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Summary
Charles always knew when exam season had started. Not because you told him, you usually forgot to.
It was the shirts.
White button-downs appeared like clockwork, sleeves rolled to your forearms, collar left open because you hated ties, ink smudges blooming along your fingers as if pencils naturally dissolved into your skin.
You claimed it was practical.
Charles claimed it was ruining his ability to think.
OR
Charles Leclerc is surrounded by wealth, luxury, and people who look like they belong in magazines.
His boyfriend belongs in magazines, too.
He's just... more concerned about passing structural engineering.
