onepointsixkm

[onepointsixkm]

Part II: Burnout

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix went up in smoke as the end of the world began. You and a group of your friends managed to escape, but not without loss, as the dead began to walk.

featuring: SV5, CL16, OP81, & LS2. (mentions of LN4 + some surprise appearances)

warnings: zombie apocalypse! features character death, gore, and other genre conventions/staples. please do not engage if you are uncomfortable with any of the potential warnings!

notes: i am 100% serious when i say that if you did not take the warning on the first chapter seriously, this is the time to do so. please protect your mental before reading.

word count: 5,295

“Logan, you don’t have to come if you aren’t feeling up to it.”

The American boy shook his head fiercely, nervously shifting the bag on his shoulder. “I have to,” he replied, although his voice wavered with uncertainty. “We can’t just wait for help. Every second we wait… someone else could be…” You watched as a faraway look took over his face, the haunted, guilt-ridden frown coming back.

Oscar grasped his shoulder. “C’mon, mate,” he murmured. “Keep it together.”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m good.” Logan nodded, offering a weak, shaky smile to each of you. You and Oscar exchanged looks, but didn’t protest Logan’s words. You knew you couldn’t. Logan would push through, no matter how terrified he really was.

“Then no time to waste. Let’s get going.” Seb had taken a crowbar from the maintenance closet, and was holding it in his gloved hands. “Let’s get in, and stick together. And whatever you do, don’t get bit.”

Charles shifted uncomfortably as Sebastian opened the door, Logan and Oscar slipping into the hallway as he did. Both of them were holding golf clubs, Oscar’s raised defensively while Logan’s was a bit lower, more hesitant. “Remind me why we aren’t taking the car?” Charles asked, rolling the baseball bat he’d taken in his hands.

“Cars are loud,” was Seb’s swift and easy answer, as if those three words explained everything.

For a moment, Charles looked like he wanted to protest, but he stopped himself and shook his head, muttering something in French. The security and safety a car would provide as you traveled was something you could understand him wanting, given what you’d seen happen as you left the circuit. But at the same time, you also knew why Seb had made the decisions he’d made. A car was loud, and anything loud was a near guarantee that the undead would find you before you ever even made your way into the paddock at the circuit. It was the potential to sentence one of your group — the number of you already dwindling — to death. And after everything that had happened in the hours prior, after realizing everyone who was either missing or dead, you didn’t want to risk that. You couldn’t risk it.

“We should go on foot,” you quietly agreed with Seb, glancing over at your friend with a frown. Charles looked at you, confused. “It’s less than twenty minutes, Charles. And the risk from the noise… it’s not worth it.” You held onto another of Lando’s golf clubs, kicking the head of the club and letting it bounce against your toes.

For a moment, Charles hesitated. But he nodded, however reluctant he actually was. “Okay. On foot it is.” He glanced at you.

You offered him the best smile you could, given the situation, and reached out to squeeze his arm gently. He did the same for you, although you could still see the hesitance in his smile. You slowly moved past Seb, who was still holding the door open, and into the hallway. Charles followed behind you, with Seb bringing up the rear.

The building was strangely quiet as you made your way back to the ground floor, Oscar and Seb accompanying Logan down in the elevator while you and Charles descended the stairs. Even your normally talkative friend was dead silent, a pensive frown on his face and his brow furrowed as he lost himself in his thoughts.

You knew what everyone else was thinking in their silence. Those thoughts were running through your head, too.

What if there’s no one left?

It wasn’t until you were halfway through the long trek (that only felt long because of the silence) to the circuit that you heard the sound of someone else’s voice as Logan spoke up. He’d fallen behind, lost in his thoughts, and finally, he said, “Hey.” The sudden sound made you jump at first. You all looked at him, Seb, who stood at the front of your group, even peering at him out of the corner of his eyes. “What if… what if we’re the only ones who made it. And we see… people we know. As-as one of those things.”

You looked towards Seb, who was suddenly staring ahead of him like the rising smoke in the distance was the most interesting thing imaginable. Your gaze turned toward Charles, whose frown had only deepened as he stared at the bat in his hands.

“All I know is that if it was me,” Oscar started, slowly interrupting the silence as you all searched for an answer to Logan’s question, “I’d want you to put me out of my misery.”

“Like… you’d want us to, uh… re-kill you, I guess?” You almost wanted to laugh at Logan’s struggle for words, but the context surrounding them wasn’t funny. You knew that you could run into anyone who wasn’t accounted for. How could there possibly be humor in that?

Oscar pursed his lips, shrugging nonchalantly, despite the clear tension in his shoulders. “Well, yeah. Being a zombie means that I could hurt other people, even kill ‘em if I’m not dealt with. And I wouldn’t want my body walking around like that, without me in it. It’d be a kindness, really. To put me down, I mean.” He glanced over at you, offering you a small smile, like he knew where your mind was hurtling towards.

Lando.

“Then that’s what we do,” you said softly as you weakly returned Oscar’s smile. “I’m sure everyone else would feel the same.”

With a short nod, Oscar reached over to Logan and tried to pat his shoulder reassuringly. Instead, Logan grabbed Oscar’s hand and squeezed it, needing some sort of comfort — any sort of comfort — that was offered. Although Oscar looked surprised for a moment, he allowed Logan to hold onto him like a lifeline. Your eyes met his again, and you smiled, this one a little bit stronger.

If nothing else, you needed to be strong for the people who were still alive.

Silence fell between the group again. Logan continued to cling to Oscar’s hand, his brow furrowing further and further. His grip on his golf club had tightened. Oscar had subtly pushed himself in a defensive position, ready to fight anything that came at the distracted Logan. You almost smiled. Even now, they were looking out for each other. At your side, Charles was playing with the bat, kicking it with his toes with each step he took. He was constantly chancing looks out in one specific direction. His home, his mom’s home.

You reached over and grabbed his wrist. When you met his eyes, you could see the flicker of hope dimming from only hours prior. You managed a small smile, but he could barely return it. The little twitch of his lips was all you would get from him. Your hand fell back to your side, words failing you as you searched for a way to comfort him.

Seb finally halted as you reached the parking lot gate, all of you coming to a stop behind him. “We’re here,” he muttered.

There was still smoke rising from the circuit. In fact, you could’ve sworn that there was more than you remembered. More fire, more things going south. More chances that your friends were gone. More chaos and violence, and you were sure that there should’ve been more panic and screams echoing through the city.

But somehow, it was quiet.

“Alright. Stay as silent as possible. No noise. Let’s get in, go looking, and get out with whoever we find. No taking stupid risks, got it?” Seb ground out, looking more serious than you thought you’d ever seen him.

Everyone, even Charles, who was normally someone who couldn’t stay silent, even in serious situations, was deadly silent as your group crept through the remains of what had been the Monaco Circuit. There were small fires all around the circuit and there was debris scattered along the streets. The corpses of those who hadn’t reanimated, many of which were half eaten, were strewn about the asphalt. Blood had begun to soak into the road.

You winced as you had to creep past a group of zombies that were devouring some poor person’s remains, and you bit back a whimper as your traitorous mind imagined one of your friends in their place.

Most of the garages were empty of people — undead or otherwise — and you weren’t sure if it was a mercy or not. All that was left were the Formula 1 cars, and some bodies that had been killed in the chaos. Some of them were people you recognized. There were so many mechanics, team staff, and even a few of the reserve drivers who had been attending that weekend, and your heart sank a little bit further with every body you recognized.

Logan almost vomited when you found what was left of Fredrik Vesti’s body in the Mercedes garage. Through his tears, Oscar insisted on covering his friend, to give him some sort of dignity in death. You hadn’t been close with him, but a deep sorrow still settled in your bones as you silently watched Logan and Oscar mourn. Fred was still someone who you knew by name, and it was a cruel reminder that you were here to try to find your friends, but that not all of them had made it.

Perhaps it was a small mercy that Alex and Lily were gone by the time you reached the place that you’d lost them. There was gore and viscera, but no bodies. You didn’t want to think about whose guts were splayed on the ground as you stepped over them.

A smoking Haas car had planted itself in the pit wall, bloody handprints smeared across its glossy finish, but thankfully, there was no one in the driver’s seat. You bit your lip and forced yourself to tear your gaze from the wreckage. The front of the car had been so damaged that you couldn’t even tell if it was Nico’s or Kevin’s car.

Charles reached down to take your hand, and you finally noticed that you were shaking. He gazed at you worriedly, the unspoken question clear in his eyes. You swallowed your sobs and nodded at him, silently communicating that you were okay.

(You weren’t okay at all, but you had to tell yourself that you were to make it true.)

Finally, you reached the last garage you hadn’t checked. Williams. Behind you, you could hear Logan inhale sharply. You looked back at him, and he shook his head, his eyes beginning to look a little glassy.

The Williams garage was deadly silent as Seb lifted the doors. It was somehow clean of the blood and debris that had been in every other garage. A few of the lights were flickering, with a few completely out. Both Alex and Logan’s cars were right where you’d last seen them, and you took a deep, shuddering breath as Seb gestured for Logan to close the garage shutters behind you, Logan scrambling to do so.

You nearly jumped out of your skin as the garage shutters slammed against the floor. For a moment, you all hold your breath as you wait for any sign of life — or lack thereof — to show itself.

“Is someone there?” a British accent called from deep within the garage.

You and Charles exchanged looks of relief as you both recognized the voice. Both of you practically ran towards the voice. You turned the corner and squeezed into the rows of tyres and front wings, where you saw a figure nearly collapsed on the floor. George Russell’s familiar gaze peered at you from the tyres. You dropped your golf club as you rushed towards him, Charles hot on your heels. George sat up straight, and you could see his shoulders sag in relief from where he sat, leaning against a stack of tyres, a wrench tight in his grip.

He let his head fall back against the cloth-covered rubber. “Good to see some friendly faces, finally,” he quipped, his voice laced with a mixture of pain and relief.

“George, oh my God,” you breathed as you nearly collapsed next to him. His black team kit was covered in blood and his face was smeared with dirt and soot, but he still offered you a smile. You couldn’t help but grab him into a tight hug. “Holy shit, you’re alive.”

He let out a mirthless laugh as he winced in your arms. You could feel his arm reach up to pat your back as gently as he could. “Barely. And, quite honestly, only alive because of Hulkenberg.” He leaned back as you released him from your embrace.

Seb lowered his weapon, concern written on his face. “What d’you mean? What happened?” he asked, looking around in search of Nico.

“When I got separated from these guys,” George nodded at you, and you could feel guilt spear your chest, “I tried to go back for Alex and Lily. They… there was nothing left to go back to.” You covered your mouth as you held back a sob. “I had to run, but there was almost nowhere to go. Everything was… chaotic. People screaming and running everywhere, and everywhere I could go is filled with zombies. And then, Hulkenberg came out of nowhere like… like a fucking maniac, driving one of the Haas cars right through the crowd and then right into the wall. He got out of the car and-and his arm was bleeding. I think he was bit, but I never got a good enough look to say for certain. He just pushed me into the garage, handed me this wrench, and told me to stay here until help came. I… he never came back.”

Nico Hulkenberg was most likely dead. Bitten and turned or devoured to find others. You weren’t sure, and you didn’t know if you were ever going to find out.

“And your ankle?” Seb prodded, gesturing towards George’s leg. You followed Seb’s gesture, and gasped. George’s ankle was clearly injured, his foot pointing in an unnatural direction, and you could see it swelling.

George winced at the reminder. “Slipped and fell when Hulkenberg drove past me. Had to dive out of the way to not get hit. Couldn’t just pop it back into place, so it’s just been like this.” He reached down to pat his ankle, a pained hiss leaving his mouth.

“Do you know if anyone else is alive?”

Seb and George stared at each other in silence for a moment. Finally, George sighed and shook his head. “I don’t know. I have no idea. After Alex went down, we all got separated. I have no clue what happened to anyone else.” His brow furrowed in frustration. “But by the looks of it, not everyone got out with you.” His gaze scanned each of your faces, looking for answers that you weren’t sure he would want to hear.

Despite that, you took a deep breath and supplied, “Lance was bit. He turned, and he bit Carlos when we tried to get out.” George nodded slowly, sorrow twisting his lips into a frown. “Daniel is dead. So is Fred Vesti. A lot of mechanics and engineers are gone. We haven’t found any of the other drivers.” You could see Logan shuffle anxiously behind you. “We lost Max in that chaos, and… and I let go of Lando. I don’t know if they’re alive.”

George continued to nod slowly, a faraway look in his eyes. “Okay,” he finally managed, his voice slow and quiet. “Thank you for telling me.”

“What, that’s it?” Charles asked, shock in his eyes.

“What else am I supposed to say?” George snapped. “You want me to be angry? Sad? I knew that not everyone made it. I made my peace with it after I found what was left of my best friend on the fucking ground, after I saw him and his girlfriend getting eaten by those things. There’s nothing else to say.”

Silence fell between all of you, the losses finally sinking in. Charles looked sheepishly at George, who had let his head fall to stare at his hands in his lap. “I’m sorry. About Alex,” Charles whispered.

George smiled sadly through pursed lips. “Yeah. Sorry about Carlos.” Charles murmured a soft thanks, unable to look at George.

Seb glanced around at the garage. “This place is fortified by those shutters, but there’s not enough food to last more than a day. But, for now, it’s a good place to rest. The sun will be setting soon, which means it’ll be too dangerous for us to head back to the apartment. We’ll stay safe here until morning, and then, we get a car, get back to the apartment, and figure out next steps,” he declared.

“Okay,” you agreed readily, shrugging off your bag and pulling out the medical supplies you’d packed. “George, let me take a look at your ankle.”

George readily shifted, pulling his pant leg up. The pain became more and more visible as he moved. You grimaced at the swelling. It was angry and red, like he’d stressed it too much. You could see Oscar follow Logan as Logan staggered away, towards where his car was. Charles handed George his water bottle, and George gratefully took it, taking a long few sips before handing it back.

“You sprained it pretty bad.” George snorted a laugh — I fucking know, you could hear his unspoken words. “Going anywhere on this is going to be a bitch. Seb, tomorrow, we’re going to have to be so careful. We can’t get crept up on, not with George’s ankle like this.”

Seb nodded in agreement. He leaned down to clasp George’s shoulder. “Rest up,” he advised all of you. “In the morning, we’ll have to go. So, for now, get as much rest as you can.”

As soon as Seb said that, you all began trying to settle down for the night. What little food you had, you rationed and split amongst you, George practically wolfing down the fruit cup you’d offered him as you bandaged his ankle. Charles offered him the blanket he’d brought, to elevate his leg, and Oscar managed to find some extra clothes to cover all of you. You and Charles took up spots near George, while Logan and Oscar huddled together. Seb laid in front of all of you, as if he was protecting you from anything that could potentially get in.

But sleep didn’t come easily to you.

You couldn’t see outside the garage, but you knew that the dead were probably still roaming about the circuit, searching for anyone that was still alive to turn or devour. You stared at the garage shutter, waiting for something — anything — to happen. Your body was still on high alert from the events of the day, and even if you knew the Williams garage was safe, you couldn’t stop your mind from racing.

“Can’t sleep?” you heard a soft whisper. You looked over to George, who was staring at you with a knowing gaze from where he laid. “Me neither,” he admitted, pushing himself to sit up and scoot closer to you.

You shook your head, pulling your knees to your chest. “I just keep thinking about everyone else. Max, Lewis, Pierre… Ollie — God, Ollie and Kimi — and all of the others.” You paused. “Lando especially.”

George murmured your name, but you couldn’t look at him. “You said you let go of Lando. What happened?” he prodded, so gently that you nearly started crying.

Any words you could’ve said turned to ash on your tongue. You just meekly shook your head again. Silence fell between you and George, the echoes of the small, ambient sounds of the garage ringing loudly through your head.

“I… I lost him. In all the chaos, I just… I let go of him. And then, he was gone.”

George reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it reassuringly. “If he’s only lost, then that’s not so different than before. Typical of Lando, always wandering off somewhere. We just have to find him.” He smiled gently, and you thanked all the stars in the sky for George Russell and how he knew exactly what to say whenever you needed him.

You smiled back, squeezing his hand in return.

When morning came and Seb woke you all up, you and George were still holding onto each other. Before you stood to pack your things back up, he squeezed your hand once more.

“We’ll find him,” he said confidently. Despite everything that was telling you otherwise, you believed him.

Those were the only words you exchanged as you crept through the circuit, back the way you came. For the most part, it was quiet. There were practically no zombies wandering around, and the few that you did see, you were able to easily put down alongside your friends. But as you reached the parking lot, you suddenly found yourselves surrounded.

You weren’t even sure where they came from, just that they hadn’t been in front of you, and then they were. As quickly as if you’d blinked, a bunch of shambling corpses had got the jump on you. You didn’t even know where they’d come from, just that they were all around you.

Once the first zombie reached for you, you’d let out a yelp as you swung your club and knocked it to the ground. It hadn’t quite been dead, instead trying again to grab you with a loud moan, and you slammed your club into its head again. You were sure you’d killed it this time if the dent in its skull and the way it went limp was anything to judge by.

But as you looked around, you saw Oscar and Seb beating back the zombies that were fast approaching, Charles and Logan taking up defensive positions around George, who they were continuing to support as best they could. George was leaning on Logan and had his wrench raised above him, ready to strike whatever came close.

You weren’t sure how long you were stuck there, but a few became a dozen, and then a dozen became dozens.

There was no end to it.

“Fuck!” you swore, swinging your club at the undead in front of you. You didn’t even have time to wince at the sickening crack in the air. “It’s like the entire population of Monaco was here for this fucking race!”

“It was a fully sold out race,” Charles reasoned, bat making contact with the skull of another approaching zombie, “There were probably tens of thousands,” another swing, “of people here.”

On either side of you and Charles were Oscar and Seb, who were viciously trying to defend an injured George, his arm draped over Logan’s shoulders for support. Oscar spat, sweat dripping down his forehead and causing his hair to stick to his skin. “We’re fucked then,” he swore. He moved the grip on the handle of his club, readjusting it.

From behind you, you heard George swear under his breath. “Just leave me,” he finally said. “My ankle… it’s going to slow you down. You need to go.”

Logan shifted George’s weight around, swinging his golf club and pushing back a zombie that was getting too close. “Mate, shut up.” He glared at George. “I’m not leaving you.” He pushed another one back, right into Sebastian’s crowbar.

“We’re all getting out of here,” Seb announced, leaving absolutely no room for argument. “Just… buy me some time. I’ll think of a plan.”

“Better think fast, Seb,” Oscar grunted as he staggered backwards. He swung his golf club again. The head was practically dyed crimson with the amount of blood on it. “The more time you think, the more of these things come at us.”

Seb’s eyes scanned the parking lot, and he grimaced at the lack of options. “Herd’s thinnest on the east. But the working only car I see is one of your stupid sports cars. Can’t fit all of us.”

“We might not have choices. Gotta do something, or we’re all dead.” George bit his lip. “Better a few of us get away than none of us.”

You huffed as another corpse landed at your feet. “It’s all of us or none of us,” you shot back.

“I see one. A van, probably media. It’s a long shot, but it looks big enough to fit all of us.” Seb squinted. “Probably a hundred meters. We get one shot at this, so here’s what we do: we form a circle, protect George. Slow, but sure, and we all get there.”

You nodded, frantically moving to form a circle. Logan and George stood in the center, Logan supporting George as he limped along. It was a slow, painful move through the parking lot, but with each of you watching each other carefully, you were able to make it that hundred meters to the car Seb had seen.

It felt like the herd was finally beginning to thin as Seb forced the door open with his crowbar, clamoring in the driver’s side door. “Buy me time, I can get this going,” he demanded, lowering himself to fiddle with the wires.

Your arms were beginning to tire, and by the looks of it, so were the others’. George, especially, was beginning to falter, his ankle clearly paining him. He slid down the side of the van, his wrench almost falling from his grasp as he reached for his ankle. Logan scrambled to stop him from hitting the ground too hard, kneeling by his side.

Finally, after what felt like hours, you heard the soft purr of the engine as Seb convinced it to roar to life. And not a moment too soon. The horde of the dead had finally thinned just enough for it to no longer be overwhelming.

Seb called, “Get in!” and you quickly turned to help George into the car, Logan helping to lift him to his feet as you opened the back of the van. But as you did, you caught sight of Oscar, who had stopped where he stood, his eyes fixed on something in the distance.

“Oh, Jesus.” Oscar staggered backwards, his golf club faltering in his grip. His eyes were trained on a specific figure in the near distance, right in the center of the oncoming group of undead. “Oh, Christ.”

You followed his gaze, only for your heart to fall right into your stomach.

“Carlos,” you breathed, stepping forward as if in a trance. His gaze was unmoving, unflinching, but it wasn’t him in there. Despite knowing it was him, there was nothing familiar about the corpse shambling towards you, nothing that you recognized of the man that had pushed you away before he’d been bitten. The angry reminder of that moment was still oozing blood, the wound still open on his shoulders.

All you could think about was the look on his face as he pushed you away and the scream in your throat as Lance’s teeth sunk into his flesh. You choked back a sob as you studied your undead friend.

His eyes were glassy, and his mouth opened and closed with only a low, gurgling growl leaving his lips. Gone were the smiles and the soft eyes. All that was left was a husk of Carlos Sainz.

Seb, having slid out of the car once he realized what was happening, reached over to grab you by the hand and pull you behind him. He raised his crowbar as Carlos — at least, what remained of Carlos — let out a low growl as he reached towards you. “Don’t look,” Seb murmured.

You could feel the golf club leaving your hand as it fell to the ground, you falling with it. Your knees hit the pavement, Logan reaching out to steady you. You clung to the arm he wrapped around you, tears that you hadn’t even felt coming already streaming down your face. A whimper left your throat.

A hand reached out and covered your eyes, and you could hear Logan murmur to you, “Don’t look,” echoing Seb’s words. You turned, burying yourself in Logan’s shoulder. Behind him, George reached out, taking your hand in his, and you squeezed back, grateful for the comfort.

Briefly, you turned, seeing Seb stepping forward to meet the approaching body of Carlos. He tightened his grip around his crowbar, and you winced at the blood that dripped down the metal. You could hear him muttering something in German, but you weren’t quite sure what he was saying. You could feel yourself biting your lip, tears still streaming down your face, but you couldn’t bring yourself to fully look away from what you knew was about to happen. It felt like you owed it to Carlos, for saving your life.

Before Seb could meet Carlos, Charles reached out and stopped Seb, halting the crowbar mid-movement. “It should be me,” Charles murmured, his eyes trained sadly on his former teammate.

Seb couldn’t reply. He only lowered his weapon, stepping back to allow Charles to meet Carlos instead. You could see the tension in Charles’s shoulders, could practically see his eyes filling with tears, but he didn’t back down. He only raised his baseball bat as Carlos approached, and softly said, “Sorry it had to end this way.”

With a low growl, Carlos lunged for Charles, who responded immediately, bringing the baseball bat over his head and then back down onto Carlos’s. You winced at the viscous crack that rang through the air, then again as Carlos’s body hit the ground. Charles staggered backwards, dropping the bat, as Carlos went limp against the asphalt, unmoving.

“Fuck,” you heard him manage, his breathing ragged.

You quickly pushed yourself towards Charles, practically collapsing into him and wrapping your arms around him as you sobbed. He rested a bloodied, shaking hand on your arm, heaving as tears streamed silently down his face, his eyes still wide and trained on Carlos’s body. Viscous blood poured from his head wound and onto the pavement, slowly seeping towards you.

“You did the right thing, Charles,” you murmured into his shoulder, tightening your grip on his shirt. He nodded quickly, like he desperately wanted to believe you. “I’m sorry it had to be you. I’m sorry I couldn’t do it.”

He took a shuddering breath before he shook his head. “No. It had to be me,” he choked out, offering you a tentative, sorrowful smile. He squeezed your wrist before pushing himself up and pulling you with him. He picked his bat back up, then turned around, back to the car. His smile fell right off his face, disappearing along with all the color in his skin. “And now, we have to fucking move.”

You followed his gaze, and could suddenly understand why Charles had paled so suddenly.

There had to be hundreds of undead shambling towards you from the opposite side of the parking lot. From your way out.

“Time to go,” you breathed. Logan and Oscar quickly helped George into the car. Seb climbed back into the driver’s seat and Charles sprinted to get in the passenger side. As soon as Logan was in the car, you followed, slamming the door shut behind you.

Once you were all in the van, Seb let his foot drop on the pedal like a brick, the wheels of the minivan screeching as it peeled towards the herd. You flinched at the sounds of hands thumping against the sides of the van and groans of the undead.

But as they grew distant, Seb speeding through the streets of Monaco, you finally relaxed. All of you were safe for now.

previous chapter | next chapter

[onepointsixkm]

Pt. 2, PLEASEEEEE

ahh thank you! it'll be coming soon, i promise. just need to do some edits, but it should absolutely be out soon (tm)!!

[onepointsixkm]

crashing out, one race at a time

hello, you can call me gigi! i'm a freelance writer by day and formula 1 fan at night. this blog is a combination of my job and my passion. i hope you enjoy my work! ♡

[ op81 / ls2 / nh27 / zg24 / sv5 / 2023/2024 grid ] i will write for pretty much anyone on the 2023/2024 grid, as well as a few of the retired drivers (i.e., SV5) as well as reserve drivers (i.e., MS47). although i have my favorites, i don't dislike any of the drivers!

updates will likely be slow due to my unreliable work schedule!

masterlist coming soon!

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[onepointsixkm]

Part I: Slipping Through My Fingers

Summary: The Monaco Grand Prix went up in smoke as the end of the world began. You and a group of your friends managed to escape, but not without loss, as the dead began to walk.

featuring: SV5, CL16, OP81, & LS2. (mentions of LN4, CS55, DR3, AA23, LS18, and more)

warnings: zombie apocalypse! features character death, gore, and other genre conventions/staples. please do not engage if you are uncomfortable with any of the potential warnings!

notes: welcome to the first chapter of “Serpents”! this is an ode to my favorite genre of media, zombie apocalypse dramas. title from the song of the same name by Sharon Van Etten.

word count: 3,776

The end of the world wasn’t a slow, quiet end.

Rather, it was a chaotic mess of an end. It was people scrambling and screaming as they tried to escape the onslaught of violence. It was blood and panic and smoke and fire. It was something out of a nightmare.

It was the feeling of Lando’s hand slipping from yours as the crowd forced you apart and away from each other. It was Alex’s screams for Lily, barely heard over her own screams of pain and terror as the undead tore into her. It was Max yelling and swearing in every language he knew as he scanned the crowd for any other familiar faces, his voice growing distant as he drifted away from you. It was the way time slowed down as Carlos’s blood splattered across your face, a frantic hand pushing you away and into Charles’s arms as an undead Lance’s teeth sunk into his shoulder.

It was the rawness of your throat as you heaved and sobbed. There was nothing left in your stomach to throw up, but you still felt sick as you looked around and realized that your little group - your friends that you had been laughing with just before the Monaco Grand Prix - had lost more than half of its members.

It was just you and Charles and Oscar and Logan and Seb. Lance had been bitten. Carlos had been bitten. Max and Lando had been separated in the crowds. Alex had gone back for Lily as she was ripped apart. And everyone else, well… you weren’t sure.

Seb stared out the windshield of the car, his face blank. His foot had dropped onto the pedal as soon as the five of you had desperately piled in. It was as your group, by that point only a fraction of the size, had reached the parking lot, that you had lost Carlos. Oscar sat in the front seat, head in his hands. Logan was next to you and Charles, his hands shaking and his eyes unfocused.

You chanced a look out the back window of the car. Smoke was rising from the track that was slowly growing smaller as you pulled away. You felt bile rising in your throat again, and you choked back your nausea as you leaned against Charles.

Charles sniffled, eyes darting all over. “Did anyone see Pierre?” he rasped, tears still falling down his face. He hadn’t let go of you since Carlos had pushed you to him, Carlos’s blood still soaking both of you. Even against the Ferrari red shirt Charles wore, the bloodstains stood out. “Or George? Did they get out?”

For a moment, everyone in the car was silent.

“No,” Oscar finally said.

“‘No,’ you didn’t see them, or ‘no,’ they didn’t get out?” Oscar was silent, but the way he met Charles’s gaze in the rearview mirror was an answer in itself. A strangled noise left Charles’s throat. You reached for his shaking hand, and he grasped on like you were his only lifeline.

Looking over to Logan, you saw him hang his head, curling into himself. He looked so small, but as his shoulders began to shake, he looked like he would disappear. “How the fuck did this happen?” he managed through his sobs.

“It was an illness,” Seb replied quietly, bitterness lacing his tone. “It’s been on the news, but it wasn’t in Europe yet. No one said anything about fucking zombies.”

Another noise left Charles, this one more of a disbelieving scoff than anything. “Well, would you have believed them?” he demanded.

Seb couldn’t say anything. Instead, he met your eyes in the rearview mirror, staring sadly at you through his reflection. You tore your gaze from his, instead staring out the window of the car. You could see the remnants of the chaos that had swept through the city. Bodies — and sometimes, what was left of bodies — were filling the street, strewn haphazardly across the pavement. Some of the undead were shuffling around, blood spilling down their clothes, all of them turning to the car as it passed them. You said a quiet thanks to whoever had made them too slow to catch the car, especially with Seb easily driving around them.

But as you relaxed, the weight of what had just happened overcame you. You bit your lip, the adrenaline finally leaving your body and allowing the swirling guilt in your gut to rise to your heart. Tears spilled over as you flexed your hand around Charles’s.

“I let go of Lando.” The words fell from your lips before you could stop them. “I had his hand, and-and… when we were running, he just— he slipped away. Why did I let go?! He’s gone and it’s my fault!”

Charles tried to hold you as you burst into tears, murmuring in French to you. You knew he was trying to comfort you, but you weren’t sure if you could take comfort in his words. Not when you could still feel the ghost of Lando’s hand as it left yours.

“It was chaos,” Seb tried to comfort you. “You tried, and that’s all that matters.” Another choked sob escaped you. His words were well meaning, but how could you pat yourself on the back for trying when you’d failed so miserably?

Oscar leaned back in his seat. “Now what?” Seb glanced at him. “We got out of that fuckfest, but now what? If it’s like this here, it’s like this everywhere. Where do we go? How do we survive? What, do we just bunker down until this all blows over? And-and what if it never does?” Oscar’s voice got lower with each question, panic seeping into the normally unflappable driver.

“Calm down.” Seb turned the car into a small alleyway, stopping it and turning around to look at everyone. “Okay. We make a game plan. Is there somewhere that we can go, that any of you know, that’s likely to be safe?”

Behind you, you could feel Charles hesitate. His family lived in Monaco, but if the circuit had exploded into that chaos, there was no guarantee that his family — his mother — was safe. Your heart broke for him. If he suggested his family home, there was a chance that he would have to see the people he loved most as those things. And no matter how much you needed a sanctuary, you couldn’t do that to Charles.

“Lando’s apartment is near here,” you volunteered instead. “I, uh. I was staying there before the Grand Prix. There’s food, and a security system. It should be safe, at least… at least for now.”

Seb nodded in approval, almost sagging in relief. “Okay. That works. We’ll head there and get our bearings, then figure out our next move. Everyone okay with that?”

There was no argument. You were at least partially sure that it was because there were no better options, but a plan was a plan. You already dreaded going back to Lando’s place, with the guilt that filled your whole body. But as Charles held onto you, muttering a “thank you” into your ear, you pushed it back.

There would be time to cry later.

The rest of the ride to Lando’s apartment was silent, with only you and Seb talking as he asked for directions and you answered. As you hit the familiar street, the one you had driven down just this morning as you laughed with Lando, your stomach jolted unpleasantly.

(The sound that was his voice screaming your name as his hand fell from yours echoed somewhere in your memories.)

You shook the memory from your mind as Seb pulled into the gated building. A bloody handprint smeared across the garage walls greeted you. You could feel Charles hold onto you a little bit tighter. Oscar sat up, on high alert. Disregarding the parking spots, Seb parked the car as close as he could to the entrance of the building, slowly putting the car in park.

Oscar moved to open his door, but Seb grabbed onto him. “Wait.” Oscar stared back at Seb, confused, but let go of the latch. Seb pressed his palm to the steering wheel, forcing it to let out one quick, sharp honk. You jumped at the sudden noise.

For one long, tense moment, you held your breath.

Nothing moved.

Seb finally relaxed and turned the car off, nodding to Oscar, who practically leapt from the passenger side. Both of them speedwalked to the entrance. You could see Seb mouthing instructions to Oscar, who listened intently, nodding along.

You turned to Logan, grabbing the younger driver’s hands. He looked up at you, and you could see a reflection of the pain and sorrow you felt in his eyes. “Logan, we have to go inside.” Logan shook his head, curling further into himself. It was like he was trying to disappear. “C’mon, Logs,” you tried to urge him.

“I don’t want to.” But his fingers curled around yours, squeezing your hand tightly. “I want to wake up now.”

You exchanged a look with Charles, both of you concerned. “Logan, sweetheart—”

“No!” He shook his head violently, yanking his hand from yours and swatting it away. “No, I don’t care! This is all a dream, okay?! And-and if I try hard enough, I’ll wake up! All nightmares end, so this one will, too!”

Logan had joined your group of escapees as you’d reached the parking lot. He’d been alone at the time, as he had been doing a last minute interview before the race started. He’d been running from a group of the undead as they followed him and a few others, but he’d been the only one who’d been fast enough to escape the miniature herd. His hands had already been covered in blood when he found you, and from the haunted look in his eyes, you weren’t entirely sure if you wanted to know what had happened as he ran for his life.

But even with all of that, he was still your friend, and you couldn’t just leave him behind. “I’m not leaving you here. Let’s go inside and wait for you to wake up there, okay?” you tried, forcing your voice to be as gentle as it could. Logan looked up at you, tears still silently streaming down his face as he opened and closed his mouth, struggling to say anything.

Charles suddenly called your name. You turned away from Logan, following Charles’s gaze to where a group of three zombies had rounded the corner. Panic seized you. Your eyes darted from Seb and Oscar at the entry to Charles next to you to the zombies slowly making their way towards the car to the near-catatonic Logan. They were too close, the garage too small. There was no good option.

“What the hell is taking you guys so long?!” Oscar demanded, his voice carrying across the parking garage.

“Logan won’t move!” you called back. You grabbed Logan’s hands again, gripping them forcefully as you tried to pull him towards the car door. He resisted, still shaking his head and muttering something you couldn’t hear. Charles reached in, helping you, and forced Logan to stumble to his feet. “Just keep the door open for us!”

Charles, in a split-second decision, hefted Logan over his shoulder with a grunt (a feat that would’ve had you howling with laughter on any other day) and carried him towards the building. You followed behind, making sure to keep the boys in front of you as the zombies closed in.

Seb held the door to open as Charles practically threw Logan inside, slamming the door and locking it after you made it in. “What the fuck was that?!” Charles practically spat, whirling around on Logan.

But the boy wasn’t responding, already curled up once again. But this time, his muttering was loud enough for you to make out what he was saying.

”I had his hand,” he was saying. “And they just tore into him… like it was nothing.”

All of you froze. Behind you, Oscar and Charles glanced at each other. You stared at Logan, lost for words. The only one to move was Seb, ignoring the zombies pounding against the door behind you, as he knelt in front of Logan, who slowly looked up at the older man.

”Whose hand did you have, Logan?” he asked slowly.

Logan choked on a sob. The words came spilling from his lips, and your heart sank as Logan told his story:

“Danny… I was with Danny. He came to get me, and we ran. But the stairs, we ran down the stairs— and Danny— they caught him. I was holding onto him, but-but… I could see them tearing his stomach open. Oh, fuck, I saw them pull his fucking guts out. I-I… I let go. And I ran.”

Daniel Ricciardo was dead.

So was Alex Albon, so was Lance Stroll, and so was Carlos Sainz. Four of your friends were confirmed to have been bitten or killed. Everyone else, you weren’t sure about.

“Jesus Christ,” you could hear Oscar swear behind you.

If Seb was as sick to his stomach as you were, he didn’t show it. “Alright, Logan. You did what you could, and you were right to run when you did. You’re alive because you made that choice. But if you want to honor Danny, you have to get up and stay alive. And right now, that means we have to go upstairs to Lando’s apartment. Okay?”

Logan’s tears didn’t stop, but he nodded slowly. He stood on his shaky legs with Seb’s help, but refused to meet anyone’s gaze. He just clung to Seb’s arm as Seb helped him stay balanced.

“Can you lead us upstairs? Elevators are clear, Oscar checked them. And,” he paused, lowering his voice, “we shouldn’t take Logan up the stairwell.”

You nodded in agreement. “Y-yeah, follow me.” You led them into the elevator, which thankfully, still worked. You tried not to wince at the blood on the inside doors, focusing anywhere but on the crimson splatters. All of you were silent, even Logan, who barely even let out a sniffle during the elevator ride.

The silence continued as you led your group into Lando’s apartment. It was eerily quiet in a way you’d never heard before.

The apartment had always been filled with some sort of noise, whether it be Lando’s laughter as he played games with his friends, loud music playing from the streaming room, or just the echoes of you and Lando chattering away after coming back from a night out in the city.

You suddenly felt sick again.

It took everything in you to resist dropping to your knees and crying - wailing - as you mourned your friend. Instead, you robotically moved to push the door open further and waited for everyone else to enter the house.

The only person to stop was Oscar who, with unshed tears, put a hand on your shoulder. He pulled you inside and closed the door, locking it, all with one hand. You just stared at him. As soon as the lock clicked, he turned to pull you into a fierce hug, one that communicated “I miss him” with unspoken words.

That was the last straw for you.

The dam broke as you buried your face in Oscar’s chest and cried as quietly as you could. The normally comforting hug he’d wrapped you in only made your guilt even stronger. It wasn’t just your heart that had broken when you’d let Lando go. It was Oscar’s, too. His teammate, who he’d spent the past few years with, was missing, maybe dead, and that uncertainty was what shattered your heart even further.

“Maybe he’s still out there,” Oscar whispered. “Did you see him go down?”

You shook your head as you pushed yourself further against Oscar. “I didn’t, but Osc… don’t give me hope. You saw what it was like, do you really think Lando made it out?” You didn’t want the second heartbreak. You didn’t want to know, but you wanted to hear it out loud.

For a moment though, Oscar was silent, denying you a straight answer. “I don’t know. But he’d try his hardest to find us if he got out.”

You knew he was right.

“Then,” you started, pulling yourself away from Oscar, “we have to look for him.”

“Not a chance,” Seb interrupted, emerging from the kitchen with bottles of water. “We can’t just rush out there unprepared.” You opened your mouth to protest. “I want to look for everyone else just as much as you. They’re my friends - my family - as much as they are yours. But we can’t help them if we’re not prepared.”

Hesitation filled you. Seb was right, and you knew it. Rushing to get back out there and find your friends wouldn’t do anyone any good. But on the other hand, you knew that in situations like this, time is of the essence. Seconds could mean the difference between life and death, and you didn’t want to waste any time. You couldn’t afford to let too much time pass.

Lando couldn’t afford to let any time pass.

“Okay.” Charles piped up from where he was sitting, a bag in his hands. “Then we prepare. We get ready to go back out there, and we go looking for our friends.” Determination flared in his eyes as he looked at Seb. “We can’t just leave them.”

Seb nodded in agreement, a flash of pride coming across his face. “Then let’s get prepared. Zombies, right? What do we know?”

To your surprise, Logan was the one to pipe up. “The infection spreads through bites. Just like the movies. But it’s fast. If you get bit, it’s over in minutes. That is,” he hesitated, “if you don’t get eaten first.”

“They’re slow, too. Nasty in numbers, but easy enough to deal with if there’s only a few of them.” Oscar crossed his arms. “Probably a good idea to… to target the brain…” he trailed off.

Lance got bit.

An uncomfortable silence fell over all of you, hesitation clear on everyone’s faces. You looked over at Charles, horror replacing that fire of determination. You both knew what going back meant.

Carlos got bit.

Your heart broke again.

“We’ll worry about what we find when we find it.” Seb’s voice cut through the uncertain thoughts. “And we’ll do what we need to do when it needs doing. For now, don’t think about it.”

“Kind of hard not to think about it.”

Seb shot Logan a look. “Rely on me if you need it. Let’s not do anything too reckless as we look for everyone else.” He looked around at all of you. “We’ve all got to look out for each other,” he finished.

Oscar shifted on his feet. “So, how do we prepare?” He crossed his arms, trying to look older and stronger than he really was.

Seb ran a hand through his hair. “Logan and me, we’ll deal with food. Anything that isn’t bad, or won’t go bad before we can eat it.” Logan nodded, already turning to look through the kitchen. “Oscar, start looking for things we can use to defend ourselves. Uh, baseball bats, knives, anything like that.” Oscar ducked into the hallway that led to Lando’s bedroom. “And you two,” he gestured to you and Charles, “gather toiletries and clothes, and pack it all together. Medical supplies, too.”

You followed Charles into Lando’s bathroom. You tried to ignore the sight of your scattered toiletries - face creams and skincare and makeup - scattered across his bathroom counter, intermixing with his that he’d carelessly tossed around earlier that morning. Pushing past the sight, you grabbed toothpaste and soap, shoving it into the bag Charles had picked up earlier.

“Are you okay?” You looked up at where Charles was leaning against the doorway, watching you with a frown. “I mean… that’s a stupid question, I know. But do you… I mean, you don’t need to be here. Doing this. Uh, packing all of this. Not if it’s going to hurt you.”

You managed a smile, one you knew must’ve looked weak, but it was the best you could do. “I’m good, Charles. Really. This is more important than…” you hesitated as you picked up Lando’s shaving cream, “than however it is I’m feeling. I have to keep it together. For him.”

After a moment of silence, you could feel Charles move. He pulled some shampoo and towels from the bathroom closet, dropping them near you to pack. The two of you moved in silence, emptying Lando’s bathroom of any essentials you could find, pushing past the painful reminders of the peace that had existed only hours before.

“Charles?” A noise of acknowledgement. “Do you think anyone else made it out?”

He paused, an unopened box of toothpaste in his hand. “I have to believe they did,” he admitted. “If I stop believing that others are alive, or start thinking that we’re all that’s left, I’ll lose my mind. And we can’t have that. So, yes. I think others made it. I’m not sure who, or where they went, but we aren’t alone.” He offered you a watery smile.

You looked at his face, at his hesitant grin, and you stood. You grabbed one of the washcloths that sat on the edge of the sink, still damp from the morning, and pressed it against his cheek. As you pulled the cloth away, both of you gazed at the blood you’d wiped away.

“You had… something,” you muttered. The smile had fallen off of his face, and he only managed a quiet thanks in French.

You turned to look in the mirror, seeing blood splattered on your skin, too. You quickly wiped it away before throwing the tainted cloth into the sink. You didn’t want to think about it.

“Hey.” You both looked towards the door, where Oscar stood, a pile of clothes in hand. “I figured you guys might want to change. Get into some clean clothes before we head out.”

Charles took the pile of clothes from Oscar. You almost cried when he handed you Lando’s familiar sweatshirt with the Quadrant logo emblazoned on it. But you took it, holding onto it tightly as more tears came. Charles gave you a gentle squeeze before leaving the bathroom to give you privacy.

It was only after the bathroom door swung shut that you finally sunk to your knees, burying your face into the soft sweatshirt, and sobbed loudly, allowing the fabric to swallow your cries as you finally let yourself grieve.

next chapter

[onepointsixkm]

so anyways, i'm doing a zombie!AU F1 fic yippee

i want to start writing an F1xReader horror series bc it's october... maybe i do the thing

[onepointsixkm]

i want to start writing an F1xReader horror series bc it's october... maybe i do the thing

[onepointsixkm]

angel down

Summary: You've seen his eyes somewhere before. A dream. A memory. As he takes your hand in his, your heart soars. It breaks. You think of forever. You know that your love is on a timer.

featuring: CL16 x fem!reader

notes: based on the short story story of your life by ted chiang and its 2016 film adaptation, arrival by denis villeneuve (director) and eric heisserer (screenwriter). i'm not sure if i would classify it as angst, since there's happiness in between, but i think the majority of it is angst.

word count: 6,577

“If you could see your whole life from start to finish, would you change things?”

There’s a child. A little boy with bright blue eyes and a smile that you would go to war to protect. He reaches up to you and you reach down, maternal love wrapping around your heart as you hold the boy close to your chest, laughing along with him.

There’s a man. He has the same bright blue eyes as the child. He looks at you with a soft smile, murmuring words of love as he rests his face in your neck. You can feel him kissing your skin, and you manage a soft giggle as you turn to look at him. He’s staring at you with so many emotions swirling in his eyes, and you feel an overwhelming love in your heart. It’s a different love from the love you feel for the child, but just as powerful, all the same.

And then the world shifts.

The man is pacing with tears in his eyes. The room is dark. The child is nowhere to be found.

He turns to face you, sniffling. “You thought I wouldn’t find out? Were you intending on hiding this from me our entire lives?” he demands, clearly choking back sobs. Words fail you as you open and close your mouth, unable to say anything. He stares at you incredulously. “Why wouldn’t you tell me?”

You’re lost for words. You don’t know what you were hiding, let alone how to make things better. All you know is that you want to bridge the gap between you and this man, but you can’t. You can’t fix whatever has broken.

All you can do is sit in silence, only able to watch as he falls to his knees, his wretched sobs echoing through the dark room.

And then, you wake up.

You were a college student, dragged to the Formula 1 race down in Texas with your friends. “C’mon, don’t be a killjoy,” they’d begged when you protested. “It’ll be good for you, get out of the dorm for once!”

You knew they were right. You’d been holed up in your tiny dorm room for months, ever since your boyfriend had broken up with you. He’d claimed you were too stiff, too unemotional. Too hard for him to read, and just not what he wanted out of his college girlfriend. You had quietly accepted it, despite your heart breaking as you hugged him goodbye and watched him leave you in that campus café.

“Fine,” you’d relented, unable to resist their pleading faces. “But it’s your problem if I’m not a fun person to be around.”

And so, as you sat in the grandstands, watching as the cars that looked like rockets sped past you, you sipped on your overpriced drink. You eyed your friends as they cheered, each of them wearing a different jersey.

You, however, are not wearing any team merch, and you feel somewhat out of place as you follow your friends. They’re all laughing and buzzing, talking about the qualifying results and the drivers. You’re barely listening as you follow closely behind them, amused by their chatter but never joining in. They stop to take pictures in front of the posters of their favorite drivers, and you oblige as they ask to take a picture in front of the big sign advertising the race. They ask you to be in one of the pictures with them. You shake your head as you had your best friend’s phone back to her.

Out of the corner of your eye, your attention is drawn to a merch stand. You see merchandise for her favorite driver, and you make a mental note to go back there before you all leave. You get your chance when you excuse yourself to go get another drink.

“I’ll meet you at the car,” you promise. “Just fifteen minutes.”

“We have drinks back at the hotel!” your best friend whines.

You shrug with a small smile. “They must put something in the soda here. I’ll be back.” You wave as you retreat, not letting her get another word in.

You beeline towards the merch line, frantically looking for which driver she supported. You knew it was one of the red ones, the name starting with a C. But that was both of the Ferrari drivers, and you quickly shot a text to one of your other friends asking which of the two drivers your best friend liked.

As you waited, your hand brushed over the shirts that were on display. Your brow furrowed as you tried to remember the name. She talked about him nonstop on the way down to the circuit, but you just couldn’t grasp the name in your memory. Your fingers stopped on one of the shirts that had the number 16 printed in large text, the name Leclerc just above it, like a football jersey would.

“Do you like him?” a voice behind you asked. The voice stirred something in your brain, but you pushed the sensation down.

You didn’t glance over your shoulder as you shake your head. “I don’t really know many of the drivers,” you admitted softly. “I just want to get my friend a present for her birthday, but I don’t remember which driver she likes most.”

The man behind you laughed. It was a nice sound, a familiar sound. “You can’t go wrong with buying this, then.” He reached past you and picked up a boxy shirt with the prancing horse logo on the front pocket. There were no numbers, no names, but it was a clean design, and you nodded, thinking that it was something that your friend would like.

You gently took it from his hands and turned to thank him, but you stopped short, seeing his eyes. Those blue eyes.

“Thank you,” you managed, pushing past the shock.

He grinned. You knew that smile. “You’re welcome. I’m Charles, by the way.” He held out his hand to you, and you slowly took it and shook it.

“I… yeah, it’s nice to meet you, too.” You cleared your throat. “You, uh, look familiar. Have we met before?”

He froze, but shook his head. “No, but you may have seen me earlier. I drive one of those cars you saw on track earlier.” You make a little noise of acknowledgement as you get to the front of the line.

As you turned to pay, you heard people start to swarm him behind you, asking for photos and autographs. You shook your head as you asked politely to have the shirt packed so it’s hidden, and the kind vendor agreed. You adjusted the shirt in its bag, laying your jacket on top of it, and turned back to see Charles signing one last hat.

“Sorry about that,” he said to you with a sheepish grin. “Listen, I don’t normally do this, but I think you’re very pretty, and I’d like to ask you to get dinner with me tonight.”

You were taken aback, left stuttering and stammering. There you were, not even invested in this whole Formula 1 thing, and a driver — a very rich driver whose name you hadn’t known until five minutes prior — was asking you to dinner because he thought you were cute? You didn’t know what to say.

“Say yes.”

Had you said that out loud?

You met his eyes again, and you found yourself falling into those blue eyes, just like you had when you first saw them. You found yourself nodding, the word “okay” leaving your lips before your brain had time to catch up.

Charles beamed. It was brighter than the sun. “Great!” he exclaimed. “Where are you staying? I’ll pick you up at 8.”

You gave him the name of your hotel, and he held out his phone for you to put your number in. You did so with an almost foggy mind, only half aware of your movements. His shining smile never left his face as he took the phone back and shot you a message before running off, repeating his promise to come get you for dinner.

You practically stumbled back to the car, too stunned to speak.

“Girl, what happened?” your friends practically demanded, taking in your shell-shocked expression. They were willing to go to war for you, and you could only shake your head.

“I just met one of your drivers,” you admitted. They squealed, demanding to know who. “A guy named Charles. And… he asked me to go to dinner with him.”

As their celebratory voices drifted away, you remembered the way his eyes looked. Not like when you ran into him at that vendor’s booth, but the way he looked at you with sorrow and anguish, the way tears welled up in his eyes. The way he stared at you with betrayal before his knees hit the floor.

You wondered if it was better to not go.

But your friends dressed you, did your hair, put on makeup, and showered you in compliments as they pushed you out the door of your hotel room, with threats that if you bailed, they would make you walk home. You knew they were empty threats, but you obliged anyways, trudging down to the lobby and waiting for Charles.

He picked you up at exactly 8 on the dot, barely a few seconds off as he pulled up in a fancy sports car. He held every door for you, from car doors to restaurant doors. He pulled your chair out and asked what you wanted to order, assuring you not to worry about the price.

The two of you spoke. You learned a lot about Formula 1 that night, and you found yourself smiling as Charles boasted about his team and his successes. He admitted his worries and told you that he was hopeful about the race the following day. You wished him luck. He turned the conversation back to you, and you found yourself telling him all about your own goals, but you felt as if you paled in comparison to him.

It didn’t matter how you felt, though, when he looked at you with such intrigue.

The night ended too quickly, you realized, as he pulled up in front of your hotel. You smiled softly and thanked him for a wonderful night, but didn’t move to get out of the car. And he didn’t move to make you.

“Could we get dinner again tomorrow?” he finally asked, breaking the silence. “I had fun, and I’d like to do this again.”

You gaped at him. “Charles, I… this was amazing, but you don’t know me. We-we just met today, and we don’t run in the same circles at all, and… Charles, are you sure?” you squeaked out.

He reached out and grabbed your hand, squeezing it tightly. “I’m sure,” he breathed out, his face slowly creeping closer to yours.  “It feels like… something is pulling me towards you. Like I’ve known you forever. That’s why I approached you in the first place, this feeling that I can’t really place, but I… I want to see where it goes. Will you let me?”

He was so close that you could feel his breath on your lips. His eyes were all you could see, glimmering with sincerity. You inhaled sharply, swallowing despite your dry throat.

“Yes.”

He pressed his lips to yours. Your eyes fluttered closed as you kissed him back, the thrill of newness and the rush of memory mixing as you and Charles shared your first kiss, one that was all too familiar to your heart and body.

Charles — you know it’s Charles now — laughs with that brilliant smile as he twirls you around. He’s dressed in a suit, his tie draped around his shoulders. You’re in all white, your skirt fanning around you. You’re surrounded by people, faces both familiar and not, and as you take them in, you’re surprised to realize that you know exactly who these people are, despite having never met most of them.

You look at Charles, who looks happier than you think you’ve ever seen anyone. You feel his arms wrap around you as he pulls you close. “Come on, love, it’s our wedding. We should be allowed to leave whenever we want,” he whispers into your hair.

“Charles,” you playfully berate him. “We can’t because it’s our wedding.”

He groans, but continues to dance with you, holding you close as you twirl around the dance floor. You take pity on him and lean close.

“But when we leave, you have me all to yourself for the next few days.”

He leans back a little bit, wonder taking over his face. It’s like he’s seeing you for the first time, and you smile cheekily at him. He can’t help himself as he kisses you deeply, deaf to the cheers and wolf whistles of your friends and family.

“Welcome to the rest of your life, my love,” he murmurs against your lips. You can feel his smile. “Here’s to our forever.”

Forever sounds good to you.

But it also sounds like an empty promise.

You push back the worry, push back the sinking feeling that you have in your heart, and nod, pressing another kiss to his lips.

“Forever,” you echo, wishing with all your heart that the word is binding.

Needless to say, your dinner date the following day went well. You were unable to resist Charles’s smile for very long, his earnest happiness and genuine kindness he showed winning you over.

Your second dinner date soon led to a third and fourth when he flew you out to Las Vegas a month later, happy to sneak you into his hotel and spend time with you as far from prying eyes as he could manage. It was on the fourth day that he asked you to be his girlfriend, a question which you answered yes to almost immediately.

The following night, he insisted on introducing you to the rest of the grid, his friends, as he swept you into a Las Vegas club to celebrate race day.

You met all of the men he raced with, all of whom were overjoyed to meet you. He introduced you as his girlfriend, no hesitation as he pushed you forwards. You met their girlfriends, who took a shine to you, and you spent the night dancing and drinking with your new group of friends.

As the night began to wind down, Charles quickly picked up that your feet were starting to ache, and excused himself to drive you back to the hotel.

“Thank you, Charles.”

“For what?”

“For everything. It’s been… really nice. You’ve been wonderful.” You smiled softly at him, moving to get out of the car.

He quickly stopped you, grabbing your hand and pulling the car door closed. “Listen. I know my life is hectic. I understand if this isn’t what you thought it would be like, or if it’s so far from what you wanted. But this past month with you has made me feel complete. I just… need you to know that I’m in it for the long haul.” His intense gaze never left yours, and you felt your heart try to escape its cage.

You wondered what it meant for your relationship, to be in it for the long haul. You wanted to believe that your relationship could withstand the test of time.

With each kiss, your love became clearer. With each kiss, you could see a little more than you did before. The “long haul” was supposed to be indefinite, a vow to last until the end of time, but your heart said differently.

There was an end in sight, your heart reminded you.

Even knowing this, you nodded. You didn’t have the heart to walk away from something so pure, so sweet. Something that was so clearly yours, and just yours. Walking away from it, you thought, would hurt more than the end you had seen in your memory.

So, you just nodded with a smile and allowed him to take you by the hand and bring you with him on his adventures.

He took you with him around the world whenever you had the time to do so, holding your hand and showing you off like a proud boyfriend. You were loved by the people online, thrilled that Charles was dating a “normal” girl. You held your head high whenever you were in the paddock, greeting fans and taking the gifts they offered so you could give them to Charles.

In between all of this, you finished up your college courses as quietly as you could, keeping your head down to avoid any of the sudden fame that had come with your new relationship.

Navigating all of the newness was difficult in itself, but the true challenge came with the dreams. The memories, you came to realize that they were. The more time you spent with Charles, the clearer it became to you.

The man in your dreams was Charles. Older, but still him. And that child, he was yours. Your future. Yours and Charles’s future. It wasn’t like watching a movie, not even for a second. You were seeing your future the same way that you were capable of recalling the past.

And it terrified you.

With each passing day, you remembered how he looked at you — how he will look at you in the future. The mix of sorrow and rage in his eyes, his face, his whole body… you weren’t sure when it would become too much for you to bear. You wondered if the future you saw would even come to pass, or if you would break before any of it.

Before the wedding, before the child… before the end.

Each time it became too much, you contemplated leaving. You really thought about just breaking it off with Charles. It would spare you both a whole lot of heartache, you reasoned.

But it felt like whenever you felt like you were reaching your breaking point, Charles noticed. He would reach over with a sweet hand, grasping yours, and would smile at you.

“Thank you for being with me,” he would say.

Your resolve would fracture into a million tiny pieces, slipping through your fingers as you reached out to him. You knew that it was selfish, you knew that you were destined to be hurt in the future, but you couldn’t pull away. Not when he looked at you like that.

But you never told him. You couldn’t, you thought. He’d think you were insane, or worse, he wouldn’t believe you. He’d laugh it off, and you’d continue, both of you knowing but unable to do anything to stop it.

Instead, one late night, as you laid awake in bed, curled into his side. “Charles?” He hummed in response. “Can I ask you something?” you muttered, your voice cracking.

He was immediately awake, hearing the fear in your voice. He rolled over to face you, blue eyes locking on yours, and nodded. “Of course, love. You can ask me anything, anytime,” he replied softly, soothingly.

“You said, a long time ago, that you’re in it for the long haul.” He nodded again. “If us being together meant that something bad would happen… would you still be?”

For a moment, he was silent. He shifted, furrowing his brow, and lifted his hand to brush your hair from your face. “You’re talking in hypotheticals, love,” he murmured. “Bad things are going to happen. We’ll fight — we have fought. Life isn’t perfect, but we’re happy. I’m not one to just give up just because a bad thing could happen. I’d never take risks otherwise.” He smiled with a small laugh, and the storm that had encased your heart began to subside. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your cheek, then your forehead, then your nose, and finally, your lips.

“What if it’s big, though?” you still pushed.

“Don’t make mountains out of molehills. Let’s take things one day at a time, and when we get there, we’ll get there.” He pulled you close, and you buried your face into his chest. He gently kissed the top of your head, and you could feel his breath on your hair. “Big or small, we’ll work it out. I promise.”

You wanted to believe him.

So, you allowed yourself to believe him, settling further into his warmth and allowing sleep to wash over you.

You stand in front of a grave, a bundle of sunflowers in your hand.

The years on the headstone tell you that the person laying in it was only thirteen when they died. You feel sick. Tears come, angry and unbidden, as you bend down to place the flowers in front of the headstone.

“Oh…”

You turn. Charles is there, staring at you with surprise. It quickly melts away into resentment, the kind that burns your heart and scars you with the intensity of it.

“I didn’t know you’d be here,” he manages, his voice dangerously level.

You take a step towards him. “Charles—”

“I didn’t think you needed time to mourn,” he cuts in as he takes a step back from you. “I would’ve thought you did all your mourning in the time you knew.” You shake your head. “Look, I…” He cuts himself off, running a hand through his hair in agitation.

“Charles, I’m sorry,” you said quietly.

“Sorry doesn’t fix it. It doesn’t fix anything.” He sniffles, sorrow mixing with his rage. “It’s too late. Just… please let me mourn in peace.”

He pushes past you, and you watch as he kneels in front of the grave, lovingly placing a hand on its face, and lays his own bouquet of flowers in front of the stone. You watch as he murmurs something that you can’t hear.

You open your mouth, but like every time before, words fail you.

Instead, you turn away, tears slipping down your cheeks, and you leave, not looking back at his hunched over figure and pretending you don’t notice his shaking shoulders.

It was summer in Monaco.

You and Charles had been together for nearly two years now, and you’d moved in with him the previous year. In those two years you’d been together, you spent days in bed and nights out on the town, and you’d made memories all around the world, sharing kisses and declarations of love all the while. Life was good to you, and it was good enough for you to forget sometimes. You allowed yourself more space to forget the future, and focus on the crazy, beautiful adventure that was the present.

This summer was shaping up to be the most relaxed since your romance began. You weren’t planning any crazy trips or moving across the world. You’d simply asked Charles if you could spend some time in the city you now called home, and he’d agreed without hesitation.

You spent the days with his friends, both on the grid and not, laughing and growing closer to them. You finally thought of them as your friends, not just Charles’s friends, and you let yourself smile with them.

A small part of you, in the back of your mind, wondered if they, too, would grow to hate you.

But those thoughts washed away when you went to his mother’s home for dinner. When she wrapped you up in her arms with unconditional love, you let yourself feel the warmth that this family offered. When his brothers and their significant others greeted you like they’d known you for a lifetime, you felt your spirits lift.

You would savor this while you still had it, you decided.

You quickly tried to make yourself useful, asking to help Pascale with cooking, and she patiently taught you her recipes. She watched over you with a gentle smile that reminded you so much of her son, and she beamed just like him when you glanced over at her for approval.

You played games with Arthur and Lorenzo, handily beating them at cards, much to their significant others’ amusement. You laughed and winked at Charles as you threw the next round, and shook your head at Arthur when he celebrated his first win of the night.

Charles looked at you with a new expression that night.

When you went home, he showered you in kisses, locking you in his arms. He ran his hands over you, he pressed his lips to every bit of skin he could reach. He worshiped you, and you basked in his adoration.

By the time you both actually tucked under the covers, the moon was high in the starry sky. Your legs were tangled together beneath the sheets, and your bodies were pressed together. You could feel him breathing into the back of your head as he kept pressing lazy kisses to your neck, and you sighed in content.

He murmured something in French against your skin, and you hummed. “What was that, Charles? I’m not fluent yet.”

You could feel him sit up behind you, pushing your hair away from your neck. He pressed a kiss against the shell of your ear, and you jumped at the feeling of his breath in your ear. “I said, I’m going to marry you someday,” he replied quietly. Your eyes flew open, and you sat up to stare at him. He stared back at you, unflinching.

“Sorry?”

He sat up, too, and grabbed your hands. He ran his thumbs over your knuckles, and even now, even two years into your relationship, it sent a shiver up your spine.

“Does that bother you?” he wondered quietly. You quickly shook your head. “Good. Because I mean it. Someday — maybe not today, but someday — I want to make you my wife. I want to have a life and a family with you.” You sniffled, and he quickly rubbed the tears away before they could fall. “Hey… happy tears, I hope.”

You nodded weakly. “Happy tears,” you agreed, managing a teary smile.

He smiled right back, his eyes crinkling. “Good.” He kissed your cheeks, right beneath your eyes, and you sniffled again. “Don’t cry, love. I’ll love you as long as I live.” You sniffled again, but nodded, allowing his words to wash over you.

You wondered if he even knew that his words were lies.

The child is lying on a hospital bed. He has tubes running all over his body, and the heart monitor next to his bed is beeping faintly. Rhythmically.

Charles is draped over the boy, holding his hand like a lifeline. He’s praying in English, French, and Italian, desperately begging whatever force controls this universe for more time. Tear streaks stain his face, but no more tears fall. He doesn’t have any more to give.

He barely looks up at you as you walk into the hospital room. It smells like chemicals, and you want to throw up. You know what comes next. You can’t bear to look at the boy as you busy yourself changing the flowers in his room — sunflowers, like you know he loves — and putting the cards from your friends and family all around.

“The doctors say it looks good,” he chokes out. You blink and turn back to him. “One more surgery, they think. They’ll be able to take the tumor out.” He manages a watery smile at you, still clinging to the child’s hand. “Our son will be okay.”

Your heart falls.

Your son is lying on a hospital bed.

“Mommy?” his weak voice cuts through your sorrow. You’re at his bedside in an instant, holding his hand and running your fingers through his hair. He looks so small. You remember the first time you held him. He was small like this back then, too.

“What is it, sweetheart?” you ask, trying to force yourself to sound as soothing as possible.

Your son smiles. “Don’t cry, mommy. I’ll be better tomorrow. When I’m better, can we get ice cream?” he asks, so sweet and so innocent your heart breaks again.

You nod. “Of course, baby. We can get as much ice cream as you want.” You look at Charles, who nods fiercely. You know he’d give your son anything to make him happy. To make him healthy.

You have trouble sleeping that night. Leaving him was harder than you thought it’d be, and you’re awake as the reality plagues you, taunts you, and keeps you awake. You stare at the ceiling, tears silently streaming down your face.

“It’ll be okay, my love,” Charles soothes you.

No, it won’t, you want to reply.

Your worst fear comes true the next day, when the doctor walks out of the operating room with a solemn look on his face. You only catch the words cardiac arrest and reacted poorly to the anesthetic as you stand, frozen in place. Charles falls to his knees, whimpers wrenched from his throat, and clings to you.

I’m sorry for your loss, you hear the doctor say. You stumble backwards and collapse into the waiting room chairs.

It has to be a nightmare.

You know it’s real.

It doesn’t make it hurt less.

You woke up sobbing.

Tears were falling fast and hard, and you were almost wailing. Your throat was raw from the violent screams, sounds you didn’t even know you could make. Your heart hurt so much that it was hard to breathe, the anguish in your soul expressing itself in the most violent way.

Charles was beside you as soon as you shot up in bed. He held you tightly. You struggled in his arms. He held you tighter. You gave up, too weak and too sad to fight. You just collapsed into him, hiccups and choked crying the only sounds you could make. You couldn’t even tell him that you were alright.

Instead, you clung to his hand as you heaved. You felt nauseous, but there was nothing in your stomach to throw up. You just sobbed, your face ugly and raw, as you tried to hide.

“My love,” he tried weakly, “what’s the matter? Please talk to me.”

For a moment, you wanted nothing more than to tell him exactly what was happening. You wanted to tell him that you saw your future together, that you knew the tragedy that would befall your family. You wanted to warn him, wanted him to know. The burden was finally becoming too much.

But, you thought, things would be different if you told him. And you weren’t sure if it would be a good sort of different.

There was the possibility that you wouldn’t stay together long enough for your son to be born. You would be stuck with the memories, the knowledge that he was supposed to live, but without Charles, there was never any hope for your son. You didn’t know if it was crueler to rip your son’s life away before he was even conceived, or to live with the knowledge that his life would be cut brutally short.

The other option was that Charles would insist on staying with you anyways. That he would try to overcome the future and make a world where your son could be alive. That future would come to pass anyways, and it would destroy him. If the burden of knowledge was eating you, and would continue to eat you for years, you knew that Charles wouldn’t survive it.

You couldn’t tell him, you decided. You knew you couldn’t tell him. You shook your head fiercely and curled yourself closer.

So, you just cried until you fell back asleep, Charles rocking you back and forth in his arms.

The next morning, at breakfast, he prodded again. “Will you talk to me about it?” he asked, his eyes staring right through you. “I’m worried about you.”

You just smiled and grabbed his hand. You squeezed it tightly, and he squeezed back. “I’m okay, Charles,” you tried to reassure him. He looked like he didn’t believe you. “I’ll tell you one day. But I can’t right now.”

He looked more concerned, but nodded.

“I trust you,” he said softly.

You almost laughed. You wished he didn’t.

You’re sitting on a park bench. Charles is holding your hand. You’re watching the wind through the trees, listening to the families playing around you. The two of you aren’t saying anything, but there’s a peace between the two of you. There’s no hatred or anger, no sorrow or anguish. It’s quiet. It’s nice.

You choke up a little, but do your best to keep your composure as you squeeze Charles’s hand in yours. He looks over, his smile faltering when he sees your teary eyes. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, so sweetly that it makes your heart ache.

Sniffling, you shake your head. You can’t tell him, not now. It’s not time.

“Mommy!” You turn around on the park bench, seeing your son, only six at this time, running towards you, a bright smile on his face. You force your tears back as you stand, kneeling with open arms. He runs right into them, and you pick him up, your laughter mixing in the air. “Mommy, look what I found!”

He shows you what he’s found, holding up a sunflower almost as big as his face. You gasp dramatically as he hands it to you, and you spin him around to face Charles. Charles has stood, and is watching you both with a gentleness you wish you could bottle up and treasure forever.

“Charles, look!” You wave the sunflower. “Look at this lovely gift your son got me. Thoughtful, just like his daddy.” You nuzzle your nose into your son’s cheek, and he giggles. The sound lifts your heart.

Charles nods. “I’m jealous,” he adds, his smile playful. “Mommy will love you more than me soon.”

You giggle and mock whisper, “He doesn’t know I already do.” Your son laughs, eyes darting between you and Charles, who has loudly gasped in fake offense. You stuck out your tongue teasingly, and your son mimicked you.

Narrowing his eyes, Charles creeps towards you, arms outstretched. You back up, still sharing giggles with your son. Charles pauses for a moment, then darts towards you both, sweeping you both up in his arms. You let out a shriek as you feel him lift both of you off the ground and spin you around.

When he finally lets you down, you turn to face him. His hands rest on your hips as he kisses your forehead, then your son’s. You stare at him, wishing you could frame his soft, loving face and preserve it.

It’s a peaceful day. You wish it could last forever.

You sat on the beach, a drink in hand as you stared out at the summer sun as it rose over the beautiful city you’d come to call home. Charles sat next to you, holding his own drink, as he took in the way the sunrise’s colors hit the water.

“Charles,” you began, your voice cutting through the peaceful morning air. He looked at you, and you almost cried at the sincere love in his eyes. “If you knew what your life would bring, good and bad, from beginning to end… do you think you’d change anything?”

He thought for a moment, taking a sip of his drink. But, after a moment, he shook his head. “No. No, because no matter how much sorrow and tragedy I’ve experienced in this life, there is joy in it, too. Changing anything that happened, or has yet to happen, could mean I miss out on some of the greatest things to happen in my life. Like you.” He reached out to grab your hand, holding it like you were his lifeline.

His touch was warm. You reveled in it. You begged your traitorous heart to stop beating so fast, your mind and memory battling against your heart. With a sniffle, you held his hand with your own shaky one, blinking back the tears before they could fall.

“I love you,” you managed to choke out, the words tasting like acid but sounding so sweet.

“I love you, too.” He leaned over to press a kiss to your head. You leaned into his touch. “I’ll make this life a good one. For both of us.”

You already knew that the time you spent with Charles would be good. You would celebrate your third year together next month. You’d be engaged in just four months, around Christmastime, and you’d be married by this time next year. You’d have a son — your son — on the way two years after that.

Your son would spend thirteen wonderful years with his parents. You would share breakfasts and blanket forts. You would drive him to school, Charles would pick him up. You would both go to support Charles in the paddock, and you’d be loved by his fans. Neither you nor Charles would miss a single event that your son participated in. You would dote on him and give him everything he wanted. Charles would be a wonderful, supportive father, and your son would grow up knowing that he was loved.

But cancer, that horrid illness, would come in his twelfth year. He would faint in the middle of class and be rushed to the hospital. You’d rush there from work, Charles meeting you with panic in his eyes. There, the doctors would tell you that it would be an aggressive tumor, spreading quickly, and he would spend the next year in and out of the hospital for treatment. He’d get sicker and sicker, thinner and paler, but he’d still smile as you and Charles came to visit. He’d joke about all the things he wanted to do when he was better.

You’d smile and indulge him, but you’d know that time would never come.

Three weeks after his thirteenth birthday, he would die during the surgery that was supposed to save his life. It would be sudden, a freak accident from a reaction to the anesthetic the doctors used. There would be nothing you could do to stop it.

Charles would fall apart, his world careening to a screeching halt after your son died, but you would preserve. By that time, you would have had over fifteen years to come to terms with the shock death of your most precious person.

But it would still hurt all the same, the pain as raw as the day you’d learned the future.

Eventually, the hurt would be too much. You and Charles would drift further apart until you realized that the ending was upon you. You would tell him over dinner one night about the secret you’d kept for years, finally confessing the things that plagued you for the entirety of your relationship. That you’d known — you’d always known — that this ending would come.

He’d curse you. He’d hate you. He’d leave and never come back, and he would resent you for the rest of your lives.

And you knew that this ending would come to pass. You knew, as you sat with Charles, curled into him on that beach, that you would have a loving, blessed life for the next fifteen years. You knew that your life was on a timer.

But you knew you’d savor every moment until that ending came.

“Despite knowing the journey and where it leads, I embrace it and welcome every moment.”

author's note: this took forever to write, but i'm happy that it's finally done. i'm new to the f1 rpf scene, so i'm still working on getting unique voices down. i hope you like this story!