𝐈𝐧𝐝𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞, Formula 1

Chapter 14

Charles' home race. The most expensive race of the season. The race where everything relied on qualifying alone. The place that I spent my winters with the Leclercs.

Monaco.

The sun beat down hungrily on our skin. Ours being Charles and myself. He had wanted to show me his home in Monaco, but with every second we sit on his balcony drinking some fruity concoction I sense otherwise.

It had been a long day, but enjoyable. He showed me all the places we ate as kids, we had lunch in Montana, then spent the longest time catching up.

He lived near the harbour, we could see the track from his apartment! He pointed out the area of the track right outside the balcony. The salty breeze wafted perfumes up from the streets. Despite owning the whole floor, his place seemed small and quant. It was bright and modern, with trophies lining the walls.

It was exactly how I imagined he'd live, surrounded by his achievements.

I hadn't failed to notice the photos that lined every wall, too. From ones when we were kids, to a couple from the past year. I had pointed out one where the Leclerc brothers and I were forced to look excited for the upcoming karting race, despite having to get up early to drive to the track. Everyone's face reflected our disapproval of the foggy morning, even the usually even-tempered Lorenzo. I'm sure if I thought about I could remember how that exact race went.

Then I saw one of Charles and Max, arm in arm on what looks to be a tennis court. They are grinning wildly at the camera, their hair stuck to their heads from hard earned sweat. I look away quickly after that.

Now, his balcony is adorned with billowing curtains. A little cliche, if you ask me. But he is here and apart of me is whole again. We dip into content silence, like we usually do.

"How long have you played piano?" I ask after a while. It's his turn to look at me now. I smile sneakily at him. "I saw the piano when I came in. Is it just decoration? Or-"

"No!" He giggles, literally giggles. "No, I play." He says, dipping his head.

"I started a couple years ago, it's more therapeutic than anything." He tells me. I tilt my head towards him, his fingers are tapping on his mug, creating some rhythm only he can hear.

"I started when I first got into Formula 1. I was so so bad! It helps me calm down, especially after bad races." He watched the streets below with feigned interest. "I don't have to worry about taking anything out on someone when I can get everything out on the piano." He explains.

"That's why my songs are named after races. I can feel the notes with every turn, the chord progressions as my engine revs. They're all inspired by them. All of the most memorable races have a theme, a song." He finishes.

I stare at him with a small smile. He is staring at me with a shy smile. He really shouldn't, he should know of all people, that he doesn't need to worry around me.

I saw him after he lost races, I've seen him bruised and crying, I've had him yell at me when we were kids. But I've also seen him stop to listen to every busker, I've watched his scrawny body grow into his features, I've seen a gentleman of a boy become the championship leader. I may have been absent for some parts in the middle, but he's still my Charles.

And I'm still his Finney.

"That's really beautiful, Charlie." I say softly. He shrugs, exhaling dismissively. "No, really! You think just anyone could sit down at a piano and have a clue what to do?" He seems to want to argue with me, but my eyes are fixed on my wrist.

The bare skin reminds me distantly that there's supposed to be something there. My thin silver bracelet I had found in a pocket of a jacket, it had adorned my wrist this past year. But I must've misplaced it the past two weeks.