Chapter Text
Charles didn’t notice it at first.
He got up early to get ready for the paddock, same as always. As he was making his way towards the Ferrari garage, he thought to first stop by the Alpine to meet his best friend. It was media day so he was pretty carefree as he walked towards the pink-blue garage.
Pierre waved at him from afar and smiled brightly.
Calamar...
Charles blinked. The word slid cleanly through his mind, unmistakably Pierre except his mouth hadn’t moved. His friend was still smiling, lips sealed.
Charles stopped in his tracks. He must have misheard it, imagined it or something. Maybe he was just sleep-deprived.
He forced a smile of his own and hugged Pierre when they were close enough, trying to shake off the goosebumps crawling up his spine.
“What’s got you smiling like that?” Charles asked.
Pierre’s eyes sparkled, mischief and affection swirling together, and then it happened again.
Je pensais justement à toi. (I was just thinking about you.)
Clear as a whisper, except Pierre still hadn’t spoken.
But when Pierre said the same words out loud a second later, Charles’s stomach dropped. He rubbed at his temples, trying to convince himself he wasn’t losing his mind.
Charles decided to ignore and let the moment pass. He returned the sweet words of his best friend with a soft smile and asked Pierre about his weekend. The conversation flows easily between the duo, drifting from the race to summer break plans. Soon they bid their goodbyes when Pierre was called back into his garage by some engineer.
Halfway to the red garage, Charles spotted Max. He frowned at the stupid Red Bull outfit, hideously paired with skinny jeans.
Charles didn’t understand how people tolerated him. The Monégasque had known him since they were kids, and he still couldn't find one good reason.
The thing was, Max was really good friends with Daniel, who was like a walking sunshine. The contrast between Max’s brash style and Daniel’s easygoing charm always puzzled him, but he couldn’t deny that Daniel's presence seemed to soften Max's rough edges.
At first he thought the Aussie was just tolerating Max out of sheer kindness and because they were teammates, but that didn't seem to be true, since they were still close off-track.
On top of that, he couldn't understand how, or why, Lando liked Max as well. He remembered Lando mentioning Max here and there in their Twitch streams, always sounding fond of the Red Bull driver.
Charles shook his head, trying to dismiss the thought as he approached the garage.
He really didn't want to interact with the Red Bull driver at all, so he tries to walk faster without Max noticing him. His efforts proved futile. He looked up to see Max already looking right at him, meeting his eyes dead on.
A voice cut through the noise before he could look away, and he realizes he can't escape the inevitable encounter any longer.
Charlie.
The word slipped through Charles’s mind like a warm touch. It sounded soft and fond. That’s not possible, he told himself.
“Hello, mate,” Max said out loud, completely unaware of what the nickname before had just done to Charles’s heart.
Charles blinked at him, still a bit stunned. The Dutchman had never sounded like that, not to him at least. He barely remembered to respond, his voice smaller than he intended.
“Hello, Max.”
*
After the very long and exhausting media day, Charles arrived at his hotel room and started piecing it together.
First, he seemed to have some kind of mind-reading ability now. Second, it only kicked in when he looked directly into someone’s eyes.
He was grateful for the limit. The idea of hearing everyone all at once was unbearable. He would find no peace, especially in the paddock full of chaos.
Charles also felt a bit guilty for reading personal thoughts of others. He didn't ask for this, and he had no idea how to turn it off.
Today at the media pen with a few drivers and reporters, he'd picked up a few things. The reporters didn't seem to dislike any drivers present: Fernando, Alex, George, and himself.
From the brief moment of eye-contacts, he knew Fernando always thought in Spanish. Even though Charles understood the language to some extent, it was too fast for his brain to keep up. So the older guy's head stayed closed to him.
The other two drivers had organized thoughts focused solely on the race weekend and expressed their dislike for media day.
By the time it was over, the sun was saying its final goodbye and Charles' bones ached.
All he wanted was his bed. After fulfilling a few more obligations from his PR team, he left the paddock and headed to the hotel, just wanting the day to be over.
He unlocked his room with the keycard and made his way inside the room. The hum of the air conditioner felt too loud, like even machines had thoughts now.
“Leo,” he called out for his dog. He'd missed the tiny guy greatly for a couple of weeks, so he'd brought him along for this race weekend. Poor guy had mostly stayed with Joris, since Charles had been buried in the paddock to give him any attention.
He heard the tiny paws on the wooden floor, making their way towards Charles. He picked the dog up and looked into its big puppy eyes, half hoping to hear the tiny creature's thoughts, but he heard nothing.
Charles frowned for a second. He'd genuinely wanted to know what was going on in that small head. Instead, he gave Leo a few scratches and set him down on the floor.
He collapsed onto the bed with a weary sigh, the hum of the hotel room settling around him like a blanket as the exhaustion finally caught up.
He doesn’t know when he fell asleep. But his mind kept replaying the day in disjointed flashes: Pierre’s smile, the noise of the paddock, and the strange new echo of other people’s thoughts. Yet, as sleep began to pull him under, all that remained was a single memory of Max’s voice, it was so soft and fond, calling him.
Charlie.