crashing quietly | c.l.

Charles' POV

He'd never admit it to her —
but since she told him, he'd been scanning every corner of Monaco like it owed him answers.

Shadows. People. Vans.
Every streetlight flicker made him look twice. Every unfamiliar face earned a second glance.

None of it looked safe enough.
Not anymore.

And that made him angry.
Not scared.
Not anxious.

Angry.

Because Cara had already survived once.
Because she'd made it out, quietly and alone, like escaping something invisible.
Because she shouldn't have to do it again — not now, not ever.

Especially not when he was here.
Especially not when they all were.

⸻

It was quiet in the backroom.

Lando leaned against the shelf of spare glasses, Carlos sat on the crate he'd once spilled wine over, and Danny was pacing — but softly, like even his footsteps were trying not to be too loud.

Cara stood in the middle. Hands tucked into her sleeves. Hoodie too big. Charles just outside the door, not hovering — just close.

"I'm okay," she said first.

None of them believed her. She knew that.
It wasn't for them.

"He found me. You know that part."

They nodded. Careful.

She didn't look at any of them directly. Just past them.

"It wasn't the first time. Before this... he was already trying to control me. Make me quiet. Make me small."

She didn't say his name.

She didn't need to.

"I thought I was past it. I was wrong."

Silence. Tighter than glass.

Carlos looked down. Hands balled.
Lando was blinking way too fast.
Danny had stopped pacing, head bowed, like if he moved, he'd break.

"I'm safe now," she said. "That's all I need you to know."

⸻

Lando was the first to move.
He didn't say anything.
Just wrapped his arms around her like he was still the little kid he used to be.
Didn't let go for a long time.

Carlos stepped forward second. Kissed the top of her head, quiet and reverent, like she was made of something more important than glass.

Danny didn't speak. Just touched her cheek and whispered, "I'm so f*cking glad you're still here."

⸻

She didn't cry.

But they did.
In their own ways.

And when she left the room, she left with all three of them behind her.

Like shadows.
Like brothers.
Like a promise.

She told them so now there were not just four eyes looking but ten eyes.

____

He pulled Carlos aside at practice, quiet and fast, like it was nothing more than a note on strategy.

"Keep an eye out, yeah?"

Carlos didn't ask for details. He just nodded, firm.
"Already am."

⸻

"You think I wouldn't protect her?" Lando said, half-offended.

Charles smiled, just a little. "I think you'd try. I also think you'd accidentally hit the wrong guy."

Lando grinned. "Still counts if I hit a guy, right?"

"Close enough."

⸻

The guys didn't need convincing.
It wasn't even a conversation, not really. It just was.

She was theirs now.
In that messy, loyal, protective way the grid had become her circle.
Not because she raced — but because she stayed. Because she showed up with steady eyes and quiet loyalty, and they saw her. And that was enough.

She didn't ask to be protected.
They did it anyway.

⸻

At Soleil, that night:

It was late. The wine had been poured twice.
Cara told Carmen and Alba more than she meant to.

About the control.
The way he made her question her own memory.
How he never hit her — never left bruises — but still, somehow, everything hurt.
How silence became survival.
How she'd stopped trusting her own instincts, even now.

Carmen didn't interrupt once. Just listened.
Alba held her hand, gently. Like it had always been hers to hold.

When Cara finished, she sat back like it had cost her something.
"I don't need you to fight him," she said, voice low. "I just need to know if I should run."

Carmen shook her head. Slow. Steady.

"No," she said. "Not this time. If he comes close, we don't run. We stand between."

Alba squeezed her hand again — firmer this time.

Something like strength bloomed in Cara's chest, shaky but real.

⸻

Later, when they took a walk, she's quieter than usual. Not tired — just elsewhere.

They turn a corner and pass a van parked under the streetlamp. It's nothing special. Plain. Dusty.
But Charles looks over his shoulder once. Then again.
The license plate is smudged with dirt.
He doesn't say anything — just keeps walking, a little closer to her side.

Cara doesn't notice. Or maybe she does.
She slips her hand into his without a word.

⸻

She falls asleep on the couch that night.
A half-read book face-down on her lap.
TV flickering. Something cheerful on mute.

Charles doesn't move her.
Just pulls the blanket down from the back of the couch and drapes it over both of them.
Sits beside her, still fully dressed.
His eyes stay on the window longer than they need to.

The street's quiet. But not calm.
It's the kind of quiet that presses on your ribs.

There's a weight in his chest that won't leave.
Something restless. Something waiting.

He doesn't know what's coming.
Not yet.

But he can feel it in his bones —
Something is reaching for her.

And if it ever gets too close,
they'll have to tear her from his hands.

⸻

these mf are so cute:( poor cara

i'm editing a video of me and my friends. it's a bitch right now cause it's driving me insane!