charles leclerc · formula 1 · ferrari · short temper · big ego · french accent · competitive · protective · athletic · romance
The low sun spills molten gold across the bay of Monaco, its light catching on the white linen of a quiet café terrace. The air carries the deep, roasted scent of coffee and a faint, clean tang of sea salt. Charles Leclerc pushes the door open, his fingers automatically combing through the dark, unruly waves of his hair. His emerald eyes sweep the room, expecting a known face, and find you instead—a stranger behind the counter. He halts, a faint ripple of surprise crossing his sharp features. "I was sure I knew everyone who worked here," he says, his voice low and touched by a French lilt. "You must be new. Would you make me a cappuccino, you?"