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reading-writing-737 · 1 year

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This was a beautifully written fic that made me smile on many occasions.

The f!reader x Nikolai fic including Vasily was gorgeous! I just found it and wow - perfection. Absolutely jaw dropping.

Could I get a follow up fic about Nikolai's recovery? Maybe there are some after effects of the poison and he's struggling to get better. He's back at the Grand Palace but the fever, pain and dizziness keep plaguing him and he's having a hard time dealing with being so weak and feeling sick. Besides the wound on his chest hasn't healed either yet...

Basically reader being cute af and taking care of sick Nikolai (maybe also Vasily being a little but caring shit lmao)

bring me back to life // in the bright lilac light part two

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Pairing: Nikolai Lantsov x f!Reader

A/N: This is part two to my 'Violet Rot' fic, so please check that out before you proceed with this one. Otherwise, you probably won't understand some of the references and the general set-up. I did not expect that anyone would want a part two to this particular fanfic, but I'm very glad you asked! Taking care of a sick Nikolai is very dear to my heart <3 Now I just have to wait for someone requesting a part three with the wedding djhalhldhja Thank you for requesting this, I hope I managed to live up to your expectations <3

You can find part one here!

Summary: Recovery is hard and there is nothing one can do to speed it up - very much to Nikolai's dismay.

Genre: Hurt/Comfort, very much Fluff

Word Count: 4.2K

Warnings: Mention of death, blood, injuries and Vasily

"Why does he still look like he's standing on death's doorstep?" Vasily whispered to you as he looked down on his very sickly-appearing brother, who was supposed to have recovered from his injuries by now.

"Try getting stabbed with a poisoned blade and we'll see how you look after barely a week of being home," you replied, letting a comforting hand run through Nikolai's golden hair, carefully removing the wet strands that stuck to his fever-stricken forehead.

"I'm sure I'd at least have a little bit more…colour on my cheeks. That's all. He looks terrible," the prince mumbled almost childishly.

"I'm not unconscious, Vasily. I can hear you. Loud and clear for that matter. And it's not really aiding my headache," your fiancé rasped out, his voice heavy with exhaustion.

"I think it would be best if we'd give him a bit of space. Some peace would very likely do him some good," you sighed as you filled up another glass of water to at least keep him hydrated, putting it beside his bed and attempting to stand up.

"Stay, please." You felt his hand tightening around your wrist, his grip hardly firm enough to pull your hand towards him.

"I'll take that as my sign to leave." Vasily gave you a courteous nod before sauntering to the door. "Don't die while I'm gone, brother. I'd hate to be the one having to break the news to mother."

"Don't get blackout drunk. I'd hate to be the one having to tell Nikolai about you vomiting into one of the plant pots again," you called after him, earning a faint chuckle from the man next to you and an offended grunt from his brother.

You turned back to Nikolai, watching him struggle as he attempted to sit up. The wound on his chest was still an oozing mess that just didn't want to heal properly. He could barely move his torso to complete the most basic tasks, and it infuriated him deeply. The additional fever and dizzy spells didn't improve his already low spirits.

"I hate to admit it, but our pompous little prince is right. You do look terrible, my love."

"Oh, so now you're taking his side?" he lamented dramatically, presumably putting all his energy into the act.

"Well, he is to be my future brother-in-law, after all. I must agree with him occasionally or else he might think badly of me. And who would want that?" you mused with highly sarcastic undertones.

"And I'm your future husband, does that not have any merit in the matter?"

"You're right. I should marry Vasily instead. Just to not commit any sort of treason by periodically opposing my beloved." Nikolai's gaze shot towards you, shock and a slight hint of disgust in his eyes.

"Don't you dare even think about that," he griped, fiddling with the delicate engagement ring on your finger.

It was a habit he had picked up ever since he had proposed to you. Whenever nervousness or stress overtook him, he'd reach out to take your hand into his, mindlessly twisting and turning the golden band. On the rare occasion that you weren't around, he would do the same with his own. It just wasn't as comforting.

"I would never," you snorted. "I do have standards. Even though I had to tweak them quite a bit to consent to marrying you."

Instead of giving you one of his snarky comebacks, he squeezed your hand one last time before letting go of it. His free hand reached for the glass of water on the side table next to him, but he was too weak to properly hold on to it, causing it to shake heavily. You quickly snatched it out of his hand, earning a dissatisfied glare from the young Lantsov.

"Love, I can-"

"Your hands are shaking like reeds in the wind, darling. As much as I would love to see you do all these things by yourself again, you can't right now. And that's okay. I'll take care of you until then," you assured.

"It's just so…frustrating," he let out a huffed breath, visibly overwhelmed by the whole situation.

He wanted nothing more than to just feel like his old self again. It infuriated him how weak he was. The pain should have gotten better by now, yet he still felt like a frail porcelain doll that threatened to break every time it left the shelf. And as much as he appreciated you taking care of him, he couldn't shake off the feeling of being useless.

"I know," you sighed, letting your eyes trail down to the bandage covering his chest. "But the more pressure you put yourself under, the longer it'll take for you to get better."

Nikolai turned his head to the side, not wanting you to see his face in case he wasn't able to keep the tears from falling. You seeing him cry would only humiliate him more, he thought.

"Nikolai." You cupped his cheek with one hand, pulling his face back to look at you. He hated that you knew him well enough to realise what was going on inside his head. "Don't be so hard on yourself. We're all so relieved that you're alive - even Vasily. No one expects you to do anything other than recover. No matter how long that might take. Please get some rest and let me help you."

"You shouldn't have to take care of me," he breathed out. "You shouldn't have to worry about my health or whether I will make it through the night. I'm so sorry for putting you through all of this."

"I'm not doing this because I have to, Nikolai. I'm doing this because I want to. Taking care of you isn't burdensome. Not to me." He closed his eyes as your thumb began to trace circles over the slight ridge of his cheekbone. "We're engaged - soon to be married. One of the conditions for that is to be there for the other. In sickness and in health. We may have not exchanged our vows yet, but that doesn't matter. I love you too much to watch you wither away like this. Let me do this for you."

"Thank you." His voice was barely above a whisper.

"Now, drink something and then try to sleep for a bit. I still have some correspondence to take care of, but it won't take too long. I'll come back as soon as I'm done. Send for me in case you need me. " He only nodded in response, too tired to say or do much more.

You pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before you left his bedroom. Of course, you would have preferred staying with him, even if it was just to watch him sleep. However, you still had a few duties of your own to fulfil and you couldn’t shove them away forever. You couldn’t allow yourself another misstep after lying to your parents about your whereabouts, that was for sure.

After close to two hours spent with measly paperwork and bureaucratic duties, your focus was pried away from the neatly stacked documents on your desk by muffled bickering in the hallway outside your door. You took a quick look at your pocket watch, concluding that it was definitely way too late for your parents to still be out and about.

A bit hesitantly, you abandoned your previous occupation, carefully tiptoeing towards the corridor where the noise had to come from. The scene you had to witness almost gave you a heart attack.

Vasily stood in the middle of the hall, his normally pristine white shirt dirtied with bloodstains. He was hunched over, hovering close to another person that sat on the hard marble floor, their back pressed against the wall. When you noticed that said person was none other than your fiancé - blood smeared all over his hand and shirt, a dazed look on his face - you immediately sprung into action.

“Vasily?” You directed your question at the more alert-looking Lantsov. “By the Saints, what happened?”

“Fuck, if I only knew!” he replied, his stern features relaxing as you approached the two of them. “I was just about to retire to my chambers after a hard day of-”

“Day drinking? You reek of kvas, Vasily,” you muttered under your breath, poignantly ignoring the scowl he gave you.

“As I said, I was about to make my way back to my chambers until I saw this fool lying on the floor with blood everywhere. I thought he was dying! I tried to get him back to his own bedroom, but I can’t possibly carry him back there on my own. Especially not with all that carnage on him.” You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, crouching down next to his brother to assess whatever was going on.

“Nikolai,” you said his name once, your hand finding his face like it had a few hours earlier. His eyes were open, but he seemed to be somewhat loopy. “Love, are you alright?”

“Yes,” he hissed through gritted teeth, his bloody hand clutching the wound on his chest as he tried to sit up straight. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” you warned, looking at the quite deep cut that ran across his arm and hand. “Do you think you can walk back to your room? With our help, of course.” Vasily scoffed, but you didn’t let that bother you. “I have to take a look at that. You don’t need another injury that runs the risk of developing an infection.”

He wanted to say yes, but when another jolt of pain shot through his body, you knew that you couldn’t let that happen.

“That’s a no. Vasily, I will need your help to carry him to my bedroom. It’s right around the corner and we won’t risk having any of his wounds reopen.”

Even though the prince gave you a sharp look of dismay, he followed your bidding. Slowly, he bent down to his brother, slinging an arm around his middle to awkwardly force him to stand. Nikolai tried everything in his power to get both of his feet on the ground. However, he could only hold his weight for a few seconds before his knees threatened to give in. Vasily had to stifle a gag when he felt the wet blood dripping on his skin and staining his clothes. If you hadn’t been so worried about the state of your boyfriend you would have probably found his reaction pretty amusing.

“Are you certain that you want this biological hazard to be brought to your chambers?” he asked, turning up his nose when his brother let out a low grunt. “Wouldn’t it be preferable to bring him to a Healer? You know, like a person that is specifically trained to treat wounds like this?”

“No Healer, please,” Nikolai panted, tightening his hold on Vasily’s shoulder.

Both of you knew that he wasn’t too fond of Healers. It was not like he disliked or opposed them, but after seeing what people like them were used for in the Second Army. He had seen what they could fix, but he had also seen what they could destroy.

“It’s fine. I’ll take care of it. As much as I have seen, it’s nothing life-threatening. And even if it were, we all know that I have some experience in treating life-threatening injuries by now.” You flashed Vasily a cocky grin, reminding him of the threat on his life you made should he ever even do so much as think about telling anyone about what he saw in that medical tent.

“If you insist,” he mumbled, taking steady steps towards your room.

Once you finally reached the safety of your chambers, you ordered him to set him down in one of the armchairs next to your vanity - bloodstains be damned. Nikolai groaned as soon as his brother let go of him, his back hitting the braided wicker quite harshly.

“Uhm, I’ll go and…clean myself up now. Especially before mother sees this,” Vasily declared, his gaze staying on his little brother for a bit longer before he turned to leave. “You know where to find me in case you need any help hiding the body. Or whatever issue you might need help with.”

“Thank you, Vasily.” No matter how often this man had infuriated and annoyed you before, you couldn’t help but appreciate his unexpected acts of kindness when you needed them most. Even with his unnecessary commentary. “I think I can handle him for the night. But thank you nonetheless.”

With an acknowledging nod, he exited the room, leaving you alone to deal with a bleeding Nikolai.

“First things first, I’ll need to get you cleaned up, sweetheart,” you explained, hurrying towards the bathroom to grab a wet rag and all the other medical supplies you were sure to need.

Since you couldn’t have been sure whether the bloodstains on his shirt were from the fresh wound on his arm or the stab wound on his chest, you decided that his shirt had to go - it was ruined anyway, so what was the harm?

“Darling, shouldn’t we get married before consummating said marriage?” your fiancé joked, looking down at you as you unbuttoned his shirt.

“Kolya, this is not the time,” you rebutted light-heartedly, pulling the ruined shirt off his shoulders and allowing him to do the rest.

With rather unsteady hands, you tried to clean all of the remaining blood off his torso and arms, seeing that the wound on his hand wasn’t too drastic after all. He didn’t fuss when you tossed the dirty rag, replacing the warm feeling of the wet fabric with the cool sting of the numbing cream. The relief on his face was evident in an instant.

As you put a bandage around his arm and hand, you felt his gaze fixating on you, not leaving your form, not even when you left his side to clean out the piece of cloth and stash away your medical supplies. You couldn’t help but think about his nickname ‘sobachka’. He hated that nickname, but in moments like these, it rang more true than ever. He really was a lost little puppy sometimes.

“Are you alright, Nikolai?” you asked softly, stealing a brief glance at the bandage wrapped around his torso, which he detested with a burning passion.

“I am now. Thank you, my love,” he sighed, letting his gaze waiver towards the clunky bandage on his arm.

“Do you mind telling me what caused you to drag yourself outside of your room with a bleeding wound? How did you even manage that?”

“I was thirsty,” he began, the façade of the confident prince slipping, revealing a meek little boy that had to talk about something he really didn’t want to. “I couldn’t hold onto the glass and it shattered on the floor. And since I didn’t want to have someone else remove it, I tried cleaning it up. Well, let’s just say it didn’t turn out how it was supposed to.”

“And why didn’t you call for me, honey?” you sighed, retrieving one of his spare shirts from your dresser, not wanting him to get even sicker from the cool evening breeze that filtered in through your open windows.

“I didn’t want anyone else to see me like…this.”

“So you opted for stumbling through half of the Grand Palace looking like you had just murdered someone instead?”

“When you put it like that it sounds a lot less logical than I had imagined it.” Now you could see how he and Vasily were related.

“You were really lucky that your brother’s drinking habit forces him to be out this late. I don’t even want to imagine how long you would have stayed outside if he hadn’t found you.”

“We should probably call him again to help with getting me back to my chambers,” he fretted, dreading having to rely on Vasily’s help again.

“Absolutely not. You’re staying here for the night. I’m not letting you out of my eyesight tonight. Not after this stunt,” you declared, grinning at the befuddled expression on his face.

“We’re sleeping in the same bed? Before we’re actually married? Scandalous.”

“Choose your words wisely, or else I might let you sleep on the floor.”

“You would let a poor injured man sleep on the cold, hard floor? That’s pretty heartless.”

“Maybe I should genuinely reconsider marrying you if that’s how you see me. I heard Vasily is still looking for a wife,” you sneered, throwing him the shirt and watching while he put it on.

“Tough luck. You’d have to compete with his love for whiskey and horses first, and I have a sneaking suspicion of which one of you would win that scrabble.” You let out a faint laugh at that, shaking your head as you moved closer to him.

“Alright, enough slander for the day. Let’s get your stubborn ass to bed.” You offered him your arm, supporting him steadily before you cautiously manoeuvred him towards your bed. He was very unsteady on his feet, heavily relying on you to keep him standing, but you were glad that his knees didn’t threaten to buckle this time.

Slowly, you let him sit on the bed, lifting the duvet for him to crawl under. You were very careful when you slid in next to him. Even though you didn’t want to treat him like he might turn to dust as soon as someone touched him, you still had to be cautious to not accidentally hurt him.

A part of your worry subsided when he opened his arms, beckoning you to come closer to him. He may be a bit weaker than what he was used to, but his neediness was still on the same level as it was before. So with a hint of hesitance, you scooted closer to him, allowing him to wrap his arms around you.

His arms were still wrapped around your waist when you woke up the next morning. The sun that filtered through the window bathed both of you in a warm golden light that made wanting to get up even more difficult than you had expected. You couldn’t even begin to describe how much the thought of waking up like this for the rest of your life excited you.

You placed a gentle kiss on the sharp line of his jaw, tracing your arm along his arms before slipping out of his grasp. You had expected him to wake up after feeling you kiss him, however, he remained laying in bed like a wet sack of flour. For a moment you panicked, fearing that something might have been wrong with him. But when you intended to reach for his wrist in an attempt to check his pulse, a sonorant snore left his mouth. Perhaps he really just needed a long good night’s sleep.

He only showed any sort of life when you re-entered the bedroom after you had changed. His snores had seized completely now, replaced with his soft breathy chuckle as he watched you parade around your room.

“Good morning, sleeping beauty,” you laughed, seeing him sit up slowly. You were glad to see that he looked a whole lot better than yesterday. “You slept well, I assume?”

“How could I not? I slept next to you, after all.” His hazel eyes glistened in the light, resembling two pieces of true amber. “I can’t recall the last time I had a dream this pleasant.”

“What did you dream of?”

“I dreamt of a life with you in it.” His honesty made you freeze for a second. He was quite the piece of work. One second he had you fearing for his life, and the next he made your heart skip a beat because of how utterly besotted with you he was.

“I’m already in your life, Kolya. And I’m not intending to leave it anytime soon.” You walked over to your bed to press a faint kiss to his cheek. As a reminder that you would always be here.

“If I get bet-”

“When. When you get better,” you corrected, reaching for his hand to squeeze it reassuringly.

“When I get better, we should look into moving the wedding forward. I don’t think I can wait any longer.”

“So eager to marry me now, aren’t we?” you laughed, letting out a high-pitched squeak when he pulled you towards him. “Nikolai, be careful!”

“Oh, love, I’ve been eager to marry you ever since the day I proposed to you.” He peppered your cheeks with kisses, forcing you to giggle like a young schoolgirl. Every single etiquette lesson you ever had the joy of attending flew right out of the window while your fiancé continued to make you laugh and wiggle erratically.

“I suppose I’ll have to agree to that.”

This was the life you wanted to have.

Nikolai had opted to stay in your chambers for a few days longer. This way, you would be able to get to him quicker, he reasoned. And obviously, you weren’t one to deny him. Staying with you seemingly helped him in his recovery, and it helped you in calming your nerves.

You could the colour return to his cheeks again, the longer he rested and let himself be taken care of. He was still weaker than he had anticipated, but he could do most of the minor self-care tasks himself. He could hold a glass, eat, and even managed to get himself to the bathroom without any sort of support. Even though that felt like a minuscule step to him, you were more than proud of him.

One week after he started sleeping in your room, he made you feel even prouder.

It had been such a long and tiring day of working through the piles of documents and correspondence that you could quite literally feel your body gravitating towards the floor. A quick glimpse at the clock told you that Nikolai was probably already waiting for you to come back. It wasn’t like he hadn’t seen you at all today - you had been with him for breakfast, lunch and dinner - but he still managed to pump up his theatrics and act like you had abandoned him for years. His penchant for overdramatisation didn’t help you with stowing away all your paperwork.

You pulled yourself to your feet, arranging and sorting all the different stacks you had created, before you put them in their respective cabinets surrounding your table. You had been so focused on your work that you didn’t hear the door behind you clicking shut, and someone approaching you very slowly.

A pair of firm arms wrapped around your middle from behind, someone’s head now resting on your shoulder. You were close to whacking whoever it was with the not particularly heavy paperweight, but when a gentle kiss was pressed to the column of your throat, you rethought that intention. Nikolai let out a muffled hum, his body flush with yours as you sunk into his touch. You didn’t begin to process the semantics of his presence until you noticed him sway backwards ever so slightly.

“Wait, Nikolai?” You wiggled yourself out of his grasp, your hands still resting on his in case he needed to steady himself. When you turned, you saw the smug-looking prince glance at you like he had just been caught red-handed in doing something he shouldn’t.

“Were you expecting someone else?” he asked, sounding almost offended.

“How did you get here?” You waved off his question, letting your eyes wander towards the door in an attempt to check for someone who could have helped him get here. The walk from your bedroom to the waiting room wasn’t long, but it was definitely longer than the walk to your bedroom.

“How do you expect me to get here?” He smiled at you, waiting for you to finally understand what this statement implied.

You raised a quizzical brow, not really following what he was trying to tell you.

“Since my horse didn’t fit through your door frame I had to take it upon myself to walk over to you,” he explained, watching the realisation spread over your face.

“You walked over here by yourself?” you beamed, unable to contain your excitement. “Kolya, that’s so good! I’m so proud of you. I knew you’d get better soon. Are you okay? Does anything hurt? Do y-”

He silenced you by pressing his lips onto yours, abruptly ending your ramblings with a smile on his face.

“I’m fine. A bit sore, but fine.” He kissed your forehead once more. “It’s late. I was wondering why you didn’t come to bed. Apparently, my terribly worrisome heart and undying love for you was enough of a reason for my body to eventually listen to me again.”

“Admit it, your main objective is to push our wedding date forward,” you laughed, looking up at him to see him smile sheepishly.

“I see, you have revealed one of my most well-guarded secrets,” Nikolai bemoaned with a fake scowl.

“If that is one of your most well-guarded secrets, I can’t even begin to imagine what the other end of that spectrum loo-" He kissed you again, uncaring of whatever sarcastic comment you might have to offer.

"Y/N!" The door to your office was slammed open. "Nikolai is not in his or your b-" Vasily stopped dead in his tracks, seeing his brother and fiancée look at him amusedly after you had just visibly been making out.

Both of you watched as a shade of deep red shot into his face as he noted the mistake he made by not knocking.

"Forgive me, I'll leave you to it."

Taglist:

Grishaverse fics in general: @yesshewrites1 @dal-light

Nikolai Lantsov: @ell0ra-br3kk3r @kaye-here @maximoffgxrl @lastwandastan

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reading-writing-737 · 1 year

Text

Amazing

𝐚 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐬 | 𝐣𝐚𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫

one | two

Finding out you're a princess isn't half as intimidating as suddenly acquiring a full-time bodyguard. Especially when that bodyguard is disarmingly handsome, charming, and can't seem to stop flirting with you.

bodyguard!james, fem!reader, shy!reader, princess diaries au (sort of), all characters in their 20s or older, star-crossed lovers/ forbidden romance james isn't flirty this chapter i lied but he will be <3

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

You're in the process of ruining your pyjama bottoms with willow charcoal when your father dies.

The charcoal is fragile, unhoused, and it snaps with too much pressure. An uneven half falls between the sheets of your sketchbook, marring the artwork it rolls over indiscriminately.

You sigh without thinking and rub your tired eyes, spreading a line of smudgy black under your brow. Squinting, you peek at the portrait you'd been drawing. A young woman with deep, dark skin, her cheek shaded by the leaves of a sycamore tree. The branches arc over her skin in shadowed lines, sunlight dappling illustrated by sparse triangles of the white paper underneath.

It had been an okay sketch. The snapped charcoal distracts from what you'd originally set out to do — a dynamic, revealing portrait — and instead replaces it with a more abstract feel.

You sigh again, this time with a melodrama you'd only ever feel comfortable displaying alone. Thankfully, that's the case more often than not. You live by yourself, no partner, no pets, nobody around to see you drop your sketchbook onto the floor beside your bed, kick out your feet toward the rug, and moan. Your socks slide against the hardwood. You kick them like a child as you slip down the side of the bed, shirt caught behind you, soft middle exposed.

You swear to yourself quietly, pressing the backs of your hands to your eyes.

A sharp trilling sound chimes. On the nightstand, your phone vibrates hard, and the water in the glass next to it crests against the sides like tiny shockwaves.

You pull it into your lap and stare at the number. It goes to voicemail, and then it rings again. Again, again, and again.

You consider turning your phone off. Five phone calls and counting indicates an emergency, but every cell begs to avoid whatever it is on the other side.

You can't avoid everything, no matter how much you want to. You answer the phone.

"Hello," you greet.

The muffled echo of a cheerful voice responds.

"Yeah, that's me… Okay. Yeah, now is fine."

More chattering. Less cheerful, diplomatic.

"My father?" you ask.

You are told two impossible truths.

"Oh," you say. The walls spin. "Right."

—

"I hate flying," Sirius mutters.

James hums, noncommittal.

"You know, my good looks are wasted if we end up lost in the middle of the Atlantic ocean."

"It's not the middle of the Atlantic ocean," Remus says, sounding about as interested in Sirius' whining as James is currently. "It's an arm."

"It's the fucking English channel," James says. It's barely the ocean. "How much do you reckon a pair of in flight headphones will cost?"

Sirius, despite his anxiety, has the bandwidth to appreciate James' bad mood. "What crawled up your arse?"

James sinks down into his seat, knees immediately pressed into the hard plastic of the chair in front, back aching and head heavy from a lack of rest he won't make up anytime soon.

"He's agitated," Remus says.

"Helpful, Moony. Super helpful."

"Fuck yourself, then," Remus says, pulling his sleep mask over his eyes and plugging in his earbuds.

The tannoy dings. The seatbelt light flashes.

A flight attendant raises his voice from the start of the aisle. "If everybody could take their seats and buckle in, we'll be taking off in less than two minutes. Please turn all electronics to aeroplane mode. Thanks so much."

"Is your phone off?" Sirius asks.

"No, I actually want us to drown in the channel, but thanks for asking."

A dark shock of curls lands against his shoulder. Sirius drapes himself unabashedly across James lap, hand on his friend's thigh, ankle crossing over ankle. Genovian through and through, Sirius doles out affection wantonly, smelling ridiculously nice as he does: a heady smell like browned sugar and citrus blossoms coalescing tickles the inside of James' nose.

"Are you still cranky that you got demoted?" Sirius asks, smooth tones pitched into bubbly baby talk.

"I didn't get demoted," James argues.

James had, in fact, been demoted.

"No, of course not. You've fallen from third guard to the Royal Prince of Genovia, may he rest in peace, to glorified babysitter of said Prince's illegitimate, forgotten child. Sounds the same to me."

"Then we agree," James says, wanting to close his eyes.

He'd pretend to sleep if he thought Sirius would believe it. Growing up together erases any semblance of privacy. Sirius knows James as James knows Sirius, and as they know Remus. Remus likely knows them all better than he'd ever admit, the youngest of the trio and the smartest, most perceptive man James has ever met.

Sirius isn't perceptive, he's vigilant. He can read even the smallest signs of unrest, and it makes him uneasy. There will likely always be a shadow cast over him from a rough childhood, and while James is in a god awful mood, he reaches out to alleviate Sirius' anxiety.

"I'm fine," James assures him, "just tired." Not mad at you goes unsaid.

"It won't be as bad as you're thinking."

"I'm fine. I'm not worried. Didn't sleep last night, and," —he grins as Sirius clasps his arm, their seats shaking underneath them, the plane beginning its race across tarmac— "some scrawny git is squeezing fuck out of my arm."

Sirius flinches away from him. "You're annoying."

James presses his shoe up to the side of Sirius' and leans back in his chair, wincing at the rattling carriage as they take off, and again when he remembers where they're going. You wait in London, though nobody in the task force assigned to your assimilation or the advisement team could come to explain how you'd ended up there. Your Genovian citizenship is unacknowledged on your passport, your birth certificate, even, and as far as Lily had been able to suss, you have little understanding of who you are.

"She sounded tired, mostly," Lily had said when pressed for details about the new princess' personality. "In shock. Slightly disbelieving, but could you believe it?"

Lily, James'... friend, and work colleague at a stretch, is an ambassador for the UK and full-time genovian resident. Along with a handful of other representatives and officials, she’d been responsible for opening the talks between Genovia and yourself. That is to say, she'd broken the news.

Surprise! Your dad just died! Double surprise, you're a princess. And, no pressure or anything, but we kind of need you to come back to Genovia to maintain the royal lineage before your grandmother abdicates the throne (unwillingly).

"Did you mention the tiara?" he'd asked Lily. The Princess' diadem, a master craftsmanship of silver-gold with a diamond the size of an apple.

"Weirdly, Potter, I didn’t mention the jewellery."

He supposes there hadn't been time to weasel that tidbit in between condolences and recruitment.

You haven't promised anything in ways of returning to Genova or taking up the mantle. James understands. If he were in your shoes, he likely would've laughed down the line and blocked the number. You’d shown incredible promise as a future leader, agreeing to meet with Lily and her team at the Genovian embassy. Then, a day later, they'd modified the plan and asked if you'd be okay meeting somewhere more private.

You'd said yes.

As someone who may be very involved in your bodily safety in the near future, James thinks you're an idiot. Somebody calls you, claiming that you're a princess, though nobody has ever bothered telling you this before because you were never heir apparent, and that they'll tell you more should you deign to meet with them in a place with meagre surveillance, and you say yes to this?

How you've survived as long as you have is a mystery.

He hopes you won't make his job difficult. Isn't that what everyone hopes? He feels guilty for judging you without meeting you, promising in his head to be nicer to you in actuality. You're probably grieving and definitely confused. He shouldn't be worrying about his job.

Redetermined, James lets the anxiety of his new assignment water down.

Sirius is thinking along the same lines: how easy will you make his particular occupation. "Bets are on. Scruffy or sweet?"

"Huh?" James asks, pretending he doesn't understand in hopes of rectifying Sirius' attitude.

"Slovenly or love-nly?"

"I'm sure she's fine."

"You should hope so, you'll be looking at the back of her head for a while."

James rolls his eyes.

"I'll manage, pretty or not."

His confidence draws Sirius' curiosity. "How're you so sure?" Sirius asks, chin-lifted, light eyes narrowed in bemusement. His expression dances with the surety of somebody well-raised. He could wear a potato sack and his regal air would endeavour, deep-seeded and neat like the trim stitching of his expensive clothes.

"Look at my face right now. Do I seem affected?"

Sirius laughs much too loudly at the implication. "Don't act like I'm not handsome, Prongs."

"Years of practice." James schools his features into an unaffected mask. "Uggos have no effect on me."

"How else would you look in the mirror?" Sirius drawls.

When Remus wakes afterward, he finds they haven't quite killed each other, though James has threatened it twice. With one hand, Black.

"Far are we?" he asks.

Sleep has made little difference to him. He’s the kind of fatigued that can't be improved with an afternoon nap, and the kind of unwell that can't be fixed. Medicated, diminished, but never fully healed. He rolls his neck and makes three separate, unfortunate sounds, stretching his tight hands out flat over his thighs.

"Landing any minute now is my guess," Sirius answers. "How are you feeling?"

He waves his hand around, tired eyes locking onto James' lasting frown. "Sorry for leaving you alone with him."

Sirius gasps his indignation. The three of them all smile in tandem, James in a rush to add to the joke.

"You should be, fucker, I don't care how sick you are. You're sick in the mind if you think it's acceptable to-"

"You're sick for acting like I'm some misbehaved child you've been pandering to. You're bullies, and as soon as we're in the airport I'm ditching you both in favour of a Great British Burger King."

"One," James says, still smiling widely, "I have your per diem, so unless you brought your wallet, you're sunk." Sirius frowns. "Two, I'd love it if you would repeat that little moniker you gave me a minute before he woke up. Seriously. Shed some light on the real bully."

Sirius pulls his sunglasses from his jacket pocket and places them over the bridge of his nose delicately. "Unnecessary."

"I wouldn't mind Burger King," Remus says.

"We have to be quick," James says.

Sirius is so incensed he actually spits a bit as he scathes, "You fuckers. I want food and it's lorded over my head, but Moons wants something and your only limitation is how fast he can eat it?"

He's not truly as angry as he appears. He's joking, and he's fallen into a familiarity that can only come with years of ragging on one another relentlessly. Still Remus pats his tight shoulder and smiles.

"I'm a slow chewer."

"He's a slow chewer, Sirius. Have some compassion."

“How fast could he chew missing a few teeth, I wonder?” Sirius asks.

James gasps, delighted at his friend's casual threat. Remus does a better job at hiding his amusement, tamping back a smile as he reaches over the armrest between their seats and slapping a hand into Sirius’ seatbelt. The mechanism unlatches, the ‘Fasten Your Seatbelts’ sign flashes, and a shaming beeping sound rings overhead.

Sirius squeaks.

—

What do you wear to meet a British ambassador? A Genovian ambassador? Any sort of diplomat? You aren't too sure what an ambassador even is, only that every word Lily Evans has said to you sounds shockingly official.

"Your citizenship has been reinstated whether you choose to move forward or not. We want to stress that you have choices," Lily says. Call me Lily, please. "You don't have to do anything you don't want to."

"We also want to stress," says Emmeline, the Genovian ambassador, "that your presence in Genovia is greatly desired. For the funeral."

"The funeral," you say softly.

"It will be a… very, very big event. We don't have to talk about all of the logistics now. Or ever, if you're not interested."

Emmeline clears her throat. "The family would appreciate it."

The family. The royal family. The Queen of Genovia, your grandmother, and her… unfortunate younger sister, who's behaviour (according to the Internet) has been less than ideal. Her sisters son, who might take the throne if you refuse it. Or, so you've come to understand.

All this lineage and politics has been hard to navigate by yourself, though rest assured, you've been assigned two personal assistants of a sort. One for appearances of the physical, and one for appearances of the mind.

A stylist and a tutor.

"And a bodyguard," Lily says, "your safety is the most important thing."

You grip the end of your dress in your hands and squeeze the skirts tightly. Safety? You'd rather not embarrass yourself by asking.

"We actually want you to meet them now," Emmeline says.

"Whenever they show up," Lily adds. She sounds embarrassed but unsurprised, like this has happened before.

There's a small silence. You pull your bag into your lap and squeeze it, hoping it hides the curve of your stomach. You aren't sure what you're supposed to wear to occasions like this, and so you'd worn the nicest thing you owned, a pretty, simplistic dress ruched under the chest, and a cardigan overtop.

You catch yourself frowning and quirk your lips up into a practised smile. Gentle, amicable, the kind you'd offer a passing stranger.

"Well," Lily says, filling the awkwardness, "I'm sure they'll come around soon. Maybe we should talk about inheritance."

"Legally, you're entitled to an inheritance. You could think of it like a pension, an allowance you'd be given from the age of eighteen. You've already passed that, and so you'll be given the years upto, and then the rest in annual increments," Emmeline says. "There's a team of people who can and will explain it better at a later date, or whenever you want to discuss it, once you've agreed to a paternity test."

"A paternity test?" you ask.

You feel rather useless. All you've done is ask for explanations since you sat down, your head a spinning mill. Information goes around and around with no time to sink in.

Emmeline opens her mouth to continue and is interrupted by three sharp knocks.

"Come in," Lily calls. She turns her gaze to you, orange hair moving over her shoulder in a silken sheet, and raises her eyebrows.

You don't know what it means.

First to enter the room is a modestly dressed man with straight, sandy hair. It's long enough to peek out from under his ears, where it curls. He steps into the light, illuminating a shock of shiny scars clawed over the bridge of his nose and teasing up into one thick eyebrow.

"Sorry," he says, not quietly but certainly not loudly. "We had trouble finding the room."

Behind him immediately stands a man with dark hair to his shoulders, white but tanned. He wears slacks, in which a shirt has been tucked on one side and not the other, a purposeful dishevelment.

"And the building," adds the second.

Last to enter is the biggest of the three. You'd hazard a guess that he's six foot or taller, not the tallest of his companions but the most imposing, with a monotone outfit of pristine blacks that he fills too well, his shirt clinging to the muscle underneath it. His skin is a warm brown that soaks up the big light overhead and shines golden, his hair black and thick, laying in mussed ringlets stroked back from his face.

He is the most handsome person you've ever seen in real life. It startles you. Worse, when he meets your eyes.

You smile carefully. He smiles back.

Lily stands to gesture toward each man in turn. The first, "Remus Lupin," she says, "your tutor on all things Genovia." The second, "Sirius Black, stylist and your guide on media presence."

The third.

"James Potter," Lily says, not looking at him. "Bodyguard. James will be with you for the foreseeable future, even if you decide on– Well. You should get to know one another, at any rate." You must wear your worries on your face, as she continues, "You're in safe hands. James was third in command in the protection of His Highness."

"Hello," you say.

Sirius' eyes widen in tandem with his smile. "Hello."

"It's nice to meet you. We're sorry for your loss," Remus says.

"No," you say, head tilted toward your shoulder as you frown at James sympathetically, "I should be sorry, you actually knew him. I can't imagine how this feels for you."

"Thank you. But don't be," James says. "You have nothing to be sorry for, Princess."

You look to Emmeline, almost like you're waiting for her to correct him.

She smiles at you hopefully. "Shall we talk arrangements for your departure?"

—

James is trying not to look at you too much, though if he is he can write it off as purely protective. You're sitting in your seat like you're worried about touching a seat mate who doesn't exist, arms wrapped around your middle and face pointed to the floor.

"I'll rent a car," he says.

You curl into yourself a little more. "What for?"

"It's much safer."

"I don't want you to– I mean, you aren't a chauffer."

"I'm not." He bends at the knees to speak directly to you. "There are seven other people on this bus. One is elderly. Three are younger than sixteen. All seven could potentially harm you."

You look to the left without turning your head, toward the sound of young laughter. He'd bet money on your thoughts. Even the children?

"The driver could have an aneurysm. He could be paid off. He could be carrying a concealed weapon." James smiles at you placatingly. "Understand? If I drive, the potential danger goes down to one."

"Me?"

"No. Me." He tries very hard not to wink and look like a dickhead. "But I'm not going to hurt you. Not really my perogative."

"Oh, good."

James recall what Lily had said, rightfully. You and James will be in each other's company for the foreseeable future, and while he has a job to do, there's room for friendliness. Sort of.

He splits his attention between you and the front of the bus, where a small family carts a pushchair.

"What do you do?" he asks.

He knows you attend classes for a degree equivalent at your local college. He knows you're a waitress. He knows you moved to central London when you were very young, and that your estranged mother had been the cause of all this confusion. He asks you because he wants to know how you'll frame it. In your own eyes, what is your life?

"I'm a waitress."

He nods. "Local?"

"Mm. At a pub called The Morgan."

"You have a shift today?"

"Not today. I took the day off." You stand up and click the STOP call button on the rail James is holding. Your arm brushes against his. "It's this stop."

James trails behind you, off of the bus and straight into a busy street.

"How far is it to your house?" he asks, loud to be heard over the hubbub and the roadworks.

"Not long. Are you okay to walk?"

James finds himself oddly charmed by your question. "I'm just fine."

You squeeze through the crowded pavements lining the street, folded in, keeping your arms close, and you apologise every time you touch someone, even if it's the other person's fault. James keeps close to your back, moving to your side when he worries you might sprain your neck trying to check that you're following. He had some height on you, which is a good thing for security purposes — he can see uninterrupted over the top of your head when he stands this close.

The day is cool, the last dregs of an end of summer heat lingering in the air and encouraged by so many bodies in one place. James wonders if you're too warm, dressed as you are in tights, but the thought fades when you trip.

James grabs the top of your arm, fingers sliding between your arm and your chest. Closer than he wants to be, crueller than he means to be as he keeps you steady.

To his surprise, you laugh. A really nice sound, sudden but sweet.

"Sorry, Princess," he says.

"You saved me," you say, a hint of breathlessness in your tone. "Thank you. My flat's in the next building over."

"Brilliant." His bag is fucking heavy, a weight between his shoulders that aches when he lifts his hand to shield his eyes from the sun as it sets. You've got a long, long night ahead of doing nothing. "What's your address?"

You tell it to him. "Why?"

"For the rest of your security detail."

He slows as you come to the main door of your building. It's quieter here, the loudest sounds a symphony of barking dogs, car engines revving, and the jangle of your keys as you unlock the door and bump it with your hip.

"More people?" you ask. "Is that really necessary?"

"You always do that?"

"It gets stuck," you explain.

He hums. "It's necessary. The media's been paid handsomely to keep our operation to themselves for now, but there's always pressure to be the first to break a story."

"And I'm the story?" you ask, nodding toward the stairs in the centre of the room.

He steps over a bundle of scattered letters. The building is mostly clean, but mail bulges from cubbies, and an old mattress has been left propped against a wall.

"You're the story," he says, head up to analyse the atrium. There's a skylight spotted with green moss above.

You take the stairs up to the first floor, where your flat is the first he comes across. That increases your risk of a break in, rapists or robbers. He asks you to wait at the door while he clears each room, knowing it's an unecessary precaution but taking it anyway. It's not worth saving the half a minute it costs on the off-chance you've been infiltrated.

He snorts at his own train of thought and returns to you, where you're sliding a special locking mechanism between the door latch and the frame. You shake the lock.

"Did you get that recently?"

You look up at him and smile. "Since I moved in. I'm first on the floor. Don't want to get murdered in my sleep."

"Good girl," he says absentmindedly, crossing the room to secure your window.

He moves into your room again and secures the larger window over your bed. Then, because he's awful and curious, he catalogues your things.

"You're an artist," he says, head listed toward the doorway.

You stop by the dresser, hastily stuffing clothes left aside back into the top drawer. "Not– not really."

The room is a crammed collection of things. It's clear you've attempted to keep it clean. You were doomed to fail, an outpouring of your heart stuffed into a matchbox; books, sketchbooks, notebooks are stacked against the leftmost wall between your bed and your dresser, while paints and pencils take up two thirds of your desk. A small sketchbook rests closed in the mess of your unmade bed, dark bed sheets disrupted by a pair of white pyjamas discarded at the end. Soot or something similar stains the fabric.

He averts his gaze from your dirty hamper and faces you.

"At 8PM, one of my team will swap duty with me. His name is Frank, and I've worked with him before, but if you aren't comfortable with anything he does while I'm not working, you can tell me. If I do something that makes you uncomfortable, you can tell Lily. You can tell me, of course," he amends. "I can take the couch."

"You sleep at eight?"

"I sleep at nine."

"You don't mind sleeping on the couch?"

"Not at all."

You walk to your dresser and pull open the bottom drawer. Inside is a layer of linens, and you pull them out neatly.

"You don't have to, uh, put on a show for me," you say with a wince.

"Sorry?"

"I'm not a princess. I'm not the princess."

"You don't think so?"

You look sweet, kneeling on the floor, hair in pretty disarray from the walk home. You move it out of your face and offer a folded square to him with both hands.

"It's a misunderstanding. But…" You take a pillowcase into your hand and stand up, closing the drawer with your ankle. "Even if I were, I don't think you need to be so formal, you know?"

You move past him, a wave of nice smells.

"It's my job."

Again, you surprise him by laughing, climbing on top of your unmade sheets to grab one of your pillows. "Right," you say, stripping it of its pillowcase and shaking it into a new one. The tip of your tongue makes a brief appearance as you plump up the corners.

You climb off of the bed. "Here," you say, taking the sheet he's holding to press the pillow into his hands.

"Oh," he says, looking down at the pillowcase. It's covered in small pink flowers. "I don't need this."

"My settee isn't comfortable."

"Half of my job is being able to sleep anywhere."

You smile at him. His words don't discourage you, and he stands in the doorway between your bedroom and your living room as you lay down an old quilt over the settee and tuck a sheet around it and under the sofa cushions.

"I know it's strange, but you could take my bed, if you wanted to. You're so tall, I don't think-"

James cuts you off, not unkindly. "Thank you, but I couldn't." He lets the side of his chest rest against the doorway, arms crossed. Your back is straight, tense with anxiety. "I have something for you."

You blink at him. "For me?"

He grins, his first proper smile all day, and pulls his bag onto the freshly made settee to unzip the front compartment. He pulls out a small jewellery box, pulling the lid off to hold between his arm and chest.

The tennis bracelet inside is thin but strong, made up of gold-silver links with sapphire-coloured gemstone. He assumes them to be real sapphire or something similar, like blue-hued ruby.

"This is a panic button."

You seem more anxious than when he'd pulled out the box.

"Don't worry about losing it. I'm sure the Genovian coffers will recover."

"It's not that. Do you think it will fit?" you ask.

He hadn't thought about it. Luckily, Mary had.

"There are spare links hidden under the velvet."

James puts the box on your coffee table and clicks the links into place, handling the bracelet with less care than he ought to. Firmly snapped into place, he offers the lengthened bracelet to you unlatched.

"Here," he says, pointing toward one link in particular. "If you squeeze this tightly, the heat sensor will alert me."

"It won't feel the heat of my wrist?"

"It will. It's sophisticated, it'll disregard anything that isn't a sudden spike. That's your panic button. You squeeze that–" He pinches it in demonstration. The small radio clipped discreetly to his shoulder starts to beep, a circling alarm. He removes his fingers from the bracelet and it stops. "Okay?"

"I haven't even passed the paternity test yet."

"My being here indicates that you're of special interest. We don't know if you're the Princess for certain, and neither do the newspapers. You're still in danger either way."

You press your lips together and hold out your wrist.

James steps close to you, enough to see details and lines he's missed. The longer he stays in your company, the more endeared he is to your shy smile, and your kindness, and he thinks you're the type of person who's outsides reflect the insides. You smile.

Either side of your wrist glows with heat as he drapes the bracelet over your skin and clicks it closed, wary of pinching you.

The room is quiet. The clock over your small kitchen table ticks.

"There," James murmurs, taking back his hands.

"Thank you."

He disregards it completely. "No worries."

His informality gets you, and you smile, your own first and proper smile since you'd been introduced.

By the time Frank arrives for turnover, James is confident that his assignment to your protection won't be nearly as awful as he'd thought. You'd insisted on making him something to eat, which he'd been sincerely grateful for, as a man can't run on Burger King alone, and then you'd practically showered him in an awkward but entirely genuine hospitality, offering your bathroom and all its contents, every blanket you owned, the TV remote, and a tin of biscuits.

He introduces you to Frank, and for an hour you make yourself busy in the kitchen, cleaning dishes you'd refused his help with and wiping down the counters.

He senses your unease at being outnumbered in your own home. Unfortunately, there isn't much he can do to make you feel better, besides appoint Frank to door duty and try to offer some words of comfort.

James tries not to look as imposing as he feels, clearing his throat to draw your attention as you leave the kitchenette.

"Listen," he says softly, a mirror of you now that you're both changed into lounge clothes and damp-haired from the shower, "I want to reassure you— I'm here to protect you from any and every threat. I know this is unconventional, but I promise to do my best to make this easy for you."

You look down at your trainer socks. "Sorry."

"Can you do me a favour?"

"Yeah, of course," you say, raising your chin.

"No more apologies. This is hard, and I know that, you don't have to say sorry for anything. I'll promise you whatever you need me to if that will make you feel more comfortable."

Princess or no princess, you're confused, and you're unhappy in your own home. James wouldn't want that for anybody.

"Do you think someone's going to kill me?" you ask.

James softens. "No. Nobody is going to kill you." His smile melds slowly to mischief, dark lashes kissing in the corners of his eyes as he squints. "I'm a brilliant bodyguard, okay? Don't doubt my skills. And Frank's alright."

You laugh under your breath, relieved. "I'm not doubting your skills."

"Good. I'm not just a pretty face, Princess."

You sober at the title. The flicker of camaraderie between you fizzles, and you shake it off.

"Can I get you anything?" you ask.

He hopes that in a month, or a year, when you're living the high life in Genovia with a hundred serfs and lavish goods beyond your wildest dreams, you'll keep your earnest smile, and your good heart. He's seen exactly what court politics can do to timid young women like you.

"No," he says, matching your volume, "nothing."

"Okay. You can wake me if you need anything."

He absolutely won't. "Thank you... Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

You disappear behind your bedroom door. James lays down over the small sofa, alarm set for a dry-eyed 4:30AM, and listens to your flat as it cools. You close the blinds, sharpen a pencil, and for a period of time, he's lulled by the mild shushing of a pencil over paper.

He falls asleep. He must. A silence settles, thick and uninterrupted as poured molasses.

A splintering crash pulls him back to consciousness, and every nerve-ending sings as a weight falls to the floor. A thump sounds from behind your closed door. James practically leaps over the settee's arm to your door, Frank hot on his heels.

He throws open the door, braced for impact.

You aren't anywhere to be seen.

˗ˋˏ ♡ ˎˊ˗

thanks for reading!! i hope you enjoyed this first part, and if you did and you have the time please consider reblogging, it makes a difference! plus i'd love to know what u think or what you'd love to see in future<3

the fics title is adapted from a line in piedra del sol by octavio paz

4K notes · View notes

reading-writing-737 · 2 years

Note

This was so beautifully written. I loved it so much.

Hi! I absolutely love your works✨✨ and I would like to ask you for an OS angst 😢 where Charles and reader end the relationship because of hate and comments on social media. I don't know whether to end with a happy or sad ending, that's your choice 🥰.

Hate and Love

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x reader

Warnings: the chaos that was japan, slight implication about Charles thinking of Jules’ accident, panic attack, talk of weight and body image, needs more proofreading.

a/n: i don’t think i’m that good with the whole hate trope as i struggle to write it without feeling like it’s turning out cringey, what explains how long this took me to write and i’m still not satisfied with it. But it’s yours to judge now ig…

When you've been swinging a hammer repeatedly over a frail sheet of glass, it's it going to shatter it. There is no way around that fact.

When you keep throwing insults at a human being, you're going to break them.

Whether these things are your intentions or not doesn't change the outcome.

Rarely do we ever see any exceptions for clear and particular reasons. Everything has a reaction or consequence that is to some degree, inescapable.

The crack in the glass made itself loud and clear on the weekend of the Japanese Grand Prix.

Excited about having some time off that would allow you to support Charles on the double header of Singapore and Japan and getting to see such beautiful and unique places, you had decided to accompany him on his two week trip, not wanting to waste any opportunity to spend highly valuable time with him.

The Singapore Grand Prix went okay and by the end of the weekend, the bags were packed and you headed to the airport with Charles.

On the lengthy flight, Charles fell asleep with his head resting on your shoulder, and it honestly didn't matter how long the two of you had been dating, long enough that you had a sparkling ring sitting on your finger, the sight of that and the feel of his soft brown hair tickling your neck and cheek quickly caused your heart to race. If anything, that was just another proof of how much this man meant to you, how much you devotedly loved him.

Wanting to secure the memory in your head and into existence, you fished your phone out of your bag without moving much so you wouldn't disturb him, and you quickly snapped a selfie that showed half your face, mainly focusing at the much cherished sight of your asleep fiance.

The picture was adorable. Charles looked so cozy and at peace.

You were smiling at your phone screen, debating whether or not you should share such a harmless picture with the world.

There lies the conflict.

If any of your social media accounts had been somewhat "normal", you would've posted it without any second thoughts like you'd done with previous boyfriends you had. Sharing occasional pictures of your relationship for your friends and family to see was something that should've felt natural, and it did feel like that in the past.

Then, Charles came along.

He was somewhat of a celebrity.

You knew that since the very first time you hung out with him. If anything, that was the only thing about him that made you reluctant about getting into a relationship with him. People's huge interest in him would inevitably transfer to his partner.

As you had expected, dating Charles reformed your understanding of social media. It was no longer a source of entertainment but a business place, a space for profit and advertising and never in your life have you wanted that to be the way you used social platforms.

Suddenly, everyone was so interested in your everyday life to the point where there was accounts literally dedicated to finding out where you bought each outfit from and while it was funny for a while, you were quick to realize that the whole influencer lifestyle was in no way your cup of tea.

It didn't help that anytime you shared anything that had merely any connection to Charles, your DMs flooded with message requests and your notifications got crowded with replies and comments. One night, out of sheer boredom while Charles snored beside you in bed, you went through some messages. From that point on, there was no return route, and it sure didn't help that the engagement shone a brighter light on your relationship and how serious it was, causing the hate to double.

While some of the messages were overwhelmingly sweet, some were also overwhelmingly cruel and inconsiderate.

You promised yourself that you wouldn't let these things affect you nor the beautiful and genuine connection you had with Charles, that you wouldn't even check the messages and comments again in the first place.

But as the saying goes, curiosity killed the cat.

It turned into a repeated pattern, a compulsion you couldn't get rid of.

Therefore, you continued staring at the picture, you thumb hovering over the share button until Charles startled you.

"Tout va bien, bébé?" Everything's okay, baby?

You locked your phone and let it fall onto your lap before assuring him that everything was okay.

"Oui, cheri. Tout est bien." Yes, darling. Everything is okay. You smiled, wrapping one arm around him and allowing your head to rest on his, your eyes closing as you attempted to push out all the negative things and remarks, redirecting your focus onto the man by your side.

That position didn't hit the minute mark since Charles moved so he was sat a bit more upright and pulled you close to him so your head rested on his chest, his arm around your back while he looked down at you through half opened eyes.

"Tu sais bien que tu peux me dire n'importe quoi, n'est ce pas?" You know that you can tell me anything, right? He reassured, sensing that something about the way you were behaving was not quite right.

"Oui, je sais cela. I promise you, there's nothing worth mentioning." Yeah, i know that... You replied and tilted your head up to press a quick kiss onto his cheek.

With that, he let the subject go, ignoring the instinctive feeling in his chest telling him to make sure that everything was alright but he had no concrete proof that anything was going wrong so he forced himself to push the suspicions to the back of him mind.

That was supposed to be the end of that issue. You promised yourself to actually act normally and not allow stupid comments and remarks to taint your relationship with Charles.

It said a lot that you were engaged to Charles. You literally wanted to marry him, you saw your future with him and at this point, you couldn't really imagine a life without him by your side so you found it unreasonable and just plain idiotic to allow strangers who lived cities and countries away to interfere between him and you.

However, as the weekend processed and pictures of you with Charles popped up on the internet, that last thought seemed to be morphing. All you wanted was an escape, a break from the judgmental critics and the suspicious fans overanalyzing every move and post you made. With every passing hour, you were reminded why you rarely ever showed your relationship with Charles publicly and openly.

People knew you existed and they knew that you and Charles were engaged but when they aren't reminded of that, they tend to ease up a little bit on you. Therefore, it goes without saying that the opposite had been happening during those two weeks.

After qualifying, having watched the session from the pit box since Charles asked you to, you posted a quick shot of him as he was being photographed with Max and Carlos. You hadn't thought the post through, just supporting for your fiancé and wanting to share that openly. But as you laid sleepless in bed, the jet lag getting to you after Charles passed out of exhaustion, you realized that was a mistake.

Your DMs were flooded with messages, some positive and some negative but it seemed like you couldn't bring yourself to focus on the love you were getting, not when the opposing words were so cruel, hitting quite close to home.

People were going on and on about how you were like Charles' shadow. To them, it looked like you wouldn't let him breathe, that you followed him everywhere and limited his freedom.

Apparently, you were insecure about the relationship and you were essentially following him across the planet not to support him, but to supervise his actions, as if you would've agreed to marry a man you didn't trust.

Not only were they speculating about the relationship, the comments about your body were downright disturbing under some of the photos captured when you were spotted around the paddock. There were pictures of you eating and the comments under them were disgusting. Even the compliments were worded so crudely that it made your skin crawl as you read through them.

But what hurt the most is people saying you weren't enough, that you weren't worthy of dating someone like Charles, that you were forcing him to commit, that you were using him for fame when in reality, you hated every bit of unnecessary attention you got through dating him.

Everyone was preaching about the way he could do so much better, posting pictures of his exes and comparing your looks to theirs.

Looking through these messages and comments was overwhelming, even suffocating to a certain extent but for some reason, you couldn't put the phone down.

Does she have to always be there?!

Is it just me or is she gaining weight?

I wish Charles would wake up and see why she's really dating him

It's giving... attention seeker

ngl his ex was prettier and they were a cuter couple

The remarks went on and on and you lost yourself in the masses of words that night, forgetting where you were, forgetting that Charles was asleep right beside you, forgetting how much he loves you and how he always went out of his way to remind you of that. Your thoughts were hypnotized by strangers online and you couldn't think of anything else other than what you were reading, not even the words that made you cry when Charles had said them to you the night he went from being your boyfriend to being your fiancé.

You didn't even realize you were crying but the hot tears dropped onto your pajama pants when you sat up in a hurry, gasping for air.

You couldn't breathe properly, your lungs felt like they were collapsing, your hands were freezing and shaking out of control until the words on the screen of your phone and the pictures of Charles hugging you after qualifying turned into a streaky blur of colors that you couldn't even comprehend.

You needed a quick escape, some fresh air but you felt stranded, in a unfamiliar country where you had no idea about where you could go.

Suddenly, you were too aware of the sheets covering your body and even that felt too heavy to be bearable.

With wobbling legs, you pushed off the covers and stumbled onto your feet, even in this state making sure that Charles was still covered.

Nothing felt alright.

You felt like you were loosing it and instead of considering waking Charles up, you thanked god he was in deep slumber.

Tunnel vision took over, making the room darker and smaller than it already was. Your heart felt heavy in your chest. You could hear the rush of blood in your ears. Your body was tingling like if was going numb. Your throat felt dry and tight. Your tears were streaming out of control. You were was having chills all over as you broke out in a cold sweat. The loud noise from the street by the hotel felt so distant but somehow, the sound of Charles breathing was deafeningly loud.

You felt like you were loosing control.

With absolutely no clue of how you made it out of the bedroom, you burst through the balcony door, longing for a fresh breeze, the chilly night air feeling like it was waking up every nerve in your body.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck..." you kept mumbling as you allowed yourself to fall into the floor, hugging your knees to your chest as you finally broke into sobs instead of the panicked, silent cries.

You were never confident growing up, always the calm sister, the shy cousin but really, you were insecure. For years, you worked on yourself until you finally got yourself to participate in social settings, to meet new people. Hell, it took years until you stopped reaching for a pillow to put in your lap every time you sat down, until you could walk in public without crossing your arms in front of you, until you found it in yourself to wear anything you wanted, until you could laugh without covering your mouth.

Therefore, it was undeniable that when you were met with such remarks, every past wound was reopened, and to be fair, the energy it took for you to build yourself into a confident woman was one you didn't have at the moment. You couldn't afford to go down that rabbit hole again. Once in your life was already too much.

You looked out onto the bright city lights, one striking thought now torturing your mind.

Charles.

Charles in your life meant curious eyes and endless criticism. There is no way around that unless he hid you from the world for evermore, and you weren't naïve enough to believe that would be possible, not if you wanted to marry him proudly and have your own little family with him.

That's when your heart broke and the sobs got ten times worse while your opposite hand wrapped around the diamond ring on your finger.

The man asleep a few feet away from you was everything you'd ever wished for.

He was the prince charming that you dreamt of finding back when you were a toddler watching princess movies, beaming over happy endings and escaping on a white horse. Charles was the one who satisfied that little girl's dreams during adult days that felt endless and hopeless and so painfully dull.

Middle school you who described the man she'd marry years down the road in excessive details in her diary would be in disbelief to see Charles exceeding all the impossibly high expectations she set, even after she ditched them when she was forced to face the real world.

He was perfect and you loved him beyond words, more than you ever thought was possible and you were just so ready to have it that way until forever and a day, until you grew old with his hand in yours.

Countless times, you imagined your wedding, the days after it, the look on Charles' face. You imagined having kids with him, watching him become a father and being the amazing dad you knew for sure he would be, holding the children you'd have and teaching them how to do anything and everything, maybe even how to race. Every detail that you were so sure would become true at some point had passed through your mind so many times, sending your kids to school, watching them grow up with the love of your life right by your side for it all, sharing every moment, milestone and event with Charles, happy or sad.

You wanted everything with him, the good and the bad.

But then, the image of the teenager you once were, stood timidly in front of the mirror, hating what she saw took over. You remembered when you didn't have the confidence to even present a project in school, when every little critic tore you apart and broke you to pieces.

The future was pushed right out of your mind as you let the past take over, dread washing over you like frozen water as you realized just how easily this situation you were in could drive you back to your old ways.

As the memory of crying your nights away and fearing the days came resurfaced, the face of younger you, so hopeful and full of life flashed in your mind and that was when you realized you couldn't fail her, no matter how flawless your relationship with Charles was, it was still breaking you.

As you came to the realization, the cries became too loud and even from your spot on the balcony, you were afraid to wake Charles up. You clasped your hand over your mouth, muffling the sobs and gasps, your eyes screwing shut as you struggled to catch your breath, the tears falling out of your eyes heavy and uncontrollable.

You couldn't afford waking him up right now, facing his gentle looks and caring words but No matter how quiet you attempted to be, it didn't work.

"Cherie," Charles' worried toned startled you, making you fumble to wipe away the tears, "what is happening?" He asked, crouching down in front of you immediately.

His hair was ruffled and messy. He was barefoot and was messily but warmly dressed for bed. His eyes were hazy with sleep and barely opened while his hands grabbed yours to pull them away from your face.

He was a bit too caring and it made everything hurt so much more.

Through your burning eyes and clouded vision, you glanced up at him adoringly while your heart shattered into a million tiny shards.

"I love you so much, Charlie." You sobbed, reaching over and hugging him as tight as you could.

Instantly, his hands were rubbing up and down your back, trying so desperately to comfort you, but he had no clue what was going on and he was too sleepy not to be confused.

"I love you so much as well." He kissed the top of your head, "mais tu veux me dire qu'est-ce qui se passe, mon amour?" but you wanna tell me what’s happening? He asked with the softest voice, taking advantage of the way your arms were wrapped around his neck to slip his hands under you and carry you back inside to the comfortable bed where he could hold you properly.

Once he had you wrapped in a cozy hug on the mattress, he got you to look at him and his heart plummeted at the sight of your swollen eyes.

"Oh, baby." He cooed, wiping the last of your tears off your cheeks with his thumbs, "What happened?"

You felt like you could crumble under his worried looks, immensely dreading tomorrow as your eyes looked with his.

"I don't know." You attempted to push out a chuckle but Charles knew you too much.

He got you to lay your head on his chest and began brushing his fingers through your hair, thinking about what could be the reason you were crying that hard.

"Honnêtement? Je n'te crois pas. You were crying so hard, bébé..." Honestly? I don’t believe you. You were crying so hard, baby…

The heavy concern lacing his still hoarse voice was too much and you could've lied to him, came up with an excuse for the breakdown you had but you couldn't do that, not to someone you loved so much.

"I just - i don't know, cheri. Je n'veux pas en parler maintenant." I don’t want to talk about it right now. You felt Charles nod. He knew he couldn't force you to talk about something you didn't want to discuss but he wasn't gonna be at ease, not knowing why you were so upset, not able to help you through it.

"D'accord..." Okay. he said, closing his tired eyes, "Demain après la course donc?" Tomorrow after the race then?

"Ouais. Demain." Your heart ached at that. Yeah, tomorrow.

With that last promise to discuss the issue tomorrow, Charles allowed himself to relax for now, hugging you close but making sure he wouldn't be falling asleep before you.

Meanwhile your mind raced with thoughts of your plans. You couldn't help but fear that Charles would think you don't love him anymore after he would find out what you did.

"Charles..." you waited for him to look at you, "Tu sais bien que je ne mens jamais quand je te dis que je t'aimerais jusqu'à mon dernier souffle, n'est-ce pas? Promets-moi de ne jamais oublier cela” You know that i will love you until my last breath, right? Promise me to never forget that.

"Alright, baby... I don't like the sound of that. Why are you saying it like this?" He lifted his head off the pillow to look at you, his hand stilling in your hair as he tried understanding what you meant by that, especially when you were crying minutes ago, when your body was still shaking against his.

"Please tell me what's going on." He asked again, the worry and dread in his chest increasing with every word you said.

"There's really nothing going on. I just want to remind you of how much i love you." You said with a sniffle, your eyes clouding again with tears that were threatening to spill again.

"I really don't believe you, not when i'm not understanding anything at all." He sat up a bit, unable to shake the uneasy feeling he had now.

"Charles, please. On a dit qu'on en parlera plus tard et tu dois vraiment dormir car il est deja très tard et tu dois te réveiller tôt demain matin. S'il te plait, laisse ça tomber au moment." We said we’ll talk about it later and you really need to sleep because it’s already so late and you have to wake up early tomorrow. Please, let it go right now.

Sighing, he reached for the bedside lamp and turned it off, clearly not happy about this situation and making that clear to you by turning the other way and pulling the sheets right up to his neck.

You couldn't help but bite the inside of your cheek at that, feeling the tears welling up in your eyes.

"Charlie, please don't be upset. Je t'aime." I love you. You rolled onto your side, facing his back, hiding your face against it and hugging his waist as the tears started falling again.

“Bonne nuit.” Good night. He mumbled as a reply but you never let go of him, no matter how many minutes had passed.

You listened to the sound you were most grateful for, the soft thud of his heartbeat, letting it cut you deeper and harder because you were so hell bent on the fact that you deserved this pain, and once you thought he had went back to sleep, you allowed the quiet sobs and sniffles out, holding on tighter to the man you loved so deeply.

But Charles was everything but asleep. He felt your arms tighten around his waist, felt your hands clutching onto him for dear life. He heard you crying and laid there for a while, going over the past day in his head a hundred different times, desperately trying to understand what had unworldly upset you and crushed you this bad until his heart started feeling heavy with every sob that met his ears and at that point, he no longer felt like insisting on finding out what had happened. He just wanted to comfort you.

He sighed heavily and turned to face you, immediately bringing you to hide in his chest and between his sheltering arms, his hand on the back of your head securing you into this position that he knew you found so comforting.

The gesture only made you cry harder, this time the sounds muffled by having Charles so close.

"Shh, bébé." He kissed the top of your head while his heart felt like it was being torn apart, "I've got you, mon amour. Calm down."

That night you fell asleep for one singular reason and that way your eyes burning beyond comprehension, forcing you into slumber. Once your tensed body relaxed in Charles hold, he realized that you just exhausted yourself into sleep and that fact alone brought him so close to crying himself. However, he wasn't an idiot. He was well aware he shouldn't be staying up any longer, that he couldn't risk not being able to drive at a 100% in the conditions expected for the race, so he allowed his eyes to fall shut while making sure he had you held as close as possible.

When you woke up next morning, you were alone in bed and as soon as you checked your phone for the Japanese time, you realized why. The race was starting in less than two hours and you were still asleep.

With a worrying scowl on your face, you got up and headed for the bathroom, still trying to make sense of why Charles hadn't woken you up earlier. In the mirror over the sink, there was an unpleasant reminder of yesterday night: swollen under-eyes as your reflection's most prominent feature and even you couldn't help but to stare as you brushed your teeth.

Once done with that, you went back into the bedroom and found a note taped onto the closet door.

I didn't have the heart to wake you up cause you looked so tired but there is a key to a rental by your purse if you still want to go to the race. (I texted you a picture of which car it is.)

Je t'aime fort.

Without a second thought, you pulled on a pair of loose jeans, a cozy sweatshirt that belonged to charles and some shoes, grabbed an additional jacket, your purse and pass along with the keys Charles left you, applied some makeup to hide your swollen eyes and headed for the track, knowing that you weren't selfish enough to not even show your face at such an emotionally charged race for Charles.

It was pouring as you drove to the circuit so you put on your jacket, pulled the hood on and made a run for Charles' garage, hoping you'll catch him before he has to line up on the grid and you did but just barely.

As soon as he saw you coming up to him, his face brightened and he smiled. However, his eyes scanned over you as if to make sure you were alright.

"Good luck!" You attempted an enthusiastic tone after he had greeted you with a quick peck.

"Thank you. Tout vas mieux aujourd'hui?" Is everything going better today?

You nodded and dodged any further questions until he was luckily called over to the car and just like that, he was out of the garage, waving at you as he slipped into the cockpit and moved out into the pit lane.

You slacked in a chair then, feeling so guilty for even having the thought of leaving him, so guilty for putting yourself first. All you could think of was how you never in your life bothered prioritizing yourself and why did you have to start doing that now? When it came down to Charles and your relationship with him? But then another voice that seemed to come from a totally different side of your brain would remind you that it was either losing Charles or losing yourself again and forcing yourself into endless years of repairs and reconstruction.

Needless to say, by the start of the formation lap, your felt like you were loosing your mind as one thought contradicted the other, the scary conditions of the track adding another element to go crazy over with worry and before you knew it, chaos ensued and the race was red flagged when Carlos crashed and the recovery vehicle was employed while the cars were still on track and if you knew anything, it was that it would be disturbing for Charles to see that, especially when it was one of his friends, Pierre who was in the most danger.

You stayed in your chair as the cars made their way back in and watched Charles talking to the pit wall crew across from the garage where you were. He looked so visibly shaken up and you couldn't look at him and his tense posture for longer than that without backing out on your plan.

You turned away, grabbed your phone and booked a plane ticket home so there was no way out of this. However, that only increased the guilt you were feeling as Charles finished talking to Laurent and made his way to you, instantly giving you a kiss before reaching for his red Ferrari coat and shrugging it on to warm himself up.

If he didn't look visibly upset and worried and if you didn't feel like you were betraying him, you would've been obsessing over how adorable he looked with his hands tucked deep into his pockets as he took a seat by your side.

Suddenly, for the first time in years, you were fumbling for words around Charles but you saw him in staring into the distance before he heavily sighed and dropped his head back.

Everything was so close to collapsing, both on your side and his. Maybe you could rethink your decision.

"Bébé..." you turned sideways in your chair and faced him, "are you okay?" You asked and grabbed his hand in both yours.

"Yes, don't worry. Are you feeling better today?"

Only Charles would be more concerned about you when just minutes ago, his life and the life of multiple of his friends were literally on the line.

"Charles..."

"Please, they're already going to make me talk about everything in the media pen and i really don't want to do it twice." He rubbed his eyes angrily as he spoke, moving his hand between yours to intertwine your fingers.

Maybe you shouldn't leave. Not today at least.

You nodded and sat by his side in silence, watching your hands in your lap, his fingers toying with the ring on yours in a way you would've presumed absentminded but Charles found it incredibly comforting.

Eventually, after texting with the other drivers for a long time, all of them furious about the truck incident, he moved his chair closer and rested his head on your shoulder, allowing the two of you to chat quietly about almost anything that didn't involve racing: the food from the restaurant you went to in Tokyo, the old couple you saw yesterday when you went for a walk in the early morning, the wallpaper on your phone, paddock gossip... Anything to distract him for the current situation and the catastrophe that was this Grand Prix since you had a relatively clear idea of what he would be thinking at the moment.

"Cute hoodie, by the way." He smiled half-heartedly.

"It's cold and i don't have anything warm enough with me." You were quick to defend.

"I didn't say i mind it. Au contraire, je l'adore quand tu t'habille de mes vêtements." On the contrary, i adore it when you wear my clothes.

You couldn't even believe you were still considering leaving just a few minutes ago. How could you ever let go of this?

"Okay, okay. Don't get all cheesy now." You blushed, holding onto his hand tighter while you attempted to get a clear view of him.

He let out a small chuckle and brought your hand up to his mouth to press a kiss onto your knuckles.

"Merci." He smiled, "I know what you're doing and I'm so grateful."

You struggled to reply because of course he'd figure this out, so you settled for something simple, "Je t'aime, Charlie." You said and kissed his forehead mindlessly.

And it was like the universe hated you because right that instant, a big camera was directed right at you and Charles, capturing the moment at the perfect time and probably showing it on live TV.

It would be an understatement to say you immediately feared the outcome because you knew that a lot of people would find some ulterior motive other than comforting your stressed fiancé behind the gesture.

You still tried hard to act unfazed like Charles was but you remained highly uncomfortable until the lens moved in the other direction, filming the pit wall.

Somehow, through the seemingly endless red flag, you managed to forget that ever happened until Charles fixed up his suit and retrieved his helmet ages later, returning to his car as they announced the resumption of the session in ten minutes.

"Good luck once again." You smiled at him and watched him head out, back into the car and onto the track.

When Charles disappeared out of sight, you grabbed your phone and found endless notifications on the screen, reminding you of being filmed.

You couldn't help the heavy dread in your chest as you unlocked the device and clicked on the twitter icon.

You knew you couldn't allow yourself to have a breakdown in the middle of the garage with so many people who were well aware who you were surrounding you but you couldn't resist clicking on the notifications tab, gulping as you started reading through them.

It was the usual: the comments like "oh my god, they're adorable" and "at least she's there to comfort him" versus the opposing ones like "she's doing anything to appear on the stream", as if a kiss on the forehead was such an eccentric things to go.

Line after line, you read them and allowed them to build up in your mind until your breathing became irregular like yesterday.

You made a run for it.

You grabbed your things in a hurry, still trying not to attract unnecessary attention and hurried to the car.

You couldn't do this. You wouldn't survive staying in the spotlight that came with dating one of the most famous f1 drivers currently. You wouldn't make it out alive if you stayed with Charles and even though you felt so selfish as you turned the car on, you kept telling yourself that if there was any reasonable time to be selfish, it was now.

The drive back to the hotel passed in a teary, breathless haze as your mind carried your body on autopilot.

Before you could even register that you arrived to the room, you were packing up your bag and frantically searching the room for any pen and paper until you found one with the name of the hotel plastered all over it.

You only realized you were crying when the tear splattered onto the paper, distorting the ink as you shakily wrote.

Charlie, je suis infiniment désolée mais je ne peux plus faire ça. Ce mode de vie est quelque chose dont je ne pourrai jamais supporter.

Prends toujours soin de toi-même. I am so sorry.

Charlie, I'm very sorry but I can't do that anymore. This way of life is something I will never be able to bear.

Always take care of yourself. I am so sorry.

It felt like you were ripping away a part of you when your fingers wrapped around the engagement ring and you began sliding it off. It was physically painful to let go of everything so quickly but it felt like there was no escaping this.

Your eyes forcefully shut and sobs shook your body once the ring was in the palm of your hand instead of on your finger. You looked down at it, the diamond glistening brighter through your blurry, teary gaze. With your breath caught in your throat, you let it fall onto the paper on the nightstand then you were struggling to inhale at all, but you managed to call a taxi and rush down to the lobby with your suitcase and a heavy heart that was burdening you, avoiding at all costs allowing your mind to imagine how Charles would react to your unexplained and unexpected absence, let alone the break up in form of a paper with tear-streaked ink scarring it.

You just flew to your home country, not even to the apartment you shared with Charles in Monaco, leaving everything behind.

—

Such a short race shouldn't have felt so long but it seemed never ending as the gap to P1 grew with every lap, the tyres working completely against all the effort Charles was putting in.

Before he even knew it, the Redbull behind him was threateningly close and he was cussing out the whole world. He defended his position with everything he got, the only thing on his mind is finishing the race and falling into the comfort of his fiancée's arms but with all the stress that weighed down on his shoulders, the pressure of such defense caused him to exit the track and he knew he'd have to face complications because of that.

Getting dropped from P2 to P3 by a 5 seconds penalty felt like being dropped from P1 to P20, especially after all the effort he put in on track to keep the position but he took it without complaints and walked into the cool down room, already feeling like he was ready to collapse in bed.

He felt heavy and exhausted. He just wished he could skip the podium celebration and the interviews and just go find you but he knew that was impossible so he straightened up and put the brave, undefeated face back on.

On podium, his eyes scanned the crowd many times, trying so desperately to find the face that brought him comfort but to no avail. His shoulders slacked a bit lower as he realized you weren't watching the celebration and he was already making excuses for you as the national anthems played.

Eventually, he was handed a trophy and even though it was rather small, lifting it above his head took so much effort. He was so done with everything and just wanted to escape to you and hug you so tight. No one was ever able to cheer him up like you did and he was so grateful for that, for you and for the fact that he would be calling you his wife someday.

Forcing himself to stay aware of where he was for a few more minutes, he popped the bottle of champagne open and sprayed Max, congratulated him on the championship and eagerly got the hell out.

He rejoined his team, immediately asking about you but no where had a single idea where you were. Then, he was dragged out into the media pen where he rushed through all the questions, eventually resuming the search for you as soon as he was free to go. He checked both Ferrari garages, the team hospitality and finally his motorhome but you were nowhere to be found.

He started worrying, the state you were in yesterday adding to the situation.

He changed out of the suit, put on a jacket, grabbed his things and got going, his phone ringing against his ear as he attempted calling you while he was searching for Pierre to quickly check up on him before leaving. The phone kept ringing until he was met with beeping followed by your voicemail.

"Where are you, chérie? You're worrying me." He said and stuffed his phone in his pocket as he caught sight of his french friend.

—

Half an hour later, Charles was in the elevator in the hotel, going up to the floor the two of you were staying at, his heart beating fast with pure worry since he already called you many times on his way back and not once did you pick up.

He dragged himself through the hallway and unlocked the door in a hurry, immediately calling your name once he stepped into the suite.

Once, twice, three times... Nothing. Not a single sound in the room.

He walked further inside, expecting to see you overtaken by sleep on the bed but it was neatly made and the room looked clean and spotless.

That's when he panicked.

The room looked too clean.

The vanity facing the bed had absolutely nothing on it. Just this morning, it had your bag, your makeup remover, your jewelry box and a bottle of your perfume. It was completely clear now, and it could've been that you just put these things away but your suitcase had also been sitting on the floor next to it along with the spare pair of shoes you brought with you and those were gone too. Even your phone's charger was gone from the outlet above your nightstand.

The words you had said to him yesterday resurfaced in his mind, the fact that you were asking him to promise you he'd never forget you love him now seemingly bone-chilling.

What was going on? He kept asking himself because there was no way what he was assuming would be true.

He turned on his heels and began searching the other part of the suite, from the kitchenette to the small balcony to the bathroom, even checking behind the frosted glass of the shower.

Nothing. You weren't there and nor were your things.

"Non. Non, ça peut pas être." No. No, it can't be. He started mumbling to himself as he rushed around the rooms, retrieving his phone and calling you in a hurry now, as if that would make you pick up.

"Tu peux pas me faire ça. Qu'est-ce qui se passe? Où est tu? S'il te plais, répond au téléphone." You can't do that to me. What’s going on? Where are you? Please answer the phone. He said into your voicemail and tossed his phone onto the couch, heading back to the bedroom.

Maybe he was misinterpreting this. Maybe you just put your suitcase in the closet provided. Maybe you put your things in drawers. Maybe you left the race because you were tired.

So many maybes and what ifs clouded his thoughts as he pulled the closet opened, only to be deceived but the dull and blank wooden shelves.

"Putain." Fuck. He cursed and moved onto the drawers, not even closing the closet doors.

One after one, he yanked them open and every single drawer was empty, even the ones of the nightstand on the side where you'd been sleeping, leaving him with only the one on his side of the bed.

He rolled on the mattress in a hurry but froze in his sitting position as his eyes met a sight he never wanted to see, a sight he never thought he'd see.

It felt like he forgot how to breathe, like his heart was irregularly beating, skipping beats left and right as his eyes widened so much, they started burning.

"Non..." he shocked, gulping as he tried to make sense and of everything, "Why? What the fuck? Why?" He bolted to his feet, pacing by the bed with his hand against his mouth in pure shock. His mind was a mess of thoughts and feelings and words but most importantly questions.

He thought things between the two of you were as perfect as they could get so why was he staring at your ring sitting abandoned on the nightstand? He couldn't make sense of it. He kept asking himself why.

His heart shattered because it finally made sense how you were speaking to him yesterday night. You had planned this and still went to the race, sat by his side and comforted him when all he could think of was the potential tragedy that was the first few laps.

Nothing made sense. If you love him as much as you said yesterday, why did you leave him? Why did you bother with the grand prix? Why did you wear his sweatshirt?

Charles eventually froze in his spot but he could see a paper under the shiny band and he wanted to grab it. However, it felt like his arms had went limp and he suddenly couldn't move, his eyes still scarily widened, still trying so hard to wrap his head around what has happened today.

He was just so eager to come back to you after such a stressful race, after it became official that he lost the championship. He needed you right now that if felt like the world was closing in on him, but he came back to this, to a breakup through a paper, not even face to face.

Cursing again, he grabbed the paper and the ring and read the streaked ink scribbled clearly in a hurry.

A hundred times, he read and reread the words, until his tears joined the marks of yours on the paper, and not once did they sink in.

You gave up on the relationship that easily? He couldn't bear the mere thought of you leaving him and now he had to face that as his reality? Without any clear explanation or a proper end and all because of the lifestyle that came with dating him? How were you planning to marry him if that was the case?

He fell back onto the mattress, his hands over his face as he tried so hard not to break after such a bad day but the tears defied him and streamed down the sides of his face in a rush.

It felt like a mockery that when he received the penalty, he thought the weekend had no way of getting worse. He had the comfort of knowing he had you by his side and with the endless support you always provided, he knew he could overcome anything but now he feels powerless, broken and defeated and he wasn't sure what to do about it.

He just needed one of your hugs right now. He just needed for this to be a nightmare.

Just a few hours ago, he was twisting the ring around your finger and now it sat painfully cold in its loneliness in the palm of his hand.

He felt like tossing it out if the window but his heart couldn't take anymore hits today so he clutched it tighter and gave up on trying to push his emotions aside. He let them rule over him.

He loved you too much to be able to pull himself through this and come out unscathed.

This felt like the end of everything. He lost everything in a day and he didn't have to energy to face that just yet.

He laid alone on that bed, staring at the ceiling blankly, waiting for the shock to subside and for heartbreak to set in and when it did, every last breath was knocked right out of his body and he was left curled around a pillow, holding it so tight and crying into it, occasionally trying to call you again and again but not once did you answer and it enraged him.

He tossed the phone off the bed onto the floor with a frustrated scream that felt like it was cutting through his lungs.

Following that, he allowed himself to completely fall apart as it sank in that you really left him.

Charles felt utterly defeated and hopeless.

—

To say you were no longer used to waking up in your childhood home would be a major understatement, especially since you could barely open your swollen, burning eyes in the morning to see the room clearly, leaving you panicked because you weren't at the place you call home and very far from the person that felt like it.

However, the familiarity of the place was as welcoming as ever, definitely something you needed at the moment.

When you showed up home yesterday, everyone was worried but as they watched you drag the suitcase in with bare hands, the object tying you to Charles missing from your finger, they caught up quick enough not to ask any questions.

They let you sleep it off in your old bedroom but really, you were crying most of the time, questioning if you made the right decision.

Charles called you so many times and left so many voicemails but you were determined to stay off your phone, so you let it's battery drain until it powered off at night and you decided not to charge it as not to risk it.

Your heart ached all night long since the only thing you could think of was Charles returning to the vacant hotel room and discovering that you left without him, and as your woke up this morning and found yourself reaching for him in your half conscious state, what had remained whole from you completely shattered because he obviously wasn't there and you had made that choice for the both of you and he probably was clueless why you did it.

The smell of him was still engulfing you though, making you realize hours too late that you had taken off dressed in his sweatshirt still and you couldn't really tell if the fact that you were still wearing it was good or bad. You really couldn't bring yourself to care.

Once the morning light became too strong, you forced yourself to get out of the bed. However, on the first attempt, you only managed to sit up enough to scan the room. Your head was throbbing and your throat was sore and dry and you could barely see anything through your blurry vision.

You rubbed your eyes furiously and got up. Outside your door, you could hear your family moving about in the house and talking, the clatter of plates and utensils implying that they were probably having breakfast.

You felt guilty that you barely great them yesterday but you still couldn't bring yourself to go out and talk to anyone so grabbed some of your old towels from a drawer, your shower products from your suitcase and headed for the bathroom.

You avoided your reflection at all costs. You didn't want to face any of yesterday's various aftermaths. Instead, you stepped under the hot stream, immediately felt your shoulders drop as your head fall back, the hot water relaxing your tense muscles.

Then, the tears made a comeback and you welcome them with open arms, letting them stay as you washed your hair and body until you turned the shower off and padded back to your room.

Pulling open your closet, you were met with the memories of the last time you had stocked it. You and Charles and his family spent last Christmas with your parents. The two of you had been newly engaged and everyone was still gushing over that.

As the memories of that trip resurfaced, your eyes met the sight of a certain pile of clothes that didn't belong to you. That's when you remembered that Charles had felt a few items of clothing here, a change for hot weather and one for cold days, because he was so damn sure he'd come back to your childhood home at some point and so were you.

With your lips pursed, you betrayed your heart and grabbed his sweater instead of your own clothes and put it on along with some shorts.

Tensely, you fell back onto the messy bed, staring up at the ceiling, feeling lost and withdrawn. You had nothing to do, nowhere to be , nothing to distract you and the only thing you could think off was Charles.

You just wanted to know if he was alright, if he finished the race safely at least, but you didn't want to face the fact that you hurt him without giving him any explanation, that you walked out on him during one of the heaviest races of the season. You didn't want to consider the possibility that he now understood why you kept reminding him that you love him and that he might find it confusing now since common logic was that you don't leave someone you love.

As the thoughts ate away at your heart, you impulsively jumped up and grabbed your phone to charge it. You had to make sure he crossed the finish line safely at least and you wouldn't have to give in and contact him for you to know that.

The few minutes that it takes for the phone to power on felt like ages and when it finally did, over 50 missed calls from Charles flooded in along with so many texts and voicemails.

That meant that he was well, health wise at least. However, the last missed call was hours ago.

Your finger hovered over the voicemail icon and you were so tempted to just click it, desperate to hear his voice since you weren't used to starting your day without talking to him.

You gave in.

The first one started by him just asking where you were and judging by the noise around him, it was clear that he was still at the paddock.

But as one recording ended and another played, his tone progressively changed and several of his words broke your heart.

"Tu peux pas me faire ça..." You can’t do this to me… is what you heard in the second voicemail and the last one in which he didn't sound like he was crying. After that, it was just heartache.

"Tu peux me dire pourquoi, au moins? Je ne comprends rien." Can you tell me why, at least? I don’t understand anything.

"Where did you go? Tu m'inquiète au point de la folie." I’m going crazy from the worry.

"Fuck. Fuck, just..." you heard a sniffle, "... please, je te supplie, come back. Please."

These sentences amidst rambling and incoherent french stuck with you, making you wish you never charged your phone again or that you never left, but even after hearing that, nothing could've prepared you for the last recording.

"I'm kind of loosing hope now that you will answer," he sighed, "i just needed you here today, and always, but today more than usual. The race was shit but somehow i don't give a fuck. Why?" There was a laugh of irony and a pause before he continued, "Because the person i wanted to marry just left me. Really, bébé? Quand même une petite explication à ce qui s'est passé! Un adieu! Même ça, je ne le mérite plus?" At least a little explanation for what happened! A goodbye! Even that, I don't deserve it anymore? He was crying and now, so were you.

"It doesn't feel nice, being dumped with a letter and not even knowing why et maintenant, je sais plus how to live without you à mes côtés. Pourquoi t'as fais ça? How am i supposed to continue believing que tu m'aime? Tu m'as détruit complètement, chérie. J'ai tout perdu today."

It doesn't feel nice, being dumped with a letter and not even knowing why and now, I don't know how to live without you by my side. Why did you do that? How am I supposed to continue believing that you love me? You destroyed me completely, darling. I lost everything today.

Heavy breathing took over for a few seconds and you could tell he had been trying not to make it too obvious that he was crying.

Your hand clasped over your mouth to muffle the sobs as you waited for Charles to continue, "Je voulais t’épouser. I was gonna tell you that we should start preparing for the wedding so we can get married in winter break mais il me semble que tu n'veux plus rien a faire avec moi et je n'ai aucune idée pourquoi. The lifestyle isn't something new et si tu était autant gêné depuis le début, you shouldn't have said yes when i proposed. Fuck, you really shouldn't have given me de l'espoir that i will get to call you my wife un jour, que je pourras passer le reste de ma vie avec toi, have our own children et notre propre famille à nous. Putain, tu n'aura jamais dû me laisser tomber si amoureux de toi if you knew you would leave at some point."

I wanted to marry you. I was gonna tell you that we should start preparing for the wedding so we can get married in winter break but it seems to me that you don't want anything to do with me anymore and I have no idea why. The lifestyle isn't something new and if you were so annoyed from it from the beginning, you shouldn't have said yes when I proposed. Fuck, you really shouldn't have given me hope that I will get to call you my wife one day, that I would get to spend the rest of my life with you, have our own children and our own family. Fuck, you should never have let me fall so in love with you if you knew you would leave at some point.

There was a long break after that and you could hear the sniffles and the rustling of sheets. You couldn't even imagine what he was thinking in these silent seconds.

"Je dois me taire, non? By the way, Max was announced champion, si t'en soucies même plus. I have to shut up, right? By the way, Max was announced champion, if you even care anymore. And... I love you still, a lot." He gasped the words out between sharp inhales and it made you want to go back to him just to hug him tight.

"Je sais plus si te veux que je t'aime ou non but that will never change the fact that i would die for you, même si tu pense that i don't even deserve a face to face break up. Je t'aime, even if i don't understand shit."

I don't know if you want me to love you or not but that will never change the fact that I would die for you, even if you think that I don't even deserve a face to face break up. I love you, even if I don't understand shit.

You locked your phone and tossed it aside, grabbing a pillow and holding it against your face, trying to muffle the crying.

You could've told him the reason this was happening but, knowing Charles, he would blame himself for everything. This, this was bad but he didn't have to feel guilty in this scenario. You were withholding all the guilt and you'd be happy bearing it forever if that meant Charles wouldn't be tinged by it.

No matter how bad this was, he would manage to get over it, even if after a while but you knew him and you knew he wouldn't cope well with knowing that he was the reason you fell back into the depths of your past insecurities.

A knock on your door interrupted your crying. You tossed the pillow away and wiped your eyes rapidly with the sweater's sleeves before saying "Come in."

You knew you couldn't avoid your family anymore. They were probably really concerned.

Your older brother peeked his head through the door with a cautious smile on his face.

"Hi." He started, taking just one step into the room and closing the door after him.

"Hey." You tried smiling back but teared up again at the attempt.

"Look, i'm not gonna be nosey." He said before he took a seat on the edge of the bed, "I just need to know if i need to kick some ass or anything. I don't really care that he's Leclerc in this case." He tried to joke.

"Please, if there’s any need to kick his ass i would've done it myself. I don't need any men to do it for me."

Your brother smiled at that, having expected that response.

"However, the only guilty person here is me." You continued and quickly wiped away the tear that escaped.

"Why?" He frowned.

"I left while he was mid-race." You clarified, your teeth abusing your inner cheek between words, "I just don't know how to live the lifestyle he has, you know?"

Your brother looked confused, "Yeah, i'm not buying that, the thing about life with him. You've been together for years, only now you realized his lifestyle? You live together, you're practically married so even when you do actually get legally married, there will barely be any difference." He started analyzing. "Something is off. What's the real reason you left?"

You caved in so fast but you didn't really have any energy in you to resist it.

"I've been getting so much hate, especially when I'm with him at races. I couldn't deal with it anymore."

Your brother, like everyone who knew you and Charles, wasn't a stranger to that. He nodded and appeared to be in deep thought about this.

"Did you try talking to him about it? Charles loves you so much, we can all see it, and i know he would be very understanding and helpful in this situation."

In your mind, the thought of opening up to Charles about this wasn't even present. After all, he also gets a lot of hate too. However, the criticism he received was mostly about his skills as a driver, in other words, nothing he couldn't control and improve. On the other hand, people hated you for you, for simply existing as Charles' partner.

"It's not that simple."

"Oh, but it is. Look, i understand it's difficult to read that shit but it's not right that you left him out of the blue, like you have no respect for what you have, or had, with him."

That angered you so fast, you quickly got off the bed to face your brother.

"Of course i have respect for him and our relationship!I'm- I was engaged to him, for fuck's sake!" The little correction you had to make pained you as it made this situation much realer.

"I'm sorry, but if my partner walked out on me like that, i wouldn't be okay with it. If you want to break up with him for such a vague reason, at least do it to his face. That guy loves you more than i've seen anybody love anyone before and i know you're my sister, but if you treat him like that, after such a difficult race as well, you don't deserve him."

Ever since you heard that last voicemail, there's been a part you've avoided thinking of.

Getting married in winter break, literally in a few months. Instead of that, you left him the ring and took off.

You knew he wanted to marry you. Otherwise, he wouldn't have proposed but the fact that he wanted to do it so soon was unexpected to you. It should've been the happiest surprise, instead it was tugging on your heartstrings.

"He wanted to get married after the season ended, in his winter break." You spoke in a whisper.

Before you could receive a reply, your mother's voice could be heard as she called for your brother.

"Look," he started as he got up, "just call him." He shot an accusatory finger at you, "He had a shit race yesterday and i think you'd be able to find some solutions to this together. " He kept talking until he was out the door.

"Wait!" You called for him, "What position did he end up in?"

"Defended P2 with inters turned into basically slicks but ended up P3 after a five second penalty for cutting a chicane in the last lap. I gotta go."

Needless to say, you couldn't bring yourself to actually call him but you did spend hours staring at his contact name, the little ring emoji you added to it a while back torturing you now. Eventually, you joined your mother in the living room, allowing her to distract you until your brother reappear, asking if you talked to Charles, to which you shook your head then watched him leave the house.

Hours later, you retreated back to your room, laying on your bed and scrolling through twitter again. The notifications had lessened compared to yesterday but there were still there, the hate still being a constant and an arguably increasing reoccurrence. Surprisingly though, it wasn't what you focused on nor what you cried about.

You had been letting the clip of you kissing Charles' forehead during the red flag replay for so long, you'd lost count of how many times it had repeated. All you could focus on was how comforting Charles seemed to find your presence.

Over the years, everyone kept telling you how you were the only person who was able to comfort Charles as more than just some temporary fix. When you were to one to receive him with open arms after an angering or disappointing moment, Charles would calm down within minutes. Even his mother had said that and even Mattia had noticed it, but you never saw it.

However, now that you were stood on the outside, looking into the relationship, you saw it clear as day. In such a stressful and traumatic place and moment, he looked content in a way and it caused you to break down crying, especially as you thought of him bearing the disappointment alone yesterday, only to face something worse when he found out you left.

Eventually, you fell asleep with the video playing.

The next morning, the sound of the doorbell echoed through the house and woke you up. You expected your mother to get it but it rang again and again until you groaned and headed to check who it was while rubbing your eyes with the sleeves of Charles' shirt that you were still wearing.

You checked your reflection on the hallway mirror. Sure, the swollen eyes were still prominent but you hadn't been expecting them to subside any time soon so you sucked it up and padded to the door, swinging it open while tugging the shirt down to cover some skin as you just realized how short the shorts were.

Then, you froze.

All sorts of emotions ran through your body. First, shock because, how and why? Second was some weird sort of relief. Third, and most dominantly, guilt.

Guilt was eating you alive as you stared at the man whose heart you broke. You couldn't bring yourself to move nor to look away but you couldn't really look for any longer.

"Um..." you started fumbling for something to say, rubbing at the back of your neck awkwardly.

"Can i come in?" He asked and even though the sentence was short, it was still enough to show how hoarse his voice sounded.

You nodded and moved aside. Charles immediately made his way inside.

"How- um, why did- You know what i mean." You struggled while closing the door shut.

"You were getting hate and instead of telling me, you left?" He sounded angry and you wanted to strangle your brother for obviously contacting Charles.

"Charles, please... I can't-"

"You can't? Let's say you desperately want go break up with me, why didn't you do it properly? And really? Suzuka out of all places?" He asked, his hands gestures emphasizing his point.

He was right and there was no way to escape that so you fell back into the couch behind you, tugging on your sleeves and picking at the cotton.

Before you knew it, Charles was sat by your side.

"I wasn't really thinking. Everything i read was hitting so close to home and it was giving me some sort of panic attack and i - i'm sorry for leaving like that." Your eyes prickled with tears again.

"The night before, i asked you so many times what was wrong. You had me worried sick when i found you crying. You could've told me - fuck, you should've told me." He sprung back to his feet, rubbing at his face in frustration.

"I didn't want you to know." You spoke quietly.

"Why? I thought we trusted each other with everything! And it's literally something that i caused so deserved to know..." His voice rose.

"See? This is exactly why. You will blame yourself for it. You can't control what some asshole type out on their phones, even if they're your fans. There's nothing you can do to stop it and i can't handle it and revert to being an insecure person so i did us both a favor and left!" You shouted back.

Charles was gaping at you.

"You're giving up that easily on years of us and all the fucking future we've planned? Tout à cause de quelques connards qui se cachent à l'abri de leurs petits écrans?" All because of some assholes hiding in the shelter of their small screens? He was huffing in irony, "If some assholes you don't even know are able to make you insecure, then, je suis désolé bébé, but you've never been confident enough then." Knowing it was a touchy subject, Charles regained his composure and regulated his tone.

"Oh, really? You're telling me how i feel, Charles? You know me better than i know myself? Oh, wow! What a fucking catch i let go of!"

"That's not-" he attempted a reply.

"Shut up."

"Chérie, please."

"Shut up!"

He took his seat back next to you and tried to grab your hand but you snatched it away so fast, making him nod in defeat.

"Okay." He murmured and slacked against the back of the couch, his leg bouncing and shaking the whole sofa with it.

A deafening silence took over for long, painful minutes during which you reverted back to crying while Charles stared blank up at the ceiling.

"What about all the things you say to me after bad races?" He sniffled beside you, making you realize he was crying as well, "All that shit about how we can get through everything together? How we can always be each other's comfort and safety? That there's nothing on this world we can't overcome as long as we keep in mind that's it's us against the problem, not against each other? Why doesn't it apply when it's you that needs me? Why's it only me that shares the issues and problems i'm facing so we can solve them together?" He ranted, not stopping for a breath while he lost control over the tears, "I want to help you through this."

"Arrête, s'il te plaît." Stop, please. You cried harder, got up and started pacing around the room, sobbing into the sleeves, hearing Charles crying too.

You've always been used to solving your problems on your own and while over the years, you learned to share the burden of some issues with Charles, you still couldn't bring yourself to openly talk about things like this, not because you didn't trust him enough to help you, but because you've never been comfortable sharing so much.

You kept walking back and forth, hands covering your bloodshot eyes until you collided against who you knew was Charles.

His arms wrapped around you, even when you tried resisting his touch, pushing against his chest, wanting to get away before you caved in and he knew you enough to know that. Eventually, you broke down in his hold and he let you cry it all out.

"Talk to me, please." He cooed in your ear, dragging you to sit with him on the couch.

You tried not to but it got suffocating and so, the questions rushed out.

"You would tell me if i was annoying you during race weekends, right? If i was limiting your freedom."

With every word, and as he realized the cruel remarks you'd been reading, Charles' heart broke more and more.

"What? I want you by side everyday of my life, chérie!" Subconsciously, and maybe even somewhat protectively, his arms tightened around you.

"They're right, in a way... You could get sick of me faster if i went with you everywhere, and if i kept gaining weight-"

"Baby..." he interrupted, "I don't see a single reason for me to get sick of you. You have a fun and amazing personality, you are so beautiful and you understand me like no one ever has. Every day i'm away from you, i can't wait to go back home because life feels - i don't know the word for it - but it feels full and complete with you. And the weight thing, fuck whoever said that. I wish you would love yourself and your body like i do. You're beautiful in every state."

You cried even harder into his shirt, the words he was saying making you realize it was a huge mistake, allowing anyone to mess with your relationship with him, but him easing your worries wouldn't stop the hate and the both of you knew it.

"I love you, Charlie."

"I love you too."

You sat still in that position for a while and that left you thinking of the way things online would never change, dreading that in fact.

"I know what you're thinking. Oui, on pourra jamais les stopper, j'en sais cela très bien." Yes, we can never stop them, I know that very well. Charles spoke up and you gulped at that, "But you could use it for your entertainment. Listen here, all those things they say, it's out of jealousy. You're at a grand prix and they're saying you never leave me alone? They're jealous you get to go for free and that you're dating a driver. Fuck with their minds, post confusing locations, or rub it in their faces that you're there and they're not. I guess what I'm trying to say is have the upper hand because someone who hates on other people online will always be below them. Let them be the insecure ones and keep in mind, everything that is point out negatively is something that they envy so much that they noticed it." He was speaking and moving his hands up and down your back comfortingly.

"And if a certain comment gets to you, come to me and tell me about it and i will prove it wrong in hundreds of different ways. I don't know of you've seen it bébé, mais tu as tes propre fans même and they are way more than the haters. If anything, that just proves my point that you're just so lovable." …but you even have your own fans…

Charles smiled and tilted your head up so he caught a glimpse of your face.

"Just, please, give us another shot and be completely honest with me. Even if you hide those kinds of things from me again - if you decide you want to stay with me - i will now know to look online when things feel off, so i just want your honesty."

You smiled and nodded, agreeing to everything but slightly confusing Charles.

"Yes to what part exactly?"

"Tout. Je veux tout avec toi. Et je vais toujours être honnête avec toi. Everything. I want everything with you. And I will always be honest with you. But first, i owe you a big apology. What i did was cowardly, the way i ran away. I'm sorry i hurt you, Charles." You kissed his neck, "I'm sorry i confused you and left without even saying goodbye." The kissed moved further up his jaw, "And i'm so sorry that i wasn't there after that shitshow, especially since i knew how stressed the first two laps made you. I feel like an asshole." You sealed the words with a kiss to his lips.

"It's okay, bébé. I understand it now." He pressed your lips together again.

"Doesn't excuse how insensitive i was. Is everyone alright?"

"Yeah, the race finished safely."

You nodded, "That's good." Then, you sat up a bit to see him better, "And as for the championship, your are still my champion and you will be the world's one day. You've got it in you and everyone sees it." Assuringly, you traced your hand softly along his cheek while he stared at you lovingly.

"I'm so lucky that i found you, tu sais?" you know? He pulled you back onto his chest, "Je t'adore." I adore you.

"Je t'adore également, crois moi." I adore you just as much, believe me.

You heard him sigh and relax in relief but he wasn't still for long. Within seconds, you felt him reach for his pant's pocket, digging through it weirdly in this position.

"Give me your hand." Charles instructed and you complied.

"Me donnerais-tu l'honneur de t'épouser, mon amour?" Would you give me the honour to marry you, my love? He asked, holding out the ring.

"Bien sûr." Of course. You chuckled, "L'honneur est vraiment complètement le mien." The honour is completely mine.

The both of you watched your hand as Charles slipped the ring back on your finger where it belongs with a big grin on his face.

Now, everything felt right again and you realized that you'd be able to conquer the world and its critics with this man by your side.

a/n: idk how to feel about the note as a picture so be sure to let me know if it’s s cringey as i find it. Thank you for reading!💕

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