#Harley Sunday x Charles Leclerc

[harley-sunday]

Champagne Supernova

Summary: You literally stumble into Charles Leclerc one evening and somehow end up with custody over his tuxedo jacket? Weird. Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader [f] Warnings: None Word count: 2.7k AN: Sometimes an idea just *mimics explosion with hand* pops up all of a sudden and won't go away until you write it down (I mean, I was literally in bed already but…). So here we are  Also, written on mobile (eL, don't @ me) so apologies in advance for shitty formatting and for not editing. Also², I live for validation so comments and reblogs are very much appreciated! That is, if you like it, of course :)

It’s warm inside the ballroom of the hotel you’re in and so you’re trying to fan yourself with a copy of tonight’s program because now that the formal part of the evening is over it really doesn’t serve any use anymore other than to help you cool down. You’re standing in the corner of the room, close to the bar, observing the crowd - Monaco’s elite; a strange mix of old money and self made millionaires that have come together for tonight’s fundraiser.

You don’t belong to either of those groups but instead are here because the PR agency you work for somehow got selected to promote the event. It meant a lot of overtime in the past two months for the entire team and so your bosses - Olivier and Claire, a happily married couple with two kids, a dog, and a perfect work-life balance (of course) - promised you and your colleagues a seat at one of the tables and thus an open bar for the evening very early on in the process to make up for all the early mornings and late nights. 

Dinner was a drawn out affair with seven small courses, entirely too much red wine, and a slightly boring silent auction reveal that took way too long for your liking. The promise of an after-party kept you from leaving early but it’s Monaco, it’s rich people, and so you could and should have known that their idea of an after-party is more champagne, bragging about who paid what despite it being a silent auction, and a guy with a comb-over and an ill-fitting tuxedo playing the piano, dragging out “Les Lacs du Connemara” way beyond the six minutes the song usually takes.

Next to you, Olivier and Claire are having a small domestic because Claire, slightly intoxicated, wants to stay but Olivier, scarily sober, has promised the babysitter they’d be back before one. Your other two colleagues are trying to persuade (read: threaten) the piano guy into playing “Sweet Caroline”, and you are feeling more miserable by the minute - one of your shoulder straps keeps sliding down, there’s a headache coming on, and your feet hurt like crazy in the stilettos you had no time to break in, so to say you are over it and ready to go home would be an understatement.

You wait for a lul in Olivier and Claire’s argument before you turn to them and tell them, “I’m heading out, ok? I’ll see you tomorrow.”

Olivier nods but Claire starts to protest and grabs your wrist, “Babe. Stay.”

You shake your head and try to free your hand but Claire doesn’t let go. Looking at Olivier for help you tug again but her fingers remain deadlocked around your wrist and you know it’s because she’s drunk and wants someone in her corner when Olivier decides to stand his ground and make her go home in about five minutes or so, but it is annoying as fuck and so you pull a little harder and start to walk away. “Claire,” you warn her, “let go.”

She still doesn’t.

Until all of a sudden she does and it makes you stumble forward and bump into someone and then everything seems to happen at once - you flail your arms trying not to topple over, reaching out for something- Anything you can hold onto. It’s the arm of the guy you bumped into but as you steady yourself against him he loses control of the drink he’s holding, a quiet, “Oh, merde,” your only warning before-

“Holy shit, that’s cold!” You jump backwards in shock, fingers plucking at the fabric of your dress as you try to stop the liquid from dripping down in between your boobs while quietly cursing your best friend who made you wear this stupid dress with its stupid plunging neckline in the first place. The fabric is already clinging to your skin, your chest and stomach absolutely soaked and you look around for an easy exit, first to the toilets maybe, to save yourself from the horrified looks around you and any further embarrassment but then you see a stack of white napkins appear in your field of vision and before you know it you are being pat down by the man who’s drink you’re now wearing.

“I am so sorry,” he mumbles while trying to dry your dress but the napkins are white and your dress is black and so all it does is leave a trace of little pieces of fluff all over your stomach but before you have a chance to say anything he’s grabbed a new stack of napkins and goes for your chest-

“Stop! Stop, stop, stop.” You shake your head and take the napkins from him, gently pushing his hands back with a smile, “I got this.”

“Shit, sorry.” He runs a hand through his hair and is blushing like crazy, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” you tell him as you’re blotting yourself now. “I mean, I’m the one who bumped into you, right?” The napkins really aren’t helping and so you give up with a frustrated sigh, looking up for the first time then, letting out a quiet, “Oh,” when you see the man standing in front of you. Jesus Christ, he’s hot. And apparently still upset because he stares at you with his beautiful green eyes as if he wants the ground to swallow him whole. Even though you’re the one who could enter, and maybe even win, a wet t-shirt contest this very second which you think is ten times more embarrassing. 

“Let me at least do something to help,” he tries, reaching out his hands to you again but then thinking better of it. “Really. Anything. I mean, I will pay for the dress of course, but-”

He seems so flustered that you can’t help yourself, “Well, considering you almost went to second base just now-” you say with a wide smile and a pointed look between his hands and your chest, “-it would be nice to at least know your name.”

This makes him chuckle and earns you a smile in return, “I’m Charles.”

“Nice to meet you, Charles,” you say, meaning every word of it, and then introduce yourself. When you lick your lips you taste the champagne he spilled on you and can’t help but laugh, “What a waste of that Veuve Clicquot, though, huh?”

“I’m more worried about your dress, to be honest,” he counters with a grin.

“What? This old thing?” You motion for him to come forward and when he does you put your mouth close to his ear and whisper, “Between you and me, I think the champagne was more expensive.”

He chuckles again when you pull back and you can’t help but fall for him a little, the way he scrunches his nose something so- Adorable? Hot? You’re not sure. Either way, you want to see more of it, you decide. Charles still looks as if he’s ready to go into purgatory and so somehow you’re not really surprised when he tries again, “I mean it though. Anything I can do to make up for this.”

You look around then and even though most of the crowd has gone back to their smalltalk there are still some curious onlookers that seem way too invested in this, making you feel very exposed all of a sudden, and so, well, if he insists… “Maybe you could lend me your jacket for a hot sec and escort me out of here?”

“Of course,” he replies, already taking his tuxedo jacket off. He hesitates for a second but then drapes it over your shoulders anyway, “There.”

Instead of a ‘thank you’, a distracted, “Uhu,” comes out because it’s only now, when you see the way the white dress shirt is stretched across his arms and chest, that you see how muscular he is. He’s- Not broad but definitely athletic and you wonder what kind of sport he’s into. Before you have a chance to ask though he’s absentmindedly rolling up the sleeves of his shirt and you can feel your mouth go a little dry at the sight of his tanned, veiny forearms and hands. A fleeting thought of just how much you could make him apologize with those long fingers gets quickly pushed back when he holds out his arm for you to loop yours through.

“Come on,” he says and nods towards the exit. “Let’s get out of here.” He guides you through the room with ease and doesn’t stop when you reach the foyer, instead making you follow him outside where he nods at the valet.

“I didn’t drive here,” you start, because somehow you figured it’s your car he wants them to get.

“I know. Well-” he chuckles then, “-I don’t actually, but I’m making him get my car so I can drive you home. Or your hotel. I mean, I don’t want to assume-”

“Home,” you quickly reassure him. This time you remember your words and your manners, “Thank you.”

“It’s the least I can do.” He leads you down the front steps when the valet pulls up with his car, a black Ferrari Pista Spider that you can’t help but silently admire, and doesn’t let go of you until you’ve reached the car and he’s opened the door for you.

You try to keep the wet part of your dress from touching anything inside the car as best as you can, offering a quiet, “Sorry,” when Charles slides into his seat.

He tuts, “Don’t worry about the car, ma chérie." 

And, oh- That’s- Nice. And a complete one eighty from how flustered he was mere minutes ago. Huh. Interesting.

If he does notice you clearing your throat to distract yourself, he’s kind enough not to mention it. Instead he starts the car, the engine absolutely purring to life, and turns to you with a grin, "Where am I taking you?”

Right here and right now please, you almost say, but you don’t think that’s what he meant and so instead you tell him, “Take a left at the stoplights and then a right at the next.”

As you guide him through the streets of Monaco you find out he’s an F1 driver with Ferrari who was actually born and raised in Monaco. He tells you how he’s on a three-week summer break until the end of August when the second half of the season starts with a race in Belgium. In return you tell him how you moved here three years ago when, after college, you got offered a job by Claire and Olivier.

All too soon, because sometimes Monaco really is nothing more than just a small town on the French Riviera, he pulls up in front of your house with an almost apologetic smile, “Here we are.”

“Here we are,” you echo with a nod. It’s silent for a moment before you decide to just put yourself out there, something about doing it now or forever wishing you had, “Would you like to come in? I could get changed and give you your jacket back? You might want to wash it though, I think there’s some wine- It probably needs to go to the dry cleaner’s, right? I don’t think it can go in the washing machine-” You hear yourself starting to ramble and so you close your eyes for a second and try again, “What I meant was: Would you like to come in for a drink?”

“I would love to but- I can’t,” he says and there’s something about him that makes you believe he’s telling the truth and that he’s sorry about it. “I have some auctioned pieces I still need to sign and I have to take a photo with the highest bidder in-” he looks at his watch and lets out a humorless laugh, “-ten minutes.”

“That sucks,” you tell him because apparently you’re now just speaking your mind without being eloquent about it.

He nods slowly, “It kind of does.”

Oh. Ok.

“Take the jacket,” he says then, “I can come pick it up later.”

Wait. What?

“Later tonight, or?”

He shakes his head, “No. Later as in, next week or something.”

“Oh, ok, yeah, that’s- Yeah, makes sense.” No need to stumble over your words, you think, you took your chances and it didn’t work out. It’s fine. It’s just that the 'or something’ kind of hurts.

He must see the disappointment on your face because he quickly adds, “I mean, so I can see you again. Later. When I’m not in a rush and you’re not covered in champagne.”

You can’t help but laugh, your mind once again too quick for your own good, “Who says I won’t be?” You let the words hang in the air with a raised eyebrow and it takes a few heartbeats but then Charles laughs as well, a burst of laughter that you want to hear again and again. You grin at him, “What?”

“You are something else,” he says, shaking his head. He reaches for his phone then, unlocks it, and hands it to you, “If you add your number I could maybe call or text you?” There’s a shy smile playing on his lips then, “About the jacket, I mean.”

“Are you sure you don’t want it back now?”

“No, that’s ok. My brothers are at the party as well. I can just take one of theirs.”

“Sure?” You try one last time.

“Sure.”

“Ok.” Your fingers fly over his screen then, adding yourself to his contacts before you hand him the phone back. Locked. A wicked grin on your lips, “Let’s see if you remember my name- Later.”

“Oh, I will.”

“Good.” You lean over the center console then and press a kiss to his cheek, “I’ll be seeing you then.”

“You will,” he says with a bad attempt at a wink, which so far seems his only flaw.

“Thank you for driving me home,” you say as you climb out of the car while trying not to flash anyone even though there’s no one around. A kind smile then as you close the door, “Drive safe.”

“Always.” He gives you a quick wave and then he’s off, the rumble of the engine echoing through the almost empty streets of the city.

***

He doesn’t call. Or text. And so his jacket moves from your living room, where it was draped over a chair for the first three weeks, to the guest bedroom slash your home office, this time draped over your office chair. Every now and then you catch a hint of his cologne  and so you still aren’t able to really forget about him.

At the beginning of November you’ve come to terms with the fact that you’ll probably won’t see him again, that you probably made a bigger deal out of it than it was, that he probably doesn’t even remember you - your name just another girl added to his contacts because he was simply trying to be nice - and so at some point you move the jacket to inside the closet in the guest bedroom, telling yourself that the only reason you won’t throw it away is because it’s Armani and expensive as fuck. 

You’d like to say you’ve forgotten about both the jacket and Charles once December rolls around but that would be a lie. You’ve actually started to follow the remainder of the F1 season and saw him come second in the World Driver Championship. A warm feeling settling somewhere inside your chest whenever you see him getting doused in champagne by his teammates or rivals, taking you back to the night you met. 

He’s been on your mind more than ever and when your phone rings one night, an unknown, private number calling you, you somehow know it’s him and so you answer with a cheeky, “The jacket you are trying to reach is no longer available. Please try again later.”

He lets out a laugh, that same laugh you drew from him in his car all those months ago, and it’s like no time has passed at all. “Salut, ma chérie, I’m sorry for not calling any sooner but-”

“Don’t try to sweet talk your way back into our lives, Leclerc,” you say as you take another bite of the apple you were eating.

“Our?”

“The jacket’s and mine,” you reply. “We are doing quite well for ourselves.”

“Hmm,” he hums. “Is that so?”

You nod even though he can’t see you, “Yeah.”

“I’d like to come see that for myself.”

“Hmmm,” you draw out. “We might be able to arrange a supervised visit. When would you-”

Your doorbell rings then and you hear it both in your house and echo through your phone and- Oh. Shit.

Charles chuckles in your ear, “Now?”

===

AN: I am so sorry for this very unsatisfying open ending. It was the best I could do for now... *sends hugs to those affected*

[poetsblvd]

fic recs ﹐ ( charles leclerc x reader )

— key . fluff (❀) angst (✿) smau (❁) mature (❃) —

leclercs type (❀) @thebearchives

always, evermore, even after and still (❁) @love-belle

it’s never over (❀) (❃) @leclsrc

fix what has been broken (❁) @lorarri

you’ll change your name, or change your mind (✿) @monzabee

heartbreak on tour series (❁) @twobluejeans

right timing (✿) (❀) @moneymasnn

baby leclerc series (❀) @starkwlkr

lightning mclover (❀) @f1version

10 seconds (❀) @lxclerc

itch (❃) @monzamash

this is what it feels like (❁) @love-belle

sweet pea (❀) @leclsrc

delicate series (✿) (❀) (❁) @redclercs

north star series (✿) (❀) @harley-sunday

amour rose (❁) @cartierre

cherry tomato (❀) @xxblairexxss

to live for the hope of it all (❁) @pierregazly

una noche en monaco (✿) (❀) (❃) @charlesswife

sparks (❀) @writingstoraes

a house, a home (✿) @vetteltea

saw your mom at the grocery store (❁) @love-belle

it’s called love (❀) (✿) @racinggirl

honeymoon (❃) @lecsainz

what would you say (if i told you i loved you) (❁) @cieloclercs

what could’ve been (✿) @norrisleclercf1

pardesi girl (❁) @fleetwooods

i’d never walk cornelia street again (❁) @love-belle

night tea and tears (❀) (✿) @httpiastri

the seasons of love series (❀) (✿) (❃) @formulaforza

pretty visitors (❀) @strawberrysainz

still writing pages (✿) @leclercsbunny

royal series (❁) @maryleclerc

lonely call (✿) @lxclerc

for sentimental reasons (❀) (✿) (❃) @deadaydreams

the delicate series (❀) (✿) @fleetwooods

when it rains it pours (✿) @silverszobo

you gotta move, or move on (✿) @formulaforza

thirsty thoughts (❃) (❁) @lorarri

you’re losing me (✿) @oconso

why we broke up (✿) @charlesluvr

shoulder to lean on (✿) (❀) @silverszobo

ma moitié (❀) (✿) @thebearchives

the winner takes it all series (✿) @silverstonesainz

stories old and true (❀) (❃) @cherry-leclerc

i have forgotten (✿) (❃) @cherry-leclerc

lily’s notes , if i studied for half the time i spent on tumblr i’d be a genius. but this is more fun and i slowly find myself tumbling down the tumblr black hole and re-experiencing my old fav fics that i’ve stumbled across again , and omg wow im having so much fun making fic recs so expect a lot more !! so this is the charles rec list aka the current f1 poster boy , max rec list next !! thank you to all the amazing writers for pushing their hard work onto these masterpieces mwah xx

[silverstonesainz-archive]

favorite fics & other good things ↳ my guilty pleasure reads, social media edits, & favorite people

wanted to compile a list of all my favorite reads, in case yall needed something new to look at. (but also if you follow me, you probably follow all my favs and see all their works anyways). this also a cute little post to show appreciation to my fellow writers/creators on here bc...... it's kind of rough out here and i just wanna give a little love. making this also made me realize i read fics from the same rotation of people so if you have fic recs, do send them my way! but without further ado, here we go!

+ long fics

the devil in disguise by @ricc3rodeo [daniel ricciardo x fem!oc] this can't come as shock to yall. if you haven't read this series then you need to RIGHT now. q is a true & honest to god wench for this series but i love it so much. and i love sam so much. and i love HER so much

moonlight by @vamossainz55 [carlos sainz x fem!reader] another great carlos fic & im not just saying that bc i love niks. the plot is CHEF'S KISS so pls read it is 10/10. (note: the link is to the latest chapter, not a masterlist!)

dogs of war by @schuvries [charles leclerc x fem!reader] spirit is by far one of my favorite writers and people on this hellsite. she has such a way with words and i wanna be here when i grow up. read any and all her works you will never be disappointed.

august rush by @harley-sunday [carlos sainz x fem!reader] the softness, the domesticity, the friends to lovers. so fucking good. easily my favorite fics on this sight.

+ one-shots

to live a lifetime with you by @formulabear [charles leclerc x fem!reader] i remember reading this and feeling every ounce of emotion from it. so good. if you haven't read this then you need to right freaking NOW.

listen up / my dear by @oyesmendes [daniel ricciardo x fem!reader] this one made me feel warm and fuzzy inside. gotta love me some danny ric!!!

though i have to travel far, remember me by schuvries [daniel ricciardo x gn!reader] spirit absolutely tore me apart with this one. ripped me to shreds. so fucking good.

said something stupid, instead of 'i love you.' by @absolutelynotmate [charles leclerc x fem!reader] 27k words of delectable writing. take a seat, drink some coffee, & enjoy the ride of emotions this fic brings

brought me here by @leclsrc [carlos sainz x fem!reader] auds is the only person who can make me cry over oranges. this makes me so ill (but in the best way) and makes me fall for carlos even more.

has yet to pass by leclsrc [carlos sainz x fem!reader] the angsty?? the slow burn?? the ending. you have to read it. HAVE TO.

the 1 by @lxclerc [daniel ricciardo x fem!reader] i think of this fic often. this also tore me to shred in the best way. lex is also one of the best writes yall should read her entire masterlist actually.

+ blurbs

snowflakes by absolutelynotmate [carlos sainz] wanna be in the snow with carlos :(

carousel by absolutelynotmate [carlos sainz] i also want to have his baby

overly sincere by leclsrc [charles leclerc] auds is sick for this one

yellow? by schuvries [carlos sainz] the idea of carlos calling me his "hielo" makes me rabid

frosting by @diorleclerc [carlos sainz / 18+] this... this makes me feral. i want this.

13:44 by formulabear [carlos sainz] the softness of this makes me want to swallow my pillow. i want this man so bad

mick + choking by @whorekneecentral [mick schumacher / 18+] this isn't a blurb so much as it is a brainrot post but it is important to me i include this on the list. i want mick so so so so bad.

+ social media aus

tiktoked / sneaky by leclsrc [carlos sainz] my guilty pleasure au. fuck this is my dream. actually auds got the texts from my phone(real)

a bet is a bet by absolutelynotmate [charles leclerc] this. chef's kiss. the work put into these aus. fuck my wife is PHENOMENAL.

[harley-sunday]

(Don’t You) Forget About Me

Summary: Charles promised her he would call her. Problem is, he doesn’t. Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader [f] Warnings: None Word count: 2.6k AN: As soon as I published Champagne Supernova I was unhappy with how I ended things because I’m nothing if not a sucker for a happy ending and so here we are. I hope you enjoy :) As always, comments are very much appreciated. As are reblogs! And no, eL, we’re not turning this into a multi-chapter even though that is in fact the problem here and I seem to be only capable of writing two-part stories for Charles...

Champagne Supernova (aka part 1)

Charles watches as her fingers fly over his screen before she locks his phone and hands it back with a wicked smile, “Let’s see if you remember my name- Later.”

“Oh, I will,” he assures her, because he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to forget it. He’s known her for not even an hour but already it feels like they’ve already spent a lifetime together, like she’s always been right there next to him, if only slightly out of reach. 

“Good,” she says, interrupting his thoughts, and leans over the centre console, pressing a gentle kiss to his cheek that he can feel burn into his skin nonetheless. “I’ll be seeing you then.” 

“You will,” he replies with a wink that he hopes makes him seem more confident than he is. 

“Thank you for driving me home,” she tells him as she steps out of the car. “Drive safe.”

He’s not sure if she means now or when he’s back on track again next week but still he tells her, “Always.” 

He doesn’t want to go, not really, but there are people waiting for him, people to take pictures with, and hands to shake, his only appeal that those people can then boast they know a Formula One driver. He hates it. Hates this part of his job. Hates that he has to leave her and this promise of something more behind but he knows he has to, and so he waves and tries not to look back because he thinks he’ll never be able to leave if he does.

***

“Where were you?”

He could have given a vague answer, could have told his older brother that he simply went outside for some fresh air, but instead he tells the truth because he doesn’t want to lie about her, “A girl bumped into me and I spilled my drink on her so I-”

Lorenzo gestures at his chest “So where’s your jacket.” 

He shrugs, because isn’t it obvious? “I gave it to her.” Then, as if that’s what Lorenzo will be worried about, “I’ll get it back. Later.” 

His brother eyes him suspiciously but doesn’t say anything and instead starts taking off his own jacket and hands it to Charles with a nod towards the dining room, “Here, you’ll need this for the pictures. They’re waiting for you.” 

Charles figures they can wait a little longer and takes his time putting the slightly too big jacket on, still thinking about her. The way her dressed hugged her curves, even more there where his drink soaked the fabric and-

“Charlie,” Lorenzo flicks the side of his head with an exaggerated sigh, “where’s your head at?” He gives him a gentle shove towards the door and repeats his earlier words, “They are waiting for you.” And because Lorenzo is his older brother and always seems to know exactly what is going on in Charles’ mind he winks and adds, “You can tell me about her later.” 

***

“So I drove her home,” Charles says, coming to the end of his story, “and told her I would be back for my jacket.”

Next to him Lorenzo keeps his eyes on the road and nods but from the backseat Arthur lets out a low whistle before he leans forward and rests his elbows on the seats on either side of him, “So you’re just going to show up at her house or-?”

Charles smiles and shakes his head, “I asked for her number and-”

“Oooh,” Arthur draws out and ruffles Charles’ hair. “Very smooth, frérot.” 

Charles ignores him, “-I’ll call her later this week.” 

***

He doesn’t. 

He doesn’t call and he doesn’t pick up the jacket. He wants to. God, does he want to but he gets home late and the next morning, before he’s even had the chance to replay last night’s events in his mind, he gets a call from Mattia who asks- Makes him fly out to Maranello that same day. Something about more testing, more meetings with the team, more efforts to turn the season around to try and clench the championship. He goes, of course he does. 

He still has a chance to become world champion and it’s everything he’s ever worked for in his life and so he goes and he doesn’t call.

***

After a week in Maranello the triple header starts. Spa first, Zandvoort next, and then Monza. Two podiums in three races isn’t bad, but he doesn’t win and so it doesn’t really count. Max is more than a hundred points ahead of him in the standings but Charles still thinks he has a chance and so he stays in Italy after Monza for more time at the factory, more adjustments, and more time on the sim. 

It’s not that he’s forgotten about her, he doesn’t think he’ll ever be able to, it’s just- It’s been too long for a casual text or call and so he’s starting to make a bigger deal out of it than it probably is and still doesn’t call. 

***

The championship is decided in Japan, with a penalty that drops him from second to third place after the race. Somehow it doesn’t surprise him that this is how he finds out he’s not going to be world champion this year. It seems- Fitting. 

That night, when he’s alone in his hotel room somewhere in Suzuka, is the first time he actually pulls up her contact and lets his thumb hover over the call button. It’s been eight weeks since the fundraiser - he knows because of course he’s kept track - and he doubts she even remembers him. Doubts she even still has the jacket. And so he locks his phone and once again doesn’t call.

***

He fights for second place the remaining five races of the season, a heated battle with Checo that gets decided in Abu Dhabi during the final race. In his favour this time. And while he much rather would have been crowned world champion, coming second to a superior Max Verstappen and a superior Red Bull is the best he and the team could do this year. Next year. Next year it will be him, he decides.

After Abu Dhabi, after post-season testing, he goes back to Maranello for the team’s detailed debrief of the 2022 season, a week-long affair that has him cooped up in meeting rooms for most of the day. He stays in Italy because a week later he has to be there for the FIA Prize Giving Ceremony in Bologna anyway. 

He still doesn’t call.

***

It’s when he’s getting ready for the FIA event, putting on his Ferrari-issued suit, that Lorenzo asks, “Did you ever get your jacket back? The one you lent to that girl?”

Charles shakes his head, “No, I-”

Lorenzo lets out a frustrated sigh in a way only a brother can, “You didn’t call her?”

“No,” Charles says as he buttons up his shirt. “I did not.”

Lorenzo mutters something under his breath that Charles just knows in an insult and so he doesn’t bother with a reply. His older brother doesn’t relent that easily though, “You are an idiot, you know that? I thought you really liked her?”

“I did,” Charles agrees easily enough. Corrects himself then, “I do. I think. But-” he shrugs, “-it’s almost been four months, I doubt-” He ducks just in time to not get hit in the head by his phone that Lorenzo hurls at him from across the room, sending up a silent thank you to Andrea for all those reflex exercises he always insists on doing, even during off-season. He throws his brother a look, “What did you do that for? You could have-”

“Call her,” Lorenzo says, pointing at the phone that bounced off the wall and landed on the floor with a miraculously intact screen. “I don’t need you moping around, thinking about what could have been, over the winter break, Charlie. Just call her, take her on a date, and hey-” he shrugs with a sly smile, “-if you do get your jacket back well then that’s a win-win, non?”

He doesn’t call right away but promises himself he will. Later.

***

“The jacket you are trying to reach is no longer available. Please try again later.” 

He can’t help but laugh and looks up at the house he’s standing in front of as he runs a hand through his hair, letting it rest at the base of his neck because all of a sudden he’s nervous. He tries to hide it with a confident, “Salut ma chérie, I’m sorry for not calling any sooner but-”

“Don’t try to sweet talk your way back into our lives, Leclerc-”

“Our?” Shit. The possibility that she might have a boyfriend never even crossed his mind. He quietly curses himself, it’s been four months, of course she didn’t sit around and wait for him to maybe call her. Stupid. Stupid, stupid-

“The jacket’s and mine,” her voice interrupts his thoughts. “We are doing quite well for ourselves.”

“Hmm,” he hums, his smile returning. He takes a step closer to the front door, “Is that so?”

“Yeah.”

“I’d like to come see that for myself,” he says, his finger already hovering over the doorbell.

“Hmmm,” she draws out. “We might be able to arrange a supervised visit. When would you-”

He pushes down on the button and chuckles, “Now?”

“Now,” she echoes, a hint of disbelief in her voice. “Yeah- Ok. Sure. Let me just-”

The light inside the hall comes on not much later and he sees a silhouette walking towards the door. Charles takes a step back and hides the flowers he’s got her behind his back. When the door opens, the light from inside framing her face like a halo, he knows he’s done for and vows right then and there to call her every day if she’ll let him. “Hi.”

“Hi,” she says, a little uncertain, and gestures at her jeans and hoodie, “I’m sorry, I wasn’t expecting anyone-” 

“You look beautiful,” he assures her and means it. She could be wearing a garbage bag and he’d still think she’d be able to take his breath away. He holds the flowers out to her, “For not calling sooner.”

She smiles as she takes the flowers from him, “That’s very kind, thank you.” 

He doesn’t really know where to go from here, doesn’t really know how to explain why he didn’t call, and he almost feels as helpless as he felt when he accidentally spilled his drink on her.

Just like that night, she takes charges and steps aside, “Come on. I’m sure your jacket will be delighted to see you.” 

***

She’s offered him a drink and this time he accepts and so he finds himself sitting at her kitchen table not much later, his jacket hanging from her chair and if a garment could, he’s sure it would mock him. There’s a cup of coffee in front of him and he watches her as she makes one for herself too. When she sits down across from him he makes himself look at her when he says, “I really am sorry for not calling sooner. I didn’t mean to- What is it? Ghost you?” 

“Well, you did, Charles. Disappeared like a ship in the night,” she mimics the movement with her hand but there’s a smile on her lips that he hopes means he still has a chance. 

He hangs his head, guilt washing over him, “I know. The second half of the season was so crazy and I know that’s no excuse-”

“Just don’t do it again.” 

It takes him a second to register her words and so he sits there with his mouth open, gaping like a fish, until he can feel himself start to smile, his hope renewed when he sees the way she’s looking at him, like she’s challenging him to not recognize this second chance that for some reason, only known to her, she has granted him. He shakes his head, “Never.” 

***

At some point they move from the kitchen to the living room, her with her knees folded up under her in one corner of the couch and him angled towards her in the other. He’s told her about the last few months, the pressure he felt, not only from the team and the fans but also from himself. How it was a fight until the very end, not just on track but off track as well, with endless hours spent in the factory and on the sim. 

Some of the questions she asks in between his stories tell him that she’s actually watched the races and it makes him feel both incredibly happy that she cared enough to do so and even more like an idiot for not calling her sooner. 

When he tells her so she agrees with a kindhearted smile. 

***

It’s only after she’s stifled a yawn during a lull in their conversation that he risks a glance at his watch and sees that it’s already past midnight. He smiles at her, “It’s late, I should probably let you get some sleep, no?”

She shrugs apologetically, “It’s been a long day-”

“Don’t worry about it,” he tells her as he pushes himself up from the couch and waits for her to do the same before he walks to the front door where he turns around and finds her standing there with a hesitant smile that makes him want to kiss her. 

And so he does.

Taking a step closer, he licks his lips and lets his eyes fall from to her mouth in a silent question. When she tilts her head back and looks up at him he leans in and lets his lips brush against hers before he captures her mouth with his and deepens the kiss. 

She puts one hand against his chest and pulls him closer with the other, which has found its way to the back of his neck. 

His hands are on her hips, gently pushing her up against the wall as he lets his tongue run over her lower lip. When she opens her mouth he sighs against it, enjoying the way she tastes- Something sweet, like an apple maybe, and then he slips his tongue inside and she moans and he knows that if he doesn’t stop now he’ll regret it forever. He pulls back and lets his forehead rest against hers, breathing heavily. 

“Don’t stop,” she whispers, hands gripping the fabric of his sweater in an attempt to bring him back.

He shakes his head, “I want to do this right, ma belle.”

“It’s not actually like you’re doing it wrong now,” she counters, sounding as out of breath as he feels. 

He chuckles and pulls back a little further so he can look at her, “Go on a date with me.”

Her eyes widen before she narrows then, a mischievous smile on her lips, “Why don’t you call me first and we’ll take it from there.” 

He can’t help the laugh that escapes him because that seems entirely fair, “I will.”

“Good-”

“Good,” he echoes before he presses a more chaste kiss to her lips. “And I won’t wait four months this time.”

“Don’t you dare,” she says and pushes him back and towards the door. A little quieter then, “Don’t you dare.” 

He gives her another quick kiss once he’s opened the door, “I’ll see you soon.” When she nods he steps outside, the feeling of hope renewed blooming in his chest. He’s almost at his car when he looks back, a little surprised then because while the front door is still open she’s gone and so he turns around, ready to head back inside to see what’s going on.

“Hey, Leclerc,” she says then as she steps into the hall again, walking towards him with his jacket dangling on one of her fingers. “Aren’t you forgetting something?” 

He shakes his head and smiles widely at her, “Keep it. I can come pick it up later.” 

[harley-sunday]

World without End

Summary: After the 2022 French Grand Prix it seems like Charles no longer has luck on his side but of course Lourdes is already waiting for him. 

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: None, except the trauma today caused.

Word count: 1.7k

AN: Yes I know I said I didn’t have time to write but Jesus, that scream over the radio? It will never not haunt me. The pain, the frustration, the anger- Oof. It hurts. It took me back to last year’s Sochi Grand Prix and how I wrote Lourdes after that, and so this is sort of a continuation of that story. You could read this as a standalone but I think Lourdes might give you the backstory needed to at least understand the theme I was going for this time... Love to hear what you think ♥

"So yeah, if we lose the championship at the end of the season by 32 points I will know where they are coming from and it's unacceptable. I- I just need to uh- Yeah, get on top of those things."

It- Your chest tightens and your heart aches and the tears you've been trying to fight ever since you saw him crash into the barrier earlier this afternoon are starting to spill over, running hot down your cheeks. You turn the TV off, nothing wanting to see the rest of the interview because God, it hurts. 

It hurts to see him like this, emotions raw and clearly visible in the way his shoulders are sagging and his eyes are glossed over, his entire demeanour screaming defeat in a way you've become all too familiar with this season. It hurts that there's nothing you can do to help lift whatever spell or- Whatever he's under right now. It hurts that there's nothing you can do to make this better. Most of all it hurts that you're not there with him and instead are here, alone, with at least two hours and a hundred miles between you. 

It hurts and you're crying and Freddy drops his head in your lap with a whine to let you know he's hurting too. 

XXX

It's been two hours since the race finished, two hours since you've made your way outside, desperate for some fresh air.

Sitting on the top step on the stairs that lead from the porch into the garden you want to hug your knees close to your chest but you can't anymore and so instead you lean back and close your eyes against the low-hanging evening sun as you feel Freddy sit down next to you. He nudges your stomach with his nose, letting out a whimper as if he wants you to know he gets it. Maybe he does, you think, because don't dogs feel these kinds of things? You reach out and scratch him behind his ears, "It's ok."

You're not sure whether it's the dog or yourself you're trying to comfort although it seems to be to no avail either way because next to you Freddy howls just as you let out a frustrated sigh. The dog seems restless, keeps on whimpering quietly as if he's still hurting too and you guess maybe he is because when Charles' voice came through the speakers after the crash, Freddy jumped up from where he was laying next to you on the couch and rushed to the TV, frantically searching for his other human, barking when he heard Charles' scream before he let out a wounded howl when he saw Charles climb out of his car. 

"It's ok, boy," you tell Freddy again as you lay down your hand, palm up, and wait until he puts his paw on top. "He'll be here soon."

It's a lie.

The drive from Le Castellet to Nice takes a little over two hours and you're not even sure Charles has left the track yet. Because even though the race ended a while ago there's press to speak to and a team debrief to attend and- You shake your head and take a deep breath, now even more determined than before to wait for him here, no matter how long it takes, like some sort of penance. 

Charles' scream echoing through your mind like a curse. 

XXX

"Loulou?"

The voice of your neighbour pulls you out of your thoughts and it's then you notice the sun has long disappeared behind the trees in your garden. Freddy's curled up next to you, quietly snoring, and you figure you must have been out here waiting longer than you thought. 

"Loulou?" Thierry says again and he sounds- 

He sounds worried and so when you look up to where he's standing on his balcony you try your hardest to smile, "Salut, Thierry."

"You ok, ma puce?" 

"Yeah-" it sounds unconvincing at best but Thierry seems to understand it might be best not to push it. 

"I saw the race," he says, as if that explains it all. Then again, it kind of does.

You nod and have to bite your lip to keep from crying again.

"It was not his fault," Thierry simply states.

"I know," you reply, not sure if he's heard you because your voice is barely above a whisper. You clear your throat and try again, "Thank you."

It's then Colette, Thierry's wife, pops up next to him, a worried look on her face, "You've been sitting there for a long time already, sweetheart. Why don't you come up for some tea and something to eat?" 

You shake your head, "I'm ok." Colette eyes you suspiciously but doesn't say anything else. Thierry looks equally as worried but also keeps quiet and so you quickly add, "He should be here soon." 

"Ok," Colette agrees quietly even though she doesn't look convinced. "We're here if you need us."

"Thank you," you call out and watch as both of them make their way back inside. It's when they close the door that a fresh set of tears spills over and you try your hardest to blink them away but it's a losing battle and you can't help the sob that escapes you. Next to you Freddy stirs awake as a result and lets out a yawn before he gets up and nudges your cheek with his nose. You put your arm under his chin and scratch his cheek, whispering a quiet, "Hi boy."

Freddy lets out a quiet whine and you can't help but agree, "I know."

XXX

It's getting colder now that it's almost dark but you're still in the same spot, Freddy sitting in between your legs and your hands running through the fur of his chest absentmindedly as you rest your chin on top of his head, a chorus of, "He'll be here soon," stuck on repeat in your head, almost like a prayer.

XXX

Freddy's ears perk up not much later and when he stands up he's wagging his tail and even though you don't hear anything yet you just know Charles is almost here. You run a quick hand under your eyes, trying to get rid of whatever's left of your earlier tears and stand up then, Freddy almost bouncing at your feet.

Sure enough, the familiar faint glow of his Ferrari's pale yellow headlights illuminates your driveway not much later and as he pulls up and parks his car you take a deep breath and try to ground yourself, not bothering with a smile because you know he'll see right through it. 

The car door opens then and you watch as Freddy rushes at his human, letting out an excited yelp as he jumps into the car and onto Charles' lap.

"Hi boy," you hear Charles whisper as he buries his face in Freddy's neck, arms wrapped tightly around the dog's body. Freddy puts his head on Charles' shoulder then and your heart, oh your heart feels like it's about to explode.

You wait until Charles tells Freddy to get down before you hold out your hand to him and pull him out of the car and straight into your arms, whatever you wanted to say stuck in your throat.

He doesn't say anything either but you can feel the way he leans against you, almost as if he has the weight of the world on his shoulders and wants you to take some of this burden from him. 

You wish you could.

XXX

"I love you," you say, as if that's enough.

Maybe it is.

What if it isn’t? 

XXX

"I love you," you say again, much later, in the quiet dark of your bedroom. Charles is wrapped around you, one leg draped over yours and his face buried in the crook of your neck. Your fingers are running through his hair as you tell him you love him over and over again, the repetitive motion reminding you of praying a rosary and then all of a sudden a Hail Mary rolls off your tongue and into existence.

XXX

"I'm sorry about yesterday," Charles whispers against your lips the next morning, his alarm waking both of you moments earlier.

You shake your head ever so slightly, willing him to understand that there's nothing to be sorry about. Not on track, not on the radio, not in the press pen, but most of all not here. You deepen the kiss, trying to push yourself against him when you taste him on your tongue and letting out a frustrating groan when you can't get closer. 

Charles smiles into the kiss and sneaks his hand between you, his fingers ghosting over your stomach, before he settles the palm of his hand over your belly button.

You cover his hand with yours and move it a little higher, pressing down gently, "Here. Just wait."

He pulls back a little and watches you intently, holding his breath until- His eyes widen, a smile breaking through and immediately he seems lighter, as if yesterday is just a distant memory now. Charles captures your mouth with his, an admiration behind the kiss that makes your heart burst at the seams. When he pulls back he lets his forehead rest against yours, "I forget it sometimes."

You don't say anything, trusting he'll explain.

He does. 

His voice is barely above a whisper but still you hear him loud and clear, "I forget sometimes that what happens on track does not matter when I'm with you. That you will never judge. That you will always be my safe place. My lady luck. Now even more than ever." He takes a deep breath and something changes, as if the weight of the world is finally lifted off his shoulders, "Je t'aime, ma belle."

The first rays of morning sun break through the window then and when you look at Charles, pressing down his hand even more so he can feel your little one moving around, there's another well-aimed kick that makes him laugh. A real laugh this time. It's at that moment you realise just how blessed you are and the belief that everything is going to be alright is stronger than ever, a quiet Glory Be running through your mind. 

As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be, world without end.

You lean in and let your lips brush against Charles', "We love you too, papa."

[harley-sunday]

16

Spotify wrapped 2022 drabbles - where you send me a number from 1 - 100 and I’ll write a 5-sentence drabble based on that song in my Spotify Wrapped list.

# 16 Remind Me - Tom Grennan Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader Warnings: none AN: Set at what I conjured up to be Ferrari’s end of the year party. 

“Remind me of all those nights And all those fights And all those times we said, "Goodbye" All I'm asking is "why?" Would you please remind me?”

You’re nursing the glass of champagne close to your chest as you let your eyes wander across the room, smiling when you see Silvia and her husband slowdance to a song you don’t think people could slow dance to, even more so because they are surrounded by people jumping and screaming and singing along at the top of their lungs.

A new song comes on then, painfully familiar, and you can feel your smile start to drop because even after all this time it still hurts and so you down your champagne in one go and look around to see if there’s a waiter with a refill closeby. It’s then you feel two hands on your hips but before you even have a chance to turn around warm breath hits the skin just below your ear and you can feel a shiver going down your spine when he whispers, “I can’t believe they’re playing our song, ma belle.”

“Charles-” you start but then the accusation sort of hangs in the air for a moment before it turns into something else when you lean your back against his chest. 

“Give me another chance,” he says as he pushes your hair to the side and places a kiss on the top of your bare shoulder, “please? I never should have given up on you- On us, this easily. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me. We were so good together and-” 

You turn around in his arms then so you can face him, your heart skipping a beat when you see the way he looks at you and it’s all you can do not to kiss him, “Remind me.”

[harley-sunday]

Hi yes hello— Can we —yes, very much a we thing as you know around here— make it canon that the song Charles’ is releasing is the one from “North Star”?

Please? Thanks. Glad we’re on the same page about this.

xoxo— DF

I like this narrative, babe.

🧡

==

"I didn't-" Charles runs a hand through his hair and clears his throat, his eyes downcast. "I gave it another name."

"Charles-" you start, wanting so desperately to let him know it's ok, that you're glad he changed it because keeping the original title would mean that he would have to explain over and over again, sharing that piece of your relationship with the world and you much rather he not, but he looks up then and captivates you with that hesitant smile that tells you he wasn't finished and so you swallow the rest of your words and listen.

"I hope it is ok for you that I released it?" He waits until you nod before he continues. "I know how much it means to you- To us." He shrugs, "I hope it can mean that much to other people as well."

"It will," you tell him, and even though your voice is barely above a whisper the confidence rings through loud and clear.

"To me it is still North Star," he says, taking your hand in his and pressing a kiss to where your engagement ring sits on your finger, "but that is something between you and me. Not for anyone else to know about."

"Thank you." You lean forward and kiss him before you pull back just enough to say, "I love you."

He smiles against your lips, "Je t'aime, ma belle."

==

Read the full backstory here

[harley-sunday]

But why did he leave her hanging for months!!! This keeps me up at night 🤯😵‍💫🤬😭

He has his reasons, bb.

In my defense (sort of, anyway) - I wrote this story between 11PM and 2AM and by then I just wanted to get it online because like I've said numerous times - I need validation 😬. So that the ending wasn't really up to par with the well-rounded endings I usually write was clear from the start. I thought I could live with that but obviously I can't. I mean, who was I kidding?

Anyway, I have a feeling we'll soon find out why Charles never called...

[harley-sunday]

North Star [bonus]

Summary: Charles Leclerc just won his first Grand Prix since Monza 2019 and he knows exactly why his luck has changed. 

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x reader

Chapter warnings: None

Word count: 1.1k

AN: Surprise, I guess :) This is just a short drabble I wrote after Charles’ first win of this season because this fits into the North Star timeline perfectly (after Part 4 and before the Epilogue). You could read this as a standalone, but I think it makes a little more sense if you read North Star first :) 

eL, this one’s for you. Consider this your official welcome to the Sharl fandom, my devious friend. ♥

Sakhir, March 20, 2022

"Charles Leclerc, congratulations," the reporter nods at him to emphasize his words even though Charles knows the sympathy would have been the same no matter who would end up finishing first. They're pretty interchangeable, race winners. Or, at least for the press they are. Still, he smiles because that's what Silvia, his press officer, would want him to do. Smile, sit pretty, and win races. Well, guess what? Check, check, and check.

"-started first and finished first," the reporter's voice interrupts his thoughts and even though he missed the first half of the question, it doesn't matter because he already knows how it will end, "and got fastest lap at the first race of the season. How does that make you feel?"

Charles runs a hand over his face to buy him some more time, a trick he learned from his first press officer back at Alfa Romeo. Not that he needs more time, because he knows exactly how he feels - like he's on cloud eight, or nine, or whatever the expression is - but apparently it's better to tone it down a little, to not show the world your entire hand, or something like that anyway. And so, when he looks back at the reporter he smiles a somewhat fake smile and says, "It is a great way to start the season, for sure, but we still have twenty-two races to go and I think it is only after the last race we can truly see where we stand."

Next to him, Silvia nods, letting him know she's pleased with his answer. Good.

"Ever since testing in Barcelona," the reporter continues, "there's this buzz that has been going around when it comes to Ferrari, saying you might be serious contenders for the Constructors Championship this year. Do you share that sentiment?"

"It is no secret we have a good car this year," Charles offers easily enough. This is one of the easier questions, not in the least because he knows exactly what the team wants him to say. They even spoke about it in the briefing on Thursday. "And it's performed well here on track but like I said, it is a long season so let's wait and see."

Silvia holds up one finger then, to let both Charles and the reporter know there's only time for one more question.

The reporter nods and clears his throat, "There's also a bit of a buzz going around when it comes to you, Charles. After a not so great twenty-twenty season and an, only, slightly better season last year, it looks like you have found your way again. What changed?" 

XXX

Les Côtes, January 1, 2022

You listen to Charles play the piano, trying to understand the piece he's composed in the two years you spent apart. It starts out rather dark and gloomy, the notes feeling rather disconnected, which you suppose represents the first few weeks or maybe even months after your breakup, but it ends much lighter, the notes now complimenting each other and the tune he's playing almost hopeful.

“If it’s about us,” you say once he's finished, leaning in and resting your chin on his shoulder, “then it sounds like you. Like you’re helping me find my way back.” 

“Hmm,” he agrees quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You let out a content sigh and softly whisper, “I think you should call it North Star.” 

"Maybe I should," he teases, taking one of your hands in his, "but only if you promise to let me guide you home."

You lean back and look at him, biting your lip because his words seem to hold a promise you rather hear him say out loud, "What do you mean?"

"Come with me this year, Flo. Let's travel the world together like we did before." He squeezes your hand and there's something about the way he looks at you that lets you know what he's going to say next is important.

It is.

"Now that I've found you again, I don't ever want to let you go."

XXX

What changed? 

Everything, he thinks, and yet nothing at all.

What he says instead is, "I think that after my last win in Monza I felt like some things were starting to slip away from me a bit-" he doesn't dare to look at Silvia because he knows this is nothing like the answer she expects him to give. She wanted him to say how hard the team has worked over the winter break, how hard they worked to develop a car that might be a championship contender again, and how this is very much a team effort. It'll probably earn him a firm talking-to from her in the debrief later but he doesn't care. He wants to answer this as truthfully as he can without giving too much away and so he continues, "It took me two years but I think I found what I was missing again this winter and I couldn't be happier."

"Which is?" The reporter asks even though technically his time is up.

Still, Charles is glad he does, because he gets to look into the camera and tell the world, "I finally got my Flo back."

"Your flow?" 

“Yes,” Charles looks back at the report and smiles. 

"Sorry," Silvia interrupts, holding up her hand. "That's all we have time for."

Charles nods at the reporter as a goodbye before he turns around and follows his press officer, ready for another carbon copy of the same interview he's already given five times in the last ten minutes. To say he's a little surprised when she leads him back to the garage is an understatement. He should know better than to question her, but still he asks, "No more interviews?"

Silvia shakes her head, "I told you, only five, no?"

She must have, he thinks, but he doesn't remember. Not that he wants her to know that and so he nods, Yeah. Sure."

"We have a team photo with you and Carlos in five minutes," Silvia reminds him when they reach the garage. "Please don't be late."

"No, ma'am," he mutters under his breath but only because by then she is out of earshot and he doesn't risk a reprimand for making fun of the situation. Just as he's about to continue on to his driver's room someone grabs his hand and pulls him into a corner.

"You got your Flo back, huh?"

He lets out a laugh at the way his girlfriend seems so very pleased with herself and so he presses a kiss to her lips before he tells her, "I did."

She lets go of his hand and puts her arms around his neck, pulling him into her as she lets her lips ghost over his, "Yeah, you did."

[harley-sunday]

North Star [01]

Summary: “We were never bad, Charles, we just lost each other somewhere along the way.” It’s been two years since you and Charles broke up and you have been trying to find your way ever since. Will seeing him again make you find your true north?

Pairings: Pierre Gasly x reader (best friends) | Charles Leclerc x reader

Chapter warnings: Language. Mentions Anthoine Hubert. Please see the masterlist for general warnings.

Word count: 5.6k

AN: Reader is an unnamed OFC, nicknamed Flo. I went with an OFC because there is a lot of backstory that will be revealed throughout the story (including how she got her nickname), but I still wanted it to read as a reader insert. No mentions of y/n. For the sake of this fic Charles is very much single. 

Also. Ever since I found out Pierre and Charles used to go on vacation together with their families I knew I wanted to write something set in the present where they still get together once a year. Somehow New Year’s Eve fitted right into that and so here we are :)  This story is a slow-burn, I apologize in advance and at the same time try to make up for it with copious amounts of backstory to include Reader/Flo into the narrative, which I hope you’ll like.

[Flashback in italics]

Masterlist

Rouen, late summer 2000

“Tata!”

Pascale looks up from where she’s hidden away under an umbrella, shielding herself from the burning midday sun while trying to finish the book she started months ago. Worry creeps up on her when she sees the little girl running at her at full speed, arms flailing as she tries to keep her balance on the bumpy field of grass, skidding to a halt that almost has her crashing into the lounge chair Pascale’s sitting on.

“Tata!” The girl is panting now, her eyes wide and pointing somewhere behind her, “He climbed up the tree- And- And I told him not to- And,” a sob escapes her then, “And he fell, Tata. And now he’s crying. And-”

“Oh shit,” Pascale curses quietly, on her feet in an instant, stepping into the flip flops she kicked off just minutes before. She crouches down then, her hands cupping the hot, tear-stained cheeks of her best friend’s four-year old daughter, trying to calm down the little girl somewhat even though the attempt is futile. “It’s going to be ok, ma puce,” Pascale tries as she scoops up the little girl and heads towards her son.

Pierre’s wails get louder the closer she gets and she tries to tell herself that’s a good thing, because at least he’s still conscious. Right? She doesn’t know how bad it is, doesn’t know if he’s broken an arm, or a leg, or- She doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to assume the worst even though it’s hard not to. The little girl directs her to a group of trees on her right and it’s then she sees her son standing there, feeling very sorry for himself no doubt, and a wave of relief washes over her.

Pascale kisses the little girl on the cheek before she sets her down, “You did good, sweetie.” She shakes her head at Pierre then, but there’s no hiding the relieved smile that tugs on her lips because even though he looks an absolute mess she doesn’t see any serious injuries. His hair is sticking up in every direction and she spots at least two twigs and a handful of leaves sticking to his dirty blonde locks, his jeans are ripped from where he must have landed on his knees, and his hands are covered in dirt but that’s about the worst of it. She kneels down and puts her hand under his chin, to make him look up at her, “Are you ok?” Pierre nods and so Pascale tuts, “What did you do, mon chou?”

Her son’s shoulders sag in defeat, his eyes looking down at his feet, and his voice is barely above a whisper when he says, “I fell.” 

Pascale doesn’t say anything, trying to see if he’ll tell her what really happened on his own. 

He does, “I fell from the tree.”

Pascale lets out a sigh, one she exaggerates just a little to get her point across, “What did I tell you about climbing trees?”

“I’m not allowed,” Pierre hangs his head even lower, not wanting to look at her. 

“Exactly.” Pascale holds out her arms to him then and when he steps into her embrace she pulls him close, “No more climbing trees, mister.”

He nods against her shoulder.

“What did you say?”

“No, maman,” he says, the reply whispered into her ear. 

“Good,” she lets go of him and holds out her hand, “let’s go get you cleaned up.” Pascale holds out her other hand to the little girl, “Come on, ma puce.”

They’re about halfway to the house when suddenly the little girl cries, “Am not!”

“Am too!” Pierre yells back, throwing her a look that is far too accusing for a four-year old, their whispered argument from just moments before now a screaming match that Pascale has heard many times before. 

“Am not,” the little girl says again, sounding a little more defeated now and Pascale can tell she’s on the brink of tears.

She lets go of the two little ones and lines them up next to each other, giving each of them a stern look, “What’s going on?”

Pierre sticks his chin out, not saying anything, but the little girl quietly sobs, “He says I’m a tattletale.” 

“Pierre,” Pascale warns him, one eyebrow raised to get her point across.

“She is,” Pierre replies solemnly. 

“Because she went and got me?” Pascale tries, even though she already knows the answer.

Pierre nods, “Yes.” 

“Oh honey,” Pascale smiles and ruffles Pierre’s hair. “She’s not a tattletale for coming to get me. What if you were seriously injured, hmm?”

“Yeah, but-”

“No, mon chou,” Pascale shakes her head. “She’s your best friend and that’s what best friends do. They look out for each other.”

XXX

Les Côtes, December 28, 2021

It’s a little after five in the afternoon and the sun has just begun to set, the light disappearing even faster now that you are driving through a dense patch of forest. Your navigation tells you to take the next right in that annoying voice of hers and so you shut it off because after twenty plus years of coming here you can make the drive down from Rouen to here pretty much with your eyes closed anyway. You only had it on to help you navigate the detours between Orleans and Bourges, the roadworks there adding an extra hour to what was already going to be a six-hour drive. 

When you make the final turn onto Les Côtes something heavy settles in your chest while at the same time there is an onslaught of butterflies fluttering around in your stomach and so you’re a little confused by the melting pot of emotions you’re feeling right now even though it has been brewing ever since you got into the car this morning. 

The driveway up to the house is narrow and so you keep your eyes peeled in front of you in case any wildlife decides to dart out of the forest and onto the dimly lit road. You’ll never forget the rabbit your Dad hit a  little bit further up the road. You must have been seven or eight and you were absolutely inconsolable when you found out the poor thing hadn’t survived. When your Dad joked you should take it back to the house so Mamie could use it for her famous rabbit stew you refused to get back into the car until your Mom promised she’d go back to pick up the rabbit and give him a proper burial in the backyard instead. 

The memory disappears from your mind when the big house comes into view and then another emotion is added to the mix, one you prefer to focus on for now because it’s the best feeling in the world. The feeling of coming home. 

You pull up not much later and before you can even honk the horn to let them know you’ve arrived the front door opens and Pierre comes rushing at you, a boyish grin plastered on his face and his arms outspread. You hardly have time to unbuckle your seatbelt and get out of your car before he throws himself at you, making you stumble backwards a bit from the sheer force of his hug. 

“Took you long enough,” he teases, but his voice is barely above a whisper and too full of emotion for you to take it personally. 

Instead you wrap your arms around him and pull him close because it really has been too long, “God, I’ve missed you.” 

He lets out a shaky breath, “Missed you too, Flo.” 

You smile at the use of your nickname, which is so connected to him and to this place that it makes the tears that have been burning in your eyes all day finally spill over. You try to blink them away but know it’s a futile attempt and so instead you just relish in the hug a little longer. When you finally pull back you see his eyes are a little glossed over as well and so you stick out your tongue at him while you wipe your own tears away, “Don’t go soft on me now, Gas.”

He makes a face at you before he presses a kiss to your cheek, “It’s just good to have you back.” 

“Yeah,” you nod, “it is.” When he lets go of you, you reach into the car and grab the package you brought him from where it’s been sitting in the passenger’s seat and hand it to him with a smile, “Here. Merry belated Christmas.”

He turns the oddly shaped package over in his hands and you can see his smile growing wider when the realisation hits, “You didn’t!”

“I did,” you counter with a wink. “How could I not?”

“But how? When did you go to-”

“I didn’t,” you say as you bump your shoulder against his on your way to the trunk to take out your suitcase. “Got it online.”

“Really?” He tears through the wrapping paper rather unceremoniously, pumping one fist in the air when he sees his present, and lets out a rather obscene groan, “Oh my God, I love you!”

“I know,” you say as you gently pat his arm before you hand him a big grocery bag, “There’s another two in here, so-”

“I won’t have to share?” His eyes light up and he lets out a cackle, “If Pyry finds out I ate an entire Galette des Rois by myself he is going to kill me.” He gently flicks your arm, “And you, for giving it to me.”

“Pfft,” you scoff, “I can take Pyry. No problem.”

Pierre laughs even harder then, “No you can’t.”

“I totally can.” 

“Flo-” he counters with a grin, shaking his head. 

“Yeah, ok, no. I can’t,” you agree quietly, knowing all too well you’ve got nothing on Pierre’s trainer who absolutely towers over you and looks like he could break you in half if he wanted to. He wouldn’t, because if anything he’s just a big softy, but still. No need to take any chances.

Pierre hands you the grocery bag back then, taking your suitcase out of the trunk instead, and nods towards the house, “Come on.”

XXX

Are you surprised to find Pierre’s mom in the kitchen, quietly singing along to some Jacques Brel song? No. Not really anyway, because in every memory you have of this place and these family vacations, Pascale, just like your Mom, is somehow always tied to the kitchen. 

“Look who finally decided to show up,” Pierre says from somewhere over your shoulder as he gently pushes you forward. 

The next moment almost happens in slow motion, Pascale turning around and wiping her hands on the tea towel that's tucked into the side of her apron, a wide smile on her face as she holds out her hands to you, “Ma puce.”

You step into her embrace with an equally wide smile, your chin resting on her shoulder comfortably, “Salut Tata.” It’s been a few weeks since you last saw her but it is as if no time has passed, her hug as warm and comforting as ever, “I’ve missed you,”

She lets go of you then but keeps her hands on your arms, her eyes wandering down from your head to your toes and back up before her eyes find yours, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I am now that I’m back here.” 

Pascale eyes you suspiciously but doesn’t push it. She doesn’t really have to either because she knows you’ll tell her eventually anyway. It’s always been like that. As a teenager you’d often go to Pascale with whatever problem you were having because instead of judging you she listened and let you talk your way through whatever it was you were dealing with at that time. You know it frustrated your Mom to no end and looking back it might have been a bit unfair to rather talk to your Mom’s best friend than to her, but isn’t that what all teenagers do? If anything, you remember Pierre did the same thing and always went to your Dad for advice. “We’ll catch up over dinner, ma puce. Now go,” she says with a wave of her hand, effectively dismissing you, “Tonton is over there somewhere-” she nods towards the living room, “-go say hi.”

“You sure you don’t want me to help with dinner?” You already know there is a very detailed roster somewhere that tells each and every one of you exactly when you are expected to do what and where, and you doubt she’s put you on it for today but still you offer.

“Oh no, no. Not tonight.” She points at her son, “Pierre is on kitchen duty with me. And it’s only the five of us anyway, so it shouldn’t take too long.”

“And yet there’s still a three-course meal going out,” Pierre mutters under his breath, shaking his head, and you can’t help but laugh when Pascale throws him a warning look.

When you pass Pierre you throw him a wink and whisper a quiet, “Good luck,” knowing all too well Pascale takes no prisoners when it comes to her cooking or her planning. You make your way to the living room but you only find Katerina there, curled up on one of the big couches, with a book in her lap. You’ve met here once before, at the Qatar Grand Prix earlier this year which Pierre invited you and his parents too as well, and so you’re quick to make your way over to her, “Hi.” 

“Hi,” she responds with a smile, getting up to give you a hug.

“How have you been?”

“Good.” She waves her hand around, “You weren’t lying-” she says, referring to the talk you had with her back in the paddock, “-it really is a gorgeous house.”

“It is.” The house has been in the Gasly family for generations and it’s where you have celebrated New Year’s Eve ever since you were born, the annual trips always one of the highlights of the year for you. If anything, the place holds a lot of memories and maybe that’s why you’re still so torn between whether to feel happy or sad to be back here. 

“How was your trip down here?” 

“Good.” Then with a smile, “I always forget how long the drive down actually is, but it’s good to be back here.”

“Pierre’s Dad is over there,” Katerina says then, with a nod of her head, as if she knows she wasn’t the one you were looking to find per sé. 

“Thank you,” you mouth quietly, promising her you’ll have plenty of time to catch up later before you make your way to the dining room where you find Pierre’s Dad squatting in front of the fireplace, trying to nurse what seems to be a dying fire back to life by softly blowing on the glowing embers. You keep quiet for a second, leaning against the doorframe as you watch him for a while.

“Tonton?” Your voice is a little rough and just as you’re about to clear your throat to try again Jean-Jacques looks at you from over his shoulder, a tender smile forming on his lips.

You watch him as he gets up with a groan and you think you hear him curse getting older as he turns around and makes his way to you but still his smile never wavers. He wraps his arms around you so gently that it’s almost as if he’s afraid you’ll break if he isn’t careful, the polar opposite of the way Pierre hugged you not even ten minutes ago. He’s always been like this, has always been extra gentle with you, but even more so after that dark July day all those years ago, when he promised that from there on he would take care of you as if you were his own. “Salut, ma petite.”

“Hi,” you reply, your voice a little muffled by the fabric of his sweater. 

“I’m glad you came,” he admits easily as he lets go of you and, like Pascale did earlier, holds you at arm’s length for a little longer. “It’s been, what, three years since you were here last?”

You nod, “Yeah.”

“You’ll be fine,” he tells you with a wink. “I’ll make sure he behaves.”

You can’t help but laugh, knowing all too well it isn’t Pierre he’s talking about, and press a kiss to his cheek as a thank you before you nod towards the fire, “Need a hand with that?”

Jean Jacques chuckles, “Oh no, sweetheart, that’s ok.” A wink then, “Wouldn’t want to stray away from Pascale’s roster already on the first day, now would we?”

XXX

With a somewhat heavy heart you make your way upstairs, your suitcase in one hand while the other holds on to the handrail to try and keep your balance. Your room, the one that has been solely yours for the past seven years, is right across the landing and so before you know it your hand hovers over the handle and you try to summon the courage needed to enter. It’s just a bedroom, you try to tell yourself, just a place for you to sleep, nothing special. Problem is, last time you slept here was with him and you know the memories that have threatened to surface ever since you got here will more likely than not come rushing at you once you open that door.

Taking a deep breath, trying to find the courage needed, you push the handle down, open the door and step inside. An instant wave of relief washes over you when you notice the picture frames you were dreading to see are no longer there, the shelves and nightstand empty except for the picture of you and your parents, and you can only assume the rest of them are safely stored away in the small cardboard box that’s sitting on your bed. You wonder who’s packed them away for you, figured it must have been Pascale and remind yourself to thank her for it later. 

Deciding you’ll unpack later tonight you push your suitcase into a corner somewhere and walk to the ensuite bathroom instead, figuring you should probably freshen up a bit before you head down for dinner. After splashing some cold water on your wrists and face you search around for a towel, finally finding one in the cabinet under the sink. Just as you take it out a small blue glass bottle catches your eye and a quiet, “Oh,” escapes you.

Just seeing it brings on a rush of memories but then it’s like your body has a mind of its own as you find yourself reaching for the bottle of cologne and bringing it up to your nose. The familiar scent hits you almost immediately and it’s too much. Memory after memory of him and your time together run through your head and you can feel tears starting to form in your eyes. Fuck.

Looking at yourself in the mirror you shake your head and wipe away the few tears that have spilled over, determined to pull yourself together so that when you finally do see him again tomorrow, for the first time after you broke up, you can at least try to pretend everything’s fine. 

XXX

Dinner is a long affair but still only a taste of what is to come when twelve more adults and a handful of kids arrive over the next two days, but you don’t mind. You’ve always loved these long, drawn out dinners with the Gasly’s. You are glad it’s just the five of you tonight though, because it gives you a chance to catch up with Pierre and his parents in relative peace. 

Pierre is doing most of the talking, animatedly telling Katerina about the five years he spent racing karts because even though she didn’t really ask him about it, that’s never stopped him before. He loves to relive his karting days, not in the least because it was such a big deal in both of your lives from an early age. More often than not you’d be by his side during the race weekends, mostly because you had your own races to compete in but also because your Dad worked as a car mechanic and loved to tinker around with both your and Pierre’s karts in his free time, always trying to improve their performance. 

“God, remember that time your Dad made some ‘adjustments’-” Pierre air-quotes the word, “-to my kart and I almost went flying off the track in Reims?”

You can’t help but laugh, remembering all too well how spooked Pierre was after that first training session, his eyes wide and unsure whether he should be scared or thrilled at the speed he suddenly had. “It took Dad years to admit he might have overdone it,” you tell Katerina with a smile. Looking back at Pierre you narrow your eyes, “Didn’t you ask him to-”

“-put it back to its original settings?” Pierre nods but then points at Pascale, “But only ‘cause she made me.” 

“That thing was a deathtrap,” Pascale says, shaking her head as she starts clearing out the plates so she can serve dessert. She laughs then and looks at you, “Your mother gave him a pretty big scolding after that race if I remember correctly. I think he even slept on the couch for a few nights.” 

“Really?” You feel your eyes widen, because this is brand new information. It sounds like something your Mom would do though and so you don’t for a second doubt that it’s true. It’s both wonderful and a little heartbreaking  how even after all these years you still learn new things about your parents, you think as you sit back in your chair, not missing the way Pierre sends you a comforting wink to let you know he gets it. 

Katerina stays quiet and you’re not sure if she knows but it doesn’t really feel like now is a good time to bring it up either and so you don’t say anything, instead listening to Pierre’s Saint Amand story, where he won only because the two leaders pushed each other off the track in the last lap. You’ve heard the story many times before, could probably recite it word for word if you had to, but still love the way he tells it, all wild gestures and wide eyes. Katerina simply listen and even though both you and Pierre try your best to make her a part of the conversation you know it’s not easy for a newcomer to even begin to understand the sort of shorthand you’ve developed with Pierre over the years, often needing nothing more but a look to know what the other wants to say. Even his parents don’t understand what is going on half of the time. 

Maybe you should spend some time alone with her, you think, because even though you spoke a little during the Qatar Grand Prix, you spent most of your time roaming the paddock, both looking for and trying to avoid certain familiar faces. You excuse yourself and leave the table, making your way to the kitchen where you find Pascale plating the desserts, “Tata?”

“Yes, ma puce?”

“Do you have the roster somewhere?”

“It’s on the fridge in the pantry,” she says as she points over her shoulder. “Why?”

“I’d like to take Katerina to Issoire tomorrow,” you start. “I still need a dress for the party and I figured it would be a nice opportunity to get to know her a bit better.” 

“I think I put you on breakfast together with Katerina,” she says with a smile. “So after that you are free to go.”

“Ah, perfect,” you say, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “Thank you.” 

“You are very kind to do that,” she tells you, her voice soft. Her expression changes then and she cups your cheek with her hand, “Your parents would be so proud of you, sweetheart. I just know it.”

You let yourself lean into her touch but don’t say anything, not really trusting your voice right now. 

“I know it is not always easy and I know you were hesitant about coming here again, but I’m glad that you did. It would not be the same without you.” She throws you a warm smile, “It was weird not having you here two years ago.”

“Yeah,” you agree quitely. When Pascale gives your cheek one last squeeze before she drops her hand you easily admit, “I just couldn’t- It would have been-”

“Shh,” she tells you with a shake of her head, “no need to explain, ma puce. Believe it or not I have gotten my heart broken once or twice and I would have done probably the same thing.” 

“Thank you.” You remember the box on your bed then, “And thank you for cleaning up my room. I was not looking forward to that.”

She chuckles and you’re a little confused at her reaction but then she tells you, “That wasn’t me, sweetheart. Pierre did that.” 

XXX

Monza, September 6, 2020

It’s when he’s on the podium, the French national anthem blasting through the speakers, that it finally starts to sink in. He’s a winner. He won fucking Monza. After all the shit he’s been through last year with Red Bull he finally gets his revenge. He finally gets to show the world that he’s not the chieur they made him out to be and God does it feel good. 

When the Italian anthem takes over from the French to celebrate Torro Rosso he allows himself a moment to take it all in, to really enjoy it. His eyes scan the crowd below and he can’t help but smile when he sees his team looking up at him, the Italians among them loudly singing along to their national anthem. He’s so proud of each and every one of them for all the hard work they’ve put not only into the car but into him as well. When the music ends and he gets the trophy he takes a few steps towards the crew, pointing at his engineer and pit crew to let them know this is as much their win as it is his. There’s confetti then, and champagne, and before he knows it his team principal douses him in the sticky sparkly wine to celebrate his win.

After a minute or so he feels the need to sit down for a moment because it’s all too much. Stroll and Sainz come up to congratulate him, and Carlos jokes that he could have taken him in another lap or two and he can’t help but smile knowing the Spaniard is probably right. Not that it matters, because when the race ended he was the first to cross the line. He watches the drivers as they leave the podium not long after, finally having a moment to himself. The tears that have been burning in his eyes ever since he saw the chequered flag finally spill over and he runs a hand over his face, shaking his head because part of him, however tiny that part may be, still doesn’t believe it. 

It’s when he looks out across the paddock once more that he sees her, his best friend, standing a little to the side, away from the madness of the pit crews. Even from this distance he can tell she’s crying and it takes everything he has not to start again too. Locking eyes with her then, he shakes his head and mouths a quiet, “Incroyable,” at her. He sees her nod in response, trying to smile through her tears. 

To win Monza is one thing, he muses to himself as he takes a sip of champagne, the bottle heavy in his hands, but to win Monza with her here makes it even more special.

Aside from his family, she has been the only constant in his life and they have gone through so much together already, both high and lows, wins and losses. Too many losses for a bunch of twenty four year-olds, he thinks wryly, knowing he thought of Anthoine when he held up his trophy but he thought of her parents when he crossed the finish line.

So when people ask him what the most valuable lesson he's learned over these past few years is, it’s this: Never take anything or anyone for granted. 

XXX

“Here you go,” you say as you hand Pierre his hot chocolate which he takes from you with a bright smile. It’s just the two of you now, his parents going to bed just before midnight and Katerina following not much later, and so you have moved away from the dining room to one of the more comfortable couches in the living room, where each of you are snuggled up in your respective corners.

“Santé,” he says, holding up his mug in the air with a grin.

“To year twenty-five of this friendship,” you say, mimicking his move before you take a sip, careful not to burn your tongue as you have done so many times in the past.

Pierre’s smile drops and so you look at him with raised eyebrows, a little worried about his change of demeanour. He shrugs, “Don’t you feel like we missed two years though?”

“Hmm,” you agree quietly because you can see his point. The last time you spent more than just a few days together was at the end of the 2019 season, when he was in Rouen for two weeks. Not long after you decided to skip that year’s New Year’s Eve celebrations because of your breakup, opting to stay at home instead, the pandemic hit. The travel ban put in place shortly after meant you didn’t get to see any of his races that year except for Monza. 

Monza. You can’t help but smile when you think back to that day. You weren’t even supposed to be there, had a work event you had to attend that Saturday, but Pierre insisted you’d come see at least one race that year and so he flew you out on Sunday on the company’s jet. The rest, as they say, is history. 

This year you at least got to see him race in Spa and in Qatar but it still wasn’t up to par with the amount of time you used to spend together. Even though you kept in touch through messages and video calls it wasn’t the same and you are the first to admit you have missed him terribly over the past two years. Looking at him from over your mug you try to smile, “It would be nice to catch up on some lost time next year.” 

“Just tell me when and where, Flo,” he says with a wink, “you know there is always a paddock pass waiting for you.”

“I’d like that,” you admit easily. 

His eyebrows knit together then and he looks at you curiously but doesn’t say anything, almost as if he’s trying to choose his next words carefully. When he finally does speak you realise he has, “Are you ok?”

Taking a deep breath you try to smile, “Getting there.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you echo quietly. When he keeps quiet you know he’s waiting for a more elaborate answer and so you shrug, “Moving back to Rouen was- It was probably the best decision I’ve made in the past two years. I don’t know why I felt this need to move halfway across the country because in the end it hurt all the same no matter where I was.” You look down at your mug, “Rouen is home, you know, and there’s nowhere- It’s where I need to be.”

Pierre’s next question is not what you expected although by now you shouldn’t be surprised because sometimes it’s like he knows you better than you know yourself, “Are you ok with seeing him again tomorrow?”

You take your time, not wanting to give him a rushed, half-true answer. This is your best friend, he’ll see right through the bullshit in a heartbeat and so you answer as honestly as you can, “I think I am. I mean, it’s been two years-” a sad smile tugs on your lips, “-but at the same time, it’s only been two years, you know?” You don’t wait for a reply and instead continue because now that you’ve started it’s hard to stop, “It’s just weird, I guess. I mean, it’s not like he hurt me, right? There wasn’t a big fight or- Neither of us cheated, or anything like that. We just-” you shake your head trying to gather your thoughts.

Again Pierre surprises you, “I think maybe it was a ‘right person, wrong time’ kind of thing, no?” 

You roll your bottom lip between your teeth, letting his words sink in before you look back up at him and nod, “Yeah, I think it was.” 

“He misses you too, you know.”

You’re about to argue that you don’t miss him but both you and Pierre know that’s a big fat lie and so you wait for him to continue because you’re a little intrigued by this new insight. 

“He doesn’t really say it, but I can tell.” Pierre stretches out his legs in front of him so he can nudge your foot with his, “I think he is just as nervous as you are for tomorrow.” 

“I don’t know,” you let out a sigh. This time it’s you who nudges his foot with yours, “Thank you, by the way.”

“For?”

“Taking down the pictures and everything else that was left of Charles in my room.”

=====

Notes: Tata = Auntie Tonton = Uncle Galette des Rois = a French cake, typically eaten on January 6 Chieur = pain in the ass

Most of the nicknames will be in French, because, well, I love the wide variety they have :)

[harley-sunday]

North Star [Epilogue]

Summary: “We were never bad, Charles, we just lost each other somewhere along the way.” It’s been two years since you and Charles broke up and you have been trying to find your way ever since. Will seeing him again make you find your true north?

Pairings: Pierre Gasly x reader (best friends) | Charles Leclerc x reader

Chapter warnings: None. Please see the masterlist for general warnings.

Word count: 5.4k.

AN: Besties. We’ve made it. The epilogue. Let me start off by saying how sorry I am for taking such a long time to publish this, but I’ll hope you’ll forgive me at the end. As always, feedback is very much appreciated because I can’t wait to hear what you think of this. Please, please, please enjoy! Xx

[Flashback in italics]

Masterlist

Les Côtes, December 30, 2022

It’s a little after five in the afternoon and the sun has just begun to set, the light disappearing even faster now that you are driving through the fores even though there are, patches of leftover snow reflecting the sunlight in between the trees. Your navigation tells you to take the next left in that annoying voice of hers and before you have the chance to shut it off you hear a quiet chuckle coming from the passenger seat. You risk a quick glance to your right, not surprised to see him looking at you with a cheeky grin.

“I can’t believe you still need navigation to get here-”

“Hmm,” you agree quietly as you put your blinker on so you can turn onto Au Poye, “but in my defence, it’s the first time I’m driving here from your place.”

“True,” he offers, turning the navigation off for you, “but you know the way from here, no?”

“I do,” you say as you make the final turn onto Les Côtes, suddenly remembering how nervous you were when you made the trip down here last year, a melting pot of emotions making for a very charged drive. Not this time. This time it feels like it felt every other time coming here. The feeling of coming home. 

The big house comes into view not much later and you can’t help but smile as you make your way up the driveway, still looking out for any wildlife that might dart out of the forest because you never can be too sure. You think you spot a deer in between the trees to your left but before you have time to point it out to him you’ve reached your destination and pull up in front of the house.

An incredible feeling of déjà vu comes over you when you see the front door open, Pierre rushing at you with his arms outspread and that familiar boyish grin plastered on his face. It’s only been a few weeks since you last saw him but still you hurry out of the car and step into his embrace. 

“Took you long enough,” he teases after he’s kissed your cheek and pulls you closer. 

“Yeah, yeah,” you mutter against the fabric of his sweater. 

“Hey-” he shoots back, gently flicking your upper arm as he lets go of you, “-normally you’d already be here for a few days, Flo. You know how many chores maman has already made me do these past-”

You scoff, “So sad, Gas,” and stick out your bottom lip for full effect. You ruffle his hair then, “Bet you’re glad had a chance at winning at karting today though-” you throw him a wink, “-or did Arthur beat you?” 

There’s a cackle coming from the other side of the car then and so Pierre turns towards his friend, a scowl on his face because he was hoping to score some sympathy points there no doubt, “I blame you for this, Leclerc. Just so you know.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Charles repeats your earlier words as he rounds the car and gives Pierre a hug, “Good to see again, frérot.”

“Come on,” Pierre nods towards the house, “everyone’s already waiting for you.”

As Charles falls into step next to you he reaches for your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours as you make your way to the front door, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the inside of your wrist and you can’t help but smile at the sweet gesture. There’s nothing to be nervous about but still there are some butterflies fluttering around in your stomach, mostly because you are looking forward to seeing everyone again but also because coming here together with Charles, as a couple, makes your relationship feel even more official. Your one-year anniversary is coming up in two days and even though Charles likes to argue that the almost two years you were together before should count as well, you still managed to convince him to celebrate your anniversary on the first of January because, as you told him, that’s the one that counts. 

You and Charles are the last ones to arrive for the festivities and once you make your way inside, you are met with endless hugs and kisses and people welcoming you back. There’s one person missing though and so, when you’ve greeted everyone else, you make your way to the kitchen where you find Pascale, “Salut Tata.” 

She turns around with a bright smile, “Salut Flo,” holding out her arms to you and hugging you close once you’ve wrapped your arms around her. Charles has followed you here and so he gets a hug from Pierre’s mom as well but instead of sticking around he gives you a quick kiss and heads back to the living room, knowing you’d probably like to catch up with Pascale in private.

“You look happy, ma puce” Pascale says from over her shoulder as she turns her focus back to the crème brûlée she’s preparing for tomorrow’s dinner. 

“I am,” you admit easily enough. It’s true. You are. 

“Good.”

You hop onto the counter next to where she’s working and watch her as she pours the mixture into the little pots, “How are the new neighbours?”

Pascale shrugs, “We have seen them once or twice maybe but they seem nice.” She looks at you then, “I know it’s never going to be like it was before, ma puce, but that doesn’t mean I don’t still miss having your parents around-” she puts a hand on your knee and gives it a gentle squeeze, “-or you.” 

“I know,” you whisper. When Charles asked you to move in with him during a romantic surprise dinner he planned for your birthday you agreed easily enough but at the same time you knew you could never sell your childhood home in Rouen. Instead you opted to rent it out, the new tenants a young couple with a five-month old baby who wanted to move from their tiny apartment in the centre of the city to a more spacious home with a large garden.

“Promise me we’ll see more of you next year?” Pascale asks, raising her eyebrows at you.

“I promise,” you tell her with a smile before you press a kiss to her cheek. “Travelling the world together with Charles was fun, Tata, but I start my new job next week, remember? I’ll be in Monaco for most of the year anyway so I’ll definitely come visit you and Tonton more often.” 

“I’d like that.” 

XXX

Dinner, like always, is a long affair but it’s fun to catch up with everyone again. You’re back in your usual spot, with Charles sitting next to you and Pierre across the table from you. When you see Pierre’s a little lost in thoughts during dessert you nudge his foot with yours under the table and throw him a questioning look. He looks up at you and shakes his head, letting you know he doesn’t want to talk about it right now and so you make a mental note to check up on him later. 

Leaning back you notice Charles has put his arm on the back of your chair and when you look up at him he smiles back at you and presses a kiss to your temple, “You ok?”

You nod, “Yeah. It’s good to be back.” 

“Hmm,” he agrees, his lips still ghosting over your skin, “I love coming here.” 

You let out a giggle even though you know Charles didn’t mean what you now take it as, “Do you now?” 

Charles pulls back and looks at you with his eyebrows knitted together but then realisation sets in and he shakes his head, his voice low when he says, “Don’t start with me, ma belle.” 

“Is that a threat or a promise?” 

He licks his lips, “Whatever you want it to be-”

“Don’t tempt me with a good time, Leclerc,” you tease, not missing the way Pierre pulls a face from across the table when you blow Charles a kiss. 

“I think it’s time to end this dinner before Flo and Charles start doing things none of us necessarily want to see,” Jean-Jacques says then, drawing laughter from everyone around you.

Feeling the heat rise to your cheeks, you bury your face in the crook of Charles’ neck, a little embarrassed when one of Pierre’s older brothers tells you to get a room. Charles lets out a laugh and is just about to say something when Pascale says you can but that you have to do your chores first, more laughter erupting around you.

Once people start to get up you let go of Charles and stick your tongue out at Pierre who’s still cackling, “Shut it, Gas.” 

“Oh, Flo,” he says, pouting for full effect, “so sad,” repeating your words from earlier today back to you.

You just shake your head at him, letting him know he’ll pay for this later, but can’t help the smile that has started to form on your lips as you head to the kitchen to report to Charles’ mom for your dishwashing duties. 

It really is good to be back.

XXX

Pasa dismisses you from the kitchen after thirty minutes or so, the dishes by then long done and put away. You make your way back to the living room, hoping to find Pierre or Charles there to see if they want to join a game of Monopoly that you know is being set in the dining room by Katerina and Lorenzo, but they’re not there. Just as you wonder where to look for them next, the door to the library opens and Pascale and Jean-Jacques walk out, followed by Pierre and Charles.

It looks like Pascale has been crying but before you have a chance to ask her what’s wrong Jean-Jacques takes her hand and together they walk past you towards the living room, Pascale offering you a tense smile. Something heavy settles in your chest because whatever just happened, it can’t be anything good. Right? Why else would they have left you out of this conversation?

You look at Pierre who shakes his head but this time you don’t want to let it go and so, even though you’re not sure you want to know the answer, you ask, “What’s going on?”

“It’s nothing, Flo,” he says but the smile he’s giving you is all but convincing. “Don’t worry about it.” 

“Gas,” you start but then you see Charles walk away out of the corner of your eye and so your best friend’s name sort of hovers in the air, never really landing. 

Just as you turn around, determined to follow Charles and get some answers out of him, Pierre grabs your hand, “Don’t,” There’s something in his voice that stops you from moving and when you look up at him he once again shakes his head. 

“Pierre,” it comes out barely above a whisper but still the desperation is clear in your voice, “talk to me. Please.”

He tugs on your hand and pulls you back into the library with him, closing the door behind you before he turns to face you, his expression serious, “We have been friends for more than twenty-six years-”

You nod, not really trusting your voice right now, a lump in your throat that lets you know you’re seconds away from crying because you still have no idea what’s happening and you hate it. 

Pierre cups your face with his hands, “You know I’d never lie to you, right?” He waits until you nod again before he continues, “Ok. Good. Because I’m not about to start now-” he smiles again then, a real smile this time, “-but I need you to trust me on this one, ok?”

“Ok,” you whisper back.

“There’s nothing for you to worry about. I promise, Flo. Just-” he hesitates, taking a deep breath, “Please just trust me.”

You nod, not surprised to feel a tear slide down your cheek, “Ok.” It kills you, not knowing what’s going on, but you trust Pierre more than anyone and so, for now, you’re just going to have to believe him. 

XXX

You never make it back to the dining room for that game of Monopoly, instead heading upstairs to your bedroom, a little surprised to find Charles in the bathroom where he’s just finished brushing his teeth. His pyjama pants are slung low onto his hips, his chest bare, and when he has rinsed his mouth and stands up again he throws you a wink through the mirror and you can’t help but let out a content sigh at the sight in front of you even though you’re still a little distracted by your conversation with Pierre.

Not sure you should push him for any answers, you stay silent and stand behind him, wrapping your arms around him before you press a kiss in between his shoulder blades, “You ok?” 

He nods and puts his hands over yours, “Of course.” 

The way he says it sounds rather reassuring and you’re almost convinced he’s telling the truth but still there’s that nagging little voice inside your head that keeps telling you something’s wrong. You let your cheek rest against his back for a moment, trying to decide whether or not you should say anything but then you remember Pierre’s words from earlier, telling you there’s nothing to worry about, and so you let it go. For now, anyway. Maybe there’ll be more answers tomorrow. 

“Let’s go to bed,” Charles says then, taking your hands in his and stepping out of your embrace. “It’s been a long day.” 

“Hmm,” you agree quietly, “you go ahead, I’ll be right there.” 

When you step out of the bathroom not much later, Charles is already waiting for you in bed, holding out his arms as you climb in so you can snuggle up to him. You let your head rest against his chest as he wraps one arm around you and presses a kiss to the top of your head, “Je t’aime, ma belle.” 

You look up at him and smile when you find him staring back at you, his cheeks a little rosy and nothing but adoration in his eyes. Reaching up you cup his cheek and push yourself up so you can give him a kiss goodnight, “Love you.”

XXX

Les Côtes, December 31, 2022

Like last year, Pascale has put you and Katerina in charge of decorations and so once again you find yourself struggling with a table runner, candle holders, and napkins, cursing quietly when you don’t like the way it’s turned out once you’ve put everything on the table. With a frustrated groan you ball up the napkin you were trying to fold into something pretty and toss it aside, grabbing the stack of unfolded ones from the table so you can try again.

“You ok?”

Looking up you find Katerina staring back at you, a worried look on her face. You shrug and let out a sigh, “I don’t know.” 

She comes over to you and rubs your shoulder, “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“It’s nothing,” you start but then think better of it. You’ve had all night and all morning to try and figure out what’s going on and you’ve come to the conclusion that there must be something going on with Pierre’s parents or Pierre. You look up at Katerina and decide to share your findings with her, “I think there’s something going on with Pierre’s parents- They were in the library last night after dinner and- I don’t know. Pierre was there too, and Charles, and it just doesn’t make any sense why they won’t tell me.” You shake your head, “I’ve just been feeling a little off, I guess.”

“I’m sure it’ll be alright, Flo” Katerina tries, gently taking the napkins you are holding from your hands. “Pierre hasn’t said anything to me, so maybe it really is nothing?”

Another sigh, “I don’t know. Charles seemed so distracted this morning and I feel like Pierre has been avoiding me all day-”

“I think Pierre didn’t sleep well,” Katerina offers with a smile, “so he’s probably just a little grumpy. I’m sure they’ll come around before tonight.” She nods towards the living room then, “Why don’t you go grab the pictures? I’ll finish up here.” 

“You sure?”

“Yes,” she smiles. “Go.” 

“I’ll be right back,” you tell her and head towards the living room then, smiling when you see Lorenzo and Arthur pushing couches to the side to create some room for dancing. Last year the party went on into the early hours of the morning and to be honest, you expect nothing less this year. 

Carefully cradling the four picture frames to your chest you make your way back to the dining room where Katerina has set the table beautifully. You smile at her, “It looks gorgeous.”

“Thank you,” she says as she starts putting the chairs back in place. “I’ve already put the candles on the side table for you.”

“Thanks, Kat,” you tell her as you put the picture frames down one by one, running your fingers over the glass protecting your parents’ picture gently and sending up a quick greeting to them. You always miss them a little more on days like these and not for the first time do you wish they would be able to see you now. To see how far you’ve come. To see how happy you are with Charles. Your parents always had a soft spot for Charles and, like Pierre, they considered him family so there’s no doubt in your mind that they would have been delighted to know you ended up together. 

Someone bumps your shoulder then and when you look up you see Pierre standing next to you. He puts his arm around your shoulders and pulls you closer, “Another year gone, Flo.”

“Yeah,” you agree quietly. 

“It was a pretty good one, wasn’t it?”

“It was,” you say as you lean into him. From the way he acts it really does seem like he meant what he said yesterday, that there’s nothing for you to worry about, but still you feel as though he’s hiding something from you.   

He flicks his thumb against your upper arm then, pulling you out of your thoughts, “I think next year’s going to be even better, though.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he nods, a sly smile tugging on the corners of his mouth. “Just you wait and see.” 

XXX

“Charles?” You turn your back towards your boyfriend and look at him from over your shoulder, “Can you help me with the zipper?”

His hands land on your hips first and then he presses a kiss just below your ear, “Of course.”

You’re wearing a crimson red flowy floor length dress, which you bought in a small boutique in Maranello when you were there last. Charles fingers ghost over your skin then, sending a shiver down your spine, and you can’t help but let out a content sigh.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, ma belle,” he whispers, his mouth still close to your ear and his warm breath hitting the skin just below it as he carefully pulls the zipper upwards. 

When he’s done you turn around, letting your hands rest on his chest, the fabric of his tuxedo jacket a little cold to the touch in not an entirely unpleasant way. You bite your lip and look up at him, not surprised to see his eyes dart to your mouth and so you stand up on your toes and brush your mouth against his. The kiss is featherlight at first, your lips ghosting over his, but then he cups your face and takes over, the kiss more urgent now and a renewed need behind it. You can feel your knees going a little weak, the worries you had ever since last night slowly starting to slip away. 

He runs his tongue in between your lips and without thinking you open your mouth and let him in, a moan escaping you when he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and softly pulls on it. 

“Charles,” you breathe, a warning to your voice that you hope will tell him not to take it too far but still you throw your head back when he lets his mouth wander from your jaw to your neck to your collarbone and finally to the swell of your breasts. Your hands find their way into his hair and you gently pull on it, pulling him back to you, chasing his mouth with yours for another kiss.

He pulls back a little later, his forehead resting against yours as he tries to catch his breath, his voice low and dangerous when he says, “We will continue this tonight, ma coquine.”

You let out a shaky breath at the use of his other nickname for you, the one that’s usually reserved for the bedroom only even though, technically, that is where you are right now. Pressing a more chaste kiss to his lips you whisper, “Can’t wait.”

XXX

During dinner you find yourself willing time to move faster so you can have Charles make good on his promise from earlier but if anything the world seems to spinning even slower than usual. And then, then, time actually seems to stop when Jean-Jacques stands up and raises his glass for his annual toast.

“Like always I want to tell you how happy I am to have everyone back here again-” he lets his eyes dart across the room, “-and all in good health too.” 

Your eyes meet Pierre’s from across the table and even though he tries to smile you can tell from the way his jaw is set that his mind is elsewhere. Before you have a chance to figure out what’s going Jean-Jacques continues his speech, “It’s with a heavy heart, as always, that I want to take a moment to remember those who aren’t with us tonight, Jules, Anthoine-”

Weird. This is weird. You have heard this speech many times before and Jean-Jacques always, always, starts with your parents, the names in order of-

“Hervé,” Jean-Jacques continues, looking at Charles with a kind smile before he finally gets to your parents’ names. Pascale has put a hand on her husband’s arm by then and when both of them look at you with tear-filled eyes you feel something heavy settling deep inside you because by then you’ve realised that even though Pierre would never lie to you, it seems like he hasn’t told you the truth either. 

Something must be wrong with either Pascale or Jean-Jacques, you decicde. That’s the only way to explain why they had that meeting yesterday. Together they must have tried to figure out a way to tell you that once again your life is about to fall apart and you wonder who they’ve chosen to be the bearer of bad news. Pierre probably, you think, or maybe-

A whispered, “Flo,” pulls you out of your thoughts and when you look up you find Pierre shaking his head at you with a kind smile, letting you know there’s no need to panic, but you’re not sure you even believe him anymore. At the same time Charles takes one of your hands in his and gives it a gentle squeeze but the normally calming gesture only upsets you more.

“We miss you,” Jean-Jacques says, coming to the end of his speech, “but rest assured, we think about you every day. And while we grieve not having you here with us anymore, we treasure the many memories we have made together with you over the years.” He raises his glass then, “A toast to those who we have lost but who are never forgotten.” 

You raise your glass and send a quick word up to your parents, asking them to please, please make things right. 

XXX

The rest of the evening passes by in a blur, because even though everything seems normal you can’t help but think about what you’ve discovered. During dessert you lean into Charles, “Can we talk later?”

There’s a flash of panic in his eyes before he nods, “The library? After midnight?”

XXX

With one minute to go before midnight you make your way to the living room where, like last year, you find Charles waiting for you by the fireplace, away from the rest of the crowd. He holds out his hand to you and when you take it he pulls you into him, pressing a gentle kiss to your temple, “I promise it’s going to be ok, ma belle.” 

You look up at him, your mouth a little dry because what does he mean? What the hell is going on? Before you have a chance to ask him the countdown starts and so there’s a chorus singing around the room from people counting down from ten, to nine, to eight-

Charles turns towards you and cups your face with his hands, his thumbs running over your cheeks in a soothing manner, “Do you trust me?”

To seven, to six, to five-

“Always,” you admit easily enough, leaning into his touch a little, trying to ground yourself. It’s true. You do. You trust him with all of your heart. 

To four, to three, to two-

He smiles and for a moment you feel yourself getting lost in his eyes, the panic you felt earlier being replaced by an overwhelming sense of love for Charles. .

To one.

“Happy New Year, ma belle,” he whispers before he dips his head and kisses you. When he pulls back he lets go of you and takes one of your hands in his, “Come.”

“Now?” You look around the room in a bit of a panic, not sure you can leave before you have wished everyone else a Happy-

“Yes,” is all Charles says before he gently tugs on your hand and gets you to follow him.

XXX

Les Côtes, January 1, 2023

A last glance across the room finds Pierre throwing you a wink from where he’s standing next to his parents, Jean-Jacques and Pascale smiling widely at you and if you weren’t confused before you sure as hell are now. You follow Charles in silence, still not knowing if what’s about to happen is going to be a good or a bad thing. You’re a little lost in thoughts and so when Charles opens the door to the library and pulls you inside it takes you a while to notice, “Oh.” 

There are candles placed on every available surface, casting a warm glow across the room, and just as you try to figure out what exactly is going on Charles lets go of your hand and takes a deep breath. You want to tell him that whatever it is he has to say he better say it fast, because you’re not sure how much more of this you can take, but the words seem to be stuck in your throat.

“Ma belle,” Charles says then, taking both your hands in his this time and giving them a reassuring squeeze before he gives you a hesitant smile. “I’m sorry-”

“Charles-”

“Sssh,” he shakes head, his smile growing a little wider, “let me finish.” He waits for you to nod before he continues, “I’m sorry for keeping you in the dark these past few days. I know you probably wondered what it is that is going on but I-” he clears his throat and you can tell he’s getting nervous by the way he licks his lips. He sighs and shakes his head, “I would have loved for your parents to be here, so they could give me their blessing, but unfortunately that’s not possible-”

You have to bite your lip to keep from crying, tears already burning in your eyes because is this really what you think it is? 

One hand lets go of yours then and cups your face and you feel yourself lean into his touch, “There are other people who care about you just as much though and so I asked them instead.”

XXX

Les Côtes, December 30, 2022

People start to get up then and Pierre can’t help but laugh when he sees his best friend’s still a little embarrassed by what happened just now. “Oh, Flo,” he says, pouting for full effect, “so sad,” repeating her words from earlier today back at her with a wicked grin. 

She just shakes her head at him, the look in her eyes letting him know he’ll pay for this later even though by now she’s smiling too. 

He waits at least another couple of minutes or so after she’s left the dining room before he turns to his parents and nods to the library, knowing Charles is already waiting for them there. He has an inkling what his friend wants to talk to him and his parents about when he asked for five minutes of their time earlier today but then again, it’s Charles and so he knows he can never be too sure. 

He hasn’t really spoken to his parents about it and so he wonders what they make of it but before he has a chance to ask they have reached the library and he finds himself staring at a very nervous Charles Leclerc which in turn makes him a bit ill at ease because he doesn’t think he’s ever seen his friend like this before. Not even before the Monaco Grand Prix where he knows the pressure is almost unbearable for Charles. 

“Uh, yeah. So-” Charles starts once they’re all inside, breaking the heavy silence that up until then filled the room. “I wanted to ask you guys something but-” he shakes his head, “I want to do this right but I have never done this before so- Yeah.”

Pierre risks a quick glance at his parents, who seem just as intrigued by where this is going this as he is. 

Charles takes a deep breath, “I should ask her parents but-” he looks at Jean-Jacques and Pascale, “-unfortunately I can’t anymore. I know you consider her as one of your own and I know her parents were your best friends so I wanted to ask you in their place.” His eyes meet Pierre’s then, “And you. Because I know you are the most important person in her life and you have gone through so much together already that it wouldn’t- It would be not right not to ask you too.” 

Pierre nods and swallows hard, trying to get rid of the lump that has formed in his throat. He watches his friend and waits for the next part, waits for the question, but Charles seems to be fighting to keep his own emotions in check and just as Pierre’s about to say something he hears his mom whisper, “It’s ok, mon chou. You can ask us.”

Charles nods and takes a deep breath, looking at Pierre’s parents, “I would like to ask your best friends’ daughter and-” he locks eyes with Pierre then, “your best friend to marry me and I am hoping you’ll give me your blessing to do so.”

XXX

“Charles,” you all but gasp when you see him drop down to one knee, his one hand still holding onto yours. When he looks up you see his eyes are a little glossed over as well and your heart, oh your heart.

“Ma belle,” he starts and it’s then you notice the small black velvet box he’s holding and you can feel a tear sliding down your cheek because is this really happening? Charles gives your hand a little squeeze, “happy one-year anniversary-” there’s a faint smile tugging on the corners of his lips then. “A year ago you told me how lost you felt when we weren’t together and I- Whenever I’m with you I feel like I’m right where I need to be, like you’re my true north. I never want to lose you again, never want to have to go through another day without you, never want to stop telling you how much I love you, and so I would be honoured-” he lets go of your hand and opens the small box “-if you would be mine forever.” 

The ring he holds out to you is absolutely gorgeous and just as you try to figure out what it reminds you off he takes your left hand in his and smiles up at you, “Will you please marry me?” 

You bite your lip and watch him as he slides the ring on your finger and before he has even fully stood up you fling yourself at him, making him stumble backwards a little before he steadies the two of you, his arms wrapped around your waist. 

His question still echoes in your head and even though you still can’t believe this is really happening there is also nothing you have been more sure of in your entire life and so you put your mouth close to his ear and answer. 

“Yes.”

- FIN - 

=====

Notes: Frérot = brother Ma coquine = my naughty one

This is the ring. Absolutely gorgeous, right?

[harley-sunday]

North Star [04]

Summary: “We were never bad, Charles, we just lost each other somewhere along the way.” It’s been two years since you and Charles broke up and you have been trying to find your way ever since. Will seeing him again make you find your true north?

Pairings: Pierre Gasly x reader (best friends) | Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: Mentions death of a parent/parents. Mentions Anthoine Hubert and Jules Bianchi. Please see masterlist for general warnings. Language.

Word count: 6.8k

AN: This is it, bb’s. Well, sort of anyway, because there’s an epilogue waiting to happen but for now, this is where it ends. I hope you’ll like it. 

[Flashbacks in italics]

Masterlist

Les Côtes, December 31, 2021

The first thing you notice when you wake up is how quiet it is and for a moment you let yourself enjoy it, knowing it will only be a matter of time before the house comes back to life again. Turning around you spot the glass of water and paracetamol Pierre left for you on the nightstand and flashes of last night start coming back to you even though you don’t remember anything after Pierre told you to go to sleep. 

It’s still early but you don’t really want to stay in bed any longer and so you get up, changing into your sweatpants and the Alpha Tauri hoodie Pierre gave you a few years ago. When you open the curtains you’re not surprised to see it’s snowing, the world outside already covered in a thick blanket of fluffy white snowflakes.

As you make your way downstairs you find yourself walking to the kitchen almost automatically, a little surprised to see the lights are already on and even more so when instead of Pascale you find Charles’ mom there. “Salut Pasa,” you tell her as you walk up to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek in greeting.

“Good morning, ma cocotte,” she puts her hand on your arm and gives it a gentle squeeze, “sleep well?”

“I did,” you admit easily enough, a little glad that you seemed to have been spared a hangover. “Can I help with anything?” 

“Oh no,” she shakes her head, “that’s ok. I couldn’t really sleep anymore so I figured I’d start breakfast a little early, but there’s no rush. Everyone else is still sleeping, no?”

“Yeah, I think so.” You take out a mug from the cabinet and help yourself to some coffee before refilling Pascale’s cup. Leaning against the counter you cradle the mug between your hands, enjoying the warmth that starts to radiate through your body, and watch Charles’ mom as she drops eggs into a boiling pot of water, one by one. There’s soft music playing in the background and you feel yourself getting a little lost in the memories of all the times you spent in the kitchen with your mom, Pascale, and Pasa starting to surface and bringing a smile to your face.

“He misses you, you know-”

Her voice interrupts your thoughts and her words are so similar to what Pierre said to you a few days ago that for a moment you feel a little overwhelmed. When you look up at her you find her giving you a kind smile and so you can’t help but be honest, your voice barely above a whisper when you say, “I miss him too.” 

“I know it’s not my place-” Charles’ mom starts but you dismiss her statement with a wave of your hand, letting her know it’s ok, “-but I really do hope you two find your way back to each other. Not as-” She shakes her head, “Even if it’s just as friends. Before this happened you two had such a beautiful friendship, I would-” she clears her throat and it’s only then you notice her eyes are a little glossed over, “I would hate for both of you to miss out on having that. You two have come too far for this to be where it ends.”

You just nod, not trusting your own voice right now. It’s not because you’re angry or because you feel attacked. It’s because she’s right. Charles has been in your life for so long already and, like Pierre, together you have gone through so much that it would be a shame to let it end the way it did. 

As Pascale’s words settle down a bit more something else starts to dawn on you. And at first it’s too abstract, almost like a fleeting thought or a pulsating star in the night sky that you can’t really see until you look slightly away, but then it becomes more clear and you can feel the realisation start to set in.

No one blames you.

Not Pascale, not Pierre, no one. Not even Charles. Only you.

It’s almost as if they all want you to know that, as far as they are concerned, not all is lost and that they are still rooting for you. And while you don’t want to get your hopes up, don’t want to let yourself believe in the possibility of something more just yet, not when there’s still so much left unsaid between you and Charles, there’s no denying the renewed pull you have felt between the two of you over these past two days. 

It’s not that you have been avoiding him, not necessarily anyway, but you haven’t really made an effort either and with only a little over two days left here it seems like maybe it’s time to try a little harder. Going over the planning in your head you try to figure out if you’ll be able to have some time alone with him before the party tonight but you know from past experience that it’s highly unlikely. Everyone’s on a tight schedule today and you know Pierre’s mom will want to make sure no one’s slacking. Maybe you’ll have a better chance after midnight, you think, the symbolism of the new year offering new chances not entirely lost on you.  

“I’m sorry,” Pascale puts her hand on your arm again, probably taking your silence for something it’s not. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t want to-”

“It’s ok,” you whisper because it is. It is. 

Before you have a chance to say anything else you hear people coming down the stairs and so you press another kiss to Pascale’s cheek and quietly tell her, “Thank you.” 

XXX

After breakfast there’s a quick get together with all of the adults, with Pierre’s mom reminding everyone of their tasks for today and the four o’clock deadline she’s set for everything to be done so there will be enough time to relax and get changed before dinner starts at seven. 

Pierre, Charles, Arthur, and Jean-Jacques are responsible for entertaining the kids for at least a couple of hours and so they decide to head outside to play in the snow. You think you hear something about building a snow fort and maybe a snowball fight, but by then you’re already too busy trying to locate the table decorations you know have to be around somewhere. 

You’re paired up with Katerina and in charge of setting the table and so here you are, in the dining room, struggling to get the long dark blue table runner on and keeping it centred. 

“What exactly are we doing tonight?” Katerina asks from across the room where she’s busy folding the napkins into a pyramid shape. “Pierre said something about Le Réveillon?”

“Yeah, Le Réveillon de la Saint-Sylvestre," you nod. “That’s what we call dinner on New Year’s Eve. I think we’re only doing four courses this year, so dessert will probably be served at eleven or something.” You can’t help but smile when you see Katerina looking at you with wide eyes, “It’s a long affair for sure, but time flies, believe me. And then just before midnight we all gather in the living room and countdown to the New Year.”

“Isn’t there some mistletoe involved at some point?”

You let out a laugh, realising that particular tradition might seem a bit odd to someone who isn’t from France, “Yeah, I think that box over there has a few bunches of fake mistletoe in it,” you nod to somewhere on your right. “You grab one and then you just stand close to whoever you want to kiss at midnight.” 

Katerina raises her eyebrows at you, the unspoken question coming through loud and clear even though she doesn’t say anything.

“I might,” you reply with a smile, feeling the heat rise to your cheeks.

“Good,” she agrees with a playful smile. ‘’Any other traditions I should know about?”

“I don’t think so,” you tell her as you start placing candle holders on the table. “There’s usually a bit of a party happening after midnight though, so once we’re done here we have to make some room in the living room so people can dance if they want to.” 

XXX

Rouen, February 7 2017

“Pierre?”

He looks up and can’t help the smile that tugs on the corners of his mouth when he sees her walking towards him, two glasses of champagne in one hand and a small box in the other. She tells him to scoot over with a nod of her head and sits down next to him once he does, the package placed carefully in her lap before she hands him a glass. 

“Thank you,” he tells her as he clinks his glass against hers and takes a sip, watching her as she does the same. “Did maman send you to get me?”

“No,” she shakes her head and nudges his shoulder with hers, “she’s too busy supervising your Dad shucking the oysters.”

He chuckles and nods in understanding, “Quality control, huh?”

“Yep,” she nods, letting out a small giggle herself before she straightens up and looks at him, “If I have to do all the work myself, Pierre, I am not doing a good job.” 

He lets out a laugh, not surprised that she sounds exactly like his mom, and holds up his glass of champagne in reply, “Amen.” 

For a moment they sit together in silence on the wooden bench that’s tucked away in what he’s always considered to be their corner of the backyard. It was here he fell from a tree when they were four or five years old, here they spent endless afternoons playing hide and seek, and here they’d hide out whenever their parents were mad or wanted them to do chores they tried to avoid. It was here, on this bench, he told her he would go to boarding school in Le Mans after summer break, the same bench on which she confessed she was thinking about quitting karting a few years later and he encouraged her to follow her heart, and it was this exact spot he would so often find her in, drowning in her grief and wanting to escape the real world, after her parents passed away and his parents took her in like she was one of their own. She was, of course.

No, he silently corrects himself, she still is.

And it’s always been the two of them against the world. They don’t keep any secrets from each other, know better than to put up a front, and never shy away from always being honest even when the truth hurts sometimes. He’s the one who grounds her when she threatens to lose herself in the heartbreak, just as she’s never afraid to call him out on his bullshit and pretty much the only one he’ll listen to whenever he gets in one of his moods. They’ve seen each other at their lowest of lows and highest of highs and they’re as close as two people can be without being that, because above all, more than anything, she is his best friend and he is hers. Always.

“I have something for you,” she says, her voice barely above a whisper as if she knows he was a little lost in thoughts. When he looks up at her to let her know he’s heard her she puts her glass down and takes the box from her lap before she stands up and holds out her hands to him. He lets her pull him to her feet and into a hug, smiling when she presses a kiss to his cheek and tells him, “Happy twenty-first birthday.”

When he lets go he isn’t surprised to find her eyes a little glossed over and so he throws her a wink to let her know he understands. Birthdays have always been special but even more so now, a weight behind growing older neither of them is quite yet ready to take on. 

She hands him the neatly wrapped gift then and sits back down again, waiting for him to do the same. 

He does and tears away the paper carefully before opening the box he’s unwrapped, a quiet, “Oh,” escaping him when he sees what’s inside. 

“If you don’t like it-”

“Flo,” he puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close, pressing a kiss to her temple, “stop it. I love it.” 

“Good.” She gestures at the box as if what’s she going to say is no big deal but he can tell from the way she bounces her leg that it is, “I just want you to be safe, Pierre, and I don’t know-” she shrugs, a sad smile playing on her lips, “I hope this helps.”

He knows better than to try and reassure her nothing will ever happen to him, knows better than to make promises he's not sure he can keep, knows better than to betray her in the worst way possible by believing he’s invincible and doesn’t need protection, and so he quietly tells her, “It will.” He takes out the necklace then, admiring the delicate gold chain and the gold cross hanging from it, a modest design that he knows will always remind him of her. “I love it,” he tells her again as he puts it on. 

Then, with his hand over the cross, he sends up a silent prayer, asking not only for his protection but for hers as well.

XXX

You finish your task with about fifteen minutes to spare and so you check in with Pascale to see if there’s anything else you can help with but she dismisses you with a quick wave of her hand, telling her they’re almost done in the kitchen as well. 

Most kids have come back inside by now, a bunch of them watching a movie in the TV room while the others are playing a board game in the living room, joined by Charles and Arthur. You watch the game for a while, smiling when you see Charles helping Léah beat Arthur by secretly handing her some extra money under the table. When he looks up at you he shrugs, almost apologetically and so you throw him a wink to let him know it’s fine and you won’t tell on him. 

Before he has a chance to say anything you remember there’s a reason you came here and so you turn around and walk to the glass door cabinet that’s in the corner of the living room. Taking the frames holding pictures of your parents, Charles’ Dad, Jules, and Anthoine you make your way over to the dining room and carefully place the picture frames on a side table that you’ve emptied from its usual decorations earlier today. You put a candle holder next to every picture and drop a tea light, which you will light once dinner starts, in each of them. 

A sad smile forms on your lips as you look at the familiar pictures, the one of your parents a snapshot of them slow-dancing together in the living room here many years ago, lovingly looking at each other as if they were the only two people there. It’s your favourite picture of them and so of course you have a larger copy of it at home. 

Just as your eyes move to the picture of Anthoine, taken at the party celebrating his 2018 GP3 championship, you feel someone standing next to you, not surprised it’s Pierre who puts his arm around your shoulders and presses a kiss to your temple, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you say as you lean into him, your own arm finding its way around his waist. “You?”

He nods, “Yeah.” Pulling you a little closer then, he says, “I meant what I said earlier though. I really hope we get to spend some more time together next year. I- I’ve missed having you around, Flo.” 

“I know,” you whisper back, the lump in your throat suddenly making it difficult to speak because you know this isn’t just about him missing his best friend. It’s about so much more. You moving across the country in a futile attempt to escape the heartbreak you were experiencing, his busy schedule and all the restrictions still in place not allowing him to come see you when it mattered most, not being able to celebrate his podium in Azerbaijan together or to comfort him after a race he had to retire from due to no fault of his own. You have spent more time apart these past two years than you have ever done before, even when he was away at boarding school, and you silently vow to never let it happen again.

Someone clears their throat then and when you look up you see Charles standing in the doorway and so, with a nod of your head, you tell him it’s ok to join you. He stands on the other side of you but doesn’t say anything and looks at the pictures as well. For a while all three of you stay silent, a little lost in your own thoughts no doubt, until you feel Charles take your hand, his fingers intertwined with yours like they have been so many times before and his thumb rubbing soothing circles on the inside of your wrist. 

With Charles holding your hand and Pierre’s arm still around your shoulders you take a moment to count your blessings, forever grateful you are lucky enough to still have both of them in your life. 

It’s then you hear Charles’ name being called from somewhere in the living room and next to you Charles responds with a, “Yes?”

“Maman is looking for you,” Arthur calls back.

“I’m coming,” Charles replies, letting go of your hand then and giving you an apologetic smile as he walks away.

Both Pierre and you watch him disappear into the hall and when it’s just the two of you again Pierre asks, “Do you remember what you told me last night? Right before you went to sleep?” 

You shake your head because if you’re honest you don’t remember much after losing that last game of beer pong.

“You told me you loved me,” Pierre starts and so you’re a little confused because you tell him that all the time but before you have time to try and understand what he’s getting at he continues, “and after that you asked me, ‘You know who else I love?’”

You’re still not sure where he’s going with this although the way he lets the question hang in the air makes you a little nervous and so you look up at him, a little surprised when instead of the wicked grin you were expecting, the one that would tell you he’s just messing with you, you find him looking back at you with a kind smile that makes you even more worried. 

When you don't answer, he does, “Charles.”

You don’t say anything, just nod, letting your eyes fall to your feet as you feel the heat rise to your cheeks. 

“Will you promise me one thing?” Pierre drops his arm and turns towards you, his hand under your chin to make you look up at him. He waits until you nod again before he continues, “Follow your heart next year, Flo. Please.” 

“Gas-” you start, but you’re not sure what to say next and so you just shrug, hoping that he’ll understand it’s both exciting and scary at the same time and that you’re still trying to figure out if that’s a good or a bad thing. What if you mess it up again? What if what happened before will always linger somewhere in the back of Charles’ mind? What if-

“I know,” he says, interrupting your thoughts. “Believe me, I know, but you deserve this. So much.” When he sees you hesitate he continues, “Either you want this or you don’t, there’s no maybe, right?” You nod and he gently flicks your cheek like he always does when he wants you to really listen, “You are so much stronger than you give yourself credit for, I mean, look at what you’ve overcome already-” he nods to the pictures in front of you, “Every day I am amazed by your strength, Flo, you have no idea. Whenever I have a bad quali or a shitty race I always think of you and the way you always keep going.” 

He holds up his hand when you start to protest, “I know-” he gives you a kind smile, “-I know that after Anthoine it was different, that you sort of came to a full stop, but fuck, who wouldn’t? You have experienced more heartache in the past seven-and-a-half years than most people deal with in their life and yet you are still here and you are still you. Always looking after others, always having my back, always putting others first. You give so much love to everyone else but you hardly accept any of it back from people other than me and my family but-. You have got to start letting other people in, Flo, all the way,” he taps your chest with his finger to emphasise his words. “I think Charles almost made it last time but then-” he shakes his head, “If you really want to make things right and have a shot at having everything with Charles you have got to let him have all of you too.” 

XXX

You wake up from a short nap just before six, feeling a little nervous at the possibilities tonight might bring even though you know you’re the one in control of what happens. For the most part, at least. Trying to calm your nerves somewhat you take a nice hot shower before you sit down to do your hair and makeup. New Year’s Eve has always been a big deal and for as long as you can remember there’s always been a somewhat formal dress code with the men more often than not opting for tuxedos while the women wear beautiful dresses. It’s why you went shopping with Katerina a few days ago, needing a new dress for this year’s party, not wanting to wear the same one you wore three years ago.

Getting the dress on proves a little more difficult now that you don’t have anyone around to help you with the zipper but after a few tries you manage to get it up and when you catch a glimpse of yourself in the floor length mirror that’s in the corner of your room you can’t help but admire the way it looks. You’ve kept your hair and makeup simple, the long dress drawing enough attention on its own, even more so when, after you slip into the gold ankle strap heels that are your go-to shoes for these sorts of events, you stand up a little straighter. 

It’s almost seven then and you make your way downstairs shortly after, but not before, as a final touch, you spray on some of your favourite perfume, the one you only keep for special occasions. The house seems to have come alive since this afternoon, with soft music playing somewhere and a lot of chatter coming from where everyone’s gathered in the dining room. There’s a table filled with champagne glasses to your left and so you take one before you join everyone else.

It’s Pierre who spots you first, letting out a low whistle as he bumps his shoulder against yours, “Tu t’es mis sur ton 31, quoi?” 

“Not looking too shabby yourself,” you reply with a smile, admiring the dark blue tux he’s wearing. When you spot Katerina next to him you let out a gasp, “Oh, you look beautiful!” 

“Thank you.” She smiles and leans into Pierre, her short gold sequin dress complimenting the colour of his tuxedo perfectly.

A quick look around the room tells you everyone is absolutely dressed to the nines and really made an effort, something you’ve always loved about the Gasly’s and the Leclercs. And your own family too, remembering the way your parents used to dress up for New Year’s Eve with a fond smile. You make your way over to the side table then and take the box of matches you hid behind one of the frames earlier so you can light the tea lights you put there this afternoon.

When all five candles are burning you feel a hand on the small of your back and a shiver runs down your spine when you hear Charles whisper a quiet, “You look beautiful, ma belle,” into your ear. Your breath actually hitches in your throat when you turn towards him and see him standing there, his fitted black tuxedo almost making him look like a modern-day prince straight out of a fairytale. There’s a smile tugging on the corner of his lips as he takes you in and you wonder if he notices. 

Of course he does, “This looks like the dress you wore that night in Versailles.” 

You nod, not really trusting your voice right now. 

He moves his hand to your hip then and lets it rest there, stepping a little closer to you, and you think you hear him mutter a quiet, “T’es autre chose, tu le sais?” but before you have time to decide if you’ve heard him correctly the music is cut off and Jean-Jacques clears his throat to get everyone’s attention before nodding towards his wife who’s standing next to him.

“Dinner is ready,” Pascale says with a smile. “Please everyone, take a seat so we can get started.” 

Charles’ hand finds its way to the small of your back again as he escorts you to the table, both of you taking your regular spot next to each other at the far end. As he slides the chair back for you, you whisper a quiet, “Thank you,” before you sit down. 

XXX

Once the main course has been served, about an hour later, Jean-Jacques taps the back of his knife against his glass, standing up when he does. Looking around the table he waits until the conversation has quieted down before he starts his speech, “First of all I would like to tell you how happy I am to have everyone back here again-” his eyes linger on yours for just a second or so but it’s enough to make you tear up a little, “-and all in good health too.” 

You’ve heard this speech many times before but it’s always a little emotional and so you find yourself looking at your hands, the fingers of your left once again nervously playing with the ring on your right. Charles must know too because you feel him put his arm on the back of your chair, moving a little closer to you as he slowly rubs his thumb up and down your upper arm in a way to let you know you’re not alone.

“It’s with a heavy heart, as always, that I want to take a moment to remember those who aren’t with us tonight,” Jean-Jacques says, his voice a little more strained when he says the names of your parents and he has to clear his throat before he continues, “Jules, Hervé-”

Next to you Charles starts bouncing his right foot and without thinking you reach out and gently put your hand on Charles’ knee to both stop him from doing so and to let him know you’re there for him just as much as he is for you.

“-and Anthoine.”

You look down at where your hand is still on Charles’ knee, your vision going a little blurry when a tear slides down your cheek but you make no attempt to wipe it away. It’s ok to be sad. It’s ok to miss them. It’s ok. 

When, after thirty seconds or so, Jean-Jacques continues and you look up you find Pierre looking at you, his eyes a little glossed over as well and so you give him what you hope is a comforting smile, nudging his foot with yours under the table to let him know you’re there for him if needed. 

“We miss you,” Jean-Jacques simply states, looking up towards the ceiling, “but rest assured, we think about you every day. And while we grieve not having you here with us anymore, we treasure the many memories we have made together with you over the years.” He raises his glass then, “A toast to those who we have lost but who are never forgotten.” 

As you raise your glass you feel Charles press a soft kiss to your temple before he joins in the toast. 

When Jean-Jacques sits down again and tells everyone to enjoy their meal you turn towards Charles, leaning into him a little when you ask, “Can we talk later?”

XXX

By the time everyone has finished their dessert it’s almost eleven-thirty and so you’re still very much on schedule as far as Pascale is concerned and you can’t help but smile when you see her enjoying her glass of wine, looking a lot more relaxed now than she did at the start of the dinner. As always after the main course, a handful of people got asked by Pascale to switch seats and so you now find yourself with Charles’ mom next to you and Pierre’s mom sitting across from you. The conversation flows easily enough, with Pascale trying to convince you to take up Zumba classes with her once you’re back in Rouen and Pasa edging her on. Katerina tries to tell Pascale that Zumba isn’t really a thing anymore these days, but Pierre’s mom doesn’t want to hear about it and instead continues to pressure you into joining her. 

Around you the people on dishwashing duty are busy clearing away plates and silverware and to the untrained eye it might look very chaotic but it’s actually very well-organised and very much up to par to what Pascale envisioned when she made her schedule for this week. As you let your eyes wander across the room you find Charles looking at you from where he’s sitting next to Nicolas, a wink thrown your way when you smile at him. Both Pasa and Pascale act as if they didn’t see the exchange but you can tell from the way they raise their eyebrows at each other that it hasn’t gone unnoticed and so you look at Katerina, a little desperate no doubt, hoping she can provide a distraction of sorts before the two older women start to ask questions you don’t necessarily want to answer.

When she does, asking Pascale to tell her more about the mistletoe tradition even though you already explained it to her this afternoon, you mouth a quiet, “Thank you.” 

Pascale is almost done with her explanation when Victoria, who, together with some of the other kids, has been watching TV in the living room ever since they finished their main course, comes running into the dining room, “Mamie! Mamie, I think the countdown is about to begin!” 

Yet another very well-orchestrated chaos unfolds, with a few people heading towards the kitchen to get the champagne and glasses, Pascale handing out the bunches of mistletoe, and everyone else on their way to the living room. When you pass Pascale and she hands you the plastic branches she gives your hand a little squeeze and tells you, “Put it to good use, ma petite.” 

Biting your lip you nod before you make your way through the crowd to where Charles is standing next to the fireplace, a nervous smile playing on your lips until he holds out his hand for you to take. When you do and stand next to him he gives it a little squeeze and it’s at that moment, about twenty seconds before the start of the new year, you feel more connected to him than you’ve ever felt before. 

The countdown begins shortly after, starting at ten, and it’s almost as if time slows down, almost as if your mind wants to make sure you’re going to remember this moment and every single detail of it forever.

Nine, the butterflies that have been fluttering around in your stomach all evening become even more rampant.

Eight, Charles' thumb circles the inside of your wrist, making you look up at him.

Seven, he smiles at you and turns around so he’s facing you.

Six, it’s like everything and everyone around you fades into the background and if the two of you were the main characters of a romantic movie the camera would circle around you, focusing only on you and Charles.

Five, his eyes meet yours and even in the dimly lit room you feel yourself getting lost in them.

Four, your eyes drop to his mouth, watching him lick his lips and you think your heart might actually skip a beat at the promise of what is coming next.

Three, you take a step closer to him as he lets go of your hand and instead cups your face with his.

Two, putting one hand on his chest you slowly start to raise the mistletoe with the other.

One, he raises his eyebrows in a silent question that you answer with a nod because yes, you are very sure about this.

“Happy New Year, ma belle,” he says before he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours just as you hold the mistletoe over your heads.

You smile into the kiss, allowing yourself to enjoy the moment, until a loud cheer from Pierre somewhere behind you brings you back to reality and makes you pull back, heat rising to your cheeks when you see a lot of smiling faces looking your way. 

“I’ll find you later, ma belle,” Charles promises with a wink before he turns around and gives Lorenzo a hug, wishing his brother a happy new year and taking the attention away from you two. 

Someone’s tugging on your arm then and when you turn around you are met by Pierre and his shit-eating grin, “Fuckin’ finally.” 

“Oh, shut up,” you counter with a grin as you step into his outspread arms and kiss his cheek before you rest your head on his shoulder. “Happy new year, Gas. Love you.” 

“Love you too, Flo,” he says, pulling you closer. “Happy new year.”

XXX

Les Côtes, January 1, 2022

It takes you a while to make your way around the room and wish everyone a happy new year and by then you’ve lost Charles somewhere in the crowd and so you find yourself back with Pierre and Katerina, who are watching Pascale and Jean-Jacques slow dance in the middle of the living room. The song, an old favourite of not only Pierre’s parents but yours as well, brings back a lot of memories and so you’re a little lost in thoughts when all of a sudden you see Charles walking towards you.

He doesn’t say anything but nods towards the library as he passes you, not waiting to see if you’ll follow him.

Before you have a chance to excuse yourself Pierre’s already giving you a gentle push in the right direction, “Allez, on with it, Flo.”

You throw him a look that you know will tell him just exactly how nervous you are because you can see his expression change to something more kind. He taps your chest again and raises his eyebrows, “All the way, ok?” 

You nod.

With a stomach full of butterflies and a heart that feels like it’s about to beat out of your chest you make your way to the library, not surprised to find Charles sitting at the piano again. He’s playing something you don’t recognize but you take an immediate liking to, the soft dark notes slowly changing into something more happier and light as he continues playing. Unlike yesterday you don’t wait for him to finish and instead sit down next to him before the song is even finished, hoping it will give you some time to try and figure out what you want to say. 

The songs ends soon after though and so, without a clear plan on where to go from here, you simply tell him, “That was beautiful,”

He starts to say something at the same time as you turn towards him, “Charles-”

“You first,” he tells you with a smile.

Taking a deep breath you decide to just go for it, decide to take Pierre’s words to heart and let Charles have all of you, “I’m sorry. For everything.” 

“It’s ok-”

“It’s not, it’s-”

Charles looks at you with a comforting smile, “I know,” 

“Charles,” you whisper, turning towards him as you do and putting your hand on his, “you’ve got to let me say it. Please?” You wait until he nods before you continue, “What I did was so incredibly unfair and I- I thought I could somehow justify making that decision for us, because I was arrogant enough to think I knew what was best for me. And for you. I never even gave you the chance to try.” You shake your head and scoff, “I was so guarded, so desperately trying to convince you and everyone else that I was fine when I wasn’t. I hadn’t been for a long time. And then when Anthoine- I didn’t- I realised then that I needed help but instead of reaching out to you I pushed you away because by then I’d convinced myself that the only one who could- Who wanted to help me was me.” 

You look up at him, “I gave you some bullshit excuse about feeling lost and needing to find my way but- Not being with you, I- God, I missed you so much.” Tears have started to form in your eyes but you don’t even try to wipe them away, “The truth is, I never feel more lost than when I’m not with you-” 

“Oh, ma belle,” Charles cups your face and gently runs his thumbs underneath your eyes before he makes you look at him, “I am right here.”

You try to smile through your tears but fail and so instead you tell him, “I never stopped loving you, Charles, and I know-” a sob escapes you then, “I know it’s not fair to tell you that now but-”

“Can I say something?” 

You nod.

He drops his hands to take yours in his, both of his thumbs rubbing circles on the inside of your wrists when he says, “That night when you- When you asked me to let you go?” He squeezes your hands to make you look up at him, “I think I always knew we would find our way back to each other, but even more so when you told me you still loved me. For me it was never the end of our story. We just-” he smiles, “We were at a crossroads and each of us went in a different direction for a while but I think- I hope it’s time for you to come back to me, ma belle.” He leans in then and brushes his lips against yours, “Let me show you the way.” 

A wave of relief washes over you and so you deepen the kiss, your hands in his hair now so you can pull him closer and kiss him. And kiss him. 

And kiss him.

XXX

You can still hear the music coming from the living room even inside the library and you know you’re going to have to make your way back there soon before people start looking for you, but for now you’re happy right where you are. Your head is resting on Charles’ shoulder, both of you still trying to catch your breath after that kiss, the promise of a new start almost tangible in the air. 

Next to you Charles gently touches the keys of the piano again and so you ask, “Play me that piece again?”

“Which one?”

“The one you were playing just before,” you reply quietly. “I don’t know what it’s called.”

“I composed it when- After we broke up.” Charles shrugs, “I never found the right name for it.”

You listen to him play, really listen, and even though it starts out rather dark and gloomy and the notes rather disconnected, which you suppose represents the first few weeks or maybe even months after your breakup, it ends much lighter, the notes now complimenting each other and the tune almost hopeful.

“If it’s about us,” you start, leaning in and resting your chin on his shoulder, “then it sounds like you. Like you’re helping me find my way back.” 

“Hmm,” he agrees quietly, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

You let out a content sigh and softly whisper, “I think you should call it North Star.” 

===

Notes Se mettre sur son 31 = Dressing to the nines T’es autre chose, tu le sais? = You are something else, you know that?

[harley-sunday]

North Star [03]

Summary: “We were never bad, Charles, we just lost each other somewhere along the way.” It’s been two years since you and Charles broke up and you have been trying to find your way ever since. Will seeing him again make you find your true north?

Pairings: Pierre Gasly x reader (best friends) | Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: Mentions death of a parent/parents. Mentions Anthoine Hubert. Please see masterlist for general warnings. Language. 

Word count: 7.4k (idk what happened either...)

AN: Here we are, bb’s, part 3. Can you believe? We’re slowly getting there, I promise. And yeah, apparently I have a thing for beer pong now... Anyway, this one has been fun to write, so I hope you’ll enjoy! 

[Flashbacks in italics]

Masterlist

Les Côtes, December 30, 2021

Sleep didn’t come easy last night, Charles’ parting words on an endless loop in your head which in turn made your heart race and your mind working in overdrive. After two hours of laying awake you debated getting up and finding Pierre so you could tell him what happened and have him try to make sense of it for you. You decided against it, not in the least because you doubt Katerina would have enjoyed you barging into their room in the early hours of the night only to have Pierre help you work through whatever it is you’re going through, even though that is pretty much the modus operandi of your friendship and has always worked both ways. Instead you tossed and turned for a long time before you finally drifted off into a restless sleep.

And now here you are, still in bed even though it’s already well after ten. Thank God breakfast is a much more relaxed affair now that there are so many people, because instead of setting the table and having everyone join at a set time there’s a buffet set up in the kitchen, and so you don’t feel as bad about hiding in your bedroom a little longer. 

The muffled sounds coming from downstairs aren’t loud enough to keep you from replaying last night’s encounter with Charles in your mind  though, his words stuck on repeat like a broken record. And not one you want to turn off necessarily. You keep trying to figure out what he meant when he said you would find your way back to each other. Keep trying to figure out if there was a promise hidden in his words somewhere, while at the same trying to not get your hopes up because you are certain that once you let your walls down again the inevitable heartbreak will undoubtedly follow sooner rather than later and God knows you’ve already had enough of that to last a lifetime.  

Deep down inside you know you’re setting this up for failure before it has even started but the thing is, you’re not even sure what this is. Surely Charles doesn’t want to get back together? How could he? You were the one who ended things, with that monologue of you being lost and needing to find yourself, while at the same time telling him that even though you loved him it felt like it wasn’t enough, that you were holding yourself back. That you were holding him back. 

How Charles even cares enough to still talk to you is beyond you, because how unfair of you to put those words in his mouth. 

Something heavy settles deep inside you then and you bite your lip in a futile attempt to keep from crying but it isn’t long before you feel the first tear slide down your cheek. You wipe at it angrily because you still don’t feel this is something you’re allowed to cry over. After all, you were the one who took the easy way out. You were the one who didn’t even give him a chance to stop you from leaving because you had already left long before you told him you wanted to break up with him. 

A knock on your door pulls you out of your thoughts but before you have time to tell whoever’s on the other side that now isn’t really a good time, the door opens and Pierre walks in. He’s holding two mugs of what you hope is coffee but what you think might be hot chocolate and tells you to make room for him by waving one of the mugs around.

You push yourself up and prop the pillow up against the wall and as you sit up against it Pierre sits down next to you and hands you one of the mugs. You can’t help but smile when you see it is hot chocolate he brought, “Thank you.”

He nods in reply and puts his arm around your shoulders then, pulling you closer to him as he leans his back against the wall, “Talk to me Flo.” 

“How did you-”

He tuts and shakes his head, simply telling you, “It’s almost eleven,” as if that explains it all, but then again it kind of does because Pierre knows you hate sleeping in almost as much as he hates getting up early, another paradox in your friendship that’s not entirely lost on you. 

You let out a heavy sigh but don’t say anything, mostly because you’re not even sure where to start.

“Is this about Charles?”

Another sigh then, but also a nod, “Yeah.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you know it’s his way of letting you know that while he’s there for you if you want to talk it’s also ok if you don’t. 

“I don’t know though,” you start, but then you don’t really know how to continue from there and so the words sort of hang in the air without having too much meaning.

Pierre pulls you close and presses a kiss to your temple, “Are you scared?”

Honestly, you shouldn’t even be surprised anymore. Sometimes you really think Pierre knows you better than you know yourself, or maybe it’s just that sometimes he says out loud what you’re too afraid to. It’s one of the reasons why you’re always honest with him, not only because he would know if you weren’t but also because he deserves it, and so you quietly admit, “A little.”

“That’s ok.” 

You scoff, “Is it though?”

“Stop blaming yourself for this breakup, Flo,” Pierre says, a warning to his voice that you know you should take seriously, because of course he reads you like the open book you always are to him. He gently flicks your cheek to let you know you need to pay attention to what he’s going to say next, “Both of you let it happen.” Another kiss to your temple then, “You might have pulled the trigger but both of you were loading bullets long before that.” 

XXX

It’s a little after twelve when you finally make your way downstairs but, because Pierre promised you he would tell anyone who asked that you woke up with a headache and would be staying in bed a little longer, no one really pays attention to you in the way they might have if they had known the real reason for your absence this morning. 

And even though you're not actively trying to avoid Charles, you are a little relieved when you only find Arthur in the kitchen on your quest for something to eat, “Hey.”

“Hey,” he says from over his shoulder, his smile growing a little wider when he sees it’s you. 

You walk up to where he’s standing at the counter, trying to see what he’s doing, a little surprised to find him peeling potatoes for tonight’s dinner. “Trying to get a headstart?” You joke as you bump your shoulder against his.

“Sort of,” he admits with a smile. “We’re going karting this afternoon, remember? So I figured I better get these done before then.”

“Right,” you draw out, recalling the conversation the boys had about it during last night’s Monopoly game then, although you can’t remember if they actually decided to go. Or if you agreed to join them.

“You’re still coming right?” Arthur asks, dropping another peeled potato in the big pot that’s standing in the sink to his left before he looks at you expectantly.

Ah. So you did. Fuck. 

XXX

Les Côtes, 1 January 2007

“Charles-” he gently pushes against the sleeping form of his older brother, “wake up.”

A mop of tousled hair appears from under the covers, eyes slowly opening and trying to find their point of focus, “What?”

“I can’t sleep anymore,” Arthur simply states, not bothering with an excuse or more profound reason why. He watches as his older brother untangles himself from the sheets and sits up on the edge of the bed, stretching and yawning as if to convey that it’s still way too early for him to get up but Arthur ignores him and whispers, “You wanna go watch a movie?”

“Now?”

“Yes,” he nods enthusiastically, hoping it will convince Charles to join him. Another whispered reason as to why this is a good idea then, “Remember maman said we could? Because we needed to let the grownups sleep a little longer today?” He glances up at the top bunk bed, a little relieved when he hears Lorenzo’s quiet snores, because unlike Charles Lorenzo doesn’t like early morning wake up calls and he knows there will be hell to pay if they accidentally do wake their oldest brother. 

“Yeah, ok,” Charles agrees easily enough all of a sudden, gets up and gently pushes his brother out of their shared bedroom, “let’s go. We’ll ask Pierre too.” 

Arthur follows his brother to the other side of the house, a little surprised at the way Charles seems to navigate the hallways with ease because even after two days of being here the house still feels like a maze to the younger Leclerc even though by now he at least knows where his bedroom is. He does like it here though, this big house, hidden away in the woods somewhere, where Maman said they would spend New Year’s Eve with the Gasly’s and the other family he’s not sure he remembers the last name of. 

He’s seen them around of course, the girl and Pierre being best friends and always together on and off the race tracks. Her father joins them for most weekends and he decided early on that he really likes him because one time he helped fix Charles’ kart when it broke down during the middle of a race. From there on out he and Charles started calling the man ‘Tonton’,  just like Pierre does. 

Without knocking the boys walk into what Arthur hopes is Pierre’s bedroom, and not one of their parents’ of Pierre’s older brother’s bedrooms,  a little relieved when it is. He watches as Charles gives his friend, who is still asleep on one of those inflatable mattresses tucked in the corner of the room, a push, “Pierre.”

There’s a grunt in reply as Pierre turns around and eyes the two intruders suspiciously, “What?”

“Wanna go watch a movie?” Charles asks in the sort of take it or leave it kind of way he always does.

“I was sleeping,” Pierre mumbles, rubbing his eyes as to prove his point, but then pushes the covers aside and gets up anyway. Without thinking he walks over to the bed in the other corner of the room and wakes his best friend with a gentle flick to her cheek and a simple, “Come on.” 

She shakes her head, whispering a quiet, “No, I don’t wanna,” but Pierre is relentless and pulls the covers off her rather unceremoniously and Arthur is in awe at how brave his brother’s older friend is. He would never have dared to do that. Especially not to a girl. He’s always looked up to Pierre who, even though he’s only a year older than Charles, Arthur thinks is just about the coolest kid ever. 

“We’re going to watch a movie,” Pierre simply states, apparently not caring if she even wants to or not. Then again, she and Pierre do everything together and so Arthur isn’t really surprised when she gets up shortly after and motions for them to get a move on.

All three of them follow Pierre, who leads them down the stairs and to the TV room, the house still dark and quiet, and it almost feels like what they’re doing isn’t allowed but he knows from the stories Pierre has told him that this is what they always do on New Year’s Day and so he’s sure they won’t get into too much trouble. 

There’s a somewhat of a heated discussion between Pierre and Charles about which movie to watch before they ultimately settle on Cars. Again. Nobody seems to mind that they watched it yesterday as well and so Arthur doesn’t say anything either, too happy he gets to hang out with the older kids to make any sort of fuss. They end up huddled together on one of the big couches, Pierre and Charles almost laying down, their feet resting on the coffee table in front of them, while Arthur finds himself on the other side of Charles, tucked into the corner. 

The movie is about halfway done when all of sudden Charles jumps up and looks at them like he just had the best idea ever, “You know how everyone in racing always has these nicknames?” He waits until at least Pierre nods before he continues, “Well next time we go karting we should use their names-” he points at the screen, “- as our nicknames! How cool would that be?”

“Yeah,” Pierre agrees, jumping up too then, looking equally as excited. “I wanna be Raoul ÇaRoule!”

“I wanna be Red,” Charles says, giving Pierre a high five as if this is the greatest thing they’ve ever come up with. Charles looks at Arthur then and for a moment he’s worried his older brother will give him the worst car, like Martin, but then Charles says, “You wanna be Flash McQueen, Thuri?” and he’s pretty pleased with that. 

Before he has time to say anything Pierre’s already poking his best friend, widely grinning at her as he tells her, “You should be Flo!”

XXX

You and Pierre are the first to arrive at the karting track although the car of the three Leclerc brothers shouldn’t be too far behind. No one else wanted to join and so it’s just the five of you, like it has been so many times before. Pierre looks at you as he unbuckles his seat belt, a mischievous look in his eyes when he tells you, “Try to go easy on us, will you?”

You let out a laugh and shake your head, “Never.” When you make your way out of the car you see Lorenzo pull up in the parking space next to yours and so you wait until the three of them have stepped outside before you head to the entrance. It’s been three years since you’ve last been in a kart, and just as long since you’ve raced anyone, but you know you still have a good chance of beating the boys. 

When Pierre first got into karting you wanted to give it a try as well, mostly because you wanted to do everything he did and then be better at it, and so for your ninth birthday your parents gifted you your own kart. You loved it. The speed, the racing, spending all your free time either at the karting track or in the garage together with your Dad as he tried to improve your kart so it would react better and go faster. 

You raced competitively for almost four years and managed to beat both Pierre and Charles, and even Anthoine, quite a few times until a particularly nasty crash during the Tours race left you with a broken leg halfway through the 2009 season. By the time you’d fully recovered Pierre and Anthoine had left for boarding school in Le Mans and so all of a sudden you found yourself training at the Rouen track alone. Still, you stuck with the sport for a few more years but your heart wasn’t really in it anymore and so when you turned sixteen you decided to quit, your last race in Varennes having you end up in third place while a then fifteen-year old Max Verstappen took first and Charles came in second. 

It’s been three years to the day since you last drove a kart, and it was at this track too because somehow this is what you always do on the day before New Year’s Eve, a tradition your Dad and Jean-Jacques started long before Pierre or you were even born. You were still together with Charles when you were here last and both of you were too distracted by the other to do well in the race, with Charles finishing third and you ending up in fourth place, which is why you’re secretly so determined to do better this time. 

Once you’re geared up and ready to go you’re relieved to find the track empty except for the five of you although you suspect the owner, Thierry, might have had something to do with that because even though Pierre and Charles always make time for their fans it can get a bit hectic at times. You wouldn’t be surprised if he blocked out the rest of the afternoon for you just so you could race in peace and remind yourself to thank him for it later.

A quick round of rock, paper, scissors determines the starting order, with Arthur on pole and you on P2, in front of Charles, Pierre, and Lorenzo, and before you know it the lights go out and you find yourself in a heated battle with all the boys. You drop back a place in the first lap, Charles overtaking you in the second corner when you brake a bit too early, and then another place in the fourth lap when Pierre overtakes you on the straight. You give yourself a stern talking to during laps five and six and start pushing the kart, braking later and later into each turn. 

It takes you another four laps but then you finally catch Charles, who by then has dropped behind Pierre, and so you set your sights on your best friend next. When you overtake him in the following lap you do so with a wicked grin even though he can’t see you, and now there’s only Arthur in front of you and three laps left. You try to block out everything else, try to get back into that zone where it’s just you and the kart and it must help because you manage to get closer and closer, finally overtaking him in the second-to-last corner before you gun it to the finish line.

“Fuckin’ hell, Flo,” Pierre curses when he parks his kart next to yours. He takes his helmet off and there’s a wild grin on his face when he says, “You sure you don’t want to get back into karting?”

“I had forgotten how good you are,” Lorenzo joins in, giving you a hug and tapping the top of your helmet for good measure. 

You shrug as you take your helmet off even though you’re secretly very pleased with the result, “Thanks, Renzo.” Arthur's next to congratulate you, giving you a fist bump, and you wink at him in reply, letting him know he put up a good fight.

“Ok,” Pierre declares with a wicked grin, “I will go get us something to drink but after that we are definitely having a rematch.” 

“Don’t get your hopes up, Gas,” you tease, sticking your tongue out at him. You watch him as he shakes his head and starts walking to the cafeteria before you call out, “I am on fire today!” 

Charles comes up to you then, his hair sticking up in every direction even though he’s already ran his hand through it a few times and a thin sheen of sweat covering his face. Like always, he looks absolutely gorgeous. He seems a little unsure of what to do but then holds out his arms to you anyway. Without thinking you step into his embrace and when he puts his arms and you catch a whiff of his cologne, the same one you found a bottle of in your bathroom two days ago, something flutters in your chest and even though it’s a little confusing it’s also a lot familiar. 

“Congratulations, ma belle,” he whispers, pulling you even closer and your heart, oh your heart.

XXX

Even though you are sure Pierre must have seen the hugs Charles gave you after you won both the first and the second heat, he doesn’t comment on it on your drive home and so neither do you. You’re torn between wanting to over analyse every detail of what happened not only today but yesterday as well and wanting to let it simmer for a little longer. Let’s see what happens tonight first, you decide once Pierre pulls up to the house.

The minute you step inside it’s chaos, with four more adults and three more kids added to the mix. There are people walking from the kitchen to the dining room and back, carrying serving dishes and trays of food, and kids running around screaming and a few of them even bumping into Pascale at some point. The five of you observe the madness in front of you in silence, not one of you moving away from the safety of the hallway. One of Pierre’s sisters-in-law passes you then and shrugs apologetically, “It has been a long day, what with all the rain,” as if that explains it all, but then again it sort of does. 

“Ok,” Pierre mutters under his breath, unzipping his jacket, “here we go.” 

You follow him to the dining room because it’s a little before seven and so dinner must be almost ready and before you know it you are ambushed by two little girls who both ask you if they can sit next to you during dinner. It’s a trick question because there is a special kids table they’re supposed to sit at and so you shake your head apologetically, “No, mes poussins, but you can sit with me for dessert if you want?”

Both girls nod enthusiastically and you can’t help but smile when you see them run off to the other kids and tell them of the deal they’ve made with you. 

You sit down on the far end of the table, your regular spot, with Pierre and Katerina opposite to you and Charles and then Arthur next to you. Throughout dinner the boys talk about some of the upcoming changes in Formula one while you and Katerina talk about everything from movies to books to the best places to travel during summer break. 

By the time dessert is served the kids are getting rowdy again and there’s a small quarrel between Victoria and Léah over who gets to sit in your lap, but when Katerina offers to take Léah the issue is quickly resolved. When you ask Victoria what she has been up to she doesn’t hesitate and for the next ten minutes or so tells you all about the swimming lessons she has been taking. More and more kids gather around the table once they’ve finished their desserts and it gets loud again and there’s some screaming going on then that has Jean-Jacques slam his hand on the table, booming a loud, “That’s enough.” 

The entire room goes silent and you can tell Pierre’s Dad is trying to keep a straight face at the sudden change of atmosphere but ultimately he fails and bursts out into laughter, throwing a wink at Pascale who’s sitting next to him, “I guess dinner is over, right Mamie?” 

Pascale nods and tells the older kids to go upstairs and change into their pyjamas, while the younger ones are being taken upstairs by their parents. As is tradition Jean-Jacques will set up a board game in the living room, which the older kids will join him for after. All of a sudden the room erupts again with kids running upstairs and adults clearing away the dishes. 

You’re not on the schedule for tonight but find yourself helping out anyway, trying to avoid being lured into joining a game of Jungle Speed because you’re not sure you’re up for it. You could do with some peace and quiet for a while, you decided during dinner.

And so, once you’ve cleared away the last of the plates, you head to the library where the kids aren’t allowed. You know from past experience it’s a perfect spot to hide in and one that’s often used by Jean-Jacques for his afternoon nap. 

You’ve always liked the library, the shelves upon shelves of books holding almost no secrets for you after all these years even though there are still a few books left you haven’t read yet. Maybe now is as good a time as any to pick up a new one, you think, as you open the door. You’re a little lost in thoughts, trying to remember if there’s anything you wanted to read, and you don’t notice there’s already someone here until you hear the soft tune of a song you don’t recognize being played on the piano. 

By then you’ve already closed the door behind you and there’s no chance of you leaving without him knowing you’re there and so you figure you might as well face the music, quite literally, and quietly greet him, “Hey.” 

XXX

Versailles, December 9, 2017

“God, it’s beautiful here-”

He squeezes her hand to let her know he shares her sentiment which earns him a nervous smile from her, one that he’s sure mirrors his own. As they follow the usher to their assigned seats he tries to enjoy every moment, tries to really be present so that when this night becomes just a memory at least it will be the most vivid one he has. 

The room they’re in, which must be the ballroom, is big, much bigger than he thought it would be, with still a lot of room even though there’s a podium set up on the far end. The chandeliers hanging from the ceiling cast a soft glow over the room, making the space feel more intimate than it is. When they reach their seats he allows her to pass in front of him, knowing they would want him close to the aisle. 

Her dress is long and flowy, a dark green colour that compliments her in every way possible, the long sleeves adding modesty to no doubt compromise for the plunging neckline. When she brushes past him, one hand on his arm to keep herself steady in the high heels she’s wearing, he finds himself staring at her, like he has done so many times already ever since he picked her up from her hotel room earlier that night, his breath being taken away each and every time.

She smiles up at him but there’s something urgent in her voice when she tells him, “Sit down, Charles,” and it’s then he realises he’s still standing here looking like a fool. There are some unfamiliar faces in the seats next to her and so she turns to him a little, a smile playing on her lips when she sees him tugging on his bowtie, gently swatting his hand away, “Leave it.”

He rests his arm on the back of her chair instead and something that can only be described as butterflies appear in his stomach when she leans into him and lets out a content sigh. He feels grateful, grateful to be here in the Palace of Versailles, grateful that he’s nominated, grateful that he never gave up. Most of all he’s grateful for her. His friend, who agreed to come here with him tonight even though he knows she hates these kinds of things and would much rather stay out of the spotlight. Without thinking he presses a kiss to her temple and whispers, “Thank you for coming tonight, Flo.” 

She shakes her head, “Le plaisir était pour moi, Charles, believe me.” 

The lights are dimmed then and a hushed silence falls over the audience as the ceremony begins. He’s a little lost in thoughts, too distracted by the closeness of her to really be paying attention and so it isn’t until she nudges him that he realises his category is up next. He sits up, feeling a little nervous, and she must sense him tense up because she’s quick to pat his knee. 

While the presenter explains how the choice of rookie of the year has been made he swallows hard a few times and tries to take a few deep breaths, because even though he doesn’t expect a win he knows he will be disappointed if he loses.

A voice comes over the speakers then and it’s almost as if time slows down when he hears, “Please welcome the FIA rookie of the year and the 2017 Formula Two champion, Charles Leclerc.”

He hears her let out a quiet, “Fuck, yes,” in excitement next to him and when he turns to her she is smiling so brightly it could light up the room. Maybe it does. All he knows is that he doesn’t want to go on stage, doesn’t want to collect his trophy, not if it means leaving her here because she’s the only one he wants to celebrate with, but before he has time to think about what it means she nudges him and nods towards the stage.

He thinks he does ok with his speech although he might have to rewatch it to make sure, his mind still too occupied with her to be a hundred percent present on stage. The music starts playing then and as he makes his way back to his seat he has to fight the urge to run back and instead tries to enjoy the moment, accepting the handshakes and nods from his colleagues in the audience with practised grace.

When he finally joins her again he’s surprised to see tears in her eyes but then he remembers he mentioned how the loss of his father affected his season and so he puts his trophy down and cups her cheek with his hand, “It’s ok, Flo.”

She leans into his touch and nods, a sad smile playing on her lips as she turns her head and kisses his palm before she takes his hand in hers and rests both of them in her lap. 

A warmth spreads out from where their hands touch and he wishes he could stop time, wishes he could stay in this moment forever, and it’s then he realises he’s in love with her and has been for quite some time now. 

The ceremony lasts another two hours or so, but not once does his hand leave hers, their fingers still intertwined when the house lights come on and people around them start to get up. He grabs his trophy and stands up, gently tugging on her hand to get her to follow him to the exit, hoping they can leave the afterparty sooner rather than later.

Still, it takes another hour and at least two glasses of champagne before the evening finally comes to an end and they find themselves in a cab back to the hotel they’re staying at. The cab driver is chatty, wanting to know everything about Formula One even though Charles repeatedly tells him he won’t drive in the elite series until next year, and he wants nothing more than to tell the man to shut it. When they reach the hotel he’s quick to exit the car, holding out his hand to her, that now familiar warmth spreading through him again when she takes it.

There’s a tension in the air that he’s sure is almost palpable but neither of them says anything and so it sort of just follows them as they make their way to the elevator bay and up to their floor. When they reach his room he squeezes her hand, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks when he asks, “Stay with me?”

She bites her lip and for a moment he’s afraid she’ll say no but then, like so many times before, she surprises him and says, “Always.” 

XXX

“I didn’t know you started playing again,” you say as you walk over to him, not commenting on him being here because you figure, like you, he must have wanted an escape from the mayhem. 

“Yes, I started taking lessons during the first lockdown,” Charles replies with a proud smile, “but only for three or four months. Just so I could read music, you know.”

“Hmm,” you agree, hesitating a little when you reach him, not sure if you should join him on the piano stool but then he pats on the leather next to him and so you sit down anyway. There’s still a little space between you but when he goes to put his hands on the keys again his arm brushes against yours and you could swear you could feel sparks flying. He must feel it too because his fingers hover over the keys, not quite settling down, and so you try to ease the tension with the first thing that comes to mind, “Will you play something for me?”

He doesn’t say anything, just nods, his fingers softly landing on the keys as he licks his lips. You watch him as his fingers start moving and you let out a quiet, “Oh,” when you hear the first notes of ‘La Valse d’Amélie’, a song you must have listened to a thousand times before but that somehow hits differently now. 

You close your eyes for a second and allow the music take you back to the summer you turned fifteen, when your mom deemed you old enough to finally watch ‘Amélie’ with her, making you feel like she was seeing you more and more like a grownup and less like the little kid you still felt like at times. The memory brings a smile to your face and when the last notes fade away you let out a shaky breath and open your eyes again, not surprised to find Charles looking at you, “That was beautiful.” 

“I remember you told me that was your favourite song of the soundtrack,” he says, looking down at his hands when he quietly adds, “so it was one of the first I learned to play once I could read the music.” 

“Charles-” you start, but he stops you with a shake of his head.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have- I shouldn’t have said that.” 

You hang your head, looking at your hands, the fingers of your left nervously playing with the ring on your right, trying to find the words for, what? You’re not exactly sure. It feels wrong to simply tell him ‘thank you’ and leave but you’re not sure what else to say. Maybe this, you think, you and him alone together, is the universe’s way to tell you that it’s time to move on, time to leave the past behind. Problem is, you don’t know if you want to. And even then you’re not sure if Charles can.

Taking a deep breath you decide to go for it, to at least try to take a step in the right direction, and so you look up at him and say, “I want you to know I’m sorry, Charles. For everything.”

“Ma belle, no-”

“You really should stop calling me that,” you tell him even though you hope he never will. It’s not just a nickname to you, you realise in that moment, it is the promise of something more, almost like a glimmer of hope you’re desperately holding onto, because as long as he still calls you that maybe, just maybe, it means he still cares for you. 

“Why?” 

“We’re not together anymore,” you simply reply, hoping he will accept your answer.

He doesn’t say anything for a while and just as you start to wonder if maybe you’ve upset him he takes your hand in his and gives it a squeeze, “What if I want us-”

“Charles!”

You jump up at the sound of Pierre’s voice and let go of Charles’ hand reflexively as you turn towards the door your best friend just entered through. Pierre narrows his eyes at you and you can just about see the gears in his head start turning at the scene in front of him but before he has the chance to make any of his smart remarks you tell him not to with a minituous shake of your head.  

He seems to recover quickly and instead says, “Ah good, you are both here.” He motions for you to follow him with a wave of his hand, “Come on, Thuri and Renzo are setting up for some drinking games.” 

“We’ll talk about this later,” Charles whispers as he gets up. He winks at you then, “Ma belle.” 

XXX

“Yes! Suckers!” You throw your hands in the air and turn around to face Arthur and Katerina, your teammates in this game of beer pong, who both high five you after you’ve made yet another shot, the score now three drinks left for your team and only one left for Pierre, Charles, and Lorenzo.

You’re on round three of beer pong, or is it four? You’re not sure but it doesn’t matter because after losing the first couple of games, and shotting more beer than you’d like in just the forty minutes or so you have been playing, it finally looks like things are starting to turn around. Round three, you remember then, because you think you heard Lorenzo say something about best out of five and so if you don’t win this round you’re out of the game and team Alpha Ferrari, or whatever they’ve called themselves, will have won. 

The game is being held in the garage with what used to be a ping pong table as your playing field. There’s a space heater in the corner somewhere that makes it somewhat bearable but still it’s cold here and so all of you are wearing either jackets or an extra sweater. 

As you walk back to take your place in line behind Katerina you feel yourself start to sway a little and so you hold out your hands in an effort to keep your balance, earning you a worried look from Arthur. You dismiss him with a wave of your hand, “‘m fine.”

“Flo, you ok?” Pierre shouts from across the room, doubling over with laughter when you don’t say anything but just show him your middle finger instead. 

“Get ‘em, Thuri,” you hiss at your teammate, letting out a frustrated groan then when he misses.

Charles is next and somehow manages to make his shot even though he’s standing a little too far to the right and you want to protest that it’s against the rules but by then Arthur has already downed his beer and so you keep quiet. 

Katerina misses too and when Lorenzo makes his shot you let out a quiet, “Merde.” 

You take a few deep breaths, trying to find your balance as you walk towards the table, trying not to look at Pierre, who’s taunting you on the other side, moving his cup around to distract you. Or to make you throw up. You’re not sure. “Stop it, Gas,” you call out before you point at Charles, “Get your boy away from there, Leclerc.” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Charles laughs and tugs on Pierre’s arm to make him take a step back.

You mouth a quiet, “Merci,” before you try to line up your shot, closing one eye to get your aim absolutely perfect. You’re not sure what happens but the moment the ball leaves your hand you know it’s a miss and you watch in horror as it hits the table, grazing the side of the cup as it does, and then rolls onto the ground. So close. So fuckin’ close.

There’s no way Pierre’s going to miss his shot and so you await the inevitable, mentally preparing yourself for yet another shot of beer. There is a very real chance you’ll throw up after this, you realise, so you stare at your opponent, hoping it will throw him off in a last ditch effort to save yourself. It doesn’t. Of course it doesn’t. And so you find yourself downing a beer not much later, pulling a face at the taste.

“I should go to bed,” you say to no one in particular as you put the now empty cup back on the table. 

“You should,” Pierre agrees with a smile, already at your side, “I was just coming to get you.” 

“Good boy,” you tell him as you pat his cheek. “You know me so well, Gas.” 

He chuckles and takes you by the elbow, telling the rest he’ll be back in a second and to set up for another round, “We’ll make different teams, yeah?” He opens the garage door and gently helps you over the doorstep, “Come on.”

The cold air helps, a bit anyway, but you still struggle to walk in a straight line as you make your way to the house, not for the first time glad that Pierre always seems to know when you have reached your limit and then makes sure you don’t go over it. Once you’re inside he sits you down on the bench in the hallway and helps you out of your jacket, before pulling you back up again. The house is a lot more quiet now, the kids already in bed and only a few of the adults still talking in the living room. 

You stop in front of the stairs Pierre has guided you to, not sure if you’re up for the task, and you’re just about to complain to him that you’ll never make it to the top when Jean-Jacques walks past you on his way to the kitchen. 

He looks from you to Pierre and back and shakes his head, laughing, “You ok, ma petite?”

“Yup,” you nod, but not too fast because that hurts your head. You try to act, well, not drunk, because even though you are very much an adult and allowed to drink it still feels like you’ve done something Tonton wouldn’t necessarily agree with. So with your best reassuring smile you tell him, “Totally fine.” 

“Hmm,” Jean-Jacques agrees, a mischievous look in his eyes. He nods towards the stairs then, “I’ll leave you to it.”

“Good night Tonton,” you tell him as you lean in and kiss his cheek, holding onto Pierre for balance. You turn back to your nemesis then, all fourteen steps of it, and decide you might as well go for it. Step by step, holding on to both Pierre and the railing, you make your way up, even though you insist on taking a breather on the halfway-landing. 

“Come on,” Pierre says after a minute or so, gently tugging on your hand, “almost there.” 

When you make it to the top of the stairs you let out a triumphant, “Fuck yeah,” that might have been a little too loud from the way Pierre is shushing you. Still, you’re proud of yourself so whatever. You follow Pierre towards your bedroom and wait until he’s pulled the covers back before you sit down on the bed. 

He bends down on one knee and you put your hand on his shoulder for support even though he’s the one untying your shoelaces and taking your shoes off. “You want to change into your pyjamas?” 

“Yes,” you reply, after a moment of clarity tells you it will be much more comfortable in the morning, and so you watch Pierre as he gestures for you to stick your arms in the air so he can take your hoodie off. Your jeans follow shortly after and he has you lift one foot and then the other so he can get your pyjama pants on. You let out a sigh, suddenly feeling very tired. Luckily Pierre is done and tells you you can lie down.

He disappears for a bit and when he comes back there’s a glass of water and a paracetamol in his hands, both of which he leaves on the nightstand for you, “You going to be ok?”

You nod, too tired to speak, your eyes growing heavier by the second. 

He leans over you then and presses a kiss to your forehead, “Go get some sleep.” 

All of a sudden you feel an immense love for him and so you tell him, your words a little slurred and your eyes already closed, “You really are my best friend, Gas. I love you.”

He chuckles but there’s a softness to his voice when he says, “Love you too.” 

You giggle and motion for him to come closer as if you’re about to tell him a secret, “You know who else I love?”

“Oh Flo,” is all Pierre says, no doubt already one step ahead of you.

“Charles.” 

=====

Notes: Mes poussins = my chickens Le plaisir était pour moi = my pleasure Merde = shit

[harley-sunday]

North Star - Masterlist

Summary: “We were never bad, Charles, we just lost each other somewhere along the way.”  It’s been two years since you and Charles broke up and you have been trying to find your way ever since. Will seeing him again make you find your true north?

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader (unnamed OFC, nicknamed Flo) Although this is very much a Charles x reader, it also focuses heavily on Pierre Gasly and reader being best friends. 

Warnings: Mentions death of a parent/parents. Mentions Jules Bianchi and Anthoine Hubert. They are not used as plot points, but they are a big part of both Pierre’s and Charles’ lives and thus are interwoven with this fic which relies heavily on backstory.  I wanted to include these in the warnings because I know it can be triggering for some, however I really tried to keep it as respectful as possible.

Status: Finished

Part 1 - published 12/28/21

Part 2 - published 01/09/22

Part 3 - published 01/23/22

Part 4 - published 02/08/22

Epilogue - published 03/13/22

Bonus - published 03/21/22 (timeline: between part 4 and the epilogue)

[harley-sunday]

North Star [02]

Summary: “We were never bad, Charles, we just lost each other somewhere along the way.” It’s been two years since you and Charles broke up and you have been trying to find your way ever since. Will seeing him again make you find your true north?

Pairings: Pierre Gasly x reader (best friends) | Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: Mentions death of a parent/parents. Mentions Jules Bianchi and Anthoine Hubert. Please see masterlist for general warnings.

Word count: 6.7k

AN: Sorry for the long wait on this, lovelies. I had most of this chapter written but then decided I didn’t like where it was going and so rewrote most of it. I know. I like to think I make up for it with this long AF chapter that includes tons of backstory... Also, did I make myself cry while writing this? Maybe. Definitely. So, don’t say I didn’t warn you. Still, I hope you’ll enjoy :) 

[Flashbacks in italics]

Masterlist

Les Côtes, December 29, 2021

Are you surprised to find Pierre’s mom already in the kitchen by the time you make it downstairs? No, of course not. The kitchen is Pascale’s domain and even though almost everyone knows exactly what’s expected of them whenever they’re on the roster, Pascale is always around to make sure things go according to plan. Quality control, you and Pierre like to call it, often teasing Pascale about it. 

“Salut, ma puce,” Pascale says as she greets you with a kiss on your cheek. “Sleep well?”

“I did.” You take the cup of coffee she hands you with a quiet, “Thank you,” wrapping your hands around the mug and softly blowing into it to cool it down a little. You were so tired by the time you went to bed last night that you fell asleep pretty much the moment your head hit the pillow, not waking up until your alarm went off this morning.

Katerina walks into the kitchen then, freshly showered and looking much more awake than you ever will at this time of day, especially because you’re still in your pajamas. “Good morning.” 

“Mornin’,” you croak back, your voice still a little rough from only having woken up a few minutes earlier. “How did you sleep?”

“Oh, amazing!” She shakes her head, “It is so quiet here-”

“I know,” you agree, because it really is. It’s one of the reasons why you love coming here so much. 

“Here you go,” Pascale says, as she hands Katerina a cup of coffee.

“Oh, no thank you,” Katerina says, making a face to tell Pascale she feels bad about declining. “I don’t really drink coffee.”

You throw Pascale a wink before you turn back to Katerina, “It’s the taste, right?” 

“Yeah,” she agrees with a shrug, “it’s just- It’s too bitter, I don’t-”

“You should try Pascale’s coffee anyway,” you suggest, pointing at your cup, “she puts a little cinnamon in the coffee as it brews and it’s just-” you bring your fingers to your lips, “-chef’s kiss.”

Pascale smiles, “You know who I learned that from?” 

You shake your head and watch as Katerina takes the cup from Pascale, smiling when you see a look of surprise pass over her face once she’s taken a sip, “It’s good, huh?”

Katerina nods, “It is.”

“Your mother taught me that tric,” Pascale says then, smiling at you. “Said it was the way she got your father to stick around after their first date.” 

You just nod, not trusting your voice right now because all of a sudden there’s a lump in your throat and tears in your eyes. As much as you love learning new things about your parents, about their lives and what they did before they had you, it’s at times like these that you’re reminded of just how unfair it all is. How you’ll always have to rely on other people to give you this sort of information because you’re no longer able to ask them yourself.

“Oh, ma puce,” Pascale says then, hurrying towards you and wrapping her arms around you. “I’m sorry.” 

“No,” it comes out barely above a whisper and so you shake your head to get your point across. “It’s just-” Your voice breaks then and tears start trailing down your cheeks and so you reach around Pascale in a futile attempt to dry your eyes. “I didn’t-” a sob escapes you, “I didn’t know-” 

“I know, ma petite,” Pascale lets go of you and cups your face with both hands, her thumbs wiping away the tears, “but I should know better than to just blurt out these things like they don’t matter.”

You shake your head, “No, no, please-” you try to take a deep breath, “-I want to- I want to know these-” another sob then, “-these things. I just-” You let out a ragged breath, “It caught me off guard.” You try to smile but it just brings on a fresh set of tears and so you pull away in search of some paper towel  so you can blow your nose, “God, I’m sorry.”

“Go,” Pascale’s voice is soft. “Katerina and I will finish here.”

“No, I’m ok,” you try, but you’re still sobbing and there are still tears running down your cheeks so you’re not very convincing.

“Pierre’s in the living room,” Katerina offers quietly.

You look at her and nod, feeling even worse when you see how distraught she looks. “I’m sorry,” you say again, but both Katerina and Pascale tell you it’s nothing and dismiss you with kind smiles.

XXX

Rouen, Bastille Day 2014

Pierre sighs as he turns onto his stomach, “Can’t we just stay here?”

“And have both our parents mad at us? Four people lecturing us about how family always comes first and how, when we agree to something, we should see it through? The whole ‘We don’t ask for much just that you make it back in time for dinner’ speech again?” His best friend scoffs, “Remember what happened when we were half an hour late last year?”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, the scolding the two of them had gotten not only from his parents but from her parents as well still fresh in his memory. He pushes himself up on his elbows, “We should probably go then.” 

“Hmmm,” she hums in reply but doesn’t make any move to get up and he knows what’s coming next. “Five more minutes?”

“Fine,” he lays down again but then flicks her upper arm, “but I’m blaming you if they get mad.”

“Fine,” she echoes, making herself comfortable again. 

Pierre tries his best to drown out the sound of screaming and laughing children around him, the public pool in Petit-Quevilly always a popular summer hangout but even more so on the French national holiday. Coming here on Bastille day has been a tradition of sorts for both his and her family, one the two of them continued long after their parents decided it was no longer necessary to escort them here. From age ten and upwards they have been coming here on their own and always by bike, but not this year. This year he has gotten his driver’s licence and so he drove them here in the car his parents got him after he graduated high school. 

He knows she’s a little jealous at the sudden freedom he has now that he can go wherever he wants, whenever he wants, and so he has been counting down the days to her eighteenth birthday with her. She’s been begging him to let her have a test drive in his car in the parking lot behind the Carrefour supermarket but he knows her parents have organised for her first driving lesson to be on her birthday so he has to keep telling her he’s not allowed even though there’s nothing he’d rather do. 

A quick glance at the big clock on the side of the diving tower tells him the five minutes they gave themselves have passed and so he pushes himself up and hears her join him with a loud groan. Grabbing his t-shirt from her tote bag before he puts it on and slides into his flip flops, he waits for her to put on her dress and shoes before he holds out his hand and takes her towel from her without thinking, having done so for so many years already. Whenever they would bike here she would be the one carrying the backpack filled with drinks and snacks while he would be in charge of making sure the towels made it to and from the swimming pool safely.

She giggles as she hands him her towel, “Do you remember-”

“Yeah, yeah,” he says, effectively cutting her off, not needing to be reminded of the time he was a bit too careless and one of the towels ended up in between the spokes of his front wheel, sending him flying over the handlebars, with her falling off her bike because she was laughing so hard and his mother more upset about the ruined towel than the scrapes and cuts on his hands and knees. 

“Come on,” he says, not waiting to see if she joins him towards the exit. He knows she does. When he reaches his car his phone rings and when he sees the caller ID on the screen he can’t help but laugh, before he holds the phone up to her to show her, “Probably wondering where we are.” He presses the green button and wedges the phone between his shoulder and ear as he opens the trunk and drops both their towels inside, “We are on our way, maman.” 

“Pierre?” 

His mom’s voice sounds pinched and distant and immediately he’s on edge, “What’s going on?” 

Flo looks at him with a questioning look and mouths, “Are we late?”

He shakes his head because he doesn’t think they are but he doesn’t know what else is going on either.

“Pierre, I need you to come home right away.” 

“Yeah, we’ll be right there,” Pierre says as he watches his best friend get into the passenger’s seat. 

“No, mon chou,” his mother’s tone of voice is more urgent this time, “now. I need you to come home now, ok? Drive safe, but please get back here as fast as you can.”

“Is it Mamie?” He doesn’t know why he asks, doesn’t know why his mind goes there, but his grandmother hasn’t been too well lately and so it seems the most obvious that maybe she got taken to the hospital, or-

“Just come home, Pierre.” 

It takes him a moment to realise his mother has ended the call and when he does he pockets the phone and takes a few deep breaths, determined not to panic, and so when he gets into the car and Flo asks him what’s wrong he just shrugs and says, “Nothing.”

“Pierre,” there’s a warning in her voice for him to tell the truth, because of course she knows there’s something he’s not telling her. “What is it?”

“I don’t know, ok?” He looks at her then and tries to smile, tries to reassure both her and himself in the most futile of attempts, “I just know that my mom wants us to come home as soon as possible, so I don’t know. Maybe something happened to Mamie, or-”

“Oh, Pierre,” she puts her hand on his arm and gives it a reassuring squeeze, because she also knows he’s been worried about his grandmother, “I’m sure it’ll be alright.” 

He just nods and starts the car, pulling out of the parking lot a little faster than he normally would but neither of them comment on it. The drive home takes long, too long even though he’s slightly going over the speed limit in an attempt to make up for whatever time they seem to have lost already. 

All too soon and yet not soon enough he finally turns onto their street and he can hear the quiet, “Oh,” that escapes her when they see the police car that’s parked in between their houses. Pierre’s heart drops then because he knows from all the TV shows and movies he’s watched that this is bad news and so he parks rather haphazardly, his seatbelt already unbuckled before he has even turned the engine off. He’s out of the car in a matter of seconds, not waiting to see if his best friend follows along because quite honestly, he forgets about her in that moment, and sprints to his house where his mother is already waiting for him in the doorway. 

He ignores the two uniformed men that stand a little to the side and instead looks at his mother expectantly, hoping that, by some miracle, she’ll tell him it was all one big misunderstanding and that everything is going to be ok. 

What she tells him instead is much worse. 

It’s like someone has punched him in the chest and so he’s still gasping for air when he hears his mother tell the two police officers that, “Their daughter is in the car, but please let me-” her voice catches then and he can tell she’s crying, “Let me tell her?” 

He remembers then, remembers his best friend who he left behind and who still doesn’t know what is going on. When he turns around and sees her standing on the pavement, looking at him in the way she always does when she’s unsure whether or not she can interrupt, he just shakes his head. He wants her to stay there, wants her to not know for just a few moments longer, but it’s then his mother brushes past him and he knows that from now on there will always be a before and an after because he’s about to watch his best friend’s world fall apart and there’s nothing he can do to stop it from happening.

XXX

You find Pierre in the living room, like Katerina said you would, and before you even have a chance to say anything he’s up and out of his seat, walking towards you with his arms outstretched. 

“Oh, Flo,” is all he says as he wraps his arms around you, but it’s enough to get you going again and so you’re burying yourself in his hug, crying not only because you miss your parents, but also because you are so incredibly grateful for Pierre. He doesn’t say anything else, just holds you and lets you cry, not at all bothered by the wet stain that has formed from where you’re crying into his hoodie. 

You don’t know how long you stay like this but after a while the tears stop and your breathing becomes steady again and so you pull back a little and look up at him, “I’m sorry, this is not how you wanted your morning to-”

“Stop it,” he says and presses a kiss to your forehead. “You know I’m always here for you.” 

“I just never thought it would get harder, you know?” You shake your head, “I thought that it would get easier after a while, but it seems like it’s only hurting more and more the older I get.” You can feel the tears starting to come back and so you close your eyes for a second, trying to keep them at bay, “I just- Your mom told me that the cinnamon she puts in her coffee is because my mom used to do that. And I didn’t- I didn’t know that and-” You shake your head, “There’s so much I don’t know about them and it just hurts, you know? That I need other people to tell me about them because-” 

“Flo,” Pierre warns with a shake of his head. “Don’t. Don’t blame yourself for this. You were seventeen when- Of course you don’t know everything about them. And I hate, hate, that you don’t get to ask them anymore, but maybe just ask other people, you know? I’m sure they’d love to tell you but I think maybe they’re just afraid they might hurt you if they- If they suddenly start talking about your parents out of the blue, you know?”

“Yeah,” you nod because once again Pierre seems to know exactly what is going through mind. “Thank you.” It’s then you hear Pascale and Katerina quietly talking in the dining room and so you whisper, “Does Katerina know?”

“Yeah, is that-”

“No, it’s ok, it’s just-” you pull back and let go of him so you can dry your eyes. “I sort of lost it in the kitchen so-” you shrug and make a face, “I don’t want her to think-” 

“Oh, shut up,” Pierre says and gently pushes you backwards. “Only you think you come across as mentally unstable whenever you cry. Everyone else just thinks you’re human.” He throws his arm around your shoulder then and presses a kiss to your temple, “You ok?”

“Yeah,” you nod. “Thank you.” 

“Come on,” he says as he walks you to the dining room, “let’s go eat.”

XXX

“So, that was Issoire,” you tell Katerina as you pull out from the parking lot, ready to start the drive back to Les Côtes.

“It’s cute,” Katerina agrees, turning towards you in her seat. “And that dress you found is just absolutely gorgeous.” She smiles then, “Thank you for doing this.”

“Oh, don’t worry about it,” you say with a wave of your hand. “It’s nice to get to know you a little better,” you laugh then, “and to have some peace and quiet before the mayhem starts.”

“Is it really that bad?” 

“There’s just a lot of them,” you simply state as if that explains it all. Then again, it kind of does. “Four brothers, plus their wives, a whole lot of kids,” there’s a smile creeping up on your lips when you realise you’ll see them all again in an hour or so, “and the Leclercs.”

“And you’ve always celebrated New Year’s Eve together, right?”

“Yeah,” you nod, “it was just Pierre’s family and mine at first, I think the Leclercs joined us-” you quickly try to do the math, “-fifteen years ago.” 

You can see Katerina nod, “Pierre told me he met Charles through karting.”

“Yeah, I think they started racing each other when Pierre was eight or nine.” You can’t help but smile when you think back to those endless weekends spent at race tracks all across France, “It was always the four of them, you know, Pierre, Charles, Anthoine, and Esteban.”

Katerina reaches for her purse then and takes out the two water bottles you got just before, opening one and handing it to you as she takes a sip from the other, “Is that when you and Charles got together?”

“Thanks.” You shake your head, “No. No, at time I thought all boys were stupid-” you laugh then, “-well all of them except Pierre.” You shrug, “Then I grew up. I mean, it still took me years to admit that I saw Charles as more than just Pierre’s maniac friend, mostly because of everything that happened in between, but by then it had been brewing for quite a while, you know?”

“Hmm,” Katerina agrees quietly. “Pierre told me about all the-” she hesitates, looking for the right word no doubt.

“Yeah,” you smile at her to let her know it’s ok. “It hasn’t been easy for any of us, Pierre and Charles included, but somehow we made it through and-” you sigh, knowing that what you’re about to say couldn’t be any more true, “I guess that’s why the breakup with Charles hit me so hard, you know? We had been through so much together already, even when we weren’t dating, that I thought it’d be easy for us. He had seen me at my lowest already when my parents- And then Jules had his accident a few months later and then- Then his father-” You let out a shaky breath, “We sort of found each other in our grief, if that makes sense?”

You see Katerina nod and take that as your cue to continue, “The cruel thing is that we also lost each other there again.”

“What do you mean?”

“When Anthoine passed away it was-” you shake your head, trying to keep yourself together. “I’m not saying Charles did anything wrong because he didn’t, but we both dealt with our grief in such different ways that I felt like we were slowly drifting apart, you know? He kept going and I just- I stopped. I was a mess and-” you let out a huff of air, “-I guess I couldn’t keep up with him. All I wanted was to hide away somewhere and not come out for a while. Pierre understood that, and I’m not saying Charles didn’t but I think he was just too caught up in what everyone expected of him, you know, to keep going, keep pushing, all the time.”

“He won that race at Spa, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, and Monza the weekend after and so I guess that sort of proved to him that this was the best way of dealing with everything,” you shrug, “and so he just kept going. We broke up six weeks later.” 

“Do you think you gave up too easily?”

Her question surprises you, reminding you of the sort of questions Pierre tends to ask, a little out of left field but always very much on point and it makes you happy to see he seems to have met his match in that regard. You take your time to answer it, because you’re not sure. Do you think you were the only one to blame for the breakup? No. Would things have gone differently if you had made more of an effort? Maybe, but how would you know? And so in the end that’s what you tell her, “I don’t know. Maybe. I mean, I think we both sort of let it happen, you know?”

“Do you think it would have been easier if there had been a fight?”

You can’t help but smile at Katerina, “I can see why Pierre likes you so much.” You take a moment to think about your answer before you say, “Maybe. I mean, that would have gotten us, or at least me, some closure, but now we just sort of slowly went our separate ways until we lost each other completely.” There’s a sad smile playing on your lips when you remember Pierre’s words, “Yesterday, Pierre said it felt like a ‘right person, wrong time’ kind of thing and I guess part of me agrees, but part of me doesn’t want to agree, you know?”

“Yeah, I see what you mean,” Katerina turns towards you again as she speaks, “because if it really is that, then I think that, in the back of your mind, you always wonder if the next time you’ll see him it will be the right time.”

“Exactly,” you agree, “but does that then mean I should put my life on hold? Or get my hopes up every time he comes back into my life?” You let out a sigh, “I don’t think I can live like that.” 

“You shouldn’t,” Katerina’s hand is on your arm, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “Maybe just see what happens this weekend first? It’s the first time you’ll see him again after your breakup, right?”

“Yeah.” You laugh then, “That was why I was so jumpy all the time in Qatar. I just- I didn’t want to run into Charles.” 

XXX

Monaco, October 21, 2019

He risks a quick glance at his alarm clock even though it can’t be more than five minutes since he last checked, the glowing red numbers confirming his suspicions making him roll his eyes even though no one can see him. He turns onto his side and sighs, debating whether or not he should just get up and start prepping for his flight to Mexico that leaves in a couple of hours. Or maybe he could go for a jog, or-

“Charles?” Her voice is soft but way too clear for her to have just woken up and so he figures they both must have been awake for a while. “I think we should talk.”

“It’s three-thirty-,“ he starts, but then thinks better of it and reaches behind him for the light switch instead because he’s not sure the conversation they’re about to have should be done in the dark. 

“Leave it off,” she tells him quietly. “Please?” 

There’s a rough edge to her voice that is only ever there when she’s been crying, the sound of it like a punch to the gut, and so he reaches in front of him instead, gentle fingers finding her face in the dark as he cups her cheek, not missing the shiver that runs through her at his touch and his heart, oh his heart feels like it’s about to break into a million tiny pieces. He knows what’s coming, of course he does, because he hasn’t missed the way they have slowly started to drift away from each other, with her coming to a slow stop and him just trying to move on and do what everyone expects him to do. Show up, sit pretty, and win races. 

He runs his thumb over her cheek and moves a little closer, until their noses almost touch and he can feel her breath hitting his skin in irregular puffs, a quiet sigh escaping him, “Oh, ma belle.” 

She nods against his hand, “I’m sorry, baby, I-”

“Shh,” he whispers, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead to let her know he understands. 

“It’s not-”

“I know.”

“Charles.” She puts her hand over his, “You’ve got to let me say it.” There’s a sob then and he thinks he can actually feel his heart slowly starting to break, tiny cracks that rapidly grow bigger when she tells him, “I love you. I just- I want you to know that.” He can feel her take a deep breath and he wants to tell her it’s ok, that he understands, but he doesn’t trust his voice right now and so she gets to continue, “I love you but I don’t think-” she shakes her head. “It’s not enough.” Another deep breath then, although it’s a little rougher than the last one, “I feel like I’m holding you back, I- I feel like I’m holding myself back. I don’t know how- I can’t really explain it and I know that’s not- It’s not fair to you-”

“Hey,” 

“It isn’t, Charles.” She shakes her head again, “I just- I lost my way and I-” He can feel the tears sliding down her cheeks onto his fingers but he doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, knowing that this is the least he can do for her. “I think-” She sobs. “I thought I was ok, you know? Graduated college and then started travelling the world with you- Because being with you- I,” she sighs, “-I never felt-” another sob then, “-but then Anthoine- And- It just sent me spiraling again and it just hurts so much.” She lets out a quiet whimper then and it pains him on an almost physical level and so much so that he can actually feel his breath hitch in his throat. 

She takes a deep breath, “I think I’ve been lost for a while now, maybe even- Maybe even before we started dating and- I need to find myself again.” She wraps her fingers around his then and gives them a gentle squeeze, “I guess I’m asking you to let me go. Let me find myself.” 

He is a lot of things, he realises in that moment. Some people call him Il Predestinato. He likes to think he is a proud Monegasque, and a mama’s boy who still misses his father more than anything, he knows he is fearless, and brave, and a Formula One driver and two-time race winner. And now, at three-forty five on a random Monday morning, he can add ex-boyfriend to that list because above all, more than anything, he is a martyr, and so he quietly tells her, “Ok.” 

XXX

“You ok?” Katerina asks as you pull up to the house and put your car in park.

“Yeah, I think so.” You take a deep breath, “Might as well get it over with, right?”

“You’ll be fine,” she tells you as she gets out of the car. “Two years is a long time.”

“And yet it still feels like yesterday,” you say as you round the car and open the trunk so you can take out the shopping bags. Following Katerina towards the house you try to prepare yourself for the absolute chaos you’re about to walk into and you weren’t wrong because when she opens the front door it’s like you are walking into a wall of sound. 

The house has suddenly come alive and there’s laughter, and screams, and a baby crying somewhere, and it distracts you just enough that you don’t see Charles walking towards you and so you’re a little surprised when all of a sudden he steps into view.

Katerina mumbles something about going to find Pierre and makes her way towards the living room, leaving you and Charles behind in the now empty hallway.

“Hi,”

“Hi,” you reply, your voice barely above a whisper. You try to smile, try to act as if your heart hasn’t just skipped a beat or two but you doubt you’re fooling him and so you can’t help but shrug, “I’m sorry, this is just-”

“A little weird?” He chuckles and nods, “Yeah.”

“So,” you start, not sure where you want to go next. You decide to keep it on surface level, “How have you been?”

“Uh, yeah, good,” he replies, sounding a little surprised. He clears his throat then and you can tell from the way he clenches and unclenches his fists that he’s about to ask for something big, “Do you think we could-”

It’s at that moment the door to the living room opens and one of Pierre’s nieces comes running at you, “Auntie Flo!” 

You have to drop the bags you were holding so you can catch her because you are sure she would have run straight into you if you hadn’t. Lifting the little girl up in your arms you kiss her cheek, “Salut, ma puce. You have gotten so big!”

The little girl turns around in your arms then and yells, “Lottie! Justine! Auntie Flo is here!” 

You make a face at Charles, hoping he’ll understand that whatever he was going to say is going to have to wait until later because for the next hour or so you'll be too busy catching up with everyone else to continue this conversation in peace.  

He just nods and takes your bags, nodding towards the living room, “Go, I’ll put these in your room for you.”

XXX

Dinner is an even longer affair now that there are more people even though you’re still four adults and a couple of kids short. The two oldest of Pierre’s brothers, Nicolas and Cyril, and their families don’t arrive until tomorrow, but still there’s a big difference with yesterday when it was just the five of you. 

You’re tucked away between Charles’ oldest brother Lorenzo and his mother Pascale, who everyone refers to as Pasa to avoid confusion with Pierre’s mom, with Charles sitting a bit further down on the opposite side of the table. As much as you try to focus on the conversation around you, you can’t help but stealing glances in his direction. He looks good, you decided early on, but there is something different about him that you can’t quite put your finger on. His hair is a little longer and he’s a little more tan but you don’t think that’s it. Or maybe it is and you’re just imagining things. 

By the time dessert is served it’s almost ten and most of the kids have already been put to bed and so at least things have quieted down a little. You are happy to sit back and just listen to the stories around you, with Jean-Jacques reminiscing about Pierre’s Monza win on your left and Pasa and Pascale debating whether or not they should prepare the vegetables for New Year’s Eve already tomorrow or if it’s better to wait until Friday on your right. 

Pierre, who’s sitting on the other side of the table, nudges your foot with his then and when you look up at him he raises his eyebrows at you, his way of silently asking if you’re ok. You nod and smile, holding up your glass of red wine to show him you’re fine. You know Charles has caught the interaction between you and Pierre from the way he looks at you and so you smile at him too, if only to let him know that really, you’re fine. 

Or you pretend to be anyway and apparently not doing too good of a job at it, because Pierre shakes his head at you then, letting you know he doesn’t buy your bullshit. You just stare back at him because now is not the time and he should drop it. He grins back at you, which tells you he won’t and he’ll get back to it later and so you take a sip of your wine while you keep looking at him to tell him that you’ll see about that. 

XXX

It’s almost eleven when the last of the plates are finally cleared away, with some people disappearing into the kitchen for their dishwashing duties and some disappearing into the living room so they can enjoy a nice glass of Cognac in front of the fireplace. Even though you’re not on the roster you decide to help out in the kitchen anyway, mostly to avoid Pierre and his promise of a serious conversation, but also because you feel like you haven’t really done anything today yet.

When you get back into the dining room a good while later you find Pierre, Katerina, Arthur, Lorenzo, and Charles playing a very heated game of Monopoly, with Pierre getting up out of his seat to move his piece across the board and Charles sitting on top of the table, one leg folded in front of him and the other dangling off the side. 

Katerina looks like she’s about to give up and when she sees you walking in she actually mouths a quiet, “Help me.” 

You can’t help but laugh, “I’m sorry. I should have warned you.” You point at the four boys in front of you, “Things get pretty intense around here.” 

“I’m about to give up,” Katerina says, pointing at what little money she has left. “They buy everything they land on before I even have a chance and all I do is pay them rent.” She nods towards Pierre, “I’ve never seen him like this before.” 

“Oh, sweetie,” you say and walk over to her, putting your hands on her shoulders and giving them a reassuring squeeze, “don’t worry. I’ll give you some insider tips tomorrow, ok? You’ll have them beat in no time.” 

A chorus of, “No,” and “Don’t you dare,” rings out around you, the boys looking at you like you’ve just committed treason. Arthur even drops his head in his hands rather dramatically and says, “We will never win again if there is two of you.” 

“The last time anyone beat me was New Year’s Eve twenty-fifteen,” you explain with a shrug. A wink then, “Apparently it’s a thing.” 

They’re too far into the game for you to join them, but not far enough along for it to be over soon and so you’re about to tell them you’re off to bed when Charles looks at you, “We could use a banker.” 

“Yes!” Arthur pipes up, “Please Flo. Please take over from Charles because I am almost one hundred percent sure he is cheating.”

“I am not cheating!” 

“You are a bit shady, mate,” Pierre joins in, laughing then. “You did buy a lot of streets with very little funds in your past few turns.”

“Oh, come on,” Charles groans, looking at you for help. “Will you please do it so I can beat them without being accused of cheating?” 

“Fine,” you round the table so you’re opposite to Charles and sit down on top of it as well, mirroring his pose. Your reach for the money just as he pushes it towards you and so your fingers touch and you can actually feel your heart skipping a beat. Next to you you hear Charles drawing a sharp breath and you hope no one else has noticed. A quick glance around the table tells you Arthur and Lorenzo are too busy discussing their strategy to take Charles down to have seen anything, while Katerina is reading over the rules. The only one who's looking at you is Pierre, one eyebrow raised and with that shit-eating grin you both love and hate so much on his face. 

“Alright,” you say then, effectively ignoring Pierre even though you know he won’t let it go and will for sure corner you somewhere later. “Let’s play.”

XXX

By the time the game’s over and Lorenzo has been declared the winner, albeit under heavy protests from both Pierre and, surprisingly, Arthur, who claim the older Leclerc has somehow cheated, most of the other adults have already gone to bed and so the house is quiet except for your little group saying their good-nights.

Instead of going upstairs you head to the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea because after all the wine you’ve had tonight you know you need to hydrate if you don’t want a hangover tomorrow. Are you surprised Charles follows you there? No. Not really anyway, but still you’re a little nervous.

“Finally some alone time, huh?” He says as he leans against the kitchen counter, leaving a bit of space between you.

“Yeah,” you nod, busying yourself with the electric kettle in a way to delay the inevitable a little longer.

“How-” he hesitates and so you throw him what you hope is an encouraging smile from over your shoulder, telling him that it’s ok. “How have you been?”

You want to tell him that you have been good, that you’ve been doing well on your own but you both know that’s a lie and so you decide to just be honest, “Getting there.” 

“You’re back in Rouen, no?”

“Yeah,” you nod and turn around so you can face him. “I uh- I left after you and I-” you shrug, “I got a job in Strasbourg but, I don’t know, it just- The pandemic hit shortly after and I just- I felt so alone there. But I kept the house so, yeah, moved back there in November.” 

“Good,” he nods because he too knows how much you’re tied to Rouen. 

“Haven’t found another job yet, but-” you shrug, “That’s for later, I guess.” You look at him, “How about you?”

He takes his time answering and you can tell by the way he looks anywhere but at you that he’s debating what to tell you. When he finally looks at you there’s a sad smile tugging on the corners of his mouth as he repeats your answer, “Getting there.” He shakes his head, “Last year, the season, it was not good. I was all over the place and my head just wasn’t- I kept blaming the pandemic but- I don’t know, I think it finally all caught up with me, you know?”

“Yeah.” You watch the races, of course you do, and so you know last year wasn’t a great season for him. This year though seems to have gone a bit better and so you ask, “And this year?”

“More good races than bad ones,” he admits easily enough, “so that’s something.” 

“Hmm,” you agree quietly as you turn around to grab your mug and fill it with hot water now that the kettle’s done. You smile even though he can’t see you as you dump the tea bag into the mug rather unceremoniously, “Still not a big fan of tea?”

He chuckles, “No, thank you.” 

It stays quiet then, with you pretending to pay the utmost attention to getting your cup of tea and him maybe a little lost in his own thoughts as well. 

When he does speak again he surprises you, “Are we-” he clears his throat, “Are we good?” 

A simple yes would have done the trick, you know that, but this is Charles and you’re nothing if not always completely honest with each other and so you take a deep breath as you turn around, not surprised to find him standing a bit closer to you, “We were never bad, Charles. We just-” You smile at him and shrug, “We just lost each other somewhere along the way.” 

He just nods and takes you a little by surprise when he leans in and whispers, “We’ll find our way back.” There’s a kiss on your cheek then, followed by a soft, “Good night, ma belle,” before he walks out of the kitchen and all you can do is stand there and try to process what just happened. 

[harley-sunday]

Lourdes

Summary: Charles Leclerc is in some desperate need of good fortune after that terrible race in Sochi and so he embarks on a personal pilgrimage in search of his own lady luck, hoping Lourdes will treat him well. 

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader [OFC]

Warnings: Implied smut. Nothing explicit.

Word count: 4.1k

AN: In one of the post-race interviews after Sochi Charles did an interview with Ziggo, saying he might go to Lourdes to get a bit of luck. I saw the GIFs of that interview not much later and I don’t know, this sort of came to me rather quickly. It’s the first time writing for Charles, so I hope I did him justice as he is quite difficult to grasp. Please enjoy!

Masterlist

“What’s the best thing to do to get these things out of your mind and go for a next good race?”

“I don’t know. Maybe go to Lourdes,” Charles shrugs, “to get a bit of luck.”

XXX

Something heavy settles in your chest when you hear his car pull up outside, wondering what version of him you’ll get because even though you are hoping for the best, hoping that what little time he has had since the race has been able to heal at least some of the heartache, you are preparing for the worst. The sound of a car door slamming shut pulls you out of your thoughts and wakes Freddy, who lets out a half-hearted bark but gets up from his dog bed anyway.

You follow Freddy to the kitchen door, taking a deep breath before you open it, a smile on your lips when you watch your dog bolt down the stairs to greet your visitor, his barking a lot more energetic now and his tail wagging enthusiastically. Without saying anything you make your way down the stairs and lean against the banister while you watch the scene in front of you, your smile growing a little wider with every passing second.

The sun’s already low in the sky, casting a golden glow over everything including Freddy, who’s on his back, enjoying the belly rubs he’s getting from his favourite person in the world, with four legs in the air and his eyes closed, letting out a content growl every now and then, mostly as an encouragement to keep going. 

“Allez,” you tell Freddy, knowing there’ll be time for more belly rubs later, “viens ici.” 

The dog lets out a quiet yelp, unhappy about the command no doubt, but listens anyway, heeling at your feet not much later. 

You pet his head absentmindedly, taking in the man in front of you as he stands up, still unsure of the mood he’s in but then your eyes find his and your smile falters and your heart, oh your heart breaks a little. Without thinking you take the few steps necessary to reach him, standing up on your toes when you do so you can throw your arms around his shoulders and pull him in for a hug, “Oh, Charles.” 

His arms find their way around your waist, holding you tighter than ever, his head resting on your shoulder as he lets out a heavy sigh, “I am so sorry.”

“Sssh,” you say, rubbing his back slowly. “It wasn’t your fault.” 

“Yeah, but-”

“Charles,” your voice is a little louder now and you pull back, cupping his face in your hands, making him look at you, “no. Don’t you dare.” 

He shrugs half-heartedly but at the same time his eyes gloss over and you can tell he’s close to tears.

“Come on,” you let go of his face and take one of his hands in yours, gently tugging on it to make him follow you inside, Freddy following suit. Once you’re inside you let go of his hand and grab the bottle of red you bought earlier today along with two glasses you already filled and nod towards the living room, “Allez, vaisi.” 

There’s the hint of a smile on his lips, like there is whenever you speak to him in French even though he’s the one who taught you most of the basics all those years ago, but then he does as you told him to anyway, sitting down in what you’ve always considered to be his chair, stretching his legs out in front of him.

Once you’ve poured the wine you hand him a glass and then sit down on the couch on the other side of the coffee table, watching him as he leans his head back and closes his eyes for a few seconds. He takes a deep breath before he looks back at you and you try to give him a comforting smile, “Talk to me.” 

He takes a sip of his wine and shakes his head, “I don’t know where to start.” 

“At the beginning,” you suggest with a shrug. “Sunday morning, it’s race day, you wake up and then-”

“And then I fucked up.” 

“Charles,” you warn him, raising an eyebrow to let him know you’re serious.

“Fine,” he sighs, running a hand through his hair and then shifts in his seat, planting his feet firmly on the ground and letting his arms rest on his thighs, the glass of wine cupped between the fingers of his hand, “It’s Sunday morning. Race day, I wake up and then I take a shower before I head down for breakfast-”

XXX

“-and now it’s Wednesday and I am here,” he says with a shrug before he finishes the last of his wine.

 “And now you are here,” you agree with a soft smile, the one you keep only for him. “How long-” your voice catches in your throat a little and so you try again even though you’re not sure you want to hear his answer, “How long can you stay?”

“I have to fly back Friday morning,” he says as he leans back in his chair, “the team wants to do more testing this weekend.” Then, almost as an apology, “They think we can improve the PU before Turkey.” 

“Still,” you tell him with a smile, because you are given more time together than you dared hope for, “I get to have you for more than a day.”

“Yeah.”

“Yeah,” you agree. “So tomorrow we’ll have all day for you to go find some luck”

He just nods but then realization sinks in and he smiles a wicked smile, “All day, huh?”

“All day,” you confirm with a wink. “Dinner first though,” you tell him after a quick glance at your watch. When you get up you are careful not to step on Freddy, who’s been quietly snoring at your feet for the past fifteen minutes or so. You hold out your hand to Charles, “Help me set the table?”

“Yep,” he replies as he takes your hand and lets you pull him to his feet. 

The sun has disappeared behind the mountains, the world outside slowly being wrapped in darkness and so you turn on the light in the kitchen as you pass it before you let go of Charles’ hand and open the oven door to check on the food while Charles grabs plates from the cupboard next to you.  

Freddy walks into the kitchen not much later, no doubt attracted by the smell of food, and sits down next to his bowl as if to remind you that he would like to have his dinner now too. You fill his bowl, making sure he gives you a paw before you set it down and give him permission to eat. 

“There’s a salad in the fridge,” you tell Charles from over your shoulder as you put on the oven mitts, ready to take out the quiche you made. 

“It smells so good,” Charles comments from somewhere behind you, one hand reaching behind your back before he lets it rest on your hip as he puts the salad bowl on the table. He presses a kiss to your cheek, “Thank you, ma belle.” His lips still linger on your skin when he adds, “For everything, I mean.” 

"Ah," you draw out, "there's my boyfriend.' You take the oven mitts off and discard them somewhere on the table, turning around so you can face him, “Hi.”

“Hello,” he replies with a smile, both hands on your hips now, pushing you against the table. 

“It's good to have you back,” you admit easily, letting your hands rest against his chest. "I was worried about you."

He hangs his head, “I know.” 

“Hey,” you whisper, one hand under his chin to make him look at you, “it’s ok. I’m your girlfriend. It’s my duty to worry about you.”

“Yeah, but-”

“Ah, ah,” you shake your head and press a finger to his lips, “it’s your duty not to argue with me.” You throw him a wink, “Especially when you know I’m right.” 

He huffs and pretends to bite your finger, “Not fair.” 

“Very fair,” you argue with a smile before you stand up on your toes and sneak your hands into his hair, letting your lips brush against his.

His grip on your hips tightens and when you run your tongue between his lips, silently asking for permission, he opens his mouth and kisses you, and kisses you, and kisses you.

After a while you pull away, letting your head rest against his, trying to catch your breath before you tell him, “We really should eat, it’s getting cold.”

“I’d much rather eat-”

“Charles,” you gasp, hitting his chest playfully, feeling the heat rising to your cheeks because you know you’re in for a long night when he starts making these kinds of innuendos. 

“What?” He feigns innocence but there’s a wicked grin playing on his lips. 

XXX

The bottle of wine you started on gets finished during dinner, the conversation between you two flowing effortlessly as you catch up after not seeing each other for two weeks. Ever since you started dating, when he joined the Prema Racing team where you worked as an PR intern at the time, the attraction between the two of you clear from the moment you first met, you try to join him for the European races as much as your job allows, collecting endless frequent flyer miles as you travel around the continent for the race weekends. 

However, due to an event organised by the PR company you work for, one that your boss insisted you’d attend, you were unable to make it to Sochi last weekend, and so you had to watch the race from home, your heart aching when you saw him in the post race interviews. 

Finishing the last of your wine you look at him from across the table, a sad smile on your lips when you see how tired he looks. “Go get ready for bed, babe,” you suggest, a nod to the dinner table then, “I’ll clean up here and walk Freddy.” 

He starts to get up, “No, no,  I can-”

“You can get ready for bed,” you tell him with a stern look. “I’ll join you in a few, ok?” 

He walks over to you and holds out his hands, taking yours in his and pulling you to your feet before he wraps you in his arms, his mouth close to your ear when he says, “I promise I’ll make it up to you tomorrow.”

You wrap your arms around his back, “There’s nothing to make up for.” 

“You are the best,” he says and pulls back, pressing a kiss to your forehead. 

You let go of him and nod towards the stairs, “Go.” When he turns around you slap his ass, throwing him a wink when he turns around, “Get some rest so you can get lucky tomorrow, chéri.” 

He lets out a laugh and shakes his head and you swear you can hear him chuckle all the way up the stairs.

XXX

The sound of rain on the windows of your bedroom wakes you, the soft tapping of the raindrops a perfect soundtrack to Charles’ quiet snores next to you. He was already asleep by the time you went to bed last night and so you quietly snuggled up to him, careful not to wake him.

A quick glance at the alarm clock on your nightstand lets you know it’s already past nine and you wonder why Freddy hasn’t come up yet, but then you hear a second set of snores and see the brown-haired monster sleeping soundly on the other side of Charles, looking like the happiest dog in the world. 

Freddy, a gift from Charles for your six-month anniversary, loves you no doubt but not in the way he absolutely adores Charles, which in turn melts your heart. 

Charles wakes up then, a smile tugging on the corners of his lips when he finds you looking at him, and he snuggles closer to you, “Morning, ma belle.” 

“Cou cou,” you reply with a smile, giving him a lazy kiss. “Sleep well?”

“A lot better than the last few days,” he admits easily, chasing your lips with his. He cups your chin and tilts your head so he can better capture your mouth with his. 

You sneak your leg in between his, pushing yourself against him, and open your mouth, allowing his tongue inside. There’s no rush, no need to take it any further than this, not yet anyway, and so you enjoy the moment, not for the first time marveling at how good of a kisser Charles actually is.  

After a while, Freddy stirs next to Charles, letting out a yawn, and when he sees what his mom and dad are doing he jumps off the bed, letting out a bewildered bark. 

Charles pulls back with a grin, muttering something in French that gets Freddy to sit down, although his tail is still wagging impatiently. 

“I will walk the dog,” Charles offers, giving you another kiss. 

“Hmm,” you hum against his lips, “I’ll get breakfast started.” 

 “I can pick something up from that place you like,” he looks at you with a smile, “just stay in bed a little longer, chérie.”

“Breakfast in bed?” 

“Breakfast-” he starts with a grin, “-lunch, dinner. Everything.” 

“Everything?” You ask, one eyebrow raised and a mischievous smile on your lips. “Even-”

“Even that,” he replies with a wink. 

“Perfect.” 

XXX

He comes back about an hour later, his hair wet from the rain, placing a bag of chocolate croissants and two coffees on your nightstand and shrugging off his clothes before he lets you welcome him back into bed with open arms. 

You let out a squeal when his cold hands sneak underneath the fabric of your t-shirt, his fingers tickling your sides, and you playfully hit his chest, “Charles, stop!”

“What?” He asks, feigning innocence while he leaves a trail of kisses in your neck. 

You let out a frustrated groan but wrap your legs around his waist anyway, by now a little more used to his cold touch. Your arms find their way around his neck and you let out a moan when he nibbles on the skin below your ear, a breathless, “Charles,” escaping you not much later when you feel him grind against you.

He chuckles in your ear, “What now?”

“You came here to find some luck, remember?” You unwrap your legs and sneak one of your hands between your bodies, cupping him through his boxers while you look up at him with a wicked smile, “Well, let me help you get lucky, babe.” 

XXX

The rest of the day passes by in a blur, more hours spent in bed together than anywhere else, the rain stopping somewhere in the afternoon even though neither of you pay any particular attention to what’s happening outside. You’re too caught up in each other, quite literally at times, and oh, how you wish you could stop time and stay in this moment forever. 

It isn’t until you hear a quiet bark coming from downstairs that you bother looking at the clock and see it’s almost six and almost dinner time for Freddy. You’re a little distracted and so you stop running your fingers through Charles’ hair to which he responds with a heavy sigh, a silent encouragement for you to go on. “I have to walk and feed the dog,” you whisper, pressing a kiss to his forehead. A laugh escapes you, “And probably us too.”

“No,” Charles whines, wrapping his arms around you closer, “stay.” 

Freddy barks again and you know that’s your cue and so you untangle yourself from Charles and get out of bed, giving him a quick kiss, “I’ll be right back.” 

He lets out a quiet groan but then sits up anyway, the bed sheets sliding down to his hips and for a moment you are very distracted by the sight in front of you, what with his tangled hair and toned chest. He throws you a wink and dammit, you wish you could go back to bed. but you can hear Freddy pace back and forth on the tile floor in the kitchen and so you quickly throw on some clothes and head downstairs. 

XXX

“Come on, boy,” you tell Freddy once you’ve opened the kitchen door and step aside so he can get inside after your walk. The house is quiet and dark and just as you wonder if Charles has fallen asleep again the light in the kitchen comes on and he steps into view, freshly showered and sharply dressed.

“You have thirty minutes to get ready,” he tells you, hand on your hip as he kisses your cheek. 

“What? I don’t-”

“Ssh,” he whispers, his warm breath hitting just below your ear. “The clock is ticking, chérie. Let’s go.” He pushes you in the direction of the stairs and like you did yesterday, pats your ass to get you going. “I will feed Freddy, don’t worry,” he says then, as a reply to a question you didn’t even got to ask yet.

When you reach your bedroom you’re surprised to find there are fresh sheets on the bed and you can’t help but wonder just how long you were away. And just how you got so lucky with your boyfriend. 

Your shower is quick, but you’re losing a bit of time deciding on what to wear until you hear Charles yell, “Ten minutes!” from downstairs and so you pick a navy blue dress you know is one of his favourites. You keep your hair and makeup simple and so you make it downstairs again with exactly two minutes to spare, Charles looking at you with a big smile.

“Absolutely beautiful,” he says before he kisses your cheek. 

“Thank you.” 

“You ready to go?” He takes your hand in his and waits until you nod before he grabs his car keys from the counter and leads you outside, only letting go of your hand to lock the door before he wraps his fingers around yours again.

“Are you going to tell-”

“Non,” he says with a shake of his head. “C’est une surprise,” he teases you.

“Ugh, tu m'énerve,” you reply with a dramatic roll of your eyes, earning you a chuckle from him because he too must remember it was one of the first French sentences he taught you after one of the brand managers got on your nerves too much. 

When you reach his car he lets go of your hand to open the passenger door for you before he rounds the car and slides into the driver’s seat. The car comes to life with an impressive rumble of the engine and before you know it he pulls out of your driveway and onto the streets of Nice. 

You’re not really surprised when instead of turning into the city center he pulls onto the highway leading to Monaco, even though you still have no idea where exactly he’s taking you. When his hand finds yours over the center console you intertwine your fingers with his, letting your hands rest in your lap as you watch the world outside pass you by. 

XXX

When he takes an exit that leads to a gas station you figure he might just need to fill up, but then when he pulls up to the parking lot you're not even sure he knows what he’s doing anymore, “Charles?”

He gets out of the car and rushes to your door, opening it before you even have the chance, holding out his hand, “Come on.” 

“What are we doing here?” 

He doesn’t say anything, instead gently tugs on your hand to get you to follow him inside the service station, where he leads you towards the cash register without hesitating. Greeting the lady behind the counter with one of his charming smiles he asks for something that you don’t quite understand, handing her ten Euros, until you see the lady hand him five scratch tickets in return. 

“Charles,” you try again, even though you’re not sure you’ll ever get an explanation.

He smiles and leads you to one of the high tables near the window, “I came to you for luck, remember?”

“Yeah,” you draw out slowly, still not sure where he’s going with this.

“Well,” he fishes a coin out of the pocket of his jeans, “I got lucky several times today-”

“Charles-” you whisper aggressively, looking around to see if nobody heard him., heat rising to your cheeks. 

He chuckles, “So I just want to see if you’re still my lucky charm, darling.” 

You can’t help but smile as you watch him scratch the tickets, letting out an excited cheer when he wins five Euros on one and a free ticket on the other, and throwing him a wink when you tell him, “Guess I still am, huh?” 

XXX

He takes you to dinner in Cap Martin after and so it’s just after midnight before you return home, Freddy already waiting for you, bouncing down the stairs as soon as you open the door.

“Should I-”

“Nah,” you shake your head, “he just needs to pee. No need to take him for a walk.” 

“You go inside,” Charles says, pressing a kiss to your cheek, “I will play with Freddy for a bit.” 

You smile as you watch the two of them for a little while before heading inside, a yawn escaping you and suddenly you feel very tired. Once you’ve headed upstairs you change into your pajamas, take your makeup off and brush your teeth, climbing into bed not much later. You try to stay awake, really you do, but you’re already half asleep by the time he joins you and so you just curl into him, letting your head rest on his chest as he wraps his arms around you, “Love you.”

He kisses the top of your head, “Je t’aime, ma belle.” 

XXX

You wake up to the sound of the shower being turned off, his side of the bed empty, and you let out a quiet groan when you realize it’s time for him to go. Reluctantly you get up out of bed and grab a sweater from your closet, putting it on as you make your way downstairs. 

Even Freddy is confused as to why you’re up so early, not leaving his dog bed but instead turning onto his back and letting out a content snore. You’re not sure if Charles has time for coffee but decide to make some anyway, if anything as a way to keep yourself busy. 

Charles comes down not much later, and after petting the dog he wraps his arms around your waist from behind, letting his chin rest on your shoulder, “Mornin’” 

You lean against him, your hands over his, “Hi.”

“I have to be at the airport at seven,” he says, almost apologetically, “so I really should go.”

“Yeah,” you nod.

“Walk me to the car?”

He lets go of you then and so you turn around, cupping his face and giving him a passionate kiss, just to let him know how much you’ll miss him. “Come on,” you tell him, taking his hand in yours and leading him outside. 

You wait for him to put his duffel bag in the trunk before you wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a hug, “I’m gonna miss you, Leclerc.”

“I will miss you too,” he tells you quietly. Pulling back a little then he cups your face, making you look at him, “Thank you for these past few days, my lady luck.” 

You can’t help but smile, “Avec plaisir.” 

He kisses you then and it’s all teeth and tongue, sending a shiver down your spine when he gently bites your bottom lip. When he pulls back you have to catch your breath a little and it makes him smile even more, “I’ll see you after Turkey.”

“Yep.”

Another kiss, “Je t’aime.”

“Love you.” You nod towards the car then, “You’re gonna be late.”

He gets in, but not before he gives you one last kiss, “Bye.”

“Drive safe,” you tell him as you close his door and watch as he reverses out of your driveway, waving at him as he pulls onto the street and merges into traffic effortlessly. When you turn around you see your neighbours looking down at you from their balcony, enjoying the early morning sunshine like they always do, and so you give them a quick wave too, “Salut vous deux,”

“Salut Loulou,” your neighbour, Thierry, holds up his cup of coffee as a greeting.

His wife, Colette, hits him in the chest with the newspaper she was reading just before, “Her name is not Loulou, idiot, her name is Lourdes.” 

[GIF not mine]