Chapter Text
“Pierre!” Charles half runs unsteadily to put his arms around his childhood friend. Yuki stands behind the Frenchman, trying to make himself small. It’s not very difficult given his stature and Charles’ natural, larger-than-life personality. Pierre told him he believed that Charles is meant for greatness, and seeing him now for the very first time, he can’t help agreeing.
Charles closes his eyes and buries his nose in Pierre’s neck; Yuki just knows the Monegasque hasn’t noticed him yet.
“It’s over,” he says, muffled by the wool of Pierre’s sweater. “I broke it off with Max.”
Yuki doesn’t know Max personally, but Alex and Pierre have nothing but good things to say about him. Except when he was Charles’ boyfriend, because while Max is a great friend, he isn’t much of a boyfriend to Charles beyond a few dates and physical intimacy. Yuki has heard too many of Pierre’s opinions regarding this, told him of the way Charles looks at him too brightly while Max’s dim gaze brightens elsewhere.
Again, Yuki has never met Max, but he has met Daniel Ricciardo, and he knows without their discussing it that he and Pierre have the same gut feeling.
“I should’ve known,” Charles continues. Pierre embraces him tighter and replies, “I’m sorry, mon cher.”
He doesn’t know much French, but he knows that Pierre has his nicknames—the special way to call the people he loves that only he can use. Alex is mon ami. Charles is mon cher. Esteban is mon ennemi, because even though they’re no longer on good terms, Pierre loved him enough for hatred to linger.
He rubs his friend’s back, and Yuki has to look away before an unearned envy seeps into his bones. Charles pulls away all too quickly. “Okay, I have to stop this before I fall in love with you all over again.”
And wow. Yuki did not expect that.
Pierre pierces his thoughts with a laugh. He says, “I rejected you twice, but you always seem to come back.”
What.
What.
Suddenly, his mind is on overdrive. He’s thinking of the apparent possibility of rejecting Charles Leclerc, his most loyal friend with no equal in such sweetness of being. He’s thinking of Pierre, lovely Pierre, who makes no mystery of his being single. He’s thinking of the handsome and perfect pair they’d so obviously make and the guarantee of Pierre not wanting that match for himself.
He’s thinking that, if he wasn’t so sure he was in love with Pierre Gasly before, he is overcome with certainty at this very moment.
“Such is the burden of having you for a best friend.” Charles grasps his friend’s biceps before really letting go. His gaze shifts to Yuki, whom he is seeing for the first time. Charles’ eyes remind him of small, spherical marbles: many colors all at once, glassy and unreadable. Still, his grin is kind and intact despite seemingly heartbroken, and it makes Yuki quirk his lips back. The Monegasque speaks to both of them. “Apologies if I was interrupting anything.”
“You didn’t,” Yuki speaks up. In fact, Charles has given him a lot to think about. He nods to the Japanese boy in gratitude. “Let’s talk soon, mon cher?“
“Merci.” Pierre’s friend smiles one last time before walking away.
Yuki and Pierre walk in silence for a few moments as they had been doing before Charles appeared. Then, “I bet you are curious with what I said about rejecting Charles. Am I right, mon amour?”
Mon amour. Yuki’s specific Pierre term of endearment. He keeps forgetting to find out what it means. He’s struggling enough with both formal and colloquial English that he isn’t prepared to deal with the French vocabulary.
Pierre is right, though. It’s not like Yuki is skilled at concealing his thoughts and emotions.
“You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” Yuki starts. The Frenchman shrugs and waves his hand as if to say, ask me anything.
He’s gotten good at that. Deciphering Pierre’s hands. He’s good at reading Pierre in general.
Yuki continues with, “is it because you don’t feel the same way?”
His friend’s response is instantaneous. “It’s not that I don’t.” Pierre runs a hand through his hair. “Love him that way, I mean. He loves me more than I love him, and I don’t know how to make that work without ruining what he have.” He makes it sound so simple, Yuki thinks. Maybe it is.
There’s a metaphor there somewhere, about the moon that pulls the tides and the winds that craft the ocean waves. But Yuki can’t seem to get a grasp on that thought, because Pierre’s eyes are starry when he looks at him, and he’s falling in love all over again.
“C’mon, mon amour. Let’s get going.”