wait and see â´ď¸ cl16
genre: enemies to lovers, fluff, angst barely, other drivers appear
word count: 2.5k
The grid recounts the evolution, nature, and many ups and downs of your and Charles' vague relationship.
auds here... req'd, this was p fun to write i hope u guys like it! :) short bec if it was any longer it wouldnt have been as nice to read i think? anyway... i love u guys. title from this.
Lando takes a seat. âIs this the thingy forâŚ? Yeah? Okay. What am I supposed to do again?â
âJust describe the two of them.â
âEasy. She was always pissing him off.â He rubs his chin, lost in thought. âBut⌠in a good way?â
â
âI told you a hundred times I didnât want this to be the soundbite you published.â Charles chases after you, his footsteps quickening like a lost puppy as you wrestle your way into the media pen. âA hundred times, and you said okay, and you still published it. Che succede?â
You turn, crossing your arms over your torso. âLook. I said yes, but when I looked it over, nothing else you said was really worth it. It was all just repetitions of the same PR bullshit that makes you look good on camera.â
He rakes a hand through his hair, exhaling with frustration, watching his biting comment on IĂąaki rack up hundreds of thousands of views. âThis was not a good idea!â He repeats, the same sentiment heâs been telling you in the half-hour heâs known of this videoâs publicity.
âBut it happened.â You adjust your mic and gesture to Lando, whoâs awkwardly waiting for the cameras to roll so you can start the post-FP2 interview and he can talk about his shit car. âIâm busy, so deal with it. Your fans will appreciate you not riding Ferrariâs dick all the time.â
Charles opens his mouth to argue, but shuts it, shoving his way back outside and into the motorhome so he can cooperate in damage control. He doesnât admit itâto you, to Carlos, to anyoneâbut the PR that comes of it is more good than it is bad in the end. He doesnât admit it because it means admitting youâre right, and God if thatâs the last thing heâll ever do.
â
âThey were always butting heads,â George says, laughing as he soaks in the memories of it. âAlways fighting over something. Anything. Whatever there was that could be disagreed onâtheyâd be disagreeing.â
â
It started harmlessly enough. Seb walked in with two swatches of colorâa blue and a purpleâand addressed the room with a light tone, asking what color would best suit the tablecloths at his wedding. And then, as it always did with you and Charles, chaos ensued.
âBlue suits green better.â You wave the blue in his face. âYouâre busy thinking of red all the time so you donât understand color theory.â
âItâs not about coordination! Itâs about creating a highlight!â He gestures with his hands, aggressively gesticulating to try and get his point across. âHighlight!â
âOh, bullshit! Blue!â
âPurple!â
âAre you crazy?!â
Across the room, Seb and George watch in mild horror at the two figures caught in a needlessly intense argument over colors at a wedding that isnât even theirs.
An AlphaTauri engineer comes in to refill his coffee for the third time, finds the two of you still fighting and is genuinely stupefied. He turns to the two onlookers, asks, âBridezilla, huh? Happened to me once, too. I swear the grooms always try to weasel their way in to seem more involved but their choices never make sense.â
âOh, no. They, uh, theyâre not together.â George clarifies quickly.
âTheyâre not?!â The engineer and Seb ask at the same time.
They all watch the argument, bemused, but secretly they all wonder just how correct George is.
â
âWe have a saying in Spanish. Del amor al odio hay un paso. Neither of them will understand itâitâs in Spanish, obviouslyâbut I think that applies to them. One minute you think they hate each other, and the nextâŚâ Carlos lets himself taper into silence, smiling softly.
â
Being around Charles feels like karmic retribution, a constant eternal push and pull. But it makes the both of you better, even if neither of you admit it in the end. You canât really grasp why, or how it startedâit might take ages if you do so much as tryâbut youâre content with letting things happen the way they do.
Or maybe youâre not. âYou ruined my fucking broadcast, dickhead!â
You toss your earpiece at his chest, body welling up with annoyance. Your segment was being casted live until Charles insisted he take up your airtime to do whatever-the-fuck, you honestly donât care. And yeah, sure, heâs way more relevant, but the less airtime you get, the less easily you get the exposure you need.
âIt happened one time.â He sounds amused, and it patronizes you, sets you on fire. He clutches your earpiece to his chest and hands it back to you.
âFuck you.â You tug it toward yourself, and suddenly youâre closer, noses almost touching. You step back, but itâs not enough. âYou have no idea how much that mattered to me.â
His eyes flit toward your lips, your bodies melting together. âIf it really didâŚâ he says, inhaling, âyou wouldâve just ignored me.â And damn, heâs right.
Charles does not like you. He just knows you well. But then one might argueâisnât that the same thing?
â
âThey have trouble not calling the shots, is the thing,â Lewis offers. âSo put them in a team, in a room together, and boom.â
â
ââŚWe didnât agree on this script.â You underline the problematic lines and toss it onto Charlesâ lap from where you stand in front of the sofa. âYou want your fans to hate you?â
âThe questions were clumsy. I asked you to reword them, but you didnât.â
âYou didnât ask, to be clear. You demanded.â You click your tongue.
Lewis is in the middle of posting on Roscoeâs Instagram account and manually making typos, but he looks up, interest piqued by the increasingly heated conversation.
âI asked,â Charles insists stubbornly. âPlus, this is a Ferrari segment. You get hired to write on Ferrari, you follow Ferrari.â He points to the yellow logo on his shirt. Ferrari, he mouths. Lewis stifles a chuckle at the sarcastic exchange.
âJesus.â You reread the script. âFine. Iâll reword this and this.â
âAnd that.â He points, tapping the paper.
âOnly if you edit this and this. Oh, God, and this.â
âFine. Wait, that?â
âAre you serious? Itâs the corniest statement ever. Edit that or I edit nothing.â
âOkay, bossy.â
Lewis exits Instagram in favor of texting Seb to ask if you two are dating. The response he receives is equally unhelpful: Nobody knows mate.
â
âYou know, for all the disagreeing they did, they actually agreed on so much of the same stuff. If they stopped fighting for two seconds they would agree on most things.â Alex muses. âBut they never did, so. Or maybe a few times.â
â
Media is a tricky thing. Itâs either on your side, or it isnât.
And this weekend, Charles has drawn the short straw, subjected to bouts of backhanded journalists and tweets for his strategy during quali. You know this especially wellâyouâre media, for Christâs sakeâand youâve seen your colleagues hound Charles for how he chose to tackle the session.
Alex is in the middle of a FaceTime call with Lily when he hears it. âWaitâI think theyâre talking,â he says to his girlfriend when he hears you approach him, carefully maneuvering himself into optimal eavesdropping position.
âIs this the right thing to do?â Lilyâs voice comes through like static.
âI know itâs wrong,â Alex confesses. âButââ
âNo, I meant I canât hear properly. Move the phone closer, you dick.â
So he does, and the two of them listen intently to your talk. You go first, a few shuffling footsteps and an adjustment of your media pass, then. âWillâs been all over you today.â
âYeah,â comes Charlesâ voice, tired if anything. âI, uh⌠I just hope I can understand where I went wrong and, uh. Well, uh.â
âNo, IâŚâ Thereâs heavy silence. âI think you did the right thing. You didnât get pole, but it was a good strategy. Better than what was being proposed, anyway. I think that wouldâve landed you at the back of the grid, to be honest.â
You both laugh. âThanks,â he croaks.
âYou did great. Donât, um⌠donât let them tell you otherwise. Iâm proud of you.â
Alex never tells anybody what he heard. But it inspires many long-winded conversations with Lily about the nature of your relationship. Each time, though, they never arrive to a solid answer.
â
âHey, listen. I always knew something was there with those two. They had the kind of dynamic you only find once in, like, a million instances.â Daniel says firmly. âBut I also kept thinking⌠poor Charlotte.â
â
Youâre half-sure Pierre was the one who bought you all shots. Or a quarter-sure. Okay, youâre not sure at all. Your mindâs cloudy, your inhibitions lowered, tongue loose and laugh contagious. Around the table everyone is laughing, some others have gotten up to dance, but you, Daniel, Lewis, and Charles are all conversing about work, albeit while drunk.
âIs⌠tequila⌠plant-based?â Lewis grimaces as he throws another shot back and you all laugh mindlessly.
âDanny,â you say, tapping his shoulder. âAny plans once youâre out of the paddock next season?â
âAh,â he hums. âSelf-discovery and a shit ton of shrooms.â
You all cheers to the epiphany, shots once again entering your system. âAnd a party again tomorrow!â Daniel adds half-jokingly, much to your delight. Charles, right beside you, throws an arm over your shoulder as he laughs. Youâre unfazed.
Danielâs gaze lingers on his arm a little too long, especially because your own hand reaches upward to wrap around his wrist, to make sure he doesnât pull away. But youâre both drunk, he reasons. And plus, you canât usually stand each otherâs guts.
âIâll pass, mate, if it happens,â Charles says, his tone clearly inebriated.
âYouâre no fun,â you say lightly, laughing and turning to him. Your eyes are on the otherâs, dark, lips almost touching as if youâve forgotten Daniel and Lewis are even around (though the latter is as good as dead, honestly.)
âInvite Charlotte instead,â Daniel says with a smile, to try and test your reactions. âHow long, now? Three months?â
You clear your throat, looking away with a faux smile.
âOh. Weâre not doing so well, to be honest.â Charles smiles, tight-lipped. He hopes Daniel doesnât ask why. He canât think of a lie quickly enough to cover how Charlotte told him I love you, Charles, but this is over. I hope you end up with her someday.
â
Seb takes some time to think about it. âThose two always fought. Everyone said that, didnât they? All the time, disagreeing.â He hums. âI could tell very early, though, that they were also the only two who could truly understand the other. Figuratively, obviouslyâbut as a result, also literally.â
âElaborate?â
âWhen you understand someone that well, inside and out, you end up understanding everything they say.â Seb smiles. âThat was them, I think.â
â
âItâs impossible to transcribe your interviews,â Will says to Charles. Itâs that hour on the paddock where everyoneâs waiting for the pre-race bustle to start, so small talk is whatâs keeping them busy.
Youâre reviewing a few clips from practice on your phone and Seb is chipping into the conversation, which has moved from Mickâs future to F1 into Sky Sports into this.
âWhat do you mean?â Charles asks.
âYouâre always sliding in and out of your three languages!â The Englishman laughs. âI have to consult a native speaker of both Italian and French each time. And youâre always going I, I, I, or we, we, we⌠but hey, the fans dig it, innit?â
âI think I sound perfectly understandable.â Charles smiles. Youâre still busy, unfocused on the conversation at present.
âLike, okay. Look at this.â Will retrieves his phone, opens his voice memos app, and plays one of the audio recordings there. Itâs a scratchy one of Charles describing his quali session, and sure enough, even if heâs speaking straight English, the adrenaline and exhaustion have him sounding totally indecipherable.
Weâwe had gasjdhfhs and I, I, I⌠I think we need to rejshdhs and thijsjsh about the hsfhdh, yeah? And, and, uh, we ajhshajs. And
Will closes it. âSebastian, can you tell me that said?â
He shrugs, amused. âSorry, Charles. I genuinely canât.â
âSee?!â Will makes a voila motion. âNobody understands this.â
âHe said we had good traction and I think we need to recalibrate and think about the boxing strategy, yeah? And we need that mindset.â Youâre still going over your phone, busy and not 100% invested. âYou two just arenât listening.â
Charles doesnât take his eyes off you, or the smile off his face, the whole hour.
â
Pierre comes last, clearing his throat. Heâs ready. He knows exactly what to say, so he says it. âThose two are fucking soulmates.â
â
Itâs three-thirty when somebody knocks on your hotel room.
But your body still feels like itâs five in the evening, your brainâs stuck at two in the afternoon, and your sleep schedule thinks itâs nine in the morning, so youâre not asleep but instead rewriting notes from the weekend prior.
Youâre horribly disoriented when you grab your pepper spray and unlatch the door, and even more disoriented when you see Charles on the other side of it.
âAm I crazy?â He asks, breathless, like heâs been waiting for you all his life. Maybe he has.
âYouâre at my hotel room at three a.m., so⌠a bit.â You rub sleepiness and jetlag out of your eyes. âCharles, whatâs going on?â
âI love you.â There it is. âIt sounds so stupid. But I love you. And itâs almostâI canât bear it. I woke up this morning? You, on my mind. Lights go off after a race? You. I go to sleep? You. Itâs always you. And I know, I know itâsâI know, with Charlotte, andâbut itâs true. I, I, IâI think about you every minute. And usually this happens accidentally. Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il sâagit dâamour... moi y compris.
âBut this was⌠I knew I was falling in love and I let it happen. And so I thought, why keep waiting? Why let it drag on and on and fight over and over when I can just come and tell you how much Iâand maybe, hopefully, see if you feel the same?â
He pants, tired from his clearly rambled and unplanned confession.
âI love you, too,â you say, struck. Oh God.
âCan I kiss you, then?â
âItâs may,â you breathe. âMay I kiss you.â
âYou may,â he whispers.
âRight now?â
âAnytime.â
âSo now.â
âItâs now or next Tuesday,â he jokes.
âNow is⌠the best. Now would do.â
âNow would do.â So you cross the threshold and let him scoop you into his arms so he can well and truly kiss you.
â
âIs that all?â The interviewer asks Pierre. âJust⌠those words? We need a bit more for the article on this event.â
âOh, yeah.â He gets up, straightens his tie. âDonât worry. Youâll hear the rest during my best man speech.â
Del amor al odio hay un paso â From love to hate, there is one step.
Nous sommes tous des idiots quand il s'agit d'amour... moi y compris â We are all fools in love... me included.
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