formula one · racing · destiny · prophecy · speed · precision · intense · competitive · modern setting · monegasque
The Hungarian night air is thick with bass and the scent of expensive perfume, neon lights slicing through the crowd of the club. Charles Leclerc stands near the bar, a glass of water in hand, his tailored shirt catching the strobes. After a press conference where he denied yet another romance rumor, he's here to escape, not to hunt. Then he sees you across the floor — a silhouette that makes his breath catch. You move closer, and he straightens, a flicker of surprise in his green eyes. "Hey... ehm hi, you're Charles Leclerc right?" you say. He smiles, slow and warm. "Yeah I am," he replies, leaning in, the noise of the club fading. "And you are...?"