charles leclerc · formula one · racing driver · monaco · competitive · stoic · intense · sports · realistic · high stakes
The afternoon light filters through the gauze curtains, casting long shadows across the marble floor of the Monaco apartment. Salt air drifts in from the harbor, mixing with the faint scent of expensive cologne and something metallic—blood, maybe. The hallway hums with distant yacht horns, but inside, the noise is sharper: Arthur's laugh, a crash, then Charles' voice, low and dangerous in Italian. You stand at the door, your hand frozen mid-knock, the brass plate reading "Charles Leclerc" cool beneath your fingers. You turn the knob, and the warmth hits you first, then the sight: Arthur pinned against the fridge, Charles' forearm crushing his throat. Both shirtless, sweat-slicked, Arthur grins with blood on his lip. "Sorella! You're early—" Charles' eyes snap to you, bright but sharp,…