the winner takes it all | charles leclerc

two: always you

summary: all the moments of the austria grand prix, boiling down to one thing...

warnings: none

❃゜・。. ・°゜✼ ゜°・ . 。・゜❃

Free Practice 1

Charles sits at the top most floor of the Ferrari motorhome, twiddling with the straw of his team water bottle as he scrolls through Instagram. This has become a regular thing, coming onto the paddock far too early for practice, and sitting on social media to pass the time. Four races have passed since Monaco, since he was forced to walk away from his only sense of normalcy.

He hasn't stopped beating himself up for that weekend. The words he screamed at you, the anger in his heart towards you made him sick to his stomach. You didn't deserve it, didn't deserve to carry the weight of his insecurities. And when it finally subsided, it was too late.

You liked the peonies, at least that's what you texted him. Merci Charles, I love them. And according to your latest instagram post, they're sitting pretty on your dining table. He wonders if you sit at home and think of him when you look at the pretty flowers. He wonders if you look at the peonies and picture him sitting across you, because he does.

"Charles, fifteen minutes!"

Xavier's voice cuts him out of his daydream. He strips off his team gear, swapping them out for a race suit. He zips it up to his waist, then grabs his helmet and water bottle before trotting down to the garage. It is busy when he arrives, men in red zooming left and right as they scramble through the garage to prepare for the first practice of the weekend. Charles smiles politely at the people in the garage, the guests Ferrari have invited to sit and watch and all the people who work tirelessly to give him as seamless of a race as possible. He steps out onto the paddock, the hot sun kissing his pale skin.

The Alpine garage is just as busy as Ferrari's. The people clad in blue are scrambling to and from the garage, rolling in wheels and clearing the asphalt of equipment. Charles watches as you step out onto the paddock, unaware that he is watching you just two garages down. You always did this, step out of your garage, away from the busy bodies to just soak up the sun. He admired the way your skin glowed, and the relaxed look on your face. He stepped back into his space, afraid of disrupting your peace.

"Five minutes Charles."

Qualifying

Free practice comes and goes, with Charles only two-tenths of a second behind Max's time. He spends about a half hour looking over his data, talking to his engineers and team about strategy. Tire talk wears him down faster than he'd like, and soon he is off retreating into his driver's room. He peels the red suit off his body, leaving his red under wear on. His balaclava and helmet are left on the little desk, boots and socks long forgotten in the corner. Charles flops onto his makeshift bed, phone in hand as he once again returns to social media.

Your story bubble is the first to appear, the pink and orange ring signifying you had just posted something new. You reposted the alpine graphic, showing you had finished P8 in the free practice. The next story is of you teasing Esteban, throwing something at him before erupting in a fit of giggles.

"Vous êtes la pire!" You're the worst!

Charles taps the left part of his screen, eyes falling shut as he listens to your laugh and soft voice one more time. He hated not being there with you, hated not being the reason you're so happy on a day like today, even after the P8 result. It's as if his world had turned gray, the color leaving with you.