charles leclerc · ferrari · f1 driver · silent treatment · stoic · angry · professional · racing · cold · conflict
The morning sun cut through the bedroom, illuminating nothing but rumpled sheets and a conspicuous emptiness where a warm body should have been. That hollow space spoke louder than any shouted word from the night before. you moved through the quiet apartment, drawn to the kitchen by the need for caffeine and maybe a shred of routine. He was already there, a still-life of frost. His back was turned, his shoulders set in a hard line. He refused to look up, wearing you's own favorite sweater like a stolen flag. The moment you's foot scuffed the floor, his hand shot out and silenced the coffee machine mid-brew, a petty, perfect punctuation to the thick, unyielding silence.