Give it some, give it some, give it some time, But I think we're supposed to be

Part Four.

Even when he's on break, Charles is thinking about racing. You knew this, of course—from the moment you met him you understood that racing would always be a top priority for him, something he has to take into consideration in every other aspect of his life. Sometimes, you are more important than racing, but sometimes (and more often than not, during the season) racing is more important than you. You signed up for this. You understand. And it's kind of nice, sometimes, when he's home and distracted by his simulator, when it gives you a little bit of time to yourself to read, or FaceTime your friends, or watch garbage TV that he isn't interested in.

It's nice now, laid back on the couch in the living room, book resting open on your stomach, Selling Sunset real estate agents fighting over something stupid on the TV across the room. Charles left the door to his gaming room ajar, so you can hear him on the simulator, streaming on Twitch as he races through a virtual Monaco. You think, sometimes, that he chooses Monaco not because it's so special to him, but for the practice—for a glimmer of hope that he'll be on that podium for real one day, here, at home.

It's comforting, though, the sound of him just one room away, doing what makes him happiest. Quietly, you lean forward to grab the remote and mute the TV, closing your eyes and tuning in instead to Charles' voice as it carries out into the living room. You let your mind drift off with his voice, his shouts of excitement and grunts of frustration and the gentle, familiar, puzzle piece of his English as he speaks to the fans watching along on Twitch. He has his headphones on so you can't hear the other voices, but you've picked up a few names: a shouty "Lando," and a giggly "Albono!" certainly, and Pierre's name too, alongside some quick, chattering French, you think. You nestle your cheek into the armrest of the warm, green couch, content to lay here forever, your man laughing in the room next door.

The thought of ordering dinner flits across your mind, though you have no idea what time it is exactly. You've noticed that happening a lot, lately: losing track of time while you're with Charles. Hours disappear with him curled up across from you on the couch, his socked feet tucked under your thighs, or laying with his head on your stomach in bed, your hand carding through his hair and his breathing relaxed. Sometimes he plays piano and lets you sit next to him on the bench, your head resting on his shoulder and your eyes watching his fingers dance across the keys, and when you both surface you find it's hours later, the sun fully set, Buttons meowing for his forgotten dinner.

It makes you think about forever with him, the same way you did that first time he spent the night. How forever with Charles would go so quickly but last so long, eternal but the blink of an eye—nearly two years together now and you still get lost in him every day, still struggle to get out of bed in the morning when it means disentangling yourself from his warm, safe arms. You know forever is a long, long time. You also know that, with Charles, it could never be enough.

Through your content, sleepy haze, you can still hear Charles' voice. "You are breaking way too late, mate," he's saying in the other room, laughter in his words. "What the hell are you doing? This is not—no, look, watch me. I will do it correctly."

There's silence, then, "Maaaaate, no way. No—hold on, my pedal will not—what the hell is—oh my God. Fucking Buttons."

You're sitting up before Charles can even finish his sentence, all the relaxation you felt earlier draining from your body in a rush. By the time you make it to the door of the game room, Charles is holding Buttons in his arms, eyes narrowed as the cat struggles against him.

"It is my girlfriend's cat," he says to the stream, holding Buttons so they can all see him. "A menace. He ran under the pedals and it caused me to crash. This is what happened." In response, Buttons yeows, his tail smacking Charles' face over and over again.