You lay there on the bed, the soft sheets tangled around your legs, feeling the weight of exhaustion and frustration in every part of your body. The paddock was a no-go for you today, seasickness had kept you locked in the hotel room, away from the action you so badly wanted to be a part of.

Charles hadn’t been himself after the race, his usually warm demeanor replaced by an intensity you rarely saw. His eyes had been darker during the interviews, sharper, almost as if they were seething with frustration. His answers came out clipped, harsher than usual, and his jaw was clenched tight, a sure sign that he was battling something deeper than just a bad day at the track.

The silence in the room felt heavy as you heard the door open, Charles had entered the small living area. You didn’t even have to see him to know what he was doing. You could picture him there, the weight of the day crushing him as he sought some form of escape. You heard the faint clink of glass as he grabbed a bottle from the minibar, and you knew exactly what it was. He wasn’t handling this well.

Sighing, you slowly stood, pulling the silk robe tighter around your body. Your fingers brushed the fabric, smooth against your skin, but it did little to ease the tension in your chest. Stepping into the living area, you moved cautiously, your footsteps slow as you approached him.

There he was, sitting next to the minibar, looking every bit the broken man you hadn’t seen in a long while. The bottle of whiskey was gripped tightly in his hand, the amber liquid sloshing inside as he took a long drink straight from the spout, not even bothering with a glass.

You took another step closer, the quiet of the room wrapping around you both as you stood there, unsure of what to say.

"I don't want any criticism now." his voice was raw, almost unrecognizable, as he spoke without turning toward you. It was cold, hostile, and laced with an anger that wasn’t just for the race. "I just want to drink. Please, leave me alone.”