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On the 21st of July, they held Jules’ funeral.
Pascale had said that maybe it would be too hard on Charles to go, it was still a wound so fresh that he woke up crying and looked for him on track during F1 weekends.
It would be too much for him to endure.
But he wanted to go. He had to go. He wasn’t there when he died, he had at least to say goodbye to him like that. Even if Jules was laying in a coffin, and not in an hospital bed.
Lots of Formula 1 drivers had come around. The first ones he saw were Vettel and Ricciardo, but he knew there were more. People that knew Jules like him, some even better than he did. People that knew what it felt like to lose a friend like that.
He didn’t want to approach any of them, didn’t wanna talk to them. He didn’t wanna talk to anybody, really, but he was bound to at some point.
People still expect some sort of social interaction from you, even while you’re not even eighteen and grieving a friend.
The first one to go to him was Sebastian Vettel. A four time world champion decided that it was a good idea to go talk to him, while he was actively trying to hide from everyone. And trying to hold back tears.
He really didn’t want to talk.
He tried to ignore Vettel as much as he could, suddenly very concentrated on the decorations of the church. He just didn’t have to think that the decorations were for Jules’ funeral, or his heart would clench painfully. Very painfully.
Then he found Pierre. He was tired of keeping the act up, but he didn’t want to break down in front of his best friend, that was just as heartbroken as him. They just looked at each other, eyes sad and understanding, and hugged in silence.
Charles clung to him, almost as if he couldn’t keep his weight up anymore, and his knees buckled, as he bit his lip to keep the tears in. He couldn’t cry, not now. He couldn’t do it now, with all these people around and the journalists right outside the church. Pierre helped him sit down and rested his head on his shoulder, closing his eyes.
«It’s gonna be okay Calamar,» he mumbled, trying to comfort. He felt like a part of him was missing, but didn’t have a relationship with him that was as strong as the one that Charles had with him. If he was feeling that bad, he couldn’t imagine how his best friend was feeling.
«There’s so many people…» Charles muttered, his voice weak.
«They’re all people that loved Jules like we did, and they’re here to celebrate him,» Pierre whispered, rubbing his back in circles. He was only one year older than Charles, even if he was already nineteen and Charles still seventeen, but in that moment he felt like it was his duty to comfort him and make sure that he was feeling good. He couldn’t let him down now.
Charles nodded, trying his best to stay calm and not let everything crush him like it had done again and again in the last week or so. He was almost getting used to waking up in the middle of the night and finding it hard to breathe, finding that he just… couldn’t, and he was crying and throwing up. He had thrown up a lot.
His dad tried to help, getting up when he noticed that it was happening and holding him until he could breathe again, whispering reassurements and soft words of comfort until he could sleep again. They just hoped it would get better over time.
«You still there?» Pierre asked, gently stroking his hair. He could feel Charles’ breath hitching, and was starting to get worried. He had seen the way he was holding his tears in, trying to keep it all together, and he knew that he wouldn’t be able to keep it in for much longer.
Then the service started, and they sat next to Charles’ and Pierre’s parents on one of the first rows, and Charles was still trying his best not to start crying. He wanted to stay strong, wanted to keep it together, wanted to show his parents that they didn’t have to worry for him. It seemed like one of the most difficult he ever did, but he somehow made it through the ceremony with only a couple of tears rolling down his cheeks.
Then they got out.
They were bringing Jules’ coffin out, various drivers carrying it while the rest of the people followed along and Charles kept holding his tears in, biting his lip so hard and for so long that it started bleeding.
«Do you want to go to place that’s a little bit more private?» Pierre asked, wanting to allow his friend to take a breather and rest for a while.
He was also Jules’ friend, but he knew that whatever he had felt when he had recieved that call had to be at least tripled to understand what Charles was going through. He couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that he was still going, still up and running. He couldn’t understand how he hadn’t caved in to the pain already.
The Monegasque nodded, wiping the stray tears that had escaped his eyes and were running down his cheeks.
They found a little corner, secluded enough that nobody could see them but also near the others enough that they could see what was going on around them, and Charles let go.
In just a few minutes, the shoulder of Pierre’s shirt was soaked with tears.
«I’m sorry…» Charles mumbled, trying his best to stop crying. He didn’t want to look weak or be caught crying by any of the drivers that were there, preferring to suffer in silence and then feel worse at home rather than showing himself vulnerable there.
«It’s okay. Do you want to go away?»
«Yeah, please. I’m… I don’t know how much longer I can take this.»
Pierre nodded, and after getting the keys from his mother they slowly made their way back to the car to rest for a bit before they had to go.