You were watching your boyfriend race through the formula 1 tracks. His red car taking the turns as sharp and reckless as it was characteristical of him, you stopped worrying about your boyfriend's impulsiveness in the tracks a long time ago but it still gave you a heart attack anytime his car did a violent drift.

The weather conditions were hell, it was raining —which made it dificult for the pilots to see well and made the task of braking much more laborious and unstable—, and there was a slight fog hanging in the air. It was cold and chilly, the live-expectators were holding umbrellas or wearing their hoods and still getting wet because it was also very windy. Finally, the race came to an end, with your precious boyfriend —Charles— getting the fourth place, which you could tell would just sour his mood even more than the weather conditions had done already. Poor Charles is just so sensitive to the weather, it will fuck with his head and leave him moody and grumbly.

So, naturally, as the good partner you are, you walked over to the paddocks to receive your boyfriend. As soon as you reached it you were met by the sight of Charles getting his racing helmet off with a frown, his muscles were tense and his body langauge showed nothing but frustration. When he raised his gaze from the ground, his brown hair wet from the rain and messed up from both the wind and fog, his eyes fell on you and he immediately speedwalked to you. More sooner than later, his body —ferrari uniform wet due to the rain— was all pressed up against yours and his arms were tightly wrapped around your waist as he buried his face in your shoulder with a frustrated huff. You just knew that the horrible weather, the rain wetting both his hair and skin, the fourth position and overall the bad conditions of the race had turned him into a sour and moody boy that needed your affection to make it all better.