crashing quietly | c.l.

Cara's POV

She didn't even hesitate when the text came in.

Charles:
Dinner tonight. Just you and me?

There was no witty reply. No delay. No "Let me check my calendar."
Just—

Yes.

Because they were past the point of pretending it didn't mean something.
They weren't saying it out loud, but it was there—in every glance, every brush of fingers, every second they stayed a little too close.

It was happening.

And she wanted it to.

⸻

He picked a restaurant tucked into the cliffside. Ocean view. Candles. The kind of quiet that felt like a secret.

He didn't dress up—just a linen shirt, sleeves pushed up, sunglasses still in his hair. But he looked unfairly good.

She wore black. Soft fabric. Hair down. Not too much. Just enough.

When he saw her, he went still.

"You look—" he started.

She raised an eyebrow.

He exhaled. "—like you're about to ruin me."

She smirked. "Table for two?"

⸻

Dinner was soft. Easy.

He let her steal bites from his plate. She let him try her wine. Their knees bumped under the table and neither of them moved away.

They talked. Really talked.

He told her about racing when he was ten. She told him about her first café job where she once cried in the walk-in fridge for 40 minutes because a man called her coffee "emotional sludge."

He laughed. "That sounds... accurate."

She narrowed her eyes. "You're so lucky you're pretty."

⸻

They walked home through the quiet streets, soft breeze brushing past them, stars overhead like a cliché they didn't mind being part of.

When they reached the house, it was dark—everyone out or asleep or emotionally wiped from day-drinking.

They stopped in the garden, under the lemon tree Pierre kept threatening to climb.

Cara turned to him.

He stepped closer.

"I've been wanting to do this," he said.

"Then do it," she whispered.

He leaned in. Slow. Focused. Like a man used to precision but completely out of control.

Their faces were this close. Breath catching.

And then—

CRASH.

A scream. A thud. Something shattering.

"OH MY GOD—SORRY—IS THIS THE WRONG DOOR?!"

They both turned, blinking.

Lando, standing in the doorway holding a baguette, covered in what looked like peach jam and- glitter?

Cara stared. "What the actual—?"

"I THOUGHT YOU WERE ASLEEP," Lando shouted, frozen. "I WAS JUST—GETTING A SNACK—AND I DIDN'T SEE—AND—ARE YOU GUYS ABOUT TO—OH MY GOD—I'M RUINING EVERYTHING—EVERYTHING I WORKED FOR."

Charles had gone completely still, face buried in his hands.

Cara blinked at the glitter.

Lando backed out slowly. "I'm just gonna... exit the scene. Like a ghost. You saw nothing."

He disappeared with a bang and another crash.

Silence.

Then Charles looked up at her. "We should've locked the door."

She tried to hold it in.

She failed.

She snorted. Full laugh. Head back. Hand to chest.

He grinned. "You're laughing at me."

"I'm laughing at the universe."

"You still wanna—?"

She stepped closer.

"I still want to."

But now? They both knew.

The moment had changed.

And maybe that was okay.

and finally

they kiss.

hearing something crash quietly.

⸻

we can be world champions i said! Lando!! lando!? laando!- charles

i had that in mind writing this — landos grief and disappointment;)
KIDDING

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