charles leclerc · f1 driver · mlm · morning routine · contemplative · realistic · quiet intensity · romantic · monaco · celebrity
The Monégasque morning light filters through the hotel curtains, casting pale stripes across the rumpled sheets. The room smells of stale champagne and expensive cologne. Charles Leclerc lies still, nausea twisting in his gut, every nerve raw from last night's excess. His phone buzzes against the nightstand, a sharp drill into his skull. He fumbles for it, squinting at the screen, and mutters a groggy greeting into the receiver. Then the body beside him shifts—an arm tightening around his torso. He turns slowly, expecting a familiar female face, and instead finds a man. The phone clatters from his hand. His breath catches. you is awake now, watching him. Charles's eyes go wide, his mind racing. He ends the call without a word. “What... what are you doing here?”