU

leclercsradio

Liked by yourusername, maxverstappen1, scuderiaferrari, and 5,867,999 others

leclercsradio Charles’ last radio of the season!❤️

Make sure to follow us to see the newest radios of the next season. 🏎️

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username I bet Bryan was waiting the whole season to finally do this HAHAHAH

bryanbozzi 👀

charles_leclerc I feel betrayed

yourusername Oh you had it coming my love

charles_leclerc You’re supposed to be on my side…

yourusername Now where’s the fun in that?

username Noooooo 😭 I’m gonna miss these sm

username Well, let’s just hope they don’t break up until next year

username why did you think that was a good thing to comment omg

username not charles nightmare fuel box box 😭

—

Other drivers: Radio Check | Masterlist

Studying while sitting outside in the sun makes it more bearable. Not that I have fun during it, but it still makes it slightly better. Sitting on an old picnic blanket, some books scattered around me, marker and pen in my hand, scribbling down notes, highlighting the really important things and groaning when something doesn’t make sense. I take a different-coloured highlighter and mark something I really don’t understand, making sure to remember what I want to ask my friend. She took the exam last semester, and this usually comes in handy for me when I need some deeper explanation of something I don’t understand. 

My routine is broken off by a little whirlwind of fur approaching me, paws clumsily patting on my legs and I just have to laugh at that little golden dachshund ripping me out of my thoughts. “Well, hello.” I greet him and get an excited bark as an answer, making all the stress wash away from me. Setting my notes down to pet him while he wriggles and can’t seem to stand still for a second. “Who are you?” I ask, as if the dog is going to answer me, but then I see a little tag on his collar. While holding on to his leash, preventing him from running away again, I look at the little tag, reading his name out loud. 

“Leo.” I say and immediately his attention is on me, still insisting on pets, showing me his belly for some rubs and I need to giggle. Leo, golden dachshund in Monaco, could it be…no, that would be too much of a coincidence, there are probably many dogs like that here. “Where is your owner, Leo?” I ask and then look around, trying to spot someone who looks like they lost a dog, but no one is around currently. Frowning, I debate what to do. He is definitely lost, has run away with his leash still attached. Maybe just wait for a bit? Probably for the best. So, I decided I will continue my study session for a bit and if there is still no one coming, I will have to bring him to a shelter. 

I pick up my notes again, Leo settling beside me like he has done nothing else in his life and he is suddenly really calm after his previous outburst of energy and joy. It takes around five minutes until I hear someone call “Leo?” and I lift my head, looking around to see someone searching for that little dachshund beside me. But he is probably not able to spot him from where he is. Then again, he calls out Leo’s name, but the dog doesn’t move away from its spot beside my leg. “Go on.” I encourage him, but Leo just thumps his tail once and then places his head on his paws, making me frown. 

When the man calls for Leo again and the dog still doesn’t move an inch, I decide to help. “Over here.” I call out, waving my hand to get the man’s attention. He walks over and Leo sits up beside me, tail wagging, but he still doesn’t trot to his owner. “Didn’t know my dog could talk.” The man smirks, looking at his little dachshund, like he isn’t sure if he wants to scold him or cuddle him happily because he is back again. And now I know for certain that Leo is indeed the Leo of Charles Leclerc. 

“Though if he doesn't listen, I'll help out.” I say with a shrug of my shoulders. “Thanks for that.” Charles says, but I just wave it off. “No problem.” I hand him over Leo’s leash, but then my eyes fall on his knee, which is scraped open, a little blood trickling down his leg. 

“Oh god, your knee.” I say and he looks down at the bloody skin with a sigh. “When he sprinted off, I tripped and had a very gracious fall.” He explains and I can feel my lips twitching upwards, not wanting to laugh about him, but imagining him falling because a little creature like Leo decided to bolt is slightly funny. “I can imagine.” I say, trying to sound serious, but I am sure he has seen the slight smile on my lips before I was able to put on a straight face again. 

“Want me to patch you up?” I ask him, already rummaging in my backpack to get out my emergency kit. “You have an emergency kit with you?” He asks, sounding something between amused and horrified. “I might be a certified clumsy person.” I tell him with a laugh and can see him smile back at me. He has a nice smile. 

“Oh, if I should let you care for my knee.” He says, but then he sits down and gestures for me to start. “As if I am going to hurt the Ferrari prince.” I huff while spraying some antiseptic on his knee to get it cleaned of blood and any debris that might be in it. Then I realise what I just said, blush slightly and groan on the inside. Great, thinking before speaking is something I might need to work on. 

“You know who I am?” Charles asks, voice sounding somehow reversed now. “Technical yes, but to be honest, I didn’t want to say anything.” I say while cleaning the wound on his knees, looking up to him before adding. “It is your free time, and you should be able to enjoy it because in the end you are just a normal person like we all.” I explain my point of view. Of course, they are persons of public interest, but sometimes it would be nice for them to enjoy some privacy. 

“Nice of you to say that.” Charles says with a hum, and I finish the cleaning of his knee before putting on a plaster. Then it is silent for a moment, both of us not knowing what to say and then Charles stands up. 

“Well, we are going to leave now. Stop disturbing you.” He says, grabbing tightly on the leash of Leo, not letting his dog sprint off another time. “Don’t worry, there was never a better distraction from studying before.” I reassure him, because cuddling with a cute dog is the best distraction I can think of.

“I will remember that.” Charles says with a laugh, gently tugging on Leo’s leash to get him to move. The dachshund hesitates but then follows his owner with little taps of his paw. “Bye.” I wave at them, before a sigh leaves my lips, let's continue studying. 

It takes a few days for me to return to that learning spot again. Classes and my part-time job have kept me busy, but today is a free day and because the weather is beautiful, I set up my camp again. Picnic blanket, books and notes and I am nose deep down into my work when I have a deja vu. A golden dachshund is almost jumping on me, pawing at my attention and I just have to drop my things and laugh. 

“Hello Leo, it’s nice to see you again.” I say while brushing my fingers through his fur, his tail wagging excitedly and then I notice something attached to his back. It’s a bag filled with little goods and a note hanging on it. I quickly detach it from Leo’s harness, and then I read the note.

A little thank you and some snacks for studying.

A smile comes to my lips and I look up, trying to spot Charles, who is waiting just a few meters away. “Are you going to come over or do I have to keep talking with your dog?” I ask him, one hand finding Leo again to keep patting him and Charles comes over at my words. 

“Hi.” He says and I greet him as well “Hey.” Charles then gestures to the stuff he got me “Thank you again.” He thanks me, but I wave my hand dismissively, “It was no problem at all.”

“Want to share some snacks with me?” I then ask him, because if he got me some snacks, he deserves some of them as well. “I don’t want to disturb.” He hesitates and I decide to be dramatic. “Please rescue me from learning.” I plead and Charles snorts out a laugh. 

“I am officially deceased,” she mumbles.

Charles laughs weakly as he kicks off his shoes. “You cannot be deceased. You promised me dinner for the rest of our lives.”

Yn turns her head slowly. “I did not specify the quality of said dinners.”

He walks past her and presses a kiss into her hair, lingering there a second longer than necessary. “I missed you even though we were sitting next to each other for ten hours.”

“That is called being obsessed,” she says fondly, pushing herself off the door and following him into the living room.

“Engaged,” he corrects. “It is different.”

They collapse onto the couch at the same time, limbs tangling automatically like they have done this a thousand times. Charles lets out a dramatic groan and stretches his legs out, head falling back.

“I am starving,” he says. “Like actually angry hungry.”

Yn hums, eyes half closed already. “Same.”

Silence settles for a few seconds. The kind that only happens when you are completely comfortable and completely exhausted. The city hums faintly outside. Charles turns his head to look at her, hair messy, face soft, engagement ring catching the light when she shifts.

He feels that familiar rush in his chest. The one that hits him at random moments. Grocery stores. Airports. When she laughs at something stupid. When she exists.

“You know,” he says slowly, “we could order takeout.”

Yn’s eyes snap open.

She gasps so loudly that he flinches.

“Oh my god,” she says. “You are so right.”

Charles smiles, already reaching for his phone. “Pizza or sushi. Or both. We had a long flight. We deserve it.”

She sits up abruptly and grabs his wrist. “No.”

He blinks. “No as in no sushi or no as in you want burgers.”

“No as in this,” she says, eyes bright despite the exhaustion. “This is the perfect opportunity.”

“For what,” he asks cautiously.

“For you to try my girl dinner.”

He stares at her. “Your what.”

“Girl dinner.”

“I know what a girl dinner is,” he says quickly. “I am online. I am not ancient.”

She squints at him. “You say that but I do not trust you.”

“I know it is like random things on a plate,” he continues. “Cheese. Olives. Crackers. A single grape.”

Yn laughs. “Okay that was rude but also accurate sometimes.”

“So what is the plan,” he asks. “Because I am imagining us eating pickles and vibes.”

She grabs his hand and pulls him up. “Come on. Kitchen. Now.”

“I am scared,” he says, letting himself be dragged anyway.

“You should be,” she replies cheerfully.

The kitchen light flicks on and suddenly she is awake again, like someone flipped a switch. She ties her hair up, moves around with purpose, opens drawers.

Charles leans against the counter watching her, smiling despite himself.

“I love you,” he says randomly.

She looks over her shoulder. “I know.”

He snorts. “Rude.”

“You love that I know,” she shoots back.

She reaches into a cupboard and pulls out a bag of potatoes, placing it dramatically into his hands.

“Your task,” she announces, “is to peel these.”

He looks down. “That is it.”

“For now.”

He grabs a peeler from the drawer. “I am already contributing to girl dinner.”

“Exactly,” she says. “Bonding experience.”

He starts peeling, exaggeratedly careful. “I feel like I am on a cooking show.”

“You are,” she says. “I am judging you.”

“Do I get points for enthusiasm.”

“Minus points for commentary.”

He grins and keeps going. “So what exactly are we making.”

“Fries,” she says, opening the pantry. “But better.”

“Better than fries,” he repeats. “Bold statement.”

She pulls out olive oil, garlic, dried herbs. “Trust me.”

He watches her mince garlic, the familiar comfort of watching her do something ordinary hitting him harder than any race win ever did.

“You know,” he says, “I was actually ready to fight you if this involved raw vegetables.”

She laughs. “I would never hurt you like that.”

The potatoes are peeled and she hands him a knife.

“Cut them into fries,” she says. “Not too thin. We want them soft inside.”

“Yes chef.”

“Do not call me that.”

“Yes chef,” he repeats immediately.

She rolls her eyes but smiles. While he cuts, she pours olive oil into a bowl, adds garlic, herbs, salt, pepper. She leans in to smell it and hums approvingly.

“Smell this,” she says, holding the bowl out.

He leans in and inhales. “Okay that is actually incredible.”

“See,” she says. “Have faith.”

He drops the potatoes into the bowl and she gestures for him to coat them. He uses his hands and she pretends not to notice when he licks oil off his fingers.

“Disgusting,” she says.

“You are the one who made it delicious,” he replies.

They spread the fries on a baking tray, slide it into the oven, and set a timer.

“Thirty minutes,” she says.

He exhales dramatically. “I might pass away.”

She points to the couch. “You can suffer there.”

Instead, he steps closer to her, hands already reaching for her waist like muscle memory. “Counter,” he says softly.

She raises an eyebrow. “You are demanding for someone who almost ordered pizza.”

He lifts her easily and sets her on the counter, stepping between her knees. She automatically wraps her legs around his hips, arms sliding around his neck.

“This is part of the recipe,” he says.

“Is it,” she asks.

“Yes. Very important step.”

He presses his forehead to hers, hands slipping under her shirt, warm against her skin. She sighs and leans into him.

They sway gently as music plays from his phone, something soft and familiar. He presses kisses along her jaw, her neck, not rushing, just existing with her.

“You okay,” he murmurs.

She nods. “Just tired.”

“Me too.”

They stay like that, whispering about nothing. About the flight. About how weird airport coffee tastes. About how he almost cried when he saw their engagement announcement on Instagram again.

“You did cry,” she says.

“I did not.”

“You absolutely did.”

“Only a little.”

She smiles and kisses him. Slow. Warm. Home.

The oven timer beeps and they both groan.

“Rude,” she says.

He pulls back reluctantly. “Duty calls.”

He helps her down and they pull the tray out together. The fries are golden, crispy at the edges.

She grabs the Parmesan and showers it over the fries like it is snow.

He watches skeptically. “That is a lot of cheese.”

“There is no such thing.”

She slides a fry toward him. “Moment of truth.”

He hesitates dramatically. “If this is bad, I am ordering sushi.”

She laughs. “Deal.”

He bites into it and freezes.

“Well,” she says, watching his face.

He chews slowly, eyes widening. “Okay.”

“Okay good or okay bad.”

“Okay why is this actually amazing.”

She beams. “Told you.”

“They are crispy,” he says. “And garlicky. And cheesy but not too much.”

“I am a culinary genius.”

He grabs another fry. “You are.”

They eat straight off the tray, leaning against the counter, bumping shoulders.

“I would like to formally apologize for doubting girl dinner,” he says.

“Apology accepted.”

He kisses her cheek, then her lips, quick and happy.

“This is my new favorite meal,” he adds.

She smiles softly. “Good. You are stuck with it forever.”

Living in Monaco kind of comes with a bit of a quirk that there's not really garden space and for Charles' girlfriend who basically loves the countryside and outdoors it’s not the most ideal. Thankfully her family actually own a farm not far form Monaco so she gets to go home back to her more natural habitat regularly.

One of Charles' favourite things is seeing her in her element like that.

"She's insisting on harvesting berries." Her mother states as she sees Charles appear to collect y/n and take her to Monaco before they have to travel tomorrow to Melbourne.

"Is everything she needs with us packed up?"

"Yes. We made sure she was ready to go before we let her out into the field." Her mum promises; everyone knows there's certain things y/n simply won't travel without. Specifically a stolen hoodie that comes everywhere with her and for some reason she won't buy double of her skincare so that always goes with her packed up and dragged around.

Charles nods with a dimpled smile before moving to find where his girlfriend has sent herself in search of fruit.

He ends up having to walk the better part of a mile, but he finds her, barefoot on the grassy ground, dungarees and basket of berries as she tosses more freshly plucked fruit into it and hums to herself.

She almost looks like she's straight out of a dream, the sun shining down on her. The unseasonably warm weather of early spring creeping in which is why there's even berries that have appeared for her to pick.

"Amour." Charles states making her head whip around before she beams at him.

"Charles!" Y/n gasps then running over to him and throwing herself onto him, capturing him in a very sweet kiss that gives away she's not just been picking berries and throwing them in the basket. "I missed you."

"I saw you yesterday." Charles chuckles making her shrug then pecking his lips again before she climbs down from him.

"Yeah, but I like seeing you all the time." Y/n shrugs then smiling. "Just let me get this back to the house and I'll grab my stuff then we can get home."

Charles takes the basket to carry which is actually pretty heavy showing just how long she's been out there.

-

Y/n disappeared in Melbourne while Charles was being kept busy with the team. It's a big weekend for a lot of reasons. But obviously the first weekend and Lewis' first performance but at the end of Thursday, Charles is trying to find his missing girlfriend.

"She's handing out flowers to fans from a flower shop she just bought the entire stock of." Andrea states making Charles sigh and smile.

Y/n must've corralled some security and a couple Ferrari team members into helping her with the flowers.

Somehow she's perfectly finishes handing out the last of the flowers as Charles appears signing a few things since she's really imbedded herself into the crowd, nearly all of which are holding flowers.

"Hey, amour. Time for us to go, we need to eat." Charles smiles still signing stuff as he speaks and y/n looks at him innocently seeming to try and separate his words from the voices trying to get his attention from her. Confusion momentarily clouding her eyes before she finally decodes exactly what he's asking of her.

"Oh right." Y/n smiles brightly before she begins to say her goodbyes while Charles signs the last couple things then taking her hand and guiding her out of there. "Wait what about my stuff?"

"Joris has it." Charles states earning a small nod. "You sold out a flower shop to hand them out?"

"The flowers were so pretty." Y/n sighs softly while Charles chuckles. "The florist told me all about the different flowers, they're local. It's important to support the local businesses around here, and if I can help then give them to people and maybe make someone's day then that's want I want to do."

Moments like this Charles is more than aware that y/n is too good for this world. Her nature is such a giving nature and she only sees the best in people, it makes him protective of her and he knows that other people might take advantage of her kindness.

In fact last year some fans did do exactly that and she invited them into the F1 paddock, she managed to find a way to get them in with passes all free of charge and the moment they were in they basically made demand after demand until Joris had to get hold of Charles and make him aware of y/n's actions and gesture of good will being used by people who really didn't deserve it.

When they get back to the hotel, Charles smiles opening the door and immediately being met with the biggest bouquet of all red flowers waiting for him.

"You know, it's meant to be me who buys the flowers."

"Yes, but...I think you were overdue to get them from me." Y/n smiles as Charles scoops her up and pulls her legs up around his waist, heaving her shoes clatter to the ground behind him as he does so while she immediately nuzzles into his neck. "I'm going to miss having you all to myself like I got you over winter."

"You are coming to every race this year, amour. I don't think I can spend more time with you."

"I know, I'm just being greedy-and I'm going to miss just dragging you away to the farm and enjoying the peace. It's like our secret haven." Y/n sighs making Charles smile since he does love going to the farm with her and they'll try to go back as much as possible but it's not as much as y/n would like and he knows that.

"I will try to find farms for us to visit in as many places as I can." Charles promises making her beam at him.

"You promise?" Y/n asks brightly.

"Promise." Charles nods then sighing. "And you can sell out every small business store and share the love everywhere you go."

"I will." Y/n states then sighing as she pecks his lips. "So what are we going to do now?"

SEVEN YEARS, FOUR MONTHS AND FIFTEEN DAYS. That was the last time Charles saw you.

He wasn’t counting, but when Arthur had mentioned it exactly twelve days earlier, that you were coming back — and not just back to visit, but back to Monaco for good. The time spent part reprised with ease. Seven years. Four months. Fifteen days. It was long enough for the city to change, long enough for completely different paths to be taken and long enough for the girl who waved goodbye on the plane all those years ago, to be replaced with the woman stepping off the plane now. 

Arthur, of course, hadn’t stopped talking about it since.

“I think she’s finally had enough of England,” he’d announced over dinner one evening, helping himself to another serving of his mother’s pasta before anyone else had a chance. “Apparently she’s done all of her courses or something and she’s ready to come back. She’s going to be travelling with the PR team, helping me with the media and stuff.”

Charles had looked up from his plate then. Trying to only appear mildly interested. 

“PR?”

Arthur nodded enthusiastically, shoveling another spoonful of pasta into his mouth. “She started studying marketing after boarding school and somehow ended up working with some sports clients. She’s here to stop me from embarrassing myself.” 

Lorenzo had laughed from across the table. “That’s more of a full-time position.” 

Arthur shrugged, “Probably.” 

The conversation moved on pretty quickly after that, drifting towards outstanding testing with Ferrari, race schedules, and Lorenzo’s latest plans, but Charles found it strangely hard to focus. Every now and then, his mind would wander back to you.

His little brother’s best friend. The girl who had practically grown up inside this very house. 

You had spent more afternoons in the Leclerc family kitchen than Charles could count, usually with Arthur racing you up the stairs two at a time before Pascale inevitably called you both to slow down. There was summer holidays spent by the harbour with both families, karting races where you’d watch from the stands, evenings where you refused to go home until your parents insisted it was getting too late. 

Back then, you had always seemed to exist just outside of Charles’ world. 

Young enough that you and Arthur disappeared into your own adventures whilst he was chasing the world of karting, and the dream that eventually became F1. He remembered you as endlessly chatty, always asking questions, forever trying to keep up with Arthur even when his little brother insisted on making everything into a competition. 

Then you went to boarding school. 

A simple goodbye at the airport had quietly turned into years apart. 

In the first few months with you gone, Arthur would continuously speak about you. There were stories shared from boarding school, photos sent into group chats, complaints about coursework and weird professors. Voice notes sent to him at ungodly hours. 

As the years passed, life got busier for everyone. Arthur climbed the motorsport ranks, Charles found himself living the life he had dreamed of, travelling from one side of the world to the other in scarlet overalls. 

You all lost friends and family along the way. 

But you—you became someone Charles only knew through the occasional picture Arthur shoved in his face. 

Every glimpse felt fleeting. A photo held up across from the kitchen before Arthur continued scrolling. Or a laugh echoing through bedroom walls as you both Facetimed. A birthday phone call, or a Christmas present the postman delivered with a stamp from England. 

But never enough to truly know the person you now were. 

“Are you even listening to me?” 

Arthur’s voice pulled him back to the present. 

Charles blinked, realising his brother was staring at him expectantly from the passenger seat of his Ferrari as they sped through the winding streets of Monaco. 

“I am,”

Arthur narrowed his eyes. “Then what did I just say?” 

Charles huffed out a quiet laugh. 

“You said I have to come to dinner tomorrow because Mum refuses to let you collect her from the airport alone.” 

“And…?” 

“And apparently saying I’m busy isn’t an acceptable excuse.” 

“Yeah, because it isn’t.” 

Arthur folded his arms dramatically. “You’ve not seen her in years, the least you can do is make an appearance and say hello.” 

Charles smiled to himself as he rolled to a stop at the traffic lights. “I’ll be there, okay?” 

He was a hundred percent sure why the thought made his pulse race a little faster. Curiosity maybe? 

After all, seven years, four months and twenty-seven days is a very long time.

Long enough for everything to change. 

—

The following evening arrived quicker than Charles had expected. 

Monaco was bathed in the golden haze of early summer, the kind that softened every building along the coastline until the entire principality seemed to glow. The roads were busier than usual, lined with tourists drifting between hot-spots and designer boutiques, cameras swinging from their necks as they searched for a glimpse of an F1 driver. Charles had long since grown used to the attention, though today he found himself barely noticing any of it. His mind had wandered elsewhere. 

It was stuck on you – someone he had spoken to properly in years. Arthur’s best friend.

The thought should’ve settled whatever strange anticipation had lodged itself in his chest. But it didn’t. 

The Leclerc family home looked exactly as it always had. Warm lights spilling from the windows despite the lingering evening sun, and Charles could already hear faint laughter drifting from the garden before he’d even climbed out the car. 

His little brother had never mastered the art of being quiet. Or laughing at a respectable volume. 

Charles shook his head with an affectionate smile before locking the Ferrari behind him. The scent of fresh pasta carried through the warm air as he wandered up the stone pathway, the familiar aromas instantly transporting him back to summers spent chasing his brothers around the garden. 

“Maman?” Charles called as he stepped inside. 

“In the kitchen, dear.” Pascale replied. 

He slipped his shoes off near the entrance, tossing his keys into the ceramic bowl that had sat in exactly the same spot for as long as he could remember. The comforting smell of garlic, tomatoes and fresh herbs wrapped around him immediately, making his stomach remind him that he’d skipped lunch. 

“You look tired,” Pascale briefly looked up to greet her son, kissing his cheek as he leant over and dipped his finger in the sauce. 

“I’ve been busy, you know, the whole racing thing.” 

She fixed him with the kind of look only a mother could master. 

“Charles…” 

He held his hands up in a mock surrender. “I’ll eat my weight pasta tonight, promise.” 

“Oh yes you will.” 

He laughed, accepting the inevitable defeat before following her to the back of the kitchen. 

Lorenzo was already setting glasses onto the dining table while Arthur hovered nearby, pretending to help but spending most of his time stealing pieces of bread whenever Pascale wasn’t looking. 

“You know,” Lorenzo said without glancing up, “most people wait until dinner is served.” 

Arthur snatched another piece from the basket. “I’m helping lighten the load.” 

Charles chuckled under his breath as he reached into the bread basket himself. “I see nothing wrong with his technique.” 

The room had settled into its usual family rhythm with effortless ease. Arthur filled the silence with stories from Ferrari’s Driver Academy, with Lorenzo teasing him relentlessly, and Pascale, unsuccessfully, to keep everyone focused on setting the table rather than sampling the meal beforehand. 

Charles found himself relaxing for the first time all day. Maybe he’d built tonight into something much bigger than it really was. 

But before the thought could even leave his mind, the doorbell rang. The sound echoing through the house. 

“I’ve got it!” Arthur shouted, already halfway into the hallway. 

His footsteps tapped through the house before the front door swung open. For a brief moment, Charles heard nothing. Then he could hear his brother laughing, not the quiet, polite laugh reserved for acquaintances. 

This was the loud and carefree laugh reserved for her. 

“There she is!” A familiar voice answered, softened by distance but unmistakable enough that something tightened unexpectedly inside Charles’ chest. 

“I was beginning to think you’d forgotten about me.” 

“Yeah right, as if I’d survive that.” 

Charles smiled at the voices despite himself. He thought about how somethings really hadn’t changed.

Arthur pulled you into one of his bear hugs he had done since you were kids. “You’ve been living in England too long,” Arthur muttered in your hair. 

“And you’ve clearly not changed, one bit.” 

The warmth in your voice made something strangely nostalgic settle over him. It was familiar and kind to him, despite the years that separated the memory from the present. 

Pascale beamed before hurrying into the hallway. “Oh, my darling.” She pulled you into her embrace, the unmistakable smell of her perfume dancing under your nose. 

“It’s so good to have you home.” 

Lorenzo excused himself with a grin, disappearing to greet you too, leaving Charles standing alone beside the dining table. He hadn’t realised he’d stopped what he was doing until Arthur called his name from the hallway. 

“Charlie!” 

He lifted his head instantly. “You coming or what?” 

Charles rounded the corner, one hand casually tucked into the pocket of his jeans. He expected to see the same girl he’d waved goodbye to outside Nice airport all those years ago. 

For the briefest moment, the entire hallway seemed to fall away around him. Standing beside Arthur, suitcase abandoned near the doorway, was someone he never would have recognised if he had passed you in the street. 

Time had softened the edges of your adolescence, replacing them with an effortless confidence that couldn’t be taught. England had changed the way you carried yourself, the quiet certainty in your posture, the easy smile that appeared as you looked around the home you’d once spent half your childhood in. There was something unmistakably familiar about you, the warmth in your eyes, the way your smile reached them before your lips but the years had transformed the little girl he remembered into a woman. 

His breath caught before he could stop it. 

Arthur noticed his expression immediately. “I told you she’d changed!” 

But Charles barely heard him. Because all he could think was that seven years suddenly didn’t feel like nearly enough time to prepare for seeing you again. 

And then your eyes met his. 

“Hi Charles,” your voice was soft, the same way he remembered. You still said his name the same. 

But he realised, with no small amount of embarrassment, that he had forgotten to speak. Long enough that Arthur looked between you both with a puzzling frown. 

“...Hi.” 

A quiet laugh escaped you, the sound as familiar as the sea beyond the windows. “It’s been a while.” 

He smiled then, genuine and almost disbelieving. “It really has.” 

Neither of you seemed entirely sure how to bridge seven years of distance. So Arthur, blissfully unaware of the moment unfolding between you, groaned dramatically and threw an arm around both your shoulders. 

“Right,” he announced.”This is getting awkward and sappy. Someone hug mum before she starts crying or something.” 

—

The strangest thing about returning to your hometown was not how much it had changed. It was how much it hadn’t. 

The streets still carried the same familiar rhythm you remembered from childhood, the narrow roads that wound between buildings painted in soft peach and cream, the harbour filled with boats that looked impossibly elegant against the deep blue of the Mediterranean sea. The same cafes spilled onto the pavements, the same voices echoed through the streets, and the same warm evenings settled over the city in a familiar embrace. 

For years, you had convinced yourself that Monaco was a place you had grown out of and England was your new reality. 

Your tiny dorm room had turned into your flat, your school uniform had become a tailored work suit, and the girl who had once spent every summer afternoon following Arthur around Monaco had become a woman. You had built a life away from the place where everyone knew your name, away from the expectations of being the daughter-like figure in the Leclerc household, away from being introduced as Arthur’s best friend before anything else. 

But coming home made you realise something you hadn’t expected. Monaco had never stopped feeling like home. 

Especially when you found yourself standing inside the Ferrari hospitality unit, wearing your team lanyard around your neck and watching Charles prepare for another race weekend. 

This was the part you hadn’t quite prepared yourself for. 

Working in F1 had always been a dream. You had studied communications and marketing, worked your way through internships and smaller marketing projects, and eventually found yourself in a position at Ferrari that people dream about for a lifetime. 

You were sure Arthur only put you up for the position because no one else would understand why he said the stupid things he said. But you were grateful nevertheless. 

At first, Charles treated you exactly how you expected him to. He was polite and careful – like someone he was happy to have back in his life but didn’t quite know where to place. 

You understood why. You weren’t exactly the same girl who used to sit on the floor of the Leclerc living room watching Arthur play Call of Duty while Charles analysed race data nearby. You were older now, and so was he. The space between childhood memories and adulthood was complicated. 

Especially when adulthood involved working alongside one another. 

The first few race weekends, you both kept things professional. Almost painfully, professional.

Every interaction you had with him was respectful. And somehow, that made it worse. Not because he was rude, but because you remembered a different Charles. The one who would steal food from Arthur’s plate at dinner. The one who would tease you for being too competitive at Uno.

Now he looked across from you in the paddock with a quiet curiosity, as if he was trying to understand how the girl he remembered had become the woman standing in front of him. 

It took four weeks for him to break his professional bubble. After the qualifying in Barcelona. 

Ferrari had finished the session well, and the atmosphere around the garage was lighter than usual. The pressure that followed every race weekend lifted slightly, replaced by the team celebrating. 

You were reviewing an interview, making notes when Charles appeared beside you. His tall figure towering over your body as you slumped over your laptop screen. 

“Shouldn’t you be celebrating with the rest of the team?” 

You looked up from your screen, peeling your headphones off your ears. 

“That’s ironic coming from the great Charles Leclerc.” 

A small smile tugged at his lips as you whispered his name. “I’m allowed to ask, aren't I?” 

“I have to finish this before the end of the day, it has to be sent to the media with my approval. Celebrating can come when you stand on that top step tomorrow.” 

He felt his heart hammer. “Touche.” 

For a brief moment, it felt like old times. Like the two childhood friends picking up from where they left off. 

But after that day, things slowly changed. Like a lightbulb had gone off on top of his head. 

He would bring you your coffee order every morning – remembering exactly how you liked it. 

You reminding him about a sponsor commitment that you’d penciled into your diary because you knew he would’ve forgotten. 

The late-night flights where everyone else slept and the two of you ended up talking quietly about the smallest things – everything and nothing.

You had become the person he looked for in every room. And he became the person you automatically searched for when something exciting happened. 

And then…nothing. He went from coffees during morning briefings, to no longer waiting for you after interviews in the media pen. 

Avoiding you in strategy meetings and eating earlier than you.

All without reason. 

— 

By the time summer break had finally arrived, Ferrari were leading the championship.

The entire team was buzzing with a rare sense of confidence that was rare to the team. The first half of the season had exceeded all expectations, and for the first time in years, the pressure surrounding Ferrari had become a lot lighter. 

The party was organised as a celebration before everyone scattered across the globe for a well-deserved break. 

Drivers, past and present, friends, colleagues, family – all in attendance. 

A night where nobody needed to talk about lap times or strategy plans or whether the rear wing was working or not. It was a night where Charles could simply be Charles. And a night where you could be you.

The villa overlooked almost the entirety of Monaco, perched high enough above the coastline that the harbour below resembled a painting brought to life. Superyachts bobbed gently on the marina, their lights reflecting across the water as a dusk slowly surrendered to night, whilst music drifted from the gardens and terraces where members of Ferrari’s team mingled with friends, family and invited guests. 

It was a rarity for everyone to switch off completely. 

F1 had a habit of consuming every conversation, every meal and spare thought. Even celebrations usually found themselves interrupted by discussions of upgrades, tyre strategies or the next race on the calendar. Tonight, however, there was an unspoken agreement that work would remain exactly where it belonged. 

The championship leaderboards could wait a few weeks. For one evening Ferrari simply wanted to celebrate. 

You stood near the edge of the terrace with a glass of champagne weaved between your fingertips, watching mechanics who usually spent race weekends focused with precision, were now attempting some questionable dance moves. It was strangely comforting watching people stripped back to who they were away from the pressure of the paddock. 

“You’ve got that look again.” 

Arthur was casually chasing after a tray of tiny desserts a passing waiter was holding. 

“What look?” 

His finger circled your face, “the one where you started analysing everyone, instead of enjoying yourself.” 

“I work in PR, it’s my job.” 

He shoved the small cake into his mouth, chewing loudly. “Not tonight, the only thing you need to do tonight is have fun.” 

You nudged his shoulder with your own, laughing quietly before taking another sip of your drink. The champagne bubbles tickling the back of your throat. 

“I’m serious,” Arthur continued, looking around the terrace. “You spend every race making sure everyone else is having a good weekend. Maybe spend tonight off the clock?” 

You opened your mouth to argue before he pointed dramatically towards the dance floor. “See! Lewis is dancing!” 

You followed his gaze, unable to suppress another laugh. “I think that’s a bit generous.” 

“Go and mingle, speak to people! Make new friends.” His arms flailed in a dramatic fashion. 

“I am mingling…I’m talking to you.” You laughed.

“I don’t count—we’re family.” 

The words settled warm in your chest. Family. It was always how Arthur had described you. The realisation brought with it a familiar pang of guilt all too accustomed to ignoring. Because somewhere over the last few months, family had become a dangerously complicated word. 

Charles had noticed you as soon as you arrived. He wished he hadn’t. 

The evening had started well enough, engineers were laughing over stories from the first half of the season, Fred had somehow become involved in an argument about music with half the strategy department, and Charles had genuinely managed to relax for the first time in weeks. 

Then you’d walked out onto the terrace. His eyes had simply found you instinctively amongst the crowd, as though they had quietly developed the habit without asking his permission. 

You had swapped your scarlet Ferrari team kit for a cascading yellow chiffon dress. Your hair was pulled into a french twist with curls that framed your face. You were laughing at something his brother had said, your head tilted slightly as the breeze caught the loose strands of hair. The soft glow from the hanging lanterns illuminated your smile, and Charles felt something tighten uncomfortably inside his chest. 

It had become a habit to notice you, knowing your every move. Whether you were happy or sad or nervous. It started months ago. 

One conversation on a flight home from Canada had become another over breakfast in Austria. Shared coffees between media commitments had turned into late evening walks back to the hotel after sponsor dinners. Every race weekend seemed to offer another excuse to spend time together until talking to you had become the most natural part of his routine. 

He knew which coffee you ordered before you’d reached the cafe counter. He knew you hummed absent-mindedly whenever you were concentrating. He knew that you always stood just off camera during interviews because you hated drawing attention to yourself despite being exceptionally good at your job. 

He knew entirely too much. 

And every new thing he learned only made it more difficult to forget that you were completely off limits. 

“Charles.” 

He blinked, realising Lewis was speaking to him. “Everything okay man?” 

“Yes, sorry. What’s, uhm, what were you saying?” 

Charles glanced back towards you without thinking. It barely lasted a second, but it was still enough for Lewis to notice. He followed Charles’ gaze before looking back at him, an amused smile slowly forming. 

“Ah.” 

Charles immediately looked away. “It’s not—” 

“I didn’t say anything,” Lewis couldn’t help but smirk. 

“You were about to though.” Charles gulped back to rest of his drink, desperate to find courage at the bottom of his glass. 

Lewis lifted both hands innocently. “I wasn’t, promise.” 

The evening drifted onwards with effortless ease. 

Music grew louder as the night got older, people abandoning conversations for dancing. Arthur was convinced, easily, to join them, and although he pretended to protest loudly for all of thirty seconds, he was now somehow leading a circle of the marketing team through movements that slightly resembled dance moves. 

You watched from the sidelines, laughing so hard that your cheeks began to ache. 

“I don’t actually think you can call that dancing.” Charles laughed through sips of his drink. 

You looked up, surprised to see him standing there. 

“I admire his confidence.” You laughed, looking up at the Monogasque through your lashes. 

A comfortable silence settled between you as you watched Arthur continue to embarrass himself with remarkable confidence. 

“He hasn’t changed, has he.” You smiled softly. 

“No, but neither have you.” Charles replied, he folded his arms against the terrace railing. 

You turned towards him, eyebrows lifting slightly. “I think England might disagree,” 

“I don’t mean…” he hesitated slightly, searching his brain for the right words. “You’ve changed.” 

A small crease appeared between your brows. 

“But the important things haven’t.” 

You looked out across the harbour again. “What are the important things?” 

Charles followed your gaze, his hands carefully wrapping around his glass. “The way you make Arthur laugh, the way my mum lights up whenever you come around, the way the room somehow feels lighter when you’re in it.” 

Your fingers tightened around your clutch, finding anything to ground you. He probably hadn’t even realised what he had said. 

Charles swallowed, “I suppose some people don’t really change to the core, they still keep the values that make them shine.” 

You didn’t trust yourself to answer. Because if you did, you weren’t entirely sure the words that had lived inside you since you were sixteen wouldn’t simply fall out. 

The silence stretched between you, no longer awkward but undeniably different. Almost heavy with everything neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge. 

Then someone called Charles’ name from across the terrace. “I should…” 

“Go,” you replied, a small smile creeping. 

You watched him disappear back into the crowd. He never saw the smile fade from your face, nor did he hear the quiet sigh that escaped you as you stared out at the glittering harbour, wondering why every conversation between the two of you now felt like it ended just before something important was about to be said. 

—

The evening settled into an easy rhythm after that, the kind that only existed when everyone present had spent months chasing the same goal together. 

The barriers that normally separated drivers from engineers, mechanics from the media staff, slowly started to dissolve beneath the warmth of the summer evening. Laughter carried across the terrace as stories from the first half of the year steadily exaggerated with every retelling, and somewhere near the centre of the garden, Arthur had managed to convince half of Ferrari’s mechanics that they needed to recreate the celebratory photograph from the podium in Miami. 

You watched from across the lawn, shaking your head as he climbed onto a chair despite several people immediately telling him it was a terrible idea. 

But somehow, you found yourself looking towards Charles again before you could stop yourself. 

He was smiling in conversation with Fred, nodding where appropriate, but there was a distance to him that hadn’t been there earlier in the evening. His shoulders seemed tighter somehow, his smile more restrained, and every now and then his eyes drifted absentmindedly across the party before finding you entirely by accident. Or so that’s what he told himself. 

Something twisted painfully in your chest, you had become remarkably good at reading Charles over the past few months. 

It came with working alongside him almost every weekend, with learning the subtle differences between a smile offered to the media and one reserved for the people he trusted the most. You recognised the slight furrow that appeared between his brows whenever something heavy weighed on his mind. You noticed how he rubbed the back of his neck when he was frustrated, or how his jaw tightened ever so slightly whenever he was trying to keep his emotions under control. 

And tonight, he had managed to do all of those things. And somehow you knew they had everything to do with you. 

Charles had spent the entire evening trying to prove to himself that he was stronger than whatever this had become. 

But, instead, every conversation blurred together because somewhere on the opposite side of the terrace, you existed. 

You slipped effortlessly between groups of people, making everyone feel listened to, laughing with the team one moment, before helping one of Ferrari’s commercial partners the next. You were exceptionally good at your job because people naturally gravitated towards you, and yet you never sought the spotlight for yourself. 

By the time the first clap of thunder sounded somewhere beyond the mountains, hardly anyone seemed to notice. 

The music continued uninterrupted, conversations carrying on beneath strings of golden lights as though the distant rumble had between nothing more than another yacht sounding its horn in the harbour below. 

You were standing near one of the stone balustrades overlooking the sea when the cool breeze swept across the terrace, lifting the edge of your dress and carrying with it the unmistakable scent of Monaco rain. 

You looked upwards instinctively, dark clouds swallowing the stars. As your head tilted back down, your eyes focused on Charles — he was standing alone, simply staring out at the dark water beyond the gardens. 

A strange feeling washed over your being, like you had the quiet certainty that he was about to leave. As though whatever battle he had been fighting with himself all evening had finally reached its conclusion. 

You watched him finish the last of his drink before placing the empty glass onto a nearby table. 

Then, without saying goodbye to anyone, he turned and walked away from the lights of the party, following the narrow stone pathway that wound down toward the private stretch of beach below. 

Your eyes remained fixed on him before he dissipated into the darkness. 

For a long moment, you stood perfectly still. Every sensible thought told you to let him go. Whatever was troubling him wasn’t your responsibility. Yet your feet were already moving before your mind had reached a decision. 

You quietly set your untouched glass onto the nearest table, excused yourself from a conversation you’d wandered into, and slipped away from the celebrations. 

Above the sea, another roll of thunder sounded, closer this time. 

And somewhere ahead of you, hidden beyond the winding pathway and the sound of waves, Charles Leclerc walked towards a conversation that neither of you would ever be able to take back. 

The further you walked from the villa, the more peaceful the world became. Music that once filled the air was now a distant hum, swallowed by the rhythmic crash of waves meeting the shoreline below. The narrow stone path wound its way through the cliffside gardens before descending towards the secluded stretch of beach, illuminated only by discreet lanterns between the rocks. 

You pulled your heels off from the strap clasped around your ankle, slowing your pace as your feet sunk into the dampened sand. 

The lights from the port shimmered across the water in fractured ribbons of gold, interrupted every few seconds by the swell of the tide. Somewhere far out on the horizon, lightning flashed silently behind thick clouds, illuminating the sky for only the briefest moment before darkness reclaimed it once more. 

Charles stood a few steps away, his back turned towards you, hands resting against his hips as he stared out across the Mediterranean. 

You watched him for a moment before you spoke, gently nudging your courage to open your mouth. 

“You always come to the beach when you’re sad.” 

The words were soft enough not to startle him, yet they carried effortlessly through the stillness. 

You watched as his shoulders tensed. “I used to.” 

You took another tentative step across the sand. “I remember. When everything got a bit too much, a bit too loud–” a faint smile touching your lips at the memory, “Arthur used to go looking for you and he’d always find you at the beach.” 

He let out a quiet breath, though he didn’t turn around, but the faintest nod followed. “It’s quieter here.” 

Silence gently settled between you both, the moonlight glowing his features. You joined him on the waters edge, leaving enough space between you that neither of you felt crowded, yet close enough that the warmth radiating from him was hard to ignore. 

For a while neither of you spoke. The silence didn’t need filling. It had become one of those things you treasured most about Charles over the past few months. Unlike so many people in Formula One, he wasn’t afraid of silence. He didn’t rush to occupy every empty space with meaningless conversation. Somehow, standing beside him without speaking felt every bit as intimate as the late-night discussions you’d shared while travelling from one end of the world to the next. 

Eventually, he broke the silence himself. 

“You shouldn’t be down here.” 

You looked across at him, the darkness shading him in shadows. “And why not?” 

“Because it’s going to storm and there’s a party full of people who will notice you gone.” 

You laughed, small and breathy. “I think they can survive without me for a couple of minutes.” 

His lips almost curved into a smile. Almost. 

“You should go back, I don’t want you to get unwell.” 

There it was again. The distance he constantly put between you. The same distance that had crept between you over the last few weeks whenever the two of you found yourself alone for a moment too long. 

“If you just wanted to be alone, you should’ve said.” 

He closed his eyes briefly, scrunching them together. “That’s not why I left.” 

“Then why did you?” 

No answer came, he just continued to look out at the water. The storm edging closer. 

You laughed quietly, though there wasn’t an ounce of amusement in the sound. “See? This is exactly what you’ve been doing!” 

Charles looked down at the sand between his feet. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“Yes you do!” Your voice has raised, reaching a volume you didn’t know you could reach. 

“I’ve just been busy.” He lied. 

The first drop of rain landed softly against your arm but neither of you acknowledge it. 

“You stopped asking if I wanted coffee before morning briefings, or waiting for me after interviews.” 

Another drop landed on your skin. Then another. 

“You started finding someone else to walk back to the hotel with after sponsor dinners, Charles.” 

He swallowed. “I didn’t mean it personally—just wanted to give you some space.” 

You shoes were thrown into the sand. “Space? In what world would I have wanted space?” 

The rain began to fall properly now, gentle enough that it barely disturbed the surface of the sea. 

“I kept wondering what I done wrong.” 

“You didn’t do anything.” Charles turned away sharply, dragging a frustrated hand across the back of his neck. 

“Just go back inside.” 

“Why, Charles?” His name sounded different coming from your lips tonight. “Tell me, I at least deserve that.” 

He turned toward you now, “I don’t owe you anything.” 

The words came out sharper than intended, making you flinch backwards; just enough for him to notice. 

You could see the regret settling across his face almost immediately. “I didn’t mean–” 

“You said what you said.” 

The rain was heavier now, dampening the sand beneath your feet as droplets clung to your hair and lashes. You folded your arms around yourself, more to keep your emotions contained than to keep warm. 

“I’ve spent days wondering why you suddenly decided I wasn’t worth your time anymore.” 

His head snapped up. “No, no, don’t do that. That’s not true. You are worth my time.” 

Lightning streaked silently across the horizon, briefly illuminating the water beyond you. 

“I can’t do this.” He exclaimed. 

“Because of Arthur?” The moment the words left your lips, his silence answered before he ever could – your heart tightened. 

He finally looked at you again, rain running freely through his dark curls now plastered against his forehead. 

“When Arthur told me you were coming home…I was happy for him.” His voice had become a little more rough than a murmur beneath the rain. 

“I thought I’d see the girl who used to follow him everywhere,” he stepped closer, separating the distance between you both. “But she never came back. You did.” 

His gaze never left yours, “and somehow, without me even realising it, I stopped seeing Arthur’s best friend and I started seeing you.” 

A tear escaped before you had the chance to stop it, disappearing almost instantly amongst the rain on your cheeks. 

“I really tried to ignore it, convincing myself it would pass—whatever this is,” he shook his head, laughing shyly. 

You couldn’t speak, couldn’t trust yourself with any acknowledgement. 

His eyes searched for yours as though hoping and praying you would tell him to stop. Instead, you whispered the one truth you had buried since you were sixteen. 

It was like the whole world around you disappeared. “I never stopped loving you.” 

He just stared at you as if the world tilted at his feet, “I thought maybe going to England would make me forget about you,” a small, sad smile tugged at your lips. “It turns out people were right about absence making the heart grow fonder.” 

For a long moment, neither of you moved. The rain continued to fall steadily around you, soaking through your dress until neither of you could tell what was rain and what was tears. 

Charles took one slow step toward you, closing the gap once again. “So this whole time…”he hesitated, “I’ve been trying not to fall in love with my little brother’s best friend.” 

A quiet, disbelieving laugh escaped you. 

“I’ve been trying not to fall in love with my best friend’s brother.” 

You were close enough now that you could hear his breathing over the storm. 

“If I kiss you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible, “nothing will ever be the same again.” 

You looked up at him, your heart pounding so violently you were sure he must have been able to hear it. “I know.” 

He lifted a hand slowly, hesitating only for a heartbeat before brushing rain-soaked strands of hair away from your face. His fingertips lingered against your cheek, impossibly gentle, as though he was still giving you one final chance to walk away. 

You didn’t. Instead, you closed the remaining distance yourself. 

The kiss was unhurried, almost tentative at first, years of unspoken feelings meeting in a moment neither of you had ever truly believed would exist. It wasn’t driven by urgency but by recognition, by the overwhelming relief of finally discovering that neither of you had been imagining the quiet pull that had existed between you for months.

When Charles deepened the kiss ever so slightly, his free hand came to rest against your waist, drawing you closer until there was no space left between you. Rain cascaded around you in silver sheets, the Mediterranean sea stretching endlessly behind you both, while above the cliffs the lights of the Ferrari celebration continued, blissfully unaware that below them, your life had changed, forever. 

Charles’ forehead rested lightly against yours as the rain continued to fall around you, each steady drop soaking through your clothes until there wasn’t a single part of either of you left untouched by the storm. The world beyond the beach had disappeared beneath the curtain of rain, the lights from the villa softened into blurred streaks of gold that danced across the water behind you.

His breathing was uneven. You weren’t sure whether yours was any steadier.

For months, every conversation had ended just before crossing the line that neither of you had dared acknowledge. Every glance had lingered a second too long before one of you looked away. Every accidental touch had carried far more meaning than either of you had been willing to admit.

Charles was the first to finally break the silence. “I’ve imagined that far too many times.” 

A soft laugh escaped you before you could stop it, though it felt thick with emotion. “I was beginning to think I’d imagined it all.” 

He drew his eyebrows together. “Imagined what?” 

“The way you looked at me,” you hummed. 

Charles looked at you with an expression you’d never seen before, like he was finally being seen for the first time. He looked… almost vulnerable. 

“You’re one of a kind you know,” he whispered, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. 

You looked up at the sky, the rain still cascading in sheets, it was almost like you’d both been blissfully unaware of anything around you — noise, people, the rain, lightning strikes. 

“We should get back, people will start wondering where we went.” You admitted, interlocking your fingers with his. 

He gently squeezed your hand, “you go back, I just need a minute.” 

You leant down and grabbed your shoes that had planted themselves in the wet sand, clumps sticking to the heels. “Okay, you sure?” 

He nodded, winking as you released his grip. 

You turned back as you treaded through the thick sand, almost to convince yourself that everything which just happened had been real. 

Rainwater trickled down the uneven stone steps, forcing you to watch where you placed your feet as your mind replayed every word Charles had spoken. Your fingers traced over your lips, lingering where his lips had met yours. 

You reached the terrace, pushing open the wrought iron gates that separated the beach to the gardens. The music was the first thing that greeted you first, then laughter and for one blissful second, you believed you managed to slip back unnoticed. 

But then, standing just under the awning, Arthur stood. One hand was wrapped tightly around a half-empty glass, his eyes fixed entirely on you. Something inside your chest sank before your mind had a chance to catch up. 

His voice when he spoke was so quiet that you almost wished he shouted instead. “...Tell me I didn’t just see what I think I saw.” 

For several long minutes neither of you spoke. 

The rain continued to fall beyond the shelter of the terrace roof, the steady rhythm against the stone pathways somehow louder than the music still drifting through the gardens. Around you, conversations carried on uninterrupted, glasses clinked together in celebration and someone near the dance floor cheered as one of the mechanics attempted another impossibly ambitious dance move.

It was remarkable how the world could continue turning while yours had come to a complete stop.

Arthur never looked away from you.

His expression remained painfully composed, though you knew him well enough to recognise the signs he couldn’t quite hide. His jaw had tightened so hard that a muscle feathered against his cheek, while the fingers wrapped around the edge of the table beside him had turned almost white from the force of his grip.

“Arthur…” 

He lifted his hand before you could say anything else. “Don’t even try to explain to me.” 

Almost on queue, Charles emerged from the beach path, unaware of the situation he was about to get into. His smile soon faltered as he saw you both standing in front of him. He had recognised the look on Arthur’s face before he’d reached the top of the steps. 

“Come with me, both of you.” He demanded, walking towards the garden’s edge. 

Without another word, Arthur stepped away from the lights of the celebration, choosing a quieter pathway that curved around the edge of the villa’s gardens. It led away from the music and the laughter, towards a section of the property that overlooked the sea, where only the distant glow of Monaco illuminated the darkness. You followed several paces behind, fighting every instinct to not look back at Charles.

Eventually, he came to a stop – the music became quiet again, replaced only by the sounds of the rain and the occasional clap of thunder. 

“I keep thinking…”

He spoke so quietly that you almost didn’t hear him. “…that if I stand here long enough, maybe I’ll wake up.”

You felt tears prick at your eyes. “Arthur…”

“I saw you.” His words caught slightly. “I saw the whole thing.”

Silence settled between you. The sight of him, upset, confused, it undone something within you. Charles stood slightly behind you, his hands buried deep in his pockets. 

“I trusted you…” his gaze lingered over at Charles. “You’re supposed to be my brother?” 

Charles didn’t answer, he went to open his mouth to respond but he couldn’t. Couldn’t find the words that would ever justify what he had done. 

“Was I the only idiot standing in that paddock thinking my best friend and my brother were exactly where they were supposed to be?” His arms interlocked behind his head, unable to keep still. 

“I’m sorry,” you managed, tears still falling as you tried to gather your breath. 

His eyes filled with tears, blinking to stop them from falling but it was no use. “I can’t spend the rest of my life wondering if I lost my best friend before I even realised she was slipping away.” 

He looked at you, with an expression you had never seen before. Like the person he knew was gone and he was grieving whatever remained of his best friend before him. 

“You haven’t lost—I’m still your best friend, Arthur.” You pleaded, moving a step closer to him, but he stepped back, creating further distance between you both. 

Arthur looked up at you, his eyes red and puffy, then looked back at Charles. “I need you to choose, I need you to choose me, your best friend,” he directly stared at Charles now, who had managed to make eye contact with his brother, “Or him.” 

The tears you fought so hard to contain had finally spilled freely now, you couldn’t bring yourself to answer him. There was no answer. No matter what path you chose, someone you loved was going to walk away, you were going to lose them. 

And for the first time since returning to Monaco, England no longer felt like the place you had left behind. It felt like the only place far enough away to escape a decision that would break your heart either way.

—

Monaco had never felt so small.

The days following the party passed in a blur of carefully choreographed avoidance, as though the entire principality had silently agreed to help you keep your distance from the people you could no longer bear to face. The summer break had emptied your schedule almost overnight.

For the first time all season, your calendar was empty.

Instead, it gave your thoughts far too much room to breathe. You had replayed the conversation with Arthur so many times that every word had become etched into your memory.

Pascale had called twice, asking if you wanted to come for dinner, her voice carrying the same warmth it always had. You had thanked her before quietly explaining that you were catching up on work, hating yourself for lying to the woman who had loved you like another child for most of your life.

Three mornings later, you stood in the middle of your apartment, staring at an open suitcase lying across the bed. The room looked almost exactly as it had when you first moved back to Monaco.

You folded another jumper carefully before placing it inside the case, smoothing the fabric with absent fingers. Your team kit now bagged, carefully hanging over the door, addressed back to the Ferrari HQ. 

The apartment was silent except for the zip of your suitcase and the distant sound of waves drifting through your open balcony doors.  

Three gentle taps on your door startled you. Charles stood on the other side of the door, his hands were buried inside the pockets of a navy hoodie despite the warmth of the afternoon, dark sunglasses resting on top of his head, his hair still slightly damp as though he’d driven over straight from the gym.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

His eyes drifted past your shoulder.

To the suitcase.

The colour drained ever so slightly from his face.

“…You’re leaving?” It wasn’t a question, but the hurt behind his voice was loaded. 

You nodded, “Yeah.” 

“Oh.” It was all he could manage, no words could describe the pain he felt in his chest. 

“I’ve been trying to find the right thing to say, you know, after the party–” 

“–me too,” he interrupted. “I wrote it all down, couldn’t sleep one night and I just had to get everything I wanted to say out of my head.” 

“You…wrote me a speech?” A sad smile tugged at your lips. 

“I deleted it.” He admitted. “But nothing I was going to say would sway your decision. It wouldn’t be fair.” 

He glanced briefly towards the photograph sitting on the shelf behind you, one taken years earlier of you, Arthur and Charles after a karting championship, all three of you grinning into the camera with ice creams melting in your hands.

“Because if I win….then he loses.”

Your fingers found his almost instinctively, holding his hand exactly as they had on the beach. “I don’t regret loving you,” his thumb brushed gently across the back of your hand. “But I can’t be the reason you lose your brother, or he loses you.” 

“I’ve spent seven years, seven years watching you from photographs and a glimpse on a Facetime call. I can wait another seven until we can love each other again.” 

You wrapped your arms around him, holding him tightly as though you could somehow memorise the feeling of being close to him.

The departures hall at Nice Airport was quieter than you remembered.

Tourists drifted between check-in desks, families gathered around oversized suitcases while the departure boards flickered endlessly overhead.

You stood with your boarding pass tucked between trembling fingers.

Your phone vibrated softly from your pocket, you half expected it to be your roommate back in England asking when you’re due to land. Except the phone glowed back at you, a name you didn’t quite expect. 

Arthur: Safe journey. Message me when you land. -A x

You stared at his name for a long time before you decided to reply. 

You: Thank you. I will x

The final boarding call echoed through the terminal. You looked down at your phone one last time before sliding it back into your pocket. Slowly, you made your way to your gate, suitcase wheeling behind you. 

“Have a safe flight, ma’am,”