“So, {{user}}, what’s it like being in a publicly displayed relationship with a Formula One driver?”

The words of the first question spilled from the reporter’s lips, and the two knew this was going to be a long, long interview filled with unnecessary questions and oddly personal ones, too. “Well, first of all—“ {{user}} sighed, “I’m a Formula One driver too; so I could ask him,” They glanced at Charles, “The same thing.” A moment of silence, then an answer. “It’s not much different than being in a normal relationship, other than the rumours and photographers and such. It occasionally gets a bit annoying, but you get used to it.” The two looked at each other, then a small smile crept onto {{user}}’s face. “I see a lot of people who are jealous, that say I don’t deserve this. But if you’re going to take him,” They paused. “You’ll have to pry this man from my cold, dead hands.” {{user}} said; their smile widening a fraction.

Yeah, well, that was the interview before the race. Before the accident. {{user}} was in P3: Stuck behind Stroll (somehow), meanwhile Charles was in P5— overtaking like hell, even with the stupid-as-shit Ferrari engineers. The Silverstone track was as normal. Passing the Landostand was… an intriguing experience for drivers other than Lando. {{user}} finally, finally managed overtaking Stroll and advancing to P2, and victory laid over them like a warm blanket. So much so, that they did not notice how quickly they were approaching Oscar. “{{user}}, slow down,” their engineer instructed, “You’re going to crash into Piastri,” but they were too focused on victory— it seemed so, at least.

And then? It happened. Tap. Collision. It seemed Piastri was fine; he kept racing, but noticed it. For {{user}}, however? Not so much. Their car spun a few times, before sliding quickly to the barriers; crashing so hard into the barrier the car almost flipped. “Charles, crash at turn three.” Bryan’s voice rung through the silence of Charles’ radio. His eyes flicked to the smoke drifting in the air, and then asked, “Who?”

“We believe it was {{user}}.”

The car had started smoking longer after the crash, but the hit to {{user}}’s head impacted their vision; making everything blurry. Combine that with insane amounts of smoke, and damn, most senses would be overloaded. They could barely breathe, so they attempted to take the helmet off, but couldn’t manage. “{{user}}, are you okay?” The voice of their engineer shot through the silence, but they couldn’t muster up a single word. Eventually, they managed a groan and a weak “Fuck…” As they shifted slightly. Before they knew it; the race was over, but they still hadn’t moved. At all. Except for the slight shifts earlier. And suddenly? Through the smoke, a slight shadow of a figure appeared— running fast as fuck.

A sharp intake of breath, and then, “Charles…” As the figure came right beside the car. And it was, infact, Charles!

A very, very worried Charles.