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Oh my God.
Not again.
Not again.
He knew there was a risk of something going wrong with the car when he saw Carlos stopped in the runoff area, but he didn't think that anything would actually happen.
But then, a number of laps later, he heard the engine die, and he assumed that he would have to retire the car. And he was right, when he checked the mirrors and there was a plume of smoke coming from the back.
"Problem. Problem. Engine." He had said to his race engineer, trying to keep the tornado of emotions he was feeling contained.
When he got out of his car, people were already packing up. Already. The race hadn't even ended and the team was already getting ready to leave for Canada.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath as he pulled his helmet off and random team members clapped him on the back as a sort of unspoken apology.
All he did was just give them the best fake smile he could muster without fucking falling apart.
A third shitty race. A third time where it wasn't his fault. A third time that Max's championship lead was extended.
It hurt. It really hurt. He knew that he could deliver a good result, he knew he could be consistent, but he was being held back. His team was holding him back when they should be providing opportunities for several podiums, even wins. Okay, he really didn't want to be blaming his team, but it was their fault. It was their fault that the last three races he had had were shitty.
It was disappointing, it was so fucking disappointing, but again, just like the last two times, there was nothing he could do. He didn't have any other choice but to accept the harsh reality that if his team kept messing up like this, he wouldn’t have a chance in the Driver’s Championship anymore.
In the garage, the race was still playing on the TVs but he didn’t exactly feel like watching after what had happened, he wasn’t really in a great mood, so instead he went back to his hotel room.
There were old clothes, some of them were his and some of them were Pierre’s–yes, they shared a hotel room now–on the ground and dirty dishes in the sink, and usually he was a clean freak but this time he could really care less. All he wanted right now was to cry in the shower or something.
So he did. Once he was under the calming heat of the flowing water, he cried. He cried and it felt good. He cried because… well, he didn’t even really know why. He didn’t know why he was sad at not finishing an F1 race. Seriously? Like, he had his dream job, at the most historic and well-known F1 team and he was fucking crying like a baby because he didn’t finish a couple of races and in Monaco he had finished fourth instead of first. Wow. He should be grateful, he should be happy, he should be glad that at least he was an F1 driver at Ferrari, for God’s sake. Why was he sad about a few tiny things that had gone wrong? Shit happens, he knew that, but for some reason couldn’t get over it. Oh, well.
And then he cried some more.
By the time almost half an hour went by, Charles realised his fingers were starting to turn to prunes and that he should probably finish up his shower. He got out, dried himself off, and slid into some shorts and one of Pierre’s hoodies before checking his phone. The race was over, so he looked at the results because why not.
Just like he expected, Max took the win, with Checo in second and George in third. Not very shocking. But what was shocking was the fact that Pierre Gasly, his boyfriend, had managed to drag his AlphaTauri into fifth place. Fifth place! Charles knew that fifth was a pretty nice result for a midfield team like that, and a little spark of joy was ignited in his chest. His boyfriend had finished in fifth! A smile creeped onto his face, and he decided to send a post-race congrats to him.
sharles lechair💖❤️😘💕😍💞🔥(6:26pm): hey cheri! well done with ur race :) see you soon 💖
As usual, Pierre replied almost instantly.
pear💖(6:27pm): thank you! sorry about your race though. ill be back as soon as im done interviews <3
Charles’ smile grew a little wider. He was happy for Pierre. Genuinely. Yes, his mood could change from crestfallen to content that quickly. Sue him.
Another half hour later, Pierre knocked on the door of their shared, yes, shared, hotel room. He was living the dream.
This time Charles didn’t wait until the door was closed to hug the shit out of Pierre.
“Whoa!” The Frenchman gasped when Charles tightly wrapped his arms around Pierre’s waist, latching on like there was no tomorrow and buried his face into Pierre’s neck.
Pierre did his best to drag them both back into the hotel room and closed the door behind them. Now that they were out of the eye of the public, Charles pressed their lips together. It was what he had been waiting for ever since he got out of his car. Pierre kissed him back softly, smiling into the kiss. It felt nice. It felt like home. It was exactly what he needed after that race.
Charles pulled away before it got too heated, gazing delicately into Pierre’s deep blue eyes, the Monégasque’s arms hooked around his neck.
"How are you?" Pierre asked, and it was sincere. And sure, he knew Charles better than he knew himself, so it was pretty obvious to him how Charles was feeling, but he still wanted to ask, just because.
Charles stilled, the question taking him a little by surprise. He doesn't know whether he should tell the truth or say that everything was fine. If he lied, Pierre would be able to tell.
"I-" Charles thought about what he wanted to say for a moment, before deciding that he could be honest with Pierre. "Fuck, Pierre, it hurts. It hurts so fucking much." And then he was crying again. But it was better than when he was in the shower because he had Pierre to hold him, to comfort him, to run his fingers down his back and tell him that everything was going to be fine. He might even be crying more than he had been in the shower. It was… hard to explain. In a way, having Pierre by his side made it easier for him to show how he really felt, whenever he was with him he could be the one true version of himself. And yes, it meant he was vulnerable. It meant Pierre could see the pureness of him at the lowest of times, but it was okay because it was Pierre. It was the same Pierre that had been there for every single loss he had experienced. It was the same Pierre that had been there for him after every god-awful race, the same Pierre that knew him like the back of his hand, the same Pierre that he had been friends with since they were kids. And that made it okay. It made it okay for Charles to be vulnerable. Because it was Pierre. He could trust him. He knew that Pierre wouldn't judge him, or anything of the sort. He knew that he was there to help, to comfort him.
“Let’s have some dinner, calamar.” Pierre muttered gently before wiping his thumb over Charles' cheeks, drying his tears and then took his hand and brought him over to the kitchen.
“Can we just have cereal?” Charles asked, looking up at Pierre with those eyes that he would never be able to say no to.
“Yeah, anything for you, mon cheri.” He replied half-jokingly, but really, he would do anything for Charles. Anything.
“Is that my hoodie?” He asked the Monégasque when he noticed that he was wearing an oversized sweater that suspiciously looked like the one that Pierre owned as he took out a box of Cheerios and some milk from the fridge.
“What? Of course not.” He said sarcastically, giving Pierre a mischievous grin before going over to the couch and turning on the TV.
Moments later, Charles was melting into his boyfriend’s side, a blanket was thrown over their laps and they were watching The Office.
Pierre was half-mindedly running his hands through Charles’ hair, it was sort of a habit by now. Charles loved it more than anything.
And just like every other time, Charles fell asleep against Pierre’s shoulder after two episodes. Pierre watched one more on his own, taking comfort in the Monégasque’s even breathing, his chest rising and falling against Pierre, then he decided it was probably about time they went to bed.
“Hey, calamar.” He whispered softly in an attempt to wake up Charles. He sniffled a little before opening his eyes, mumbling incoherent words.
“Hey,” Charles whispered back, giving him a lazy smile. “Can we sleep on the couch?”
“Sure.” Pierre was surprised, it was unusual for him to ask to stay on the couch, most of the time he was fine with heading to bed. He didn’t question it though.
He readjusted their position so that he could lay along the couch and Charles was between his legs, resting his head on Pierre’s chest.
“Thank you.” Charles knew he said it way too often, and that Pierre didn’t like it when he thanked him for taking care of him, but his mind was too sleepy to really care.
“You’re welcome.” Pierre smiled, and it was that smile. That oh so sweet smile that had been carefully constructed for Charles, that smile that was common, but still special. Too bad Charles wasn’t able to see it. “Goodnight.” He said, and placed a few kisses into Charles’ hair before turning off the lamp.