national treasures| Charles Leclerc

eighteen

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

The weekend off feels like a rare gift, a brief moment of peace in the chaos of racing. 

The first thing I do is head home, back to my childhood house. 

It's strange, being here again, after everything that's happened. 

The walls haven't changed. 

They're still the same warm, familiar colour. 

The old pictures hang in the hallway, reminders of a life that feels both distant and close at the same time.

I walk into the kitchen, where Mom's old recipe book still rests on the counter. 

It smells like home, like the comfort I never realized I needed until now.

It's been a while since I've had the time to truly step away from racing, from all the noise of the media, the pressure of the grid, and all the old, unresolved things that haunt me.

My younger brother, Hugo, is sitting at the kitchen table, scrolling through his phone. 

He's grown up so much since I left, taller, and a little more confident, but still the same goofy kid I used to chase around the house.

"You look... different," he says, glancing up at me with a grin. 

"How's the racing thing going? Still kicking ass?"

I chuckle, sitting down next to him. 

"You could say that. Podium finish, you know, just a casual day at the office."

He rolls his eyes. "Modesty is not your strong suit, huh?"

"Not when I actually get the results," I tease.

But then my smile fades, and I rest my chin in my hand, watching him scroll through his phone.

The conversation shifts, and soon we're talking about everything and nothing. 

I talk to him about the race schedule, about some of the craziness, but as he listens, I start to realize that some of the weight I've been carrying is still unresolved.

Then Hugo leans back in his chair, his voice taking on a more serious tone. 

"Camille... if you could just fix things with Charles, would you? I mean, you seem... different when you talk about him. You don't even hate him, right?"

The question hits me like a punch to the gut. 

I knew it was coming. 

It always comes back to him, doesn't it? 

Charles. 

No matter how far I've run, how much I've tried to bury it all under the weight of my racing career, the truth is, I can't outrun the past. 

Not entirely.

I take a deep breath, looking at Hugo. 

"I don't know, H. I really don't."

He leans forward, sensing my hesitation. 

"I mean, it's obvious you still care about him, right? You both do. But... what's stopping you?"

I stare down at my hands, tracing the lines of my palms.

 "I think I'm scared," I admit quietly. "I'm scared of losing myself again. With him, everything was always so intense. And when he left... it felt like he took a part of me with him. I don't think I could handle that again, especially now."