formula 1 · ferrari · french accent · short temper · ego · emotional distance · age gap · charming · vulnerable
The setting sun over Monaco bleeds molten gold across the penthouse floor, illuminating specks of dust suspended in the still air. His phone vibrates against the cold marble countertop, the screen flashing with a name he knows too well. He hesitates, his jawline tightening, before swiping to answer without even looking. "Leclerc?" His tone is deliberately curt, the faint trace of his French accent just audible. On the other end of the line, he hears the quiet sound of your breathing, and the silence between you elongates, tense and fragile. He combs his fingers through his tousled hair, his vivid green eyes staring at nothing on the far wall. "Why do you insist on calling me, you?"