A shower, an attempt at a power nap and a private jet later, we're packed like sardines into a club in Monte Carlo. As beautiful as it is, Monza's not really known for it's nightlife, so I end up being dragged along with the Monaco high-lifers: Charles, Max, Lando, Daniel, Alex and George. The music is so loud, I think I might actually damage my hearing, bass pumping through the floor and swirling, blinding lights.
But I'm elated.
Nothing feels like too much tonight. I feel like I could handle anything, I could keep going forever, I could take over the world. Charles is the same. The media is quite literally losing its mind over, what they've taken to calling, our 'switch trick,' and then Charles' stunt on the podium. Part of me is surprised. It's been a very long time since I've seen a dating rumour about the two of us, but now they're everywhere once again.
And, for some strange reason, I'm not mad about it. In fact, my first thought was 'Aw. Just like old times.'
I think I'm going insane.
More and more shots keep going down, of course - it wouldn't be a party with Max otherwise - and the effect of them is starting to hit me. My mind frees up, and my body, ignoring the exhaustion of the day to dance, the pressure of people setting in around me.
And then there's Charles.
The guy's name won't stop popping into my head. It's like a constant whisper, reminding me to look for him, check where he is, make sure he's okay. Not that he needs me checking up on him. He's pretty much the exact opposite to how he was after France, a smile permanently on his face, never dropping, eyes shining. He hasn't been alone for a moment since we arrived, his energy drawing people to him like a lamp draws moths, walking around with a bubble of pure joy around him. It doesn't falter, not for a second. He's infectious, addictive, his glow feeding the entire room. He welcomes everyone, entertains everyone, makes everyone feel comfortable, whether they're his oldest friend or a complete stranger.
That's what I lo-
That's what I admire about Charles. He's kind. In his eyes, anyone and everyone is worth his time.
As one song fades into another, I glance up for what feels like the millionth time, looking for him. He's over by the bar, the crowd of people around him having diminished slightly and I finally give in to the nagging desire to go over to him.
He spots me walking over and pulls a stool out, next to him. I grin and slide onto it, leaning into him slightly so we can hear each other.
'Catching your breath?' He asks, turning the glow of his attention to me.
'Yeah.' I chuckle, 'You're doing the same, I should think.'
He laughs too.
'I swear, I've never been this popular.' He jokes, and for the first time I can pick up an extra depth to his accent, the drag of one word into another. 'I'll have to come and hide on the dancefloor with you in a minute.'
God, please do.
Okay, maybe I'm a bit more drunk than I thought, as well.
'I'm not sure I'll be able to hide you, but you're welcome on my dancefloor anytime.' I reply.
'Your dancefloor?' Charles' smile shifts to something more like a smirk. 'I didn't know you owned property in Monaco.'
'Chéri,' I quip, leaning over more so I'm speaking right in his ear, 'I don't need to own anything. It's common knowledge that every dancefloor belongs to me.'
It might be my imagination, but Charles seems to draw in a heavy breath.
'Well then,' He responds, head turning to also bring his lips closer to my ear. I fight the shiver that runs through me, 'Could I get entry permission from the... What would you call yourself? The dancefloor princess? Queen?'
YOU ARE READING
Clean Air - Charles Leclerc
Fanfiction'It's easy to hate someone when you don't know their story. Before, I saw him as the one thing getting in my way, someone who breezed in and took everything from me with no good reason why. But I came to realise that both of us were carrying huge bu...
