Racing Hearts : VOLUME 2

MOMENTS-4 (Extras ✨)

A/N : If any of you are Italian, I'm sorry in advance.....
(I just searched up random things and put that in together)
(Also last one was inspired by the iconic Adele live)



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The interview room was alive with chatter and the hum of cameras as Charles and Mark settled into their seats, visibly drained but still carrying the post-race adrenaline. Both had narrowly missed the podium, finishing P4 and P5 respectively, but their spirits remained light enough to handle yet another round of media questions.

The interviewer smiled warmly, leaning forward. "Alright, Charles, let's start with you. Your number, 16-why did you choose it?"

Charles adjusted his cap, his expression thoughtful but relaxed. "Ah, well, originally, I wanted the number 7. It's my lucky number," he said with a slight smile. "But when I joined Formula 1, it was already taken. So, I thought about my birthdate-16th October-and decided on 16 instead. It's still personal, and now it feels like mine."

The room nodded appreciatively. A simple, elegant answer-just like Charles.

The interviewer turned to Mark, their grin widening slightly. "And Mark, your number-69-definitely a unique choice. Care to explain?"

Mark leaned back in his chair, his trademark smirk making an appearance. "Well," he began, his voice smooth and teasing, "no one in F1 has ever chosen it before. Gotta be a trailblazer, right?"

The room collectively stifled laughter, a few reporters hiding their grins behind notepads. Mark's mischievous glint didn't waver.

"But on a more serious note," Mark continued, his tone shifting slightly, "the number has... a balance to it. If you think about it, it resembles yin and yang-opposites complementing each other. Harmony, you know?"

Charles' lips twitched, clearly fighting back a laugh. Mark, of course, wasn't done. With impeccable timing, he turned to the nearest camera and threw a wink, the kind that sent fans into a frenzy.

The room erupted in muffled laughter, and even Charles couldn't hold back his grin this time. Mark was unapologetically himself, and somehow, he made it work.

---

A few days later, another media event brought them together. This time, the interviewer asked a simpler question. "Let's reintroduce you to the fans. Tell us your full name and a little about yourself."

Charles, ever the gentleman, nodded and straightened up. "Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc," he said, his tone smooth and confident. There was a subtle elegance to the way he said it, every syllable rolling off his tongue with ease. A murmur of admiration swept through the room.

Then it was Mark's turn. He leaned forward slightly, a playful glint in his eyes as he began, his deep, resonant voice dripping with a rich velvety Italian accent.

"Marco Alessandro di Salvatore Valerio De Fiore Spencer," he said, his voice lingering on every syllable, each name rolling off his tongue like a melody.

The room fell completely silent. Even the usual background noise-the faint hum of cameras and shuffling of papers-seemed to vanish. Everyone was captivated, hanging onto every word, the sheer elegance of his name leaving them momentarily stunned.

Charles, seated beside him, blinked. His lips parted slightly, and his gaze was fixed on Mark-not in irritation or amusement, but in sheer awe. It was as though he was seeing Mark in an entirely new light.

Finally, Mark broke the silence with a small chuckle. "Well, that's Marco in Italian," he added casually, his teasing grin returning. "In English, it's just Mark Alessandro di Salvatore Valerio De Fiore Spencer."