then you flashed your green eyes at me || Charles Leclerc

chapter twenty-one

*author's note*
I'm so behind with my writing schedule cause I'm on vacation, I don't have many chapters ready at the moment so I'll probably be slower at posting for this last part of the month :(
still, I hope you're enjoying the story so far, let me know! I live to read comments and see what people think of my work <3

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The following morning she went to their café, sat at their table, ordered a cappuccino and a croissant, and waited.

Then she ordered another cappuccino, and waited.

Then, she asked for a glass of water. And waited.

Two hours later she got up, paid for what she got, and went to the paddock.

The same thing happened the next day, and on race day.

She would get there, wait, and go away. She was hoping for something to happen. She was waiting for something she wasn't sure would come.

What she didn't know was that, each of those morning, he was there. He would stand behind the corner, waiting for her to finish her breakfast. Then, when she went away, he would sit at their table, order the same thing, look at the view, and think about her.

Every morning the waitress would smile at him and say "Elle t'a juste manqué" ["You just missed her"]. And he would smile back, trying to hide the pain in his eyes.

And then, on the paddock, he would avoid her. She would try to say hi, and he would turn around, or pretend someone called him, or just look at his phone.

On race day, the same thing happened. He then got to the Ferrari motorhome late and got scoled at by Fred on the fact that he shouldn't have been late. He nodded, catching Carlos looking at him disappointed.

"Don't worry, I didn't talk to her" he said annoyed, walking in his driver's room to get changed. 

Alya was in the McLaren motorhome, sitting in Lando's driver's room while he was talking to a bunch of engineers about some upgrades they had done. She was lazily checking her phone, waiting for the race to start. 

She stood on the paddock to wish good luck to her friends, all of them high fiving her as they walked to their cars - all other than Carlos, who decided to hug her. When she saw Charles walk towars the grid, she stopped in front of him. 

"Good luck" she smiled. He tried to get past her, avoiding eye contact. She stopped him again. "What's your problem?" she asked.

"I don't have time" he said, hitting her shoulder to get to his car. She stood there for a few minutes, arms on her side, confused. What the fuck?

After one last look she turned around and walked to the McLaren garage, wearing her headphones - she would've watched from there as usual. Then she looked at her phone until she heard that people were getting back inside the garage. She waited for the formation lap to finish.

"It's lights out, and away we go!" she heard the commentary. 

Max, Lando and Daniel were starting on front. Carlos was fourth, Oscar was fifth. Charles was twentieth, since his car had decided to shut down mid turn and made him slide against a wall during Q1. They all mantained the positions they started in.

One lap.

Two laps.

Three laps, Oscar had overtaken Carlos.

Five laps.

Seven laps. Charles was still last. 

Twelve laps in, she started worrying. It felt like Charles had given up from the start, he wasn't even trying to overtake. He was just there. 

She sighed. He had been treating her like crap, but she had started to care. She took off her headphones and walked to the Ferrari garage. She walked up to Fred. 

"Can I talk to Charles?" she asked. He looked at her, she knew it technically wasn't allowed. Then he sighed, taking off his headphones and handing them to her.

"Quick, I'm not supposed to do this. But if you can make him drive faster, please do" 

She nodded, putting the set on. Then started talking in the mic. "Charles? I think you can hear me - I hope so. Move you fucking ass, you understand me? I don't care how shitty the car is, how bad the strategists are" she received a few glares from the men sitting next to her. She mouthed a 'what, it's true' before talking in the mic again. "I don't care. You're a good driver, and I need you to see and believe in this information. You can't give up without trying, what will you think of yourself when the race is done? Make up your fucking mind. You don't want to disappoint the tifosi, and then you don't even try. Get your shit together Charles. I believe you can do it. Believe in it yourself!  Push! Listen, you've always loved racing, right?"

She heard a weak "Yes" in her ears.

"Then fucking do it. Take that steering wheel and push that fucking gas pedal. Do what you love, remind yourself of what you're capable of, alright? Kick their asses. And remember why you love racing." She said, knowing he would think about his dad and Jules. "Do it for yourself and do it for them. Don't give up so easily Leclerc. That's not who you are" 

Without waiting for any answer, she handed the headphones back to Fred and walked back to the McLaren garage, taking the seat she had left empty, and watched the monitor. She hoped he would start pushing.

And he did. 

Fourty laps in, he was tenth.

"Looks like Charles Leclerc decided to wake up!" the commentator said. "What happened?" he said excited.

Fifty laps in, he was sixth.

"Charles Leclerc keeps going, he overtakes his teammate Carlos Sainz! What a thrilling race!"

Seventy-two laps in, he was second. Max was first, Lando third. 

Seventy-seven laps in, in the last corner, he was overtook Max. Alya rose from her chair, cheering.

"WHAT AN AMAZING RACE! CHARLES LECLERC IS THE WINNER OF THE MONACO GRAND PRIX!" 

The crowd went crazy. A red wave moved through the stands and the Ferrari fans started jumping, cheering for Charles. She walked out of the garage, watching as he pulled up in front of Ferrari - and Max in front of Redbull and Lando in front of them. 

She hugged Lando and ran up to congratulate Max, then stood near the fans as Charles removed his helmet. She smiled brightly at him, getting back a smile for the first time in days. 

She watched as they got interviewed, then ran under the podium to see them from the front row. She was smiling so much that her cheeks were hurting, and she had no intention to stop. 

She laughed as they assaulted the crowd with champagne, and cheered with the teams as they were raising their trophies. She looked at them proudly, not caring about the cameras pointing at her face.

She was happy. They were happy. 

It was a good day.