Hate to race lestappen

Not Quite Present

The sunlight spilled through the kitchen windows just like it always had, warming the old tiles and casting soft shadows over the dining table. The smell of garlic, tomato, and fresh bread lingered in the air, tangled with the low hum of conversation and clinking cutlery.

Charles sat with his brothers, arms bare and relaxed, letting the warmth of home sink into his bones.

Maman brought over a bowl of fruit and sat down with her own plate, smiling gently as she joined in the rhythm. It was just them, like it used to be.

Arthur was halfway through his second helping of pasta, already talking with his mouth full. "You know, I've decided to take it easy on you both today. In Jules' memory."

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow. "You say that like you've ever had a chance."

Charles grinned, poking at his plate with the fork. "You crashed into me last year in the first corner."

Arthur pointed at him. "You brake-checked me."

"I did not!"

Maman shook her head with a quiet laugh. "Boys."

The banter rolled on lazily, like the summer air. Charles felt lighter than he had in weeks, in months maybe. There was no pressure here. No headlines, no questions.

Just the familiar flow of things: Arthur being dramatic, Lorenzo pretending to be above it all, their mother offering second servings before anyone had a chance to ask. The same old dynamic that made everything feel easier, even when life outside these walls wasn't.

He didn't even mind the way Arthur started humming the Mario Kart theme halfway through dessert.

After they finished eating, the plates were cleared without any argument—well, except for Arthur trying to escape clean-up duties as usual—and they all got up to change into something more appropriate for the track.

The Jules Bianchi Karting Marathon.

They'd been doing it for years. Every summer. Not because someone told them to, but because it mattered. Jules had been more than a godfather to Charles. He'd been a mentor, a friend, a dream carved into memory. The race was how they kept him close.

No one made a big deal out of it. That was the whole point. It wasn't supposed to be about grief. It was supposed to be about driving. Laughing. Competing. The way Jules would've liked.

By the time they piled into Lorenzo's car, Charles felt good. Genuinely good. No heaviness in his chest, no spiraling thoughts.

Just sun, home, family, and the familiar flutter of excitement that came with the thought of a kart waiting for him.

The car rolled through familiar turns, windows half-down to let in the breeze that still smelled like pine and sea salt. Charles rested his head back against the seat, letting the conversation drift around him.

"Wait, so who's actually coming this year?" Arthur asked from the passenger seat, scrolling through his phone with one leg pulled up. "I know Dino said he's on the way, and Ollie too."

Lorenzo, at the wheel, nodded. "Yeah, I heard Kimi's coming with them. Most of the Prema guys are, I think."

Arthur gave an approving hum. "Nice. Good group."

Charles nodded slowly. He remembered Kimi Antonelli as a kid in karting—quiet, sharp, respectful. Like a sponge when it came to stories about the ones who came before him.

"And no F1 drivers?" Arthur asked.

"No, not this year," Lorenzo said. "Except Daniel."

"Of course." Charles smiled faintly. "He never misses it."