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Italy, Monza, 2019
“He can see the celebrations starting, he’s got one more corner, the famous Parabolica, to go, Mercedes threw everything at him today, Charles Leclerc has coped brilliantly, he won in Spa, he wins in Monza! Charles Leclerc is the winner of the 2019 Italian Grand Prix!”
Chills.
It’s the only thing he was feeling at that moment, he couldn’t believe it. He did it. He won in Monza with Ferrari. It was his second win, two in a row. He showed everyone that he is capable, that he can do it. He can bring them the championship one day. His nickname, “il predestinato”, bestowed upon him by thousands that saw his true potential, wasn’t just empty words.
He felt like he was on top of the world, he almost couldn’t grasp it.
The podium felt like a blur, sticky residue of the Ferrari champagne in his hair a reminder that it is not in fact a dream. He had celebrations to attend, it was probably the highlight of his career so far. He has never felt a high quite like it.
-
The club was packed. The whole Ferrari team was there, every single person working in Maranello was there, just for him. He has never felt that special in his life. His family was also there, so why was he feeling like something was missing?
Pierre, a pesky little voice inside his head provided.
Pierre was his best friend, his comfort person, someone who was always there for him, so where was he now?
He was trying not to think too much of it, so he downed another drink in one go and found a random girl to dance with. He was the star tonight after all, who wouldn’t want him?
-
Charles ended up taking the girl home, fucking her while they were both drunk and passing out on the couch. When he woke up the other day, she was thankfully gone. He didn’t know her name, nor was he interested in knowing it. He just wanted someone to celebrate with, and what’s better than celebratory sex?
Celebratory sex with someone you actually care about, the voice was back.
He really didn’t need to think about it at that moment, especially considering the state he was in. His head was pounding from the hangover looming over him. He took a pill and fished his phone from under the pile of clothes thrown on the floor during yesterday’s activities. Expectedly he had a lot of notifications, everyone wanting to congratulate him of course.
But only one caught his eye, Pierre’s.
Where were you yesterday?
I was trying to find you at the club, but everyone said you were already gone
I wanted to congratulate you…
Charles fucked up. Honestly, Pierre was the person he wanted to see the most yesterday, but at the end, they didn’t even get to hug each other. Stupid, stupid, Charles.
He didn’t know what to say, because saying ‘I went home and fucked a random girl’ isn’t the best excuse, now is it. So, he called Pierre. After the second ring he picked up.
“Congrats calamar, you did it, what you dreamed of!” Charles could hear that Pierre’s voice was full of love and emotion and he was so thankful.
“Thank you, Pierrot, I’m sorry I wasn’t there yesterday when you came, I really missed your presence, after everything we’ve been through lately… I wanted you to congratulate me more than any other person there.”
“You’re silly for even thinking I wouldn’t show up, but what were you doing if not celebrating?”
Charles was getting a little red and thanked god Pierre can’t see him. “I uhh, I was celebrating, just in a different way you could say…”
He could hear Pierre laughing on the other end. “Ah, okay, hope you at least had a good time when you decided to dump me,” Pierre’s tone was teasing, and Charles knew he wasn’t being serious.
He then asked himself, did he have a good time? He was drunk off his ass and didn’t really remember much, maybe he should stop fucking around, he would’ve probably had a better time with Pierre at the club, definitely a better company. He wasn’t about to say that to Pierre; he knew he’d never hear the end of it. “It was good, she was hot, and I needed some relief after that race, took everything out of me.”
Pierre just laughed at his antics and they talked a bit more, even though Charles’ headache wasn’t going anywhere. At least he wasn’t thinking about the pain. And the girl you fucked, his brain provided. He promised himself then, his next win won’t be celebrated with a random fuck, he’ll join his mechanics and engineers for the whole night of partying and Pierre will be there with him, and he’ll be happy.
What he didn’t know is his next win won’t be for a while.
-
Italy, Monza, 2020
“Pierre Gasly is in front, for the AlphaTauri team that won here as Toro Rosso and they are gonna win in 2020 as AlphaTauri. Pierre Gasly wins the Italian Grand Prix! Oh my, oh my, is that just wonderful!”
Pierre couldn’t believe it, it felt surreal, all of it. Getting over that line as a winner. The feeling was indescribable really. After everything that happened, going back to Toro Rosso, everyone saying he can’t do it, he’s not meant to be in f1, he can’t handle the pressure.
But he did it, he won, despite everything. He showed them that he was born to be a winner.
-
As soon as he got out of the car, the celebratory hugs and pats on the back started. Everyone was happy for him, everyone loved Pierre. He was relishing in the happiness. But the whole world stopped when he felt Romain being peeled away from him, and another body pulling him in, like their mission was to make him feel special. It was Charles.
Of course it was Charles, nobody else makes you feel that way.
Charles waited for him, even though his race was finished a long time ago. He was there only for him. That realisation made him feel even more special, if that was even possible. The hug felt like pure love; he must be going crazy. It felt like an eternity before they let go, time felt like an unknown concept
-
The podium was magical, even without the famous Tifosi there, it was what he had always dreamed of. Everyone was done with the celebrations, but he didn’t want to leave just yet, he couldn’t. All the emotions swarmed him, and he felt the tears starting. He sat there, on the highest step of the podium, on his own, crying and reliving every moment. He was grasping the moment so tightly, afraid that once it’s over, it’ll become just a distant memory. And of course, he couldn’t let that happen.
-
The only celebration he could have was the one at his own apartment. So, there they were, his parents, a couple of his closest friends and of course Charles.
Charles, despite his shitty race, came over, and Pierre was eternally grateful to him, because there was no one he wanted to share this moment with more than him.
They all had a couple of drinks… okay maybe more than couple; they were actually drunk as fuck. Pierre’s parents left at some point to go to their hotel, and to not have to see their youngest child drowning in alcohol. His friends were barely able to stand on their own two feet, so Charles, being the most sober out of the group, which was a surprise in its own, called them a cab to get them all back to their respective homes or hotels safely. When all was said and done, there were only the two of them left, sitting on Pierre’s couch, just staring at the trophy in front of them.
Pierre was a touchy drunk and it was a widely known fact. So, it didn’t come as any surprise when he started to invade Charles’ personal space, leaning his head on the other’s shoulder.
“Do you think they’ll take me seriously now? When I’ve shown them what I’m capable of doing and not even in the best car, far from it actually…” It came out a bit slurred but good enough to be coherent.
“If they don’t, they’ll be the dumbest people I’ve ever had the displeasure of knowing. But seriously, don’t let anything they say get to you. I’ve always known you could do it, it was just a matter of time,” Charles was trying to reason because Pierre seemed to be down, probably a mixture of alcohol and adrenaline wearing off and the reality kicking in.
“You were always here for me, calamar. You know I love you, right?” Even Pierre didn’t know in which sense he was asking him that, it seemed fitting for the moment though, so he ran with it.
“Of course I know Pierrot, I love you too.” Pierre could fool himself with taking this in any sense he wanted, and he needed the delusion if only just for a moment. He could fool himself into thinking Charles really loves him, the way he loves Charles. He was too drunk for thinking about that, so he did the only thing that seemed reasonable in his blurry mind, he cuddled more into Charles. Now Pierre might be the older one of the two, but Charles is taller (even though Pierre would never admit that in normal circumstances) and Pierre fits perfectly in his side.
They fell asleep like that, cuddled together, on Pierre’s comfortable couch.
-
Italy, Monza, 2021
“And P4, P4, good job! … You’ve done a great job!”
After the mess that was last year, Charles was happy enough with that. Well, it really couldn’t get much worse than last year. He was also happy for Daniel who won, he truly deserved that. When the podium ceremony finished, he went to wave at the Tifosi, because after all, they were mostly there for him. And he felt at ease that even though he didn’t give them what they wanted, they still loved him. It was hard enough, dealing with the pressure that came with driving for Ferrari, but he was named their prince, “il predestinato”, he was their hope, and he couldn’t live with himself if he let them down. If Charles was honest, he just wanted to get away from here, he was tired. He wished for a quiet night in, away from the track and everything to do with it. That left him with an obvious choice.
Pierre.
His race, on the other hand, went really fucking badly. From winning last year to a DNF this year, it wasn’t a great day for him. So, obviously Charles thought, misery loves company.
-
Pierre’s apartment was very familiar to him at this point, almost like his own home. Pierre was cooking for them while Charles was going through Netflix trying to find a movie to liven up the mood a bit. They weren’t talking much, surrounding themselves with a comfortable silence, broken only by the sounds of cooking coming from the kitchen.
Food was finally served, Pierre’s famous tagliatelle with shrimps, and to Charles it was the best dish he had ever tried. In reality, it was rather simple, but the love that was put in making it, made it that tad better. They had a glass of fancy wine with it, to aid the forgetting of that totally unremarkable day. There was a dumb romcom playing on TV, more as a background noise than anything else, as they ate the pasta sitting cross-legged opposite one another on the couch.
In that moment, they were both at peace, the familiarity surrounding them, combined with the love they had for each other made it all better and so much more bearable.
Charles felt like he was 14 again, a boy with way less to worry about, sitting with his best friend on a late summer’s night somewhere in France, eating a homecooked meal, just enjoying his company while trying to prove to himself that he’s not in love with said best friend. Apparently, not much has changed.
He was brought back to reality by Pierre’s hand waving in front of his face. “Cat got your tongue? You’re being too quiet, what are you thinking about?”
Charles was roughly pulled back to reality from his daydream. “Our childhood, we used to be so carefree, we were doing pure racing with none of the politics behind it, I miss it so much. All the moments I get to share with you these days are special, too few and far between, still better than none though.”
The look Pierre gave him was full of nostalgia, both of them reminiscing the past. There were tough moments, of course, but they were there for each other, through thick and thin. It was always Charles and Pierre, like they were joined at the hip, forming a special bond they didn’t know would last decades.
They sat there for a moment, just staring at each other. There was an elephant in the room though: they were in love with each other. The idiots just didn’t know it wasn’t one sided.
-
Italy, Monza, 2022
“P8, nice job! Nice job, mate! … Good job again, we got there at the end. And we got that P8!”
If Pierre was honest, he was so glad it was over. It had been one of the worst weeks of his life. He had been so sick the whole week that he wasn’t in the paddock on Thursday, trying to become fit enough to sit through an hour and a half long race, a very physically straining one at that. He was popping antibiotics like they were candy, and he still wasn’t feeling 100% well. It seemed that ever since he won there, luck just wasn’t on his side.
He climbed out of the car with the last ounces of strength he had and there was only one thing he was looking forward to: his bed. His mother was very worried, so much so that they had an argument over the phone, with her saying that he can’t be alone, so he better find someone to take care of him or she would be arriving swiftly. He knew there was no escaping her, so he did the logical thing: he called Charles.
Considering it was Ferrari’s home race and Charles had started on pole, it turned out to be a fairly shitty afternoon for Charles. Max won once again, which was a frequent occurrence this season, with Charles finishing second. The Tifosi were of course happy for him, but if there’s one thing they do not like, it’s Red Bull winning in Monza.
-
After all was said and done, it was once again him and Charles in his apartment in Milan. It was kind of becoming a tradition after Monza, one that he really liked because alone time with Charles these days was extremely rare, especially considering the fact that he’s fighting for a championship.
At that moment, Pierre was sitting on the couch in the living room, watching reruns of Friends, with fuzzy socks on and a fluffy blanket carefully thrown over him by none other than Charles. Speaking of him, he was having a lovely conversation with Pierre’s mom, trying to figure out the recipe for a chicken soup, which turned out to be pretty demanding because he was a shitty cook, but Pierre knew he was trying his best and even if he cooked something inedible Pierre would still eat it up, both literally and figuratively, since he is in love with him and he also doesn’t want to discourage him.
Shockingly the soup was okay to eat, and Charles had a beaming smile, happy that Pierre liked it. Pierre was equal parts proud and dumbly in love, the fever which was coming back wasn’t helping him. Charles gave him some more pills to take and made him change location to his bedroom, so once he fell asleep, he would already be in his bed.
“Thank you calamar, for taking care of me and being here for me, even though your day didn’t go as planned.” Pierre was really grateful and a bit drowsy, courtesy of the pills.
“You know I’ll always be here.” Pierre wasn’t sure if he was imagining it due to the fever, or it all felt very domestic and romantic. And then he felt Charles tucking him in, to make sure the covers were all around him and he thought he was going to spontaneously combust.
“I’m cold, would you sleep with me here to keep me warm?” He was desperate for it at that point, he just wanted to feel Charles’ touch on him, even platonic.
“Yeah, of course, Pierrot, I’ll be right there, just let me shower and change.” And with that Pierre was left alone with his thoughts for the next 10 minutes, he heard the shower being turned on and then off. He presumed Charles was brushing his teeth, in only a towel wrapped low around his waist. If he wanted to sleep at all, he should stop with those thoughts immediately. So he took his phone and scrolled through Instagram while waiting for his personal heater to come to bed.
Charles came back soon after, dressed only in grey sweatpants. And honestly, Pierre should’ve predicted that after knowing him for so long, but it genuinely slipped his mind. He was lucky his jaw didn’t hit the floor at that exact moment, but he managed to hold himself together.
“Scoot over and let me in, let’s get you warm!” Charles cheerily slipped into the bed, holding his arms open for Pierre. And Pierre couldn’t wait, he snaked his hands around Charles’ waist and put his head on Charles’ chest: it was the happiest and most peaceful he had been lately.
“Thank you, I’m already considerably less cold, plus you’re comfy.” Pierre mumbled in Charles’ chest, already on the verge of sleep.
“Go to sleep, you need it, I’m not planning on moving.” Even if Charles wanted to move, it was impossible at that point, Pierre was acting like an octopus.
“Good night calamar, I love you and I hope one day you’ll love me back.” Pierre was bordering on sleep before saying that, but saying his inner thoughts out loud woke him up immediately.
“What do you mean one day? I do love you?” Pierre could see the surprise on Charles’ face, as if he said something outrageous.
“It doesn’t matter… just… go to sleep.” Pierre was starting to panic.
“You expect me to go to sleep asking myself why does my best friend think I don’t love him?”
“That’s just the thing, your best friend, that’s all you’ll ever see me as…” If this conversation continued, Pierre was going to cry.
“Are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Pierre could swear there was a glimmer of hope in Charles’ voice.
“You want me to humiliate myself further??? Yes, I am in love with you Charles Leclerc, I feel like I always have been.” It actually felt good to get it off his chest, but Pierre was still horrified of Charles’ reaction, so he hid his face in Charles’ chest.
“Pierrot, look at me please…” Pierre slowly raised his head to look Charles in the eyes and next thing he knows Charles’ hands are cupping his cheeks and he can feel his lips on his owns. Charles is kissing him. They are kissing. He has never felt more awake than in that moment.
The kiss was slow and gentle, Pierre felt like Charles was acting like he’s going to break but it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Even if it were the worst kiss of his life, he’d still feel like the happiest person alive. Because it was Charles.
They pulled away eventually and Pierre put his head back where it belongs, on Charles chest, close to his heart.
“Sleep now bébé, we’ll talk tomorrow, just know that I do love you back.”
They fell asleep like that, in each other’s arms, happier than ever.