HOME | charles leclerc

one.

Not again.

I tossed my phone on my bed, angrily brushing the tears from my eyes. I hated feeling disappointed and yet it was one of my most familiar feelings these past few months.

"Fuck." I whispered.

Pacing back and forth, crying, in mine and Lando's Monaco apartment was not how I wanted this day to go. He was supposed to fly back this weekend to spend Christmas here with me in our apartment, but he'd gotten held up in the UK... again. I almost only see him during races now and it sucks.

We'd just gotten off of the phone, which only consisted of Lando profusely apologizing for 30 minutes. Apparently, a family member was sick and now his parents didn't want him spending Christmas away. I understood, but I had been looking forward to this time with him.

Time.

If only there were more.

During the off-season, most of the F1 drivers stayed here in Monaco, which is why Lando and I had an apartment here and why I didn't live with my parents still. I thought this off-season period wouldn't be any different, but Lando had barely been home at all. I can't blame him, though, he truly had other engagements.

It just hurt to not be with him except when we were both working. Being a presenter for F1 made that time together convenient, my job was part of the reason we'd ended up together.

Nearly two years ago now, about 6 months after I started the job, Lando and I started dating. My job partial reason for us coming together and my childhood friend, Charles Leclerc, was the rest of the reason. I'd grown up with Charles here in Monaco and watched him rise to fame as a driver. He helped me obtain not only a job but a loving boyfriend.

Fans despised the fact that Charles aided me in getting my job, saying I was using him to move up. But somewhere along the way, fans let up. Maybe it was because the drivers continually gushed about their love for me... or because I earned their respect. Who knows.

"Adelaide?" Charles' voice rang through the apartment.

I didn't remember giving him a key, but it wouldn't be a surprise if Lando had done it. I'm not complaining, though, I was probably going to end up at his place today anyway due to my boyfriend's absence.

I walked to the entryway to find him, rubbing the tears from my eyes again. "Hi, Char." I forced a smile.

His bright expression immediately faded. "What's going on?"

Tears filled my eyes again as he approached me. I didn't say a word, just dropped my head on his chest. His arms hooked around my waist and pulled me close to him. Charles knew me enough to know that I rarely made conversation while upset.

After a few moments, I spoke up, "He can't come home, again."

Charles was quiet for a moment, processing what I had said and what I hadn't. I think the tighter hug meant he finally understood. Not only had I not seen Lando in a few weeks, but he wouldn't be here for Christmas.

"Oh, Chérie." (Darling.) He mumbled, gently rubbing my back. "I had come to take you to lunch... but why don't we order in and have a movie day instead?"

Oftentimes, if Lando wasn't around, Charles would come pick me up to do different activities if he was bored. Lando questioned it one time when we'd first started dating, wondering why Charles wouldn't just ask first, but he quickly realized it was because Charles and I usually did everything together without ever making plans — we'd been friends for long enough.

"Ordering in would be great, thank you." I mumbled, breaking from the hug and making my way toward the couch. "You know what I like."

He said something in French about how it would be sad if he didn't know. In the time he was ordering us food, I settled in on the rather large couch I'd convinced Lando to purchase and put on a movie I'd watched time and time again. Charles joined me a few minutes later, settling down a foot or two to my right on the couch.

"20 minutes okay?"

I let out a sad laugh, "That's pushing it." Charles laughed, playfully shoving my shoulder.

"Oh, get over it, Della." Della, my childhood nickname. One Charles gave to me when he decided that Adelaide sounded too 'fancy' for a 5-year-old.

We settled into the couch, both becoming overly consumed with the movie on the screen, quoting it at random times. I didn't even realize how much time had passed until there was a knock at the door. I beat Charles to standing, almost pushing him back down onto the couch. I mumbled something about being right back and disappeared out of the living room.

I yanked open the door, almost curing out of joy at the sight of the delivery person holding multiple pizzas in front of me. "For... Leclerc?" I nodded, extending my hands to the person.

He handed me the pizzas and I went to close the door, but the person made a sound of protest. "Got more." They mumbled.

I furrowed my brows, Charles ordered more than just pizza? The man shook a grocery bag off of his arm, handing it over to me. I gave him a look and he nodded back, I took that as he'd given me everything the 20-something-year-old on the couch had ordered. The door shut behind me as I made my way into the kitchen, the grocery bag made me curious.

The pizzas were set aside on the counter as I pulled the bag up, looking inside. Holy shit. "Charles Leclerc!" I yelled for him.

A second or two passed and I heard him walking to the kitchen. He always knew that when I called for him it meant that I wanted him to come for me.

"Yes, Della?"

I pulled the small box out of the grocery bag, "You got macarons?"

"Oui bien sûr." (Yes, of course.) He shrugged, picking up the boxes of pizza and making his way back to the living room. We always reverted to speaking in French when we were too lazy to think about the English. "Pizza and macrons, la seule façon de réparer un cœur brisé." (the only way to mend a broken heart.)

I swallowed harshly, how'd I forgotten?

Charles and his long-term girlfriend, Charlotte, had broken up two weeks ago... today. He wasn't only coming over today to spend time with me, but to also help himself get his mind off of her. I couldn't blame him.

A sigh fell from my lips, with the box of macrons in hand, I opened the fridge to grab a few drinks - beers and ciders. Maybe a little alcohol will make us both feel better.

"Comment ça va?" (How are you?) I questioned, my voice quiet as I sat next to him.

He sent me a look, almost as if he should be asking me that question. "Je suis meilleur que je ne l'étais." (I'm better than I was.) A shrug.

From his lack of emotion, I knew not to push.

Instead, I flipped open a pizza box and took out a slice. "Pizza, alcohol, and cheesy movies sound like a good way to forget how shitty we feel today?"

The smile of his that I loved so dearly lit up his face at my words. Charles took a slice of pizza and a swig of the beer I hadn't seen him open.

"Bien sûr chérie." (Of course, darling.)