crashing quietly | c.l.

Charles' POV

The room was cold.

Not physically — the hospitality suite was all sleek marble and espresso on tap — but cold in the way PR meetings always felt.
Stiff.
Unblinking.
Like everything was on the table but only some of it was allowed to be said out loud.

He sat with his arms crossed. Didn't touch the drink in front of him.

Across the table: two Ferrari press leads, one branding advisor, one team manager.
No smiles.

"Let's get ahead of this," one of them said.

"We're not saying anything drastic," another added. "We just want to align the messaging before Thursday."

Messaging.

He almost laughed.

"Which part exactly needs alignment?" he asked, voice too calm.

"The Cara Pluie thing," one of them said, without flinching.
"Social is exploding. Half the comments are in love with it. The other half think you're distracted."

He didn't respond.

Another leaned forward, folder open. "We've worked very hard on your clean-cut consistency. Focused. Grounded. Off-track privacy is part of the brand. This is... noise."

"This is my life," Charles said flatly.

"Your life is also a career. Millions of eyes. You know this."

He leaned back in the chair.

"I'm not making a statement."

"You already did."

The quote. The interview.
The hand-holding that slipped into Lando's Spain dump.
The way his eyes lingered when her name was mentioned.

The PR team was spiraling because the public already knew — and loved it.

But for the team?

It meant exposure.

It meant risk.

It meant letting the story become personal.

⸻

After twenty more minutes of skirting around feelings and "tone management," the meeting ended.

Charles didn't shake hands.

As he walked out, Carlos fell in step beside him, holding a banana like it was emotional support.

"Fun?" Carlos asked.

"I hate this shit," Charles muttered.

"Welcome to dating in red."

⸻

Carlos' POV

He knew it the second Charles sat down that morning.

The slight tension in his jaw. The way he hadn't touched his coffee. The way he'd only said "morning" once — and not even in Italian.

Carlos had been through it before.

Not with anyone serious, but he knew the feeling:
The weight of more than winning.
The pressure of protecting something soft in a world built to burn it.

And he'd seen her.

Cara.

How she looked at Charles like he wasn't on fire.
How Charles looked at her like he finally wasn't drowning.

Carlos liked her immediately.

How she saved him. Literally.

Which meant he was not about to let the media rip her apart.

⸻

"Are they going to back off?" Carlos asked, tossing his banana peel into the bin.

Charles shrugged. "They want to prep me for press. In case they ask."

"They will ask."

"I know."

They walked in silence for a moment.

Then Charles sighed. "They think she's a weakness."

Carlos stopped walking. "You serious?"

"That's the tone. That I'm too soft. Too distracted."

Carlos rolled his eyes. "No offense, mate, but you've been more focused since she showed up. You've had your best starts this season."

Charles raised a brow.

Carlos shrugged. "I keep receipts."

He paused.

"You love her?"

Charles didn't even flinch.

"Yeah."

Carlos smiled. "Good. Then don't let them turn her into PR noise."

Charles nodded. Quiet. Determined.

"I won't."

⸻

i miss c2 !!
they have literally the same name in their language spanish/french so -> carlos=charles

VOTEEE AND COMMENT PLSSS I LOVE UUUU