𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐯𝐚𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐬 [charles leclerc]

chapitre duze

       "PIERRE GASLY'S BACK on the podium too for AlphaTauri as he comes home third!" Crofty announces to the viewers of the SkySports broadcast, exhilarated after an exciting Grand Prix in Baku with a noteworthy podium and the championship leaders on the sidelines.

       "I called it! I manifested this—podium, baby!" Colette jumped on the French AlphaTauri driver after he clambered out of his seat in the car. The whole garage of the Italian Formula 1 team had run out to parc fermé to congratulate their driver on his excellent result. The mechanics and engineers from the team had filled around the secured area to congratulate their driver, the Monegasque girl blending as she had traded her usual jacket for a white and navy blue shirt, tucking the hem in to make it a cropped top. "Quel bon travail, Pierre !"

       "Tu es folle." The Frenchman grinned with squeezed cheeks from within his helmet where his balaclava peaked through.

       "Et tu as gagné !" The girl playfully told him off with a tap on his helmet.

       "I believe I promised you to properly black out?" Pierre raised an eyebrow before he felt others pulling on his race suit to go weigh himself.

       "And I will take you up on that, Gasly." Colette's smile turned smug, pointing at him before he was ushered away.

       "Lead the way, my bibulous friend."

— • —

       "Pierre, you're too heavy to be carried, no more bullying Yuki for his size." The evening started slow as there were many media duties to fulfil for the F1 drivers before they were able to eat dinner. But after dinner, the group Pierre and Colette were accompanied by quickly moved to an expensive club amidst the capital of Azerbaijan where bottles of Grey Goose and champagne were emptied as quick as they arrived. This may be a reason why around half two Colette decided to drag Pierre back to the hotel; carrying most of his weight on her own shoulders whilst trying to keep her own mind from spinning too much.

"Where is Yukinho?" Pierre slurred, completely disregarding every other word the girl had spoken.

"Somewhere safe in his hotelroom, just as you should be." The girl grumbled as she attempted to remain balanced on her Yves Saint Laurent heels, her own high level of alcohol in her blood not helping her much. "Je te le jure—"

"Working out at this late hour?" Husky. Masculine. Voice—again. Loud footsteps in a slow stride followed the two intoxicated friends down the hall on the umpteenth floor of the hotel. He was quick to accompany by her side, slightly tense but mostly cocky in his walk. Chills shivered down her back as she felt his arm brush against hers every so often, but Colette decided against looking up at his athletic figure.

"The work-out of my life," Colette shook her head, stumbling an extra two or three metres with her best friend's arm over her shoulder to safely bring him to his room. "Mon Dieu il est si lourd."

"Hé !" Said intoxicated best friend responded before falling back into his drunken haze. This is when the Monegasque male took pity on the shorter woman, who was doing a fair job, before taking the burden off of her shoulders—literally. The girl thankfully nodded her head before breathing deeply to catch her breath.

"You did well today, great driving." Colette forced the words out after a minute or two when the silence started to irk her too much.

"Tough battle with this one." Charles gestured to their mutual friend with his head, a few pieces of his hair falling down on his forehead as it lacked the usual amount of product. It appeared he had showered not too long ago as his brunet locks were still slightly damp. Colette swiftly took in his appearance and noticed that he, mostly likely, stayed in that night. He was dressed casually in his joggers and paired it with a fitted, dark shirt—oh and his godforsaken hair so very fluffy and soft.