national treasures| Charles Leclerc

thirty-five

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾𖤓 ⋆⁺₊⋆

It's hard to put into words the way it feels now, with Camille. 

After all this time—after the distance, the silence, the broken trust—it feels like we're finally on the other side.

There's no rushing this. 

Not after everything we've been through. We've spent months rebuilding, piece by piece, learning how to trust each other again, and how to be open without the weight of the past hanging over us. 

But even with all the progress, there's still this quiet tension between us, this pull that I've felt since the first moment we reconnected. 

It's more than physical; it's emotional, it's raw, it's everything we've needed to say to each other, without actually saying it.

When the night comes, and we're alone together in that quiet space, I can feel the weight of everything between us. 

It's like the world outside stops, like it's just the two of us here, suspended in this moment. 

I'm nervous, in a way I haven't been in a long time. 

I want this to be right, for us to get it right this time. 

We've spent so long rebuilding what we lost, and I'm afraid, somehow, of breaking it again. 

But it's too late to turn back now.

She's hesitant, too. 

I can see it in her eyes—the flicker of uncertainty, but also something else, something deeper. 

She's just as afraid of losing herself in this as I am. 

The space between us is charged, but not with tension. 

It's the kind of silence that comes before something beautiful and delicate. 

It's all the longing we've held onto for so long.

I move slowly, tentative, like I'm waiting for her to stop me, but she doesn't. 

There's no resistance, no walls between us anymore. 

It feels like we've finally found each other again, piece by piece, just as we've done with our relationship. 

And when our lips finally meet, it's like we're both exhaling for the first time in years. It's not hurried, it's not frantic. 

It's soft and slow, a rediscovery, a reminder of how much we've both changed and yet, how much of us still remains the same.

The way she touches me, the way her body fits against mine—it's all familiar, but new. 

There's something fragile in the way we move together, like we're both holding onto this moment, afraid to break it. 

But it doesn't feel like fragility; it feels like strength, like we've built this with our own hands. 

The hesitation is there, but it doesn't stop us. 

We've learned to trust again, learned to find comfort in each other's presence.

It's not just the physical connection—it's everything that comes with it. 

The way she looks at me, like she's seeing me for the first time again. 

The way we're finally able to say all the things we've kept hidden for so long, not with words, but with touch. 

Every kiss, every breath feels like a promise, like a reaffirmation of everything we've fought for.