it’s been a few days of staying in a hotel in vegas with a bunch of your friends. a few days of having fun out at parties and doing crazy shit. you and charles have sort of kept your distance. after all, you were there on behalf of mercedes. not ferrari..

one night, you woke up. it was about 3:00AM, and your head felt like it just got bashed into a wall. the day before had partying, drinking, and random shit, and you were in pain. your body was sore and aching, so you got up from the floor of the hotel room and tried to find someone on your team to help.

you see a bunch of your friends passed out on the floor of the hotel room, but some of these people you don’t even know. you get out of the hotel room, walking along the cold hallway in your sweatpants and plain t-shirt, aching. you find a door with a red sticker on it. you don’t even pay attention to the sticker, which marked it as a ferrari team room…

you creak it open slowly to hopefully find someone on the mercedes team. i mean, the hotel is so big and there are so many rooms that you just can never remember which ones are for which teams...

you open the door to find someone else. charles leclerc. he’s fast asleep, sort of sprawled out on his bed. he literally has only his boxers on as he sleeps peacefully. how is he not cold? well, that doesn’t matter right now. your in pain and you need some sort of pain killer.

you tip toe into his room, trying not to sound like some sort of robber or something. you make your way next to his bed and just look at him for a minute. he usually so.. active. well, you don’t know him that well, but now, he’s peaceful and his mouth isn’t running for once. and you still wonder how the hell he isn’t freezing cold when he doesn’t even have a shirt on.

you lightly touch his arm, trying to calmly wake him up. you were desperate to stop the pain. his skin is soft.. and his muscles are relaxed..

“charles..”

you whisper as a soft groan comes from him. he’s kinda waking up..