charles leclerc imagines

04 | that's who i'm racing for

If you're not in bed, by his side, he will call you before every race. He likes to say that not hearing your voice lull him to sleep brings bad luck, and that's the one thing he won't risk. You're convinced it's just a nice little gesture, but you cherish it nonetheless.

"Baby," Charles mumbles into the phone, looking at the camera with weary eyes. "Turn your light on. I want to see you."

"It's late. I'm heading to bed, too."

"I know, but I miss your face."

You know he can see you as well as you can see him—the light from your phones is bright enough—but you turn on your bedside lap, anyway. "Happy?"

"Much happier." Charles shifts around until his hands are wedged under his pillow and he's staring at the phone with a lovey-dovey smile. "I can't believe you had to stay at home."

"Duty calls," you say.

"I should be your duty."

"You will be. Soon enough."

"Show me."

Dutifully, you bring up your hand, moving it so that the diamond ring is visible over the camera, as butterflies fill your stomach. It's been months, yet you're still not used to it – you don't think you'll ever get used to it, it'll just have one more ring added to it.

"Ah, I can't wait for you to be mine," he says.

"I'm already yours."

"Not officially. And you're not here."

You turn the light off, knowing he's seen what he wanted to see, but your smile still shows on the screen. "I know. I'll be there for the next race, I promise."

"The bed feels empty without you, you know," he murmurs. "Without my fiance."

"I'll warm it up soon enough."

"You better."

You hear him playing music in the background – sometimes he does that when he can't fall asleep, when you're not there. Your heart tugs at its strings but there's nothing you can do. His eyes are getting heavier, even though he's trying to keep them open to look at you, and you can tell that he's not far out from completely falling asleep.

You decide to take the initiative. "I'll head to bed, I think."

"You're only saying that because I'm tired."

"Maybe," you say. "Does it make a difference?"

Charles thinks about it. "No. But I wish we didn't have to sleep apart."

"I know. Me too. But you need your sleep, my love."

"I know, I know... I'd just rather be with you."

"Me, too."

He looks at you and you see his face soften, even with all the tiredness. His hair is messy and falling over his eyes, a far cry from how he likes to present himself, but this is how you like him best – at his most genuine, most vulnerable. Where he's not the driver, the Monegasque, but just Charles.

Just yours.

He sighs. "Oh, what would I do to sleep in your arms tonight..."

You feel the pain in his voice as if it were your own. "I'm sorry, baby."

"Don't apologise. Don't even think it's your fault."

The thing he won't admit, not to himself and let alone to you—but you can see it—is the reason why he's still up, way past his bedtime on race day. It's almost halfway through the season and he's doing good in the standings, and maybe Ferrari's luck will turn for the better this year, but Lando's right behind him and the race tomorrow has to be good if he wants things to stay this way.

The pressure is intense. You can see it in the weariness under his eyes, in the way he's felt just a little bit aloof in the past week, especially since he landed in Spain. It breaks your heart to watch him like this and not be able to hug him, to hold him, to kiss the fear away.

So you fluff up your pillow and lie down, propping the phone up against what is usually Charles's pillow. "We can pretend I'm there."

"How?"

"Stay on call. Fall asleep together. I'll hear you snoring and it'll be like I'm there."

"I don't snore," he says, but you can tell that his voice has picked up a little. "Okay. Just falling asleep?"

"Yeah. It's late."

You wait as he props the phone up, too, and the camera is half-covered by the pillow, but you don't say anything. You can just about make out his hair and his eyes, even with his mouth out of sight.

He's beautiful, no matter what, and you can't wait to be finally his in every way that matters.

"You're going to have an amazing race tomorrow, mon cheri."

Charles kisses his finger then presses it to the camera, whispering sweet nothings to you in French. You feel yourself drifting off, but stay up—just in case—until you hear the familiar snoring, and you were right – it's almost like you're right there, right next to him.

When you close your eyes, you can still hear him snoring, and you find that you can easily pretend that you'll touch him if you just reach over. Sleep takes you with your hand stretched out, lulled into dreams by your fiance's snoring, and maybe the world won't fall apart just because you're not together.

You wake up and he's gone, the call has ended, but there's a text message thanking you for last night and telling you how much it helped give him a good night's sleep, and how much he can't wait to get back to you on Monday.

Later, some half an hour before the race, you get another text from him: 72 days until you're mine. That's who I'm racing for.

You clutch your phone to your chest, praying to all the gods you do and don't believe it to keep him safe. To let him win without having to sacrifice anything. To bring him home safe, to you in one piece.

Soon enough, you'll be lying in bed together, falling asleep with your arms wrapped around each other until it gets too hot, and just a little after that, you'll be doing so while sharing the Leclerc name.

———

a/n: have a little secret: the reader wasn't meant to be the fiance. it just happened. but i am thinking about making an actual fiance fic series at some point!!