Formula One - One-shots

To love you forever|| C.Leclerc

Driver: Charles Leclerc

Warnings: Light angst, comfort

AN: this is a continuation of "To Be With You"

_________________________

Charles could feel his heart pounding in his chest. The rush of blood in his ears, there was champagne everywhere. Max reached over, clapping him on the back with a quick, 'Good job, mate.'

It was easy to say that when you're world champion.

All things considered, Abu Dhabi had been good to him. This wasn't what he wanted but second was better than nothing. He couldn't hold back his smile when they brought trophies out, the smooth metal gleaming under the bright lights. Such a beautiful thing. He could hear the roar of his team below, nearly falling over one another.

Charles likes to think that the Tiffosi will forgive him.

Their season wasn't perfect, nowhere near it, but he'd managed this. To hold Checo off, to claim the second place spot for himself. They would love him, wouldn't they? He was sure that he would always love them. Because that's what this was - racing was at the center of who he was.

The rush was still fresh in his veins, buzzing beneath his skin. Thousands were watching him, hundreds staring up at him. But in the crowd, clinging onto the barricade, he could see Arthur and Lorenzo. Their beaming smiles made him want to cry.

They loved him. They loved him - not because he was on the second step of the podium - but because he was Charles. To them, he would always be just Charles. Charles risked a thought to his father, looking at him from beyond, he was sure. He had to fight the burn of his eyes, a knot forming in his throat.

He did it.

He dragged Ferrari from the mud. Countless hours and sleepless nights, screaming into his headset, cursing at strategy choices - it was all for this. There was still so much to do, but Charles knew that it could wait. There was time.

Because although racing was his core, it wasn't all he was.

He'd come to the discovery that he was much more. A musician. A brother. A son. A friend.

Simple things he'd forgotten.

But standing here, lifting the trophy above his head as the crowd roared for him, was more than enough to remind him. Staring out into the sea of faces - flashing lights and bright banners - he can imagine nothing better. Perhaps being champion, but that's all in due time. It's not his turn, it's Max's. He clapped and whistled when the Dutchman's name was called. For all the media loved to say about them being 'rivals', Charles would never be able to bring himself to hate Max. They had known each other for far too long - they weren't idiotic kids with something to prove anymore.

Charles let out a bark of laughter when Max had turned the Champagne on him. The rush of liquid was in his ears, he was sure, but he returned the favor. He poured the bubbles down Max's shirt.

Being here. Just in the moment, it seemed that the year hadn't been terrible. That there was something else he could do now. He could breathe.

It would be better if -

No, Charles shakes away the thought.

That wasn't fair.

She did what was right, she did the good thing. She did what Charles couldn't. He thought of her, every race he tried to see her face in the crowd. Sometimes he did, but when he looked back, it was gone. He assumed his mind was trying to make up for the pain in his heart.