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coldshrugs · 3 months ago

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ffxivwrite - prompt 4: reticent

characters: estinien varlineau, hamignant varlineau, and featuring my wol, io laithe word count: 1921 rating: mature for mentions of bullying & death. summary: three short, heavily headcanoned scenes from estinien's life, at ages 12, 21, and 33. [middle section heavily inspired by this art] posted 9/5/24 | updated 10/11/24

“I challenge you, Ser, to a trial by combat! Take up your arms and fight me!”

“And what is my crime this time?”

Hamignant, small as he is, brandishes his stick threateningly, but all that swagger is betrayed by an answer that comes out slower than usual. Shaky, even. “You don’t play with me anymore.”

Estinien shifts his weight, leaning a bit more heavily on the tall crook. A stone of guilt sinks in his stomach, so he distracts himself by watching the shallow valley just below the hill they stand on and the sheep grazing there. It is late spring and their coats are full and fluffy, ready for shearing. His twelfth nameday was less than a moon ago and he is expected to help with the task this year. His parents rely on him more now, sending him on errands usually tended by his father, giving him additional fieldwork. It isn’t easy, but it feels good to be trusted.

In truth, he would very much like to continue playing with Hamignant. His little brother has a knack for making games of their chores, and should they be caught goofing off, his wit is quick enough to make even the most stern adult smile.

Estinien does not share his talent for conversation, but Hamignant never seems to mind. He is content to babble so long as Estinien is close by to listen.

The stick—his foraged sword—wriggles closer. Closer. Until it pokes into Estinien’s cheek.

His gaze slides sideways, to Hamignant’s dramatic stance. It would be funny if not for the serious set of his brow, the tight purse of his lips, and the sheen welling in his eyes. Halone bless him, he truly is upset…

Estinien shifts again, batting the stick away with his crook, and smiles at Hamignant. “Then fight me, little knight, but take care to hide your bruises from Mother and Father.”

With a cheer of delight and an expression that makes Estinien proud he put it there, Hamignant begins their spar. Their wooden weapons echo across the meadow, sharp cracks followed by the occasional shriek or grunt when their limbs take a hit.

“Ow!” Estinien pauses to nurse a sore knuckle in his mouth. Hamignant celebrates, jumping on the spot before reenacting the flashy maneuver in the air between them. His victory doesn’t last—Estinien topples him and sends them both rolling down the hill in a fit of laughter.

They land fulms away from the sheep. Some come over to sniff them, like curious friends checking for injuries. Hamignant reaches up to pet snouts, red cheeks stretched in an open smile.

Estinien lies back to catch his breath. Clouds drift overhead in lazy wisps, and the grass tickles his neck and ankles as a warm breeze passes through the meadow. He closes his eyes, listening to the soft bleating of his charges, and even though his knuckle still throbs, he is happy.

“We should make a pact, Es,” Hamignant says, and his excited voice does not negate the sense of peace. “When we grow up, let’s both be knights. We can live in Ishgard and wear armor, protect beautiful maidens from harm, and fight dragons!”

“Best not to wish for dragons, Hami, like Mother says.” He chews his bottom lip. “Besides, I don’t want to be a knight. I like living here. Someone must stay and care for the farm.”

Hamignant’s smile sags. “Fine,” he pouts, though he looks less defeated than before. “You can stay in Ferndale all your days, and I’ll be a great knight of Ishgard. I will come home every Starlight and tell you about my adventures. That could still be fun, right?”

Estinien grins and rights himself, then offers a hand to help his brother up as well. “The finest plan you’ve ever had.”

At age twenty-one, Estinien is still getting used to his height.

Hitting striking dummies with Alberic is one thing—they don’t dodge, and they don’t hit back. And sparring with his unit is pitiable right now, as many of them adjust to growing bodies. It is something else entirely to swing the unfamiliar length of his arm at a sneering face, or struggle to take an unwieldy step backward before the very real fist meets his cheek. To fight and defend himself seriously.

He hits the training yard dirt with a weak groan that is all but drowned out by a roar of laughter. His ears ring from the impact. Four soldiers, all fledglings like himself, still in a training unit, stand over him.

“And if you know what’s good for you, you’ll stay down, Varlineau.” The one that threw the punch. Taller than he is, and stronger, and probably some noble’s son or nephew. It’s been a few moons since his official enlistment, but Estinien has not learned their names. He is here for one reason, and he cannot make room for useless information. And why should he, when another puts a foot on his chest as he tries to stand?

They erupt again over such a hard-won victory.

“We heard you last night, whimpering in your bunk like a freshly-weened babe. That the Azure Dragoon should waste his time with you,” one scoffs.

“No better than an orphaned Brume brat. We should drag you back to Ferndale and let Nidhogg know he missed one—”

The ankle holding him down makes a sickening snap when he twists it. Striking dummies certainly don’t do that. The boy goes down with a pained scream.

Estinien stands. He says nothing, only wipes his bloody nose with the back of his hand, then swings.

He spends three days in the gaol, and they do not bother him again.

He’s been in this room too long. His body is stiff from disuse, even with the daily practice of simple stretches. By chirurgeon’s orders, he has been forbidden from any activities that might reopen his wounds.

By fucking Halone and all the rest, he is bored.

At least he doesn’t want for company—that is not to say company has ever been a strong craving for him, of course. But Estinien could do worse than the Warrior of Light making her near-daily visit, even if it’s simply because this is the single place in Ishgard where she might escape the pitying gazes and prying questions about her… entanglement with Greystone. He enjoys a few hours of quiet, tolerable companionship, and she has a moment of privacy; an even exchange, in his mind.

Io sits in a ratty armchair, legs curled under her, by a sunny window so thickly lined with sympathy flowers, the room resembles the Holy Gardens of the Vault. Or, more kindly, the meadows ringing Ferndale in late spring. She wears the evidence of mourning around her eyes, red-rimmed and darkened bags from lack of decent sleep. He knows the look well. Still, the backdrop suits her.

Today, she knits, softly humming to herself in time to the rhythmic click of the needles. She’s lost in it, and her silence is appreciated. They talk during these visits, yes, but it isn’t like before. He thought her a friend before Aymeric’s mad plan shook their lives. Now… “friend” seems both too frivolous and too forward. They’re vulnerable in this room, Io grieving her lover, Estinien bandaged and weak—vulnerable, but distant.

He misses how they were before.

So he watches the wool slipping between her fingers with each meticulous loop, the way the half-formed garment hangs heavy from her hands. And all of it—the dappled light on the flowers, the repetitive scratch of Io’s work and wordless song, the weight of wool he used to know well, the herbaceous scent of medicinal salve rising from his wounds—dredges up the memory of another life. If Estinien closes his eyes, it could be twenty-one years ago. He could be there, if only for a moment, if only as a visitor.

Grief wails inside him. It is the roar he’s felt for years, through the Eye he used as a tool. Strange, to feel it now as part of himself, bottomless and inconsolable and so full of love. Stranger still to realize they were not so different in the end.

When was the last time he’s cried? Estinien is barely aware of where the tears trail down his cheeks, numb to everything but the homesick ache he has fought for half his life. He rubs his face before Io has the chance to see him.

“Io.” Estinien clears his throat. With her head still tilted towards her craft, Io’s eyes shift to meet his. “There is something I would ask.”

She pauses, waiting for his question.

“Why did you save me?”

Her answer comes in the form of a furrowed brow. She continues knitting without a word.

“I was ready. I was. And now? I don’t know how to be, I don’t know how to live without it. I’m unfit for anything else.”

Io’s lips thin a bit, tightening into a frustrated line, as she works. She shakes her head. Maybe she’s angry he asked. For all he lacks as a conversationalist, he is an expert in offending, even when he doesn’t mean to.

He lifts himself off the pillows piled at his back, ignoring the fire in his shoulder.

“You could’ve left me, or killed me. I feel him, Io. The echo of his loss; when it hits me… Io, you could’ve killed me.” The words leave him in a rush, riding the swell of pain that belongs to him and the adamant traces of Nidhogg that are part of him now.

Her sigh shames him. “Kill a man—my friend—when he doesn’t want to die? Let you fall to anguish and pain?" She lays the needles in her lap and her dark gaze all but dares him to argue. He’s never heard her speak with such a firm certainty. “No, Estinien, I could never have done that. Nidhogg’s isn’t the only grief you carry, nor are his memories the only ones worth saving.”

Silence encloses them, balancing on the knife’s edge of comfort and unease. Neither looks away. He counts the agitated rise and fall of Io’s chest until they are breathing in sync, then until both are steady.

With the softer tone he recognizes, she says, “We all need reminding that burdens, even ones as heavy as this, can be shared.”

Her mere presence gives the lie to his words. He would’ve done the same, if it were her. He sags back into his pillows, exhaustion replacing the wyrm’s overwhelming emotion.

And they return to the shred of peace they fought for. Io hums, and the needles click, and that is enough. He listens, occasionally mustering a courageous glance, and thinks about the uncertain future until the rays of sunlight tilt his direction instead of hers.

“I think it’s time to get on.”

“Me?” Io’s lips stretch into a crooked smile over the yarn. “Fine, I’ll kill you next time.”

His laugh is rough and unfamiliar sounding, closer to a cough. It hurts his broken ribs.

Io’s raspy chuckle is a far more pleasant sound. “Where will you go?”

Estinien sighs. He knows where he wants to go. The question is whether he will be welcome. “If it’s all the same, that is my business alone.”

Io nods and does not push the matter. Hm. There is always another question… In the absence of one, something settles in him… A sense of solace he didn’t know he was allowed.

So he confesses: “To make amends.”

#azia writes #ffxivwrite2024 #estinien varlineau #hamignant varlineau #io laithe #this has been living with me for a long time and i'm actually really pleased to get it out!!!!

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cieloclercs · 1 year ago

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𝐬𝐚𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐝𝐞 | chapter three

pairings: charles leclerc x senna!oc part: 3/? warnings: swearing i think? charles is a bit of a dick, they finally meet again so angstttt, seb and kimi the best boyfriends!! word count: 6.8k

SAUDADE. in which childhood rivals turned best friends realise they were always meant to be something more

03. wishful thinking

author’s note: sooo they’re meeting this chapter 🫣 sorry guys it’s gonna be pretty tense from here, the slow burn starts now!! 🥳🥳

read it on wattpad!

previous: chapter 2 next: chapter 4

20 January 2021 Rolex Monte Carlo Sponsor’s Gala Monte Carlo, Monaco

EMERALD GREEN IS becoming more familiar to Noa as the days pass, and she nears making her debut in Formula 1. It’s the colour of her evening gown, the one Raffaella had delivered to her Monte Carlo hotel room earlier that evening inside a sleek Chanel gift bag. She has to admit, if they’re trying to convince her to sign that contract, they’re certainly doing a good job, because this dress is one of the most beautiful she’s ever worn. It feels like a second skin, like ribbons of water flowing through her fingers when she hitches up the skirt a little, walking slowly up the steps to the venue. Camera lenses click and flash all around her. Even if her confidence is shredded by anxiety, dressed like this, Noa feels like a million dollars.

Just like the rest of Monaco, the Salle Belle Epoque is ludicrously expensive, lavish beyond anything she’s seen before. This is the playground of the rich, after all. Its ceilings are high, marble pillars framed with gold stretching far upwards, where they meet the ceiling, like a work of art painted across the sky. It reminds her of Versailles, Noa thinks, the image and embodiment of wealth. It’s intimidating to stand amongst it all, harsh golden lights from chandeliers glaring down upon her. But she keeps her head up high, and clutches at Sebastian’s arm a little tighter. He smiles over reassuringly. He must have done quite a few of these galas in his time. Noa trusts he won’t let her flounder.

The itinerary for the night is planned out to a tee and expected to be followed. First, the press have their fill of pictures outside the venue, something which she is, thankfully, already accustomed to. She’s the showstopper of the night in her emerald dress, and it seems the cameras can’t get enough of her. Noa has to bite back her laughter at Sebastian’s forlorn expression as he’s momentarily pushed to the side. Though he may be a four-time World Champion, he doesn’t exactly try to carry himself with much glamour anymore; much more comfortable with his unruly, one-with-nature kind of look (meaning that Britta almost had to fight him to get him to drag a comb through his hair for the night). “I’ve had my heyday in Monaco.” he tells Noa later, in the car on their way to the venue, “Those years were enough to last me a lifetime.”

Second comes the cocktail reception, in which they await the arrival of all the guests. She has half a mind to call Sebastian out on his earlier statement, as the way he’s going through already his third glass of the night is strikingly similar to his days of partying with Red Bull. Noa holds her tongue though, when they are approached by some of the other guests in attendance. She’ll remind him later, when he’s inevitably struggling to walk in a straight line.

Rolex has branched out further into Formula 1 to mark the beginning of the new season. Looking around, Noa can already spot a lot of familiar faces. There’s Lewis Hamilton, of course, over near the bar talking to the ever-smiling Daniel Ricciardo. As an old family friend, she makes a note to pull the seven-time World Champion aside to catch up before the end of the night – she hasn’t seen him in almost six months, after all. Noa has spotted Seb shooting looks at Kimi Räikkönen from across the room who, like his former teammate, is indulging perhaps a little too much on the complimentary cocktails. Then there’s Max Verstappen, who is standing stoic as ever in a corner with a familiar looking blonde woman. Noa hasn’t seen much of him since her karting days, but she thinks – looking at the slightly uncomfortable expression he wears – he might appreciate seeing a familiar face. She certainly would: well, depending on how familiar, that is.

The one person she really doesn’t want to see appears not to have arrived yet. She isn’t naïve enough to believe he won’t show up; considering he practically rules Monaco, it would be unheard of for him to not be here. Noa can’t see his new teammate, Carlos Sainz, amongst the crowd either, so she assumes the Ferrari representatives simply haven’t arrived yet. She makes a mental note to keep an eye out for the Spanish driver – that way she’ll know roughly when she needs to take herself to the bar to prepare for the undoubtedly awkward few hours ahead.

“Hey, do you mind if I leave you for a bit?” Sebastian turns to ask, eyebrows arched questioningly. Noa smiles, shaking her head. She isn’t blind – her teammate has clearly been dying to go and see Kimi, who is stood, serene as ever, by himself. He tries to play it off, assuring her that he’s more than willing to stay if it makes her feel more comfortable, but once again she shakes her head.

“It’s fine, Seb.” Noa chuckles, “Go see your boyfriend.”

He merely grins at her teasing, leaving her with a wink before making a beeline towards the Finnish driver. She watches with a smirk as they greet each other enthusiastically, a rare smile, which is mostly only reserved for Seb, taking over Kimi’s face. Then she’s at a loose end. She could go and mingle with some of the other guests, put herself out there a little bit, but with the prospect of what is about to come, Noa isn’t sure she has the energy. Maybe she needs a drink to build up her confidence first.

The bar it is, she thinks. Slowly, she begins to make her way through the crowd, stopping to say brief hello’s to those she recognises and to those who greet her first. Their faces only seem to blur together, even though she tries to hold on to them – anything to distract her from her growing anxiety. The bar is almost in sight when Noa is stopped for the final time by a very familiar voice, which brings a surprised, yet grateful smile to her face. She turns to face Max Verstappen, and for a moment all her worries seem to be forgotten about.

“Hi!” she says brightly in response to his equally enthusiastic greeting, wasting no time in wrapping him up into a friendly hug, “Long time no see.”

“Yeah, you don’t say.” Max chuckles dryly. In fact, the last time they saw each other was also the last time Noa stepped foot in the Formula 1 paddock. It feels like an age ago, but at the same time, she knows once she’s back again it’ll feel like she never left.

Hovering to Max’s left is that same familiar-looking blonde woman, smiling hesitantly as Noa pulls away to study her with curiosity. Now, close up, she realises exactly who this is. It takes a moment for the name to click with the face, but as soon as it does, her face lights up into the widest grin of the night.

Max watches this moment pass, deciding now is the time for re-introductions, “Obviously, you already know my –“

“Annie?” Noa cuts him off. His mouth snaps shut with a faint huff, “Annie Beaumont?”

The blonde woman beams ecstatically, “Hi! Oh my God, you remember!” she laughs, hands flying up to cradle her face briefly.

“Of course I do!” Noa cries. In unison, they both surge forwards at the same time, falling into a tight, familiar hug. The Brazilian squeezes her eyes shut briefly, taking in the moment, trying to commit it perfectly to memory. It was strange how she hadn’t even realised how much she missed her paddock best friend until now, when she finally got to hug her again.

“I can’t believe it.” Noa laughs incredulously as they both pull away, “It’s been years!”

Anneliese Beamount had been a near-constant presence at her side around the paddock, when they were both in their pre-teens. Noa would often go to watch Charles’ races, which more and more tended to take place separately from her own as he moved up the age groups, leaving her behind. Annie’s older brother, Luc Beaumont, was a kart racer in the same category, so many of her weekends were spent trailing along after him and their devoted parents. At the same time, Noa was often left at a loose end when Charles raced and she didn’t. So when she bumped into Annie one day at the International Circuit of Zuera in Spain, they immediately hit it off. From then on, at every race they would meet up in the paddock, tormenting Luc, Charles and their other driver friends at every opportunity they got. Noa misses those days now. It was a time where she didn’t have to worry about anything except her next race. A simple time.

“How have you been?” she asks. Annie steps back, glancing up at Max. It clicks in Noa’s head, as the Dutch driver takes her hand in his and gazes back down at her lovingly. She can’t help but let her mouth drop open ever so slightly.

“I’ve been great.” Annie grins, “I am great. We both are. Right, babe?”

Max says something in reply, but she doesn’t hear it. She’s too focussed on the way he leans down to press a kiss to Annie’s cheek, and the way his eyes light up brighter than she’s ever seen them as he looks at her. Slowly, a massive grin spreads across Noa’s face.

“This is so surreal.” She breathes, “I’m so used to you two biting each other’s heads off all the time.” the couple laugh softly, shaking their heads at the remembrance of their former, much more oblivious selves, “This is…it’s different. But I love it.”

One of her prevailing memories from all those years in the paddock is the large amount of time that teenaged Annie Beaumont and Max Verstappen spent getting on each other’s nerves. As one of Luc’s main rivals, she always tried her best to derail the Dutch driver in any way possible. It had led to more than a few very public arguments, and scolding from their parents (as well as a few paddock officials when things really got out of hand). Though, with the benefit of hindsight, Noa begins to remember things a little differently – the way that Annie somehow always managed to bring Max up in conversation, whether positive or negative; the way Max would search for her gaze across the paddock, just to give her a dirty look. Noa isn’t sure how she never saw it before. Thinking back, it was all so obvious. They never hated each other. They were just too proud and scared to admit their feelings.

“I guess you’ll have a lot of questions.” Annie giggles, noticing the still present look of dazed bewilderment on Noa’s face. The Brazilian woman nods her agreement almost instantaneously.

“You have no idea.” She chuckles.

“We should meet up some time.” Annie then suggests, her tone quietening with her slight nerves, “I can give you all the details then?” Noa’s gaze softens. It’s been far too long since they last saw each other. After the nightmare that was 2018, she all but cut everyone off; not just Charles, but everyone who had ever been connected to or associated with him. She just didn’t want to be faced with the reminder of seven years of friendship, poured straight down the drain in one night. It hits her now that in doing that, she also lost the one friendship that may have been able to lift her out of the hole she dug herself into. Noa is ashamed to say that she’s hardly thought of Annie since that day. It’s selfish, she knows, but she needed to wallow in her own grief for a little while, to let it sink in, so she could finally begin to accept it. Well, there’ll be no more wallowing from now on, Noa tells herself. She’s done letting Charles Leclerc ruin her life.

“Sounds perfect.” she grins back at the woman, another former best friend, and Annie’s face lights up like the pitch black sky in a fireworks display, “There’s a lot we need to catch up on.”

“You don’t say.” she smirks. It’s familiar, a memory from the past when they were close enough to tell each other their darkest secrets. Noa has missed it desperately, “You’ve got some explaining to do.” Annie raises an eyebrow. It doesn’t take a genius to interpret what exactly she means. The Brazilian driver grimaces; but really, an explanation is the least she can offer to Annie after everything. She owes her that, if nothing else.

Noa is about to speak again, to ask her what she’s been doing all these years that they’ve been apart, but Max suddenly calling to someone across the other side of the room makes her freeze. He moves slightly away from the pair, as if he’s giving them the option to keep talking, and waves both of his hands over his head. He’s trying to summon whoever it is. Noa’s blood runs cold. Somehow, she knows exactly who Max Verstappen is calling. It’s as if she can sense him.

“Charles! Carlos! Over here!” he yells, seemingly indifferent to the disapproving looks he gains from some of the other guests. She watches as his arms drop, and a bright smile overcomes his face. That means they’ve seen him. It means they’re walking over. Noa’s head drops for a moment to rest her chin on her chest, as she sucks in a deep breath.

“Shit.” She hisses to no one but herself. Annie hears it, and flashes her a sympathetic look. She is the only one of the three faced away from where the two Ferrari drivers are now surely fast approaching. No doubt, Annie can see them. Maybe she can see Charles, and how reluctant he is to walk over while she’s there. Maybe Carlos is all but dragging him. Or maybe he hasn’t even noticed she’s there. That might hurt her more than anything, if she’s still so torn up about the death of their friendship, and he no longer cares.

“You want a drink?” Annie whispers to her. Noa feels a sudden, overwhelming sense of gratitude. She’s quick to nod, the corners of her lips tugging upwards gratefully.

Annie calls over one of the waiting staff in an instant, who are milling around the guests with trays of cocktails balanced precariously in their arms. She takes a glass with gracious thanks, and hands it to over. As soon as the cold neck of the glass in her hands, Noa downs its contents in a single gulp. She lets the liquid burn her throat with a satisfied hum, before dropping her arm and turning to stand beside Annie, who is staring at her in shock. She knows if she looks up now, she’ll see him, probably now standing all but five metres away. But something is stopping her. So Noa instead focusses her attention on her friend – not one of the former nature. At least not any longer.

“That bad, huh?” Annie whispers again. She grimaces.

“You have no idea.”

It’s clear there can be no backing out or running away from this when Max steps forwards to embrace the two drivers, beginning first with Charles before moving onto Carlos. Though Noa still doesn’t look up, she can hear his voice. It sounds exactly the same as the last time she heard it over two years ago; just as smooth and soft, but all she can hear are the harsh words he spoke to her on that night. They’ve tainted every memory she has of him now. It’s all overshadowed by the betrayal.

Noa is snapped out of her thoughts when Carlos approaches, moving away from Max to where she and Annie are stood side by side. He greets the Belgian woman first with a familiar, friendly hug, before turning to her. He smiles, even though she can already tell he knows everything. Noa can somehow always tell. There’s something knowing glinting in his eye, not anything obvious, but just enough to be recognised. It’s the feeling of knowing something about a person that you maybe should not necessarily know. He’s not trying to show it, and he’s probably not even aware of it either – but Noa always has been. Perhaps because her paranoia searches for it.

She pushes the thoughts from her mind, stepping forward with as bright a smile as she can muster to meet the Ferrari driver in the middle. “Hi, I’m Noa.” she introduces.

Carlos’ eyebrows arch, “Oh, I know.” He chuckles, “It’s wonderful to finally meet you.” She doesn’t have time to think about the many possible implications of his words before he’s stepping forwards to wrap her into a hug. Noa accepts it, and it doesn’t feel strange or forced as she may have feared. The exchange is as normal as any other, like there is no tension hanging in the air at all. When she pulls away, she even manages to smile at him, properly this time.

All that evaporates in an instant when she turns, her gaze locking onto those green eyes she’s both been dreading and longing to see for over two years. Charles Leclerc is watching her intensely, his lips ever so slightly parted. For a moment, all Noa can think to do is stare. Though it seems he’s suffering from the same dilemma.

He looks older than when she last saw him, which isn’t a massive surprise, considering it’s now been well over a year since the 2019 season ended. He’s lost most of the soft, childish curves to his face, replaced by sharp, high cheekbones and an angular jawline. The navy blue suit framing his body only adds to this newfound maturity he seems to have gained. It’s fitted to barely within an inch of the limit, tight in all the places it should be, accentuating the muscles in his arms, legs and chest which hide beneath the fabric. Charles has always been attractive – it’s simply a fact she learned to accept as a teenager – but now that seems to have been multiplied tenfold beyond anything she remembers. He looks impossibly good: annoyingly. She’s supposed to be upset with him, yet all she can focus on in those first few seconds are the depth of his eyes and his cupid’s bow lips.

Then she spots the Ferrari logo emblazoned on the breast pocket of his suit. Like someone clicking their fingers in front of her face to snap her out of her daydream, any tenderness or familiarity she may have been feeling towards him in her moment of weakness suddenly fades. All that remains are the familiar flames of anger, licking at her belly. Noa’s eyes narrow. Charles notices the change immediately.

“Uh, we’re going to get drinks from the bar.” Max says, clearing his throat awkwardly in the tense silence. He takes hold of Annie’s arm gently, ready to pull her away with him to give the two some space, “Carlos, do you want anything?”

“Actually, mate, I think I’ll come with you.” the Spanish driver announces hastily, hurrying away from Charles’ side before his teammate can attempt to drag him back. He shoots him a look over his shoulder. Noa can’t quite read it.

“We’ll see you in a bit!” Max calls brightly. The other two cringe at his forced enthusiasm, but follow him towards the bar anyway. As she leaves, Annie looks back at Noa, offering her an apologetic smile. She grimaces, her heart sinking low into her stomach. Now she has no line of defence, no one to fall back on if this conversation – or whatever it is Charles is trying to do by being here – becomes too much. Noa stares down at the empty bottom of her glass until she’s sure they are gone. Only then does she look up, finding a pair of green eyes already watching her.

She doesn’t know it, but Charles’ head is spinning. Everything he’d done to hype himself up before walking over here, and even before, to prepare himself to see her again, quite frankly, goes to absolute shit. He’s completely forgotten how he planned to start this conversation. The words are lost to the uncomfortable silence.

Noa Senna looks almost nothing like the young girl he last saw at the end of 2019, and even less like the one crushed on that awful day the year prior – one of the worst days of his entire life. He supposes it’s to be expected. She is twenty one now, a fully fledged adult now living an adult life. But it’s not just the face that she’s grown up that hits him hard. It’s how much she’s matured; how beautiful she’s become. Charles had always thought she was beautiful, even when they were kids, but nothing quite like this. Noa, stubborn, headstrong, fierce Noa, is now almost nowhere to be seen. A young woman stands in her place, stripped of all her childlike innocence. On the one hand, Charles is in awe of her. But on the other, she’s almost unrecognisable as the Noa he knows – or used to know. Undoubtedly breath taking, yet somehow less full of life. At least as he remembers her. Then again, it has been over two years since he truly saw her, and people can change a lot in that time.

Either way, the combination of shock and awe inside him is killer. His eyes are caught on the way her dress dips with every natural curve of her body. It fits her like a glove. Charles curses himself. He’s making this much harder for himself than he wanted it to be, because suddenly his mouth is dry and he’s too wracked by nerves to formulate any kind of situation-appropriate greeting in his head. He is, to put it simply, lost for words.

“Hi.” He speaks eventually. The moment the words leave his mouth, he cringes. Noa stares back at him in disbelief.

“Hi?” she returns. It comes out as more of a scoff than anything else. For the moment, Charles chooses to ignore it, pushing forwards with a strained smile.

“You – uh – you look beautiful.” He says, gulping when Noa’s expression remains perfectly impassive. He’s not sure what’s worse: gaining no reaction, or gaining the reaction he initially feared when he blurted the words out. Disgust. At least then he’d know what she is thinking.

Noa simply doesn’t quite know what to say. She’s too angry, too wracked with disbelief to find herself flattered by his compliment as she may have been a few years ago, or if she was thinking straight. How does he have the nerve to approach her, after two years of absolutely zero contact, and say something like that? It simply doesn’t make sense to her. The only think she can make sense of is the anger it sends coursing through her veins.

“What do you want, Charles?” Noa asks, a tired sigh slipping past her lips. Her mind flickers back briefly to the promise she made to her father, but in the moment, engulfed by flames, she is blind to it; wanting nothing more than to get as far away as possible from this man and his piercing green eyes. Charles feels his heart sink.

He’s pushing back all the questions he wants to ask her, trying to respect her wishes – to get straight to the point. But oh how he longs to simply sit down and talk to her again: to ask her about her day, to catch up on everything he’s missed in his absence. Instead, Charles focusses on the pressing matter, the one he originally intended to discuss with her, but seemed to forget all about as soon as he caught sight of her once again.

“I take it you know about the Chanel contract?” he asks after a moment of internal debate. Something heavy settles over his heart.

“Yes.” Noa replies. She ignores the flash of disappointment that flares up in her chest at his seeming indifference. But it’s not like she expected him to strike up a friendly conversation – that’s not how things work between them anymore.

Charles nods. He’s fighting for his concentration, mind racing as he tries to remember the rough script he came up with in his head on the car journey here. Yet no matter how hard he tries, the words just don’t seem to want to come to him.

“Do you want to go somewhere a bit quieter?” he speaks up again finally, ignoring the strange look Noa is giving him after his prolonged silence, “So we can talk.”

The Brazilian woman sighs. There are people all around her whom she either knows well or has at least been acquainted with before. Some are even strangers, and at this moment, she’d rather throw herself into a conversation with them than do this. She can see Daniel Ricciardo has joined Seb and Kimi now, not that far away from her, and Lewis is just across the room, talking to newly arrived Mark Webber. Of course, Max and Annie are only at the bar too. She could easily blow Charles off to join them. It would certainly be a much more comfortable situation for her.

But then she’s reminded of her father. Noa makes a point of keeping his trust in her as secure as a lockbox at all times, because he’s done so much for her over the years, she can’t even imagine lying to him. Besides, she knows for a fact that he would never lie to her. Noa has made a promise. As much as she wishes she could go back on it now, she needs to do this. Both for the sake of her potential contract with Chanel, and more importantly, for her father. She’ll just have to grin and bear this one.

“Alright, fine.” She concedes. Charles tries to hide the relief that flashes across his face. Luckily, she’s too preoccupied looking around the room for a quiet place to sit down to notice it, “There are some empty seats over there?” she suggests. He follows her gaze to a small, two-person booth in the corner of the room. It’s both far enough away from the majority of guests for them to be able to have a conversation in private, while also being close enough so they won’t look too out of place. Convenient. Silently, he nods, and they both make their way across the room to the booth.

Charles grabs a drink each for the both of them on the way. He hands one to Noa as she takes the seat opposite him. She doesn’t thank him, but he’s not surprised.

“This is a big opportunity for me.” the Brazilian woman speaks first. He’s a little relieved at that, but only because it means he has to struggle again to find the right words, “I don’t have to tell you how important a sponsorship like this is. I want it to work.” Noa pauses, sucking in a deep breath, “But I don’t know how it’s going to with you there.”

Charles’ eyes narrows. He feels the pain of her words like a dagger, but he feels the accusation stronger.

“They want us both, Noa.” he shoots back. She tries to ignore the way her stomach flips to hear her name spoken from his mouth. “Not just you. This is a package deal. Do you not think I need this as much as you do?”

Her heart drops. A scowl overcomes her face. Those all-too-familiar flames of anger seem to be making a reappearance, despite her desperate efforts to tame them.

“No, actually. I don’t.” she all but spits in reply, “You’re Ferrari’s golden boy. You can do no wrong.” Her voice drops dangerously low, eyes darkening until they’re almost black, “But I’m the first woman to drive in Formula 1 in almost thirty years. I need the safety net.”

Exposure like this is the best thing she can gain at the moment. That way, she builds a loyal fanbase before the season starts – a fanbase that will stand by her, even if things don’t always run smoothly. Noa knows how delicate this whole situation is. She knows that the second her performances start to dip, Chanel and any of her other sponsors could drop her in a heartbeat. That’s why she needs their backing now. Charles on the other hand, is already one of the most popular drivers on the grid. In the eyes of the Tifosi, he really can do no wrong. Sure, he may benefit from the money a deal like this will bring to both him and his team, but he doesn’t need the security like she does. Without it, he’ll still go on to keep his seat without a struggle. Noa might not.

“Are you serious?” Charles hisses under his breath, “Are you really going to make this all about you again?”

His words send her reeling. Her mouth falls open in shock and outrage, but for a good few seconds, no sound comes out. This reminds her so much of the night their friendship ended. The way he’s looking at her now, eyes blazing with anger and frustration, lips pursed as if to hold back the torrent of hurtful words he no doubt wishes to say to her. Noa won’t let it affect her anymore. She refuses to let her eyes prickle and flow with tears as they did then, even if Charles is making the same mistake that cost them seven whole years of friendship.

“Do you really want to start this argument again?” she says, as calmly as she possibly can. The softness of her voice snaps Charles out of whatever spell he is under. Immediately, the anger and frustration, remnants from two years prior, flows straight out of him. All it leaves behind is regret. But he’s past the point of being able to apologise, he knows that. After everything he’s done, no matter how many times he says I’m sorry, Charles doubts there is anything he can do to make it up to her. If the look in her eyes isn’t testament to that fact, then he doesn’t know what else is.

“No” he sighs, running a hand through his hair, “I don’t.”

“Good.” Noa shoots back. Her voice is as cold as ice, “That’s not why I agreed to talk to you. I’m doing it because I care about my career, and I don’t want our past getting in the way of it.”

Charles nods. He can barely even bring himself to meet her eyes now. The fear of what he will see in them overwhelms him.

He wonders how they managed to get themselves into this situation. Besides the obvious, of course (his own stupid pride). Once – not so long ago in the grand scheme of things – Noa had been everything to him. She was his best friend, his confidant, his biggest supporter, and most of all, the one person he always believed would stay by his side. But, like so many others who came before, he lost her. It may be different, because she’s still alive and well, sitting before him now, so close he can see her rosy cheeks where her blood flows steadily beneath her skin. Noa is still with him on earth, but she’s never felt so distant. It’s a different kind of loss. In a way, it hurts just as much.

The tense silence between them feels so wrong. For two people who had once been the most important presence in the other’s life, this fall from grace is the most dramatic of all. The most heart-breaking.

Someone is calling them before they have the chance to speak again. It’s Sebastian, with a half-full glass balanced precariously in his hand, looking both apologetic and curious. Noa stares at him. She’s torn between feeling grateful that he’s cut this excruciating exchange short, and feeling irritated that he’s interrupting just as she feels they’re finally about to get somewhere.

“We’re going through for dinner now.” he tells them. They both nod in reply, but make no move to stand. Sebastian turns on his heel after that, marching back towards where Kimi is waiting for him. Noa catches her teammate grimace at the Finnish driver, shaking his head. She sighs.

“We should probably go.” Charles speaks up first. A hum is all he receives in reply, yet still, neither of them make the move to stand. This conversation is still very much unfinished. They’ve got a lot to work through if they’re ever going to be able to work together comfortably. One night simply isn’t going to be enough, they realise that now.

Noa watches with raised eyebrows as Charles reaches to pull his phone out of his pocket. He punches the passcode in quickly, tapping a few more buttons before he places it face up on the table and spins the screen around to face her. It’s open on the contacts app. Her gaze snaps up to watch him with an expression he can’t quite interpret.

“If you give me your number, we can arrange another time to meet up.” he explains, “I’ve got some testing to do in Maranello next week, so maybe after that?”

Noa doesn’t reply. She simply continues to stare down at his phone, her eyebrows knitted together ever so slightly.

“You deleted my number?” she asks quietly.

Charles’ lips part, but no sound comes out. His mind stutters for a moment, trying to come up with an explanation. He’d deleted her number almost immediately after their fight, too overcome with fury to pause and think about the potential consequences of his actions. But once he’d done it, there was no going back. In the moment, he’d wanted every trace of Noa out of his life. If only he’d known then how much he would later come to regret that decision.

“It’s fine.” Noa waves him away as he begins to stammer out some kind of excuse, “I deleted yours too.”

Only after she’d tried to call him about a hundred times, but she’s sure he doesn’t need to know that part. It perhaps explains why she never received any answer, but for some reason, that only makes her feel worse. The anger is gone, replaced by the sadness and regret she’s been trying to ignore for months. Noa just hopes Charles can’t sense the change in her demeanour. Though, if he’s still the same Charles she remembers deep down, he’ll be just as in-tune with her emotions now as he was back then.

Silently, she types in her number into the new contact on his phone. It feels strange to simultaneously add her full name into the empty space, rather than one of her many childhood nicknames he’d given her when they were young. It’s so formal – so unlike them, as they used to be, anyway. Noa’s heart is heavy when she slides the phone back across the table towards him, and he takes it, fitting it back into his pocket.

This time they do stand up. The other guests are beginning to file into the dining hall by now, a low hum of chatter settled amongst them which gradually grows softer as each person moves out of the room one by one. Noa notices that Sebastian is waiting for her by the bar. She smiles over at him gratefully. At least she knows he’ll have her back this season, whatever happens.

Just before she can walk over to her expectant teammate, a gentle hand on her arm halts her in position. She freezes, turning slowly at the sound of Charles murmuring her name in a tone so soft she can barely hear it. He hasn’t touched her in over two years, she realises. Not since that night has she felt the warmth of his hand on her skin. Noa hates that it still manages to send sparks coursing through her body, a pleasant shiver shooting up her spine. After all this time, all the heartbreak, and she’s still as weak as ever.

“Noa.” Charles repeats, just as softly as before, snapping her out of her trance. She looks away from where his hand rests on her arm, gaze lifting to meet his eyes. They’re wide, shining with something she thinks is…hope? He takes a small step away from her, clearing his throat nervously. There’s a lot he wishes to say to her right now; some bad, some good, but all of them honest. One thought pushes his way to the front of his mind. I’ve missed you, he thinks. But he can’t say something like that to her, not now. So he settles for another truth; one not quite so risky as the admittance that he’s spent every single day of her two year absence wishing she was there by his side.

“It’s good to see you.” Charles says finally. Even if she’s changed almost beyond recognition, even if it seems as though she’d rather be anywhere but here with him right now, he’s glad she is. It’s been far too long.

Noa can do nothing but stare. She’s not angry anymore, but she’s not sad either. She just feels empty. Charles Leclerc has lost his power over her, just as he lost her friendship over two years ago. Maybe it is a good thing she’s seeing him now. Maybe this will begin the process of gaining closure: of letting him, and whatever they used to be go. Without a word, Noa turns away, striding across the room to where Sebastian waits for her, not even sparing Charles a second glance. He watches the emerald of her dress slide along the floor, and closes his eyes. When he opens them again, she’s gone. Too late to see the regret he wears, his heart out on his sleeve.

“How did it go?” Sebastian asks as they walk side by side into the dining hall. He glances back towards the door, from which Charles has still not emerged.

“It was ok.” Noa murmurs in reply, “All things considered, it could have gone a lot worse.” She lets her eyes wander the room, searching briefly for their assigned table. When she finds it, she taps Sebastian on the arm, and they make their way quickly over, weaving between the other tables so as to cause as little disturbance as possible, “I think we’ll be meeting again to talk in more detail about what we’re going to do, though.” She admits. Sebastian looks to her with raised eyebrows.

“And how do you feel about that?” he asks. He’s not stupid – he can sense the lingering animosity between the two former friends (or at least, Noa’s animosity towards Charles) as clearly as anything. As much as she’s fierce and headstrong, Sebastian has also come to learn that his teammate does not enjoy confrontation. No doubt, they’ll be quite a lot of that in the time it takes for them to figure out how they’re going to move forward.

“It needs to be done.” Noa says with a resigned shrug, “The contract is pretty clear – either we’re both in, or neither of us are. As much as I wish I never have to speak to him again, I care about making this work more.”

Sebastian hums. They’re nearing their assigned table now, where most of the other Formula 1 drivers in attendance are also sat. Just as they approach, he steals a glance at Noa, trying to read her expression in the few moments he has before she catches him. It’s impassive to the untrained eye, but Sebastian has always figured himself to be someone who’s very good at reading other people’s emotions. Despite her callous words, he can see she’s hurting. Noa believes she means it when she says she never wants to see him again. Sebastian knows she doesn’t really. She’s simply telling herself she does.

They take their seats around the table where their name places are set out. Luckily, they are next to each other. Noa is pleasantly surprised to find Max Verstappen seated on her left, with Annie on his other side shooting her a look that says, ‘As soon as this is over, you’re telling me everything.’ Sebastian looks like he’s just won the lottery when he sits down next to Kimi Räikkönen, whose blank expression lifts for only a split second when he sees his former teammate. For a moment, Noa doesn’t even spot the empty seat in front of her on the other side of the table. She’s perfectly oblivious, wrapped up in the distraction of conversation with her fellow drivers.

Then another round of greetings ripple across the table, and she looks up. Charles makes his way towards the seat in front of her, next to his teammate who waits to pat him on the back and shoot him an encouraging look. Noa sighs. Her eyes find Sebastian’s.

It’s going to be a long night.

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noasenna_updates Noa at the Rolex Monte Carlo Sponsor’s gala tonight! She’s wearing a custom made emerald Chanel formal dress, which was apparently especially designed for the occasion! 😍

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username it’s noa’s world, we’re just living in it

username oh she KNOWS everyone’s obsessed with her

username she’s so beautiful it hurts 🥲

username isn’t charles there too??

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