𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙰𝚗𝚐𝚎𝚕 𝙾𝚏 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚛𝚒𝚍

𝙲𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝙵𝚘𝚞𝚛

~𝚈/𝙽~

I open the mini fridge in Lew's driver room. Monster Energy, Monster Energy and, what a surprise, Monster Energy. I take one of the cans and sit back down on the couch, opening it and taking a big sip. The familiar taste runs down my throat. I love Energy Drinks. Red Bull especially but I can't say it with Lew's partnership in the back. I don't do the advertising but I always get cans and merch from him or the company. At some point I just accepted my fate of drinking Monster till the end of my life.

The peach taste of Lewis's own Energy Drink isn't bad, I have to admit. Probably because I was the one who got sat on a chair and had to try all the different flavours until we found the right one. Or the fact that I had to drink this flavour over and over until they finally had the right mixture. Lew wanted me to be the one who likes it the most because of his love for my opinions. God, that sounds like the entire world spins around me, which isn't true. Ok, maybe Lewis makes me to his world, which I also don't really like because he sometimes forgets that there is something more important.

My godfather is doing his interviews right now, which is why I wait in his driver room to get back to the hotel with him. I started to work on my thesis but ended up being to tired to concentrate. Today was a busy day, taking pictures of the Mercedes garage and George and Lew for their Instagram pages. In a total of 8 hours of jumping around and shouting over the engineers and their working. As well as the fat Jet lag i got. I like Australia but the jet lags that come with it aren't funny. I want to take a shower, which I could do right now, if I would have packed changing clothes. I snatch my phone of the coffee table and start scrolling through Instagram. The pictures aren't online yet but plenty other Drivers and Racing Teams have posted something.

Gasly and Tsunoda are modelling in the new Alpha Tauri Merch. A picture of Stroll in his new Aston Martin and Norris and Riccardo playing Golf together. I never saw Riccardo playing Golf or that he even has the interest in it. Maybe he does it because of Norris. Red Bull posted something about the RB18. Verstappen stands, in full suit, in his cockpit, holding his new designed helmet in front of himself. It looks really cool. I would like to talk with him and get to know him but the move he pulled on me lets me being distant to him. I, first of all, need to find the strength to talk to him again. As well as the part where I should keep my distance so Lew wouldn't kill him.

There is a picture of Pérez, after a race, where he talks with Sainz in the Pit lane. They look happy even though they didn't win. On Sainz account is the same picture but where they side hug each other. I keep on with my scrolling, some pictures of my friends with their families, some of the Racing Teams and one of Roscoe. This cute dog. I love him and he loves me. Something Lewis and Roscoe have in common, loving me with their full heart. I couldn't wish for more with the both of them. Roscoe always tackles me to the ground and starts a storm of cuddles when he sees me. I don't know how he always gets me to the floor but he does. He is the tackle king.

I start scrolling but stop my thumb abruptly. There he is. The red of his trunks shining brightly from the screen. His tanned naked torso on full display and his smile... Oh dios mío (my god) his smile. His eyes, I love those colourful eyes, look so happy. In every picture he has another eye color. Sometimes a warm brown, then an ocean blue and in the other grass green orbs. I love the dimples that form when he laughs and his bright warming smile, he gives everyone, is so sweet. I think many people think like me. You just want to grab his face and pepper it with kisses.

But right now my eyes are locked on his tanned body that disappears centimetre by centimetre in the ice tub. I saw this kind of video from every Driver because the ice water is good for cooling down but it never looked so hot. The video starts again and I let it on play. Charles Leclerc, you look so fucking hot. I want to get to know you. Not through prepared questions, not through childhood photos, in real life. In privacy, to talk without cameras and distractions. I wanna hear this French accent roll of your tongue. Gosh I sound like whatever obsessed creep. I start scrolling again before my brain can drift to the other kind of thoughts.