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theeemetersdown · 1 year

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Hi, I really like your writing and I wanted to send a request for Newt (tmr) if that's okay? My thought was that the reader was the first girl that showed up in the Glade, and with that, some of the boys there were kinda disrespectful, sometimes even making her insecure to be alone. And Newt, being the sweetest and most caring of them all, became the one she grew most attached to, she hardly ever leaves his side. And Newt also became super protective of her, like, when some of the others are near he'll subtly hold on to her or pull her to his side, things like that. He's just super soft with her and she's everything to him, however he doesn't think his feelings are reciprocated. And you can decide how they get together, i just wanted to see that dynamic. Would be super grateful if you could write it, thank you <3

soft newt my beloved

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You can feel the eyes on you no matter where you look. You haven’t been stared at like this in a long time, if ever, and no lack of memory can make up for the fact that this feels terribly, utterly wrong. It’s one thing to be the center of attention, but this? This lack of privacy, no, this sudden, terrible attention? This is the worst thing you’ve ever experienced. It even outweighs waking up in the center of a massive maze with only a couple dozen boys to keep you company.

The boys, however, are precisely the problem right now. You are the only girl to ever show up in their Glade, and they’re making their shock quite evident. Wherever you go, you find yourself followed by curious stares and fascinated looks. Even now, just sitting at a bench and wishing the noon break would come to an end, it feels as if every head in the Glade is turned towards you.

It would be one thing if they were just confused by you, but this is different, more malicious. These boys are hungry for someone like you, they stare at your every muscle and bone as if imagining you in their clothes, or in no clothes at all. It’s like you’re surrounded by a pack of wolves, except instead of bloody jaws all you see are their eyes, constantly watching. No matter where you go, you are never alone long enough to feel safe.

Just when you think that you might go mad from the sheer exhaustion of being witnessed, someone slides into a seat next to you. You look up with a start, but relax when you realize you know the boy beside you. This blond second in command is one of the only guys here that you actually trust, something you learned within your first hour of coming out of the Box and has stayed true even now, a week or two after your arrival.

Newt glances at you briefly, taking in the knot of your brows and the way your hands won’t stop twisting together. “They’re not getting any better, are they?” He asks, jerking his chin towards the masses of boys surrounding you.

You shake your head. “Not at all. I thought they’d get bored of me, but it doesn’t seem like that’s the case.”

Newt grimaces. “I don’t know what’s gotten into them. They’re normal boys, I swear, it’s just that–”

You cut him off, voice soft. “It’s just that they don’t know how to act around a girl? I mean, I get it, it’s certainly weird that there were no girls here at all and then I showed up, but they don’t have to be like this.”

Newt finishes your thought for you. “They don’t have to be like monsters. I wish you could have had a normal entry to the Glade, or as normal as it gets around here. You deserve that much, at least.”

A rush of gratitude hits you, all directed towards the boy sitting beside you. You haven’t known Newt for long, but compared with the rest of the emptiness that contains your missing memories, it could have been forever. You have no idea why Newt has taken it upon himself to make sure you’re alright, but you couldn’t be happier that he did.

Newt, after all, is the one person who makes you feel safe. With him beside you, it’s as if the rest of the stares start to drop off, none of the boys wanting to be caught being creeps by the second in command. Newt’s presence is a silent shield, a buffer of quiet jokes and real smiles against the restless boys.

Soon enough, the workday will start again, the two of you will part ways, and that same feeling of insecurity will wrap itself about you once more. For now, though, you are content to sit here with Newt and pretend that nothing here could ever hurt you.

If you thought it was hard to face all that attention during the day, though, it only worsens once the sun starts to drop beneath the horizon. Even by yourself, your thoughts start to darken with the hour. It’s as if a switch flips inside your brain every time the sun sets, reminding you of every terror that could await you out in the Maze and every guilt you carry over not being a perfect Glader due to your recent arrival.

Plus, the darkness makes it easier for certain things to happen, things that nobody would dare attempt during the broad daylight. You’re sure that most boys here are actually quite normal, or so Newt says, but there are a few that make you uneasy. During the day, those boys are forced to leave you be, but they’re cloaked in shadows once night falls. You can’t get in trouble for something nobody sees, and it’s hard to see anything at all at a late hour like this.

The daily activities of the Glade are hard enough that you really need to get your sleep, but you can’t seem to shut your eyes longer than a few minutes at a time. Your mind refuses to grow calm, instead keeping you awake by running through simulations of all the worst things that could happen to you. You jump at the slightest of noises, and grow stressed at the smallest of movements.

You try to force yourself to relax back into your hammock, but no sooner have you made up your mind that you’re actually going to sleep do you see something. It’s the figure of a boy, one that first draws your attention at the far end of the sleeping area but slowly drifts closer to you.

A cloud shifts across the moon, and a beam of light casts itself upon the face of the boy. With a chill, you realize that you recognize him. The guy’s name is Paul, he’s been on your nerves ever since you arrived. He has this sense of entitlement that he wears like a king’s finest silks, truly believing that the world should scrape at his feet.

This entitlement only continues to you. Paul is one of the boys that makes you afraid to be alone, and the fact that he’s steadily drawing closer to you only worsens things. He’s near enough now that you can see his face well even in the shifting moonlight, and what you see terrifies you. His eyes are firmly fixed on you, the expression written in them almost hungry. His lips draw back in a grin, but it’s not happy, just pleased that he’ll finally be getting what he wants.

It strikes you now, how this situation could turn ugly. Everybody around you is sound asleep, so tired out by the day’s work that they wouldn’t awaken at a few footsteps. As if sensing your worries, Paul locks eyes with you, and gloatingly holds up one finger to his lips. He knows what you’re thinking, you realize, and he’s going to do exactly that.

Your heart spikes with horror as Paul calmly walks nearer to you. He’s taking his time, so sure that he won’t be caught that he’s enjoying himself. Paul is a Builder, too, he’s far stronger than you even if you put up a fight. Frantic, you look around you, and notice that Newt is in the hammock beside you.

You reach over and shove his shoulder as hard as you can, whispering his name under your breath as loudly as you dare. You don’t want to wake the others, too afraid of what Paul’s friends would do if they discovered what was going on, but you trust Newt to save and not damn you. You always have.

Paul’s footsteps quicken when he realizes what you’re trying to do, but one last desperate rap on Newt’s arm and the blond boy is up. He rubs a tired hand over his eyes, opening his mouth to blearily ask what you’re doing when he catches sight of Paul looming over you.

Instantly, Newt is on his guard. “What are you doing, Paul?”

You don’t know that you’ve ever heard Newt sound like this, so dangerously even. His tone is as cold as a dagger, and you swear you can see Paul start to bleed even before the Builder’s eyes widen.

Paul starts to stammer. “Uh, nothing. Just walking. Couldn’t sleep.”

Newt sits up, the moonlight revealing more of his body. The sleeves of his shirt are cut short, showing off his arms. Newt may not have the sheer bulk of a Builder, but he’s not weak either. If he wanted to, he could pack a mean punch.

Paul must realize that he’s caught, because he starts shuffling away again, a haunted look in his eyes. Once he’s gone, you turn back to Newt.

“Sorry to wake you up,” you whisper, “but I didn’t like where that was going.”

Newt shakes his head firmly. “Don’t apologize, Y/N. Jeez, what a slinthead that guy was. I’ll talk to Alby in the morning, see if we can get Paul thrown in the Slammer for trying that stunt. I don’t like to think about what might have happened if you hadn’t been awake long enough to see him coming.”

You don’t like the thought of it either, and even the promise of justice for Paul doesn’t stop you from shivering despite the warm night air. It all feels too close, the threat of unnameable violence too real. You’re supposed to be only fearing the Maze like the rest of the Gladers, for goodness’ sake, not the other boys.

Newt must be able to tell that you’re still terrified, because his expression softens and he holds an arm out to you. “Come over, Y/N. You can sleep with me in my hammock for now. That way we know for sure that no one else will try anything tonight.”

You have to admit, the thought of not being alone for the rest of the night does sound awfully good, but some part of you still hesitates. “I don’t want to keep you up any longer,” you hedge, but Newt doesn’t seem to mind.

“I’ll be fine, trust me. Unless you want nothing to do with any more boys,” he says, eyes starting to widen at the fear that you might think him no better than any of the other watchers, “In that case, feel no need to do anything of the sort.”

You laugh quietly, and watch as Newt’s tension leaves him in a wave. “I think that sounds perfect. Don’t worry about a thing.”

Newt’s smile returns, and that’s all the motivation you need to carefully climb out of your hammock and into his. The hammock is small enough that the two of you are pressed against each other, Newt’s arm draped casually around you back to pull you closer. His chest is still sleep-warm, and your head drops against his collarbone as if it were made to be there. Your last thought is that you don’t think you’ve ever felt so content in your life, and then you’re asleep.

You wake feeling more rested than you have since the day you showed up in the Glade. For a moment, you forget where you are, and then you feel Newt softly stirring against you and remember everything. It’s about half an hour before the rest of the boys get up, so no one has seen the two of you together, but you know enough to make mysterious heat rise to your cheeks.

Newt has woken up too, and he props himself up on one arm, raising a drowsy arm to push messy strands of golden hair away from his face. “Sleep well?” He asks, voice softened from sleep.

You smile. “Perfectly well. Thanks for letting me stay with you.”

Newt looks down at you softly, as if he never wants to look away. For some reason, his stare doesn’t seem nearly as hard a weight to carry as those of the other Gladers.

“No problem,” he murmurs, “you’ve never been a burden.”

For some reason, you feel the need to look away. It’s all just a little too much at once, and it’s too early in the morning for you to properly put into words how much you’re feeling at this moment. Newt must notice this, because he hurriedly mentions something about how you’d probably better get back into your hammock so no one suspects anything.

You try not to feel sad about him kicking you out, but one glance at him as you pull yourself out of his arms cures you of anything. Newt still looks at you like the first flower of the spring, and that sight alone lets you leave your worries behind.

You’re still thinking about that night well into the morning, and when it comes time for the lunch break, you scarcely even notice the stares of the other boys. There was some reason, surely, why Newt is always so willing to help you, why his mere presence feels like enough to keep you safe against any threat.

You’re so lost in thought that you almost don’t notice one of the Gladers stalking towards you across the center field. Newt may be the person you trust the most, but Alby, too, is someone you’ve never feared. Of course, that could be the fact that Alby’s so busy trying to make sure the Glade doesn’t run itself into the ground that he scarcely has time to look at you, but you still have faith in him anyway.

You’re fully expecting Alby to walk right past you and go deal with another problem on his list of thousands, but instead, he takes a seat next to you, all but throwing himself down with relief at what must be the first time he’s not standing since dawn.

You arch a brow at the boy, but Alby starts speaking of his own accord within a few seconds. “I want you to know that I was talking with Newt, and we’ve agreed that Paul should face punishment for what he tried to do last night. Even if we don’t know for sure that he was going to do anything, he was acting suspicious, and at any rate it’ll be a good example for the rest of these hoodlums that they need to stay clear of trouble.”

You nod slowly, but Alby isn’t done. “Also, I need to talk to you about Newt.”

You sit a little straighter, feeling oddly nervous although you’re not sure why. “What about Newt?” You ask cautiously.

Alby’s eyes lock on yours. “Listen, Newt has been my second in command for a long time, and for good reason. He’s one of the only actually good guys we have here. For that reason, he deserves happiness far more than the rest of us. That’s why I need to talk to you.”

He breaks off, looking at you expectantly. You’re not entirely sure what he wants you to say.

“Newt is a great guy,” you say hesitantly, “but I don’t really know what you want me to do about that.”

Alby sighs. “I don’t want to betray his confidence, but Newt likes you. That’s been obvious for a while, but I wouldn’t say a thing if I wasn’t sure that you like him too. Look, just talk to him about it, alright? I don’t want my friend tearing himself to pieces over you if he doesn’t have to.”

You lean back, startled. “What are you talking about? Newt doesn’t like me. And I, uh, don’t like Newt. Not like that.”

You’re not sure that you do a good job of convincing either of you, though.

Alby actually smiles for the first time since you’ve seen him. “Yeah, sure. Just talk to him. See what happens.”

With that, he stands up again, heading towards a group of Bricknicks arguing over the best way to fit supplies into an already stuffed storage shed. Alby’s work may never be done, but you think you can help him with at least one thing.

Newt is just starting his noon break when you find him. It’s easy enough to ask Newt to talk and lead him away from the rest of the Track-Hoes, but it’s far harder to actually come up with the right words to say once you’re alone. To his credit, Newt has never made you feel awkward, but it’s difficult to tell him that you think you might love him if you’ve only actually realized it about ten minutes ago.

At last, you give up on pleasantries and decide to just get the whole thing over with. “Newt, I”ve been thinking.”

Newt hazards a joke. “Always a good thing, from what I hear.”

You make a face at him, which makes him smile. “Stop that. Anyways, I was thinking. Thinking about us.”

Newt cocks his head to the side. “What does that mean?”

You groan. “Well, I could tell you if you stopped interrupting me.”

Newt grins. “My bad. Go on, then. What about us?”

You take a slow breath, then continue. “What if we could be more than just, you know, friends? I mean, I didn’t even realize it until recently, but last night, you made me feel more safe than anyone ever has, and I really like being with you all the time, and–”

You’re cut off by Newt gently kissing you. The stress of trying to find the right words leaves you in a rush, and what you’re left with is calm, pure and simple. It’s the sort of calm you always feel around Newt, the kind of feeling that makes you realize that you are going to be alright.

When you look up at him, Newt is smiling. “I’ve been wanting to hear you say that since the day you showed up here, you know that?”

You laugh. “There’s no way you’ve liked me that long.”

“Of course there is,” he says, “you made it very easy to like you. You always have.”

There’s another feeling you’re coming to associate with loving Newt, a sort of heat in your cheeks and butterflies in your stomach that makes you feel lighter than air. You feel it now, and you’re fairly sure that you’re going to feel it for a long time to come. Loving Newt is the easiest thing in the world. It’s a good thing that he feels the exact same way.

maze runner tag list: @rogueanschel, @ellobruv, @retvenkos, @neewtmas, @thatfangirl42, @hiya-its-amber, @gods-fools-heroes

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theeemetersdown · 1 year

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theeemetersdown · 1 year

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SPACED OUT WORRIES — charles leclerc

charles leclerc x fem!reader

# summary — in which charles takes his annoyance out on people, this time it was his photographer and media manger who he has a crush on, y/n

# disclaimer — this is a snippet of my fanfiction on wattpad ! if you want to read it, i’ll be publishing it soon under bangmealready ! it’s called dress :)

“LEWIS HAS BEEN GETTING A LOT OF ATTENTION with his outfits lately.” y/n spoke as she scrolled on her phone through twitter, reading the various positive responses one of their mutual friends had been receiving.

charles, too deep in his thoughts and annoyance, only hummed in response, as he had been doing for the entirety of the conversation y/n had been leading. gradually, she was starting get irritated with him but she remained calm.

y/n understood why charles was acting the way that he was, unlike most people on the paddock. his pr team was trying to force him into a false relationship with some model to promote her fashion show, and with him being the heartthrob that he is, it was perfect.

but it wasn’t, really. for now y/n had to deal with a grumpy charles and the twitter fans were hungry, starving almost, for new charles content.

y/n was very strict with her boundaries and she voiced those to her employer. she wanted to make things on the internet lighthearted and fun for the fans, her and both drivers. she liked to post pictures she had taken of them with her professional camera and add out of pocket captions to get some laughs out of fans, so far she was succeeding. she thought the sport was already serious enough and with the continuous problems ferrari was having, some lighthearted jokes were necessary.

so yes, it was a problem if charles wasn’t happy, because y/n wouldn’t be happy and if she wasn’t delivering, the fans would also not be happy.

she wasn’t one to give up easily, though, “we could try that.” y/n looked up from her phone, frowning when she saw the monégasque’s spaced out face whilst biting his lower lip in deep thought. “charles.” she whispered with empathy, succeeding in breaking him out of his worries as their eyes connected, much like her fingers intertwining to his. “as i was saying, we could try that, but less extravagant like him, just add more chicness with accessories perhaps.” y/n continued, her voice soft.

the man before her took a deep breath and sighed, closing his eyes as another hum left his mouth. he didn’t want to snap at her, or say the wrong thing so he decided being silent was the best way. charles didn’t want to get vulgar with the only person who understood him and his ways. y/n was patient with him, more than anyone else and he didn’t want to mess that up.

it was no secret that charles was a guy that was very in touch with his emotions and not afraid to show them, but anger was something he did not want people to see him feel when the sun set and the moon shone brightly, when day turned into night and the curtains hid him away from the flashing lights. but he couldn’t help and feel irritated that people had no regards for his feelings and wanted to exploit him and force him into a relationship with a girl he’s never heard of before, a relationship that would have no benefits for him or his career.

charles was dissatisfied with himself for letting people walk all over him and he seemingly couldn’t fight back.

y/n spoke up after a while, disappointment clearly running through her for she couldn’t succeed in lifting his spirits. “i think you need a minute, i’ll see you after your training.” as she was about to stand up and walk away, charles tightened his grip on her hand, silently begging her to stay as his eyes welled up with waves that he didn’t want to let crash into the shore. y/n looked at him and her heart ached with sadness as he looked drained, his glossy doe eyes staring back at her, pleading.

“hey,” she whispered, bending down to her knees so she could look up at him, their eyes licking in a hypnotizing trance as she let go of his tight grip to cradle his face into her hands so she could redirect his sight back on her. “would you please talk to me? you don’t have to but i like hearing your voice, c.”

charles’ heart rate fastened at her touch, his body visibly relaxing above her. “sorry.” he finally whispered, it wasn’t much but for y/n it was enough.

“it’s okay.” y/n smiled slightly in triumph, happy to have made at least a little bit of progress with him. he leaned his head forward so their foreheads could touch, both of their eyes closing and taking in the moment of peacefulness and comfort. at the feeling of her relaxing beneath him, charles grinned, their heartbeats synchronizing as an invisible string tied them together, unknowingly to them.

out there was a world, bigger than anything they have explored but in that moment their feelings were bigger, their hearts grew fonder and their physique ached stronger in insatiable desire for one another.

charles couldn’t hold back any longer, he realized as he opened his eyes and watched her enthralling self enjoy his presence as much as he enjoyed hers. she felt his warmth leaving but had no time to exclaim her protest as his lips joined her forehead, his ring covered hands holding her face lovingly as both of them basked in that instant.

for the first time that day, charles felt content, every negative bone in his body turning positive as she brought out the best in him. he would make sure that he wouldn’t let y/n slip through his fingers like many other things had, charles promised himself.

and to hell with him if he broke that promise.

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theeemetersdown · 1 year

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good morning europe

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theeemetersdown · 1 year

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deal - cl16 (4/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Charles and you pay Joris a visit that raises more questions than it answers.

Warnings: Charles is distant, angst (idk if it counts), fluff, Google translated French

Word Count: 3.4k

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A/N: I'm running on two liters of coffee and three Red Bulls. thank you for being so patient. hope you enjoy it! love y'all.

Charles doesn't make a sound, but the way his slender fingers clench around the worn steering wheel, he doesn't have to. His knuckles stand out white - surely deep imprints of his rings have already bored into the gray leather - and he clenches his jaw.

Whoever called him has chased away the empathetic, gentle Charles you've come to know in little more than twelve hours and who, in your limited opinion, doesn't deserve to feel that way. The person sitting on the driver's side of your car stares at the road in front of you with an icy stare. His movements to steer the car are skillful but stiff like a doll's, and his breathing is so shallow it looks like he's stopped altogether. He even turned off the radio after a few meters, so there's nothing between you but this strange silence.

Most of all you would like to comfort him, support him, do something to cheer him up, but Charles won't let you see his cards. You don't know if he wants to, if he's even the type to be comforted or distracted. All you know is that the phone call has driven away his good, playful mood. His expression is blank, emotionless, and you don't know what to do - if you should do anything - which is why you just sit quietly next to him.

You're immensely grateful that Charles has shown you his secret place and tried to cheer you up. And you would only too gladly return this kind gesture. But you don't. You don't want to drive his mood even lower with a pitiful attempt. You sit silently next to him, making yourself very small so that he doesn't notice you.

Charles steers the car after some time through a narrow alley into a backyard, where it comes to a stop in a marked parking space. He turns off the engine, takes the key out of the ignition, and gets out without a word.

Briefly, you're unsure whether to follow him - after all, you can't assess what he needs and wants right now - but when he stops at the hood and takes a quick glance back, you exhale in relief. Apparently he hasn't forgotten that you're still there, too.

You follow him, and when you stop at a large wooden door, he places his ringed index finger on a bell with the name "Trouche" written on it. For a brief moment you wait and nervously you tap from one foot to the other, not knowing what is waiting for you behind the door, while Charles stands beside you like a statue. Out of the corner of your eye, you eye him inconspicuously.

His jaw is clenched and at his neck his vein is pulsating slightly and he hasn't stopped breathing, which of course pleases you very much. But his gaze is fixed on the door, he doesn't even seem to blink.

The call seems to have thrown him very much off course.

A muffled whirring sounds and your roommate pushes the door open.

The hallway of the house where Joris lives isn't particularly wide, so Charles climbs the stairs ahead of you. His hands hang down by his sides, but with his thumbs he tries to turn the rings on his fingers. A nervous habit? Or a coping mechanism for stress? Whatever it is, it's the only thing that makes him human right now.

You look down at your feet to keep from tripping, and nearly slam into him when he stops abruptly in front of an apartment door. He closes his eyes for a moment and takes a deep breath. Then he knocks on the door.

"Joris, good to see you," Charles says cheerfully as his buddy opens the door. His voice is bright and friendly, the complete opposite of what you just witnessed on the drive. "Can we come in?"

While Joris, who doesn't seem at all surprised that you two are suddenly standing in front of his door, takes a step aside so you can enter, you can't take your eyes off Charles. What the hell is he doing? Why is he suddenly acting so differently? How does he manage to change his mood like that from one second to the next? Faking his good mood? Does he perhaps have multiple personalities? Or has he put the call behind him and doesn't want to think about it anymore?

"Go ahead and sit down," Joris says, disappearing into the kitchen. "I'll just get something to drink."

His apartment is definitely bigger than yours. The living room, which is done in simple shades of white, beige, and black, is bigger than your whole apartment by itself. As you look out the window behind the couch, you can even see the Côte d'Azur. How much is he paying for this view?

Charles sits down on the comfortable looking couch and smiles at you. "Sit down before Joris commandeers the only other comfortable place in this apartment and you have to sit on one of those uncomfortable chairs there." With a nod, he points to the chairs around the large dining table in the corner.

You look at him uncertainly. Apparently he's talking to you again, and even in front of you he seems to be keeping up the facade that he's fine. Maybe he really does have multiple personalities.

When you don't move, he tilts his head and smiles. But something is wrong with it. It doesn't reach his eyes. "I won't bite."

"I'm not so sure about that," you counter him honestly, but - with enough distance - you sit down next to him on the couch anyway, which is actually as comfortable as it looks. You feel his gaze on you, but don't dare to return it. You let your fingers slide over the soft fabric. "Is everything all right?"

Charles' smile is carved on his face, as it doesn't move a millimeter. The corners of his mouth remain at the exact same height as you look at him as he answers you. "Everything's fine." He glances briefly at your hands folded in your lap, then looks to Joris, who joins you.

He places three Coke cans on the glass table in front of you, which is certainly more expensive than all the furniture in your home. And he even puts them on the glass without a coaster. For that alone, you would have gotten in trouble at your parents' house. "To what do I owe the honor of your impromptu visit?"

Your roommate leans back and rests an arm on the back of the couch. "What do you think?" He glances at you, your gaze fixed firmly on the cans, and then back at his best friend. "Guess."

Joris grabs a can of Coke - a ring of condensation has collected on the glass - and takes a big gulp, surely to stall for time before he starts explaining. Charles doesn't take his eyes off him. "As I explained to you, I rented the place out so it wouldn't sit empty for months, and there are expenses that need to be paid. Garbage pickup and maintenance of the house, for example." He puts the can back on the table.

Charles raises an eyebrow. "You know that kind of thing's not a problem for me, Joris."

Nervously, his buddy runs a hand through his hair, "I know."

Charles breathes in and out deeply. His cheerful facade seems to be crumbling. Apparently, he's not satisfied with his buddy's answer. He turns his head and looks at you, "How much did you pay per month?"

Actually, you don't want to be a part of this conversation because, until now, it was irrelevant to you why he rented the apartment. All that mattered to you was that he rented it. And he rented it to you. And now you've slipped into this stupid situation, not wanting to answer this question at all, not wanting to get Joris into even more shit, but Charles' piercing gaze leaves you no room to breathe.

You swallow. "Two thousand euros."

Your quick glance at Joris blows your fib, because Charles doesn't believe a word you say. But he says nothing, merely looks at you before propping his elbows on his knees and looking back to Joris. "You're going to pay her back. Every cent of it. And the lease will be terminated."

Is Charles trying to kick you out? After you were still discussing living together this morning? What was that about the next bridge in Monte Carlo?

Your (still) roommate looks at you. "The apartment is bought and paid off. You don't have to pay rent, just the running costs like electricity and water. But we share those, of course. After all, we live there together now." You hope no one notices as you breathe a sigh of relief. His gaze wanders back to Joris. "And you and I are going to have another talk about trust soon. It's not okay for you to do something like this without my consent."

Joris nods slightly. "I'm really sorry, man. I really didn't have any bad intentions." He looks to you. "And I'm sorry I put you in such a stupid situation. It must have been scary to have Charles standing in the apartment all of a sudden."

You smile gently at him. "That's okay. I got a meal as compensation, so it's all good."

"After you almost hit me over the head with a newspaper," Charles replies.

As you look at him, you notice something has changed in his face. His smile reaches his eyes and his teeth are no longer clenched. All of a sudden he looks much more relaxed, which is why you dare to counter again. "You were going to call the police."

His grin widens even more and he leans back again, this time clasping his hands behind his head. "You were standing in my apartment, after all."

Since you don't have a reasonable counterargument to that - after all, it is indeed his apartment - you grab one of the countless couch cushions and throw it in his face. Unfortunately, he actually catches it and laughs as he throws it back at you. "I think you would have had a better chance with the newspaper."

Before you can throw more pillows at him, Joris speaks up. "Before you tear my whole place apart - what do you think about lunch?"

Charles glances at his watch. "Since when do you eat lunch before three in the afternoon?"

Joris gets up from his seat and shrugs. "Think of it as an apology for the whole situation."

"The way you cook, I'd call it more of an attempted murder, not an apology." Charles leans in your direction. "He can't cook at all. He tried to cook pasta once, but didn't know you had to turn on the stove to do it," he whispers with a grin, knowing Joris can hear him anyway.

"Haha." Joris puts his hands on his hips. "Well, I didn't say I was cooking. Actually, I was hoping you would be cooking."

Charles gets up from the couch and walks over to his buddy. "Then all the more reason it's not an apology." The two men stand facing each other, Charles a few inches taller. "But you told me the other day that you got yourself a new camera. Maybe I can borrow it sometime."

The two look at each other before grinning and falling into each other's arms. All you hear is "Je suis désolé" i’m sorry and " Oublie ça, mon pote“ forget it, buddy before they pat each other on the back - like real bros - and then pull away from each other. There's something comforting about the way the two can't seem to stay mad at each other for long. Something comforting.

"All right," Charles says, putting his arm around Jori's shoulder. "Let's see what your fridge has in store, then." The two take two steps forward toward the kitchen before stopping. Your roommate turns to you. "You coming?"

You nod at him. "I'll be right behind you." The two of them leave the room and you turn around on the couch so you can look out the window again.

Monaco is beautiful and you are immensely grateful that you can continue to stay here. That Charles is letting you stay with him, and even rent-free, which is of course very convenient for you. If Joris should really pay you back the money, which in itself is only meant nicely by Charles, then you would be able to stay in Monaco even longer without a fixed income. And then you would also have more time to find a good job.

A huge stone falls from your heart. You don't have to look for a bridge to live under. You won't be kicked out of your apartment within the next few weeks because you can't pay the rent anymore. You don't have to take a job as a dog sitter so you don't starve.

You take a deep breath and only then realize that a few tears are running down your cheek. Relief fills you and for the longest time you see a silver lining on the horizon.

You couldn't be more grateful to Charles for that.

You wipe away the tears with the sleeve of your sweater before getting up from the couch and following the two of them. There are many pictures on the walls in the hallway, some of which you recognize from Charles' phone. He is in many of them, and so are some of his friends. Pictures of birthdays, vacations, and parties that seem to have been celebrated as if there were no tomorrow. Slowly, you walk down the hall, looking closely at each picture as the men talk in the kitchen.

"Elle a déjà appelé deux fois aujourd'hui“, Charles says coolly. she called twice today

Abruptly, you stop. She? Twice? Then the person who called Charles on the trip today is the same one from this morning who woke him up.

" Que voulait-elle?“ what did she want?

" Que je rentre chez moi.“ come home. You hear Charles exhale. " Je lui ai pourtant dit que je ne viendrais pas. Mais apparemment, elle ne comprend pas." wasn’t coming – she doesn't understand

"Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire?" what do you mean?

"Je lui ai dit que j'allais vivre ailleurs pour le moment, mais qu'elle pouvait continuer à vivre dans l'appartement si elle le souhaitait jusqu'à ce qu'elle trouve quelque chose de nouveau. Mais elle n'arrête pas de m'appeler et de m'envoyer des SMS pour me demander où je suis et quand je vais rentrer.“ live somewhere else – continue – apartment – keeps calling – coming home

" Avez-vous déjà pensé à la mettre à la porte?" Jori's tone sounds serious. "Je sais que cela vous mettrait mal à l'aise, mais peut-être que vous vous sentirez mieux.“ uncomfortable – feel better

"Je ne sais pas“, Charles replies. i don’t know. "Je pense que je dois m'asseoir avec elle à nouveau et mettre les choses au clair."

"Tu lui as parlé de Y/N?“ When Joris mentions your name, you stop breathing.

"Non. Le fait que je vive avec elle ne la regarde pas non plus." no – none of her business.

As a phone rings, you awaken from your rigidity. You hear some footsteps, and suddenly Joris is standing in front of you with his cell phone in his hand. As he walks past you, you pretend to look at a picture.

Who were they talking about just now? An ex-girlfriend of Charles'? Is that why he can't go to his other apartment? Because he doesn't want to live with her?

"There you are." Charles pokes his head out of the doorway and smiles at you. You feel caught, though there's nothing in his expression to suggest he knows you heard them. You smile back. "Come on. I need help, and you're certainly a bigger help than Mister Can't-even-cook-noodles."

Wordlessly, you follow him into the kitchen, where he has already spread out some things on the kitchen counter. You see potatoes, peppers, and there's already some salmon on a cutting board. "How can I help?"

Charles positions himself at the kitchen island and puts a pan on the stove. "Can you peel the potatoes, please? Peeler's already there, you put the potatoes -" he pulls out a saucepan from a drawer and places it on the opposite side of the island - "in here."

You raise your hand to your forehead and salute him. "All right, chef." After washing your hands briefly, you grab the potatoes and peeler and face Charles. You pick up a potato and start peeling.

"What kind of music are you listening to right now?" asks Charles as he works on the salmon filet in front of him.

You shrug your shoulders. "Pretty much anything. My latest playlist tends to be a little quieter, a lot of classical music. But it helps me when I need to concentrate."

"Do you want to turn it on? I'm a big fan of classical music," he counters, setting the salmon aside before moving on to the peppers.

You wipe your hands briefly on a kitchen towel and pull your phone out of your pocket. Finding the playlist doesn't take long-after all, it's the one you heard last-and as soon as the tone sounds, you set your phone down on the countertop between you.

"I don't know anyone who likes classical music either." You put the first potato in the crockpot. "Everyone always tells me it's too boring. Like that, with no lyrics."

Charles shakes his head. "Absolute bullshit, if you ask me. I don't know any song that has lyrics that can be as deep and emotional as a harmonizing orchestra."

You smile. "I agree." When there's silence between you for a moment, you take a chance. "Thank you, by the way. For sticking up for me just now."

Now it's Charles' turn to shrug. "You don't have to thank me for that. I think you were treated unfairly, and I wanted to set the record straight."

"You didn't have to do that, though." The next potato loses its skin. "After all, Joris is your best friend."

"And you're my friend. Just because Joris and I are close doesn't mean he gets to treat you that way. And even if you weren't my friend, I would have stood up for you."

He says the word friend so lightly, so easily, as if he's been saying it for years and not as if you've only known each other for a short time. And most of all, he seems to mean it, too. It amazes you how quickly you were able to form an emotional bond with him within hours. As if he had bewitched you.

But you have no problem with that. Charles is kind and gracious and a good man. You're glad you can count him as a friend.

The music suddenly stops as your cell phone begins to vibrate. You take one look at the screen and freeze.

It's him again.

Spellbound, you stare at the phone, hoping you're imagining it, but it rings and the vibration against the countertop is so loud it's definitely real. A cold shiver chases down your spine. Can't he finally leave you alone?

You reach for the phone to push the call away.

But Charles is faster.

And before you know it, he presses the green button to take the call.

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