𝖕𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖘, lionel messi

007. il predestinato

chapter seven
PARIS

AURORA LECLERC HAS been left wounded by Formula One too many times to keep count. At some point, probably after yet another car was smashed into pieces in front of her very eyes, she believed herself to have formed an iron cage. 

After all, she doesn't remember crying at Anthoine's funeral. Not once. 

Yet the sight of her brother, with sunken, bloodshot eyes and defeat written across his face standing in front of her hotel room cracked her already broken heart. 

"Oh, Charles," her voice barely resonated through the pained silence before she pulled him inside, lest one of the pesky reporters and journalists sharing the floor with her catch them in this state. One more cruel headline about the boy in red smeared across th tabloids. 

She knows what this is about, of course, what had ultimately broken down the walls of optimism and hope Charles had built through the season. Simmering in the aftermath of the Hungary Grand Prix, the last race before summer break, only hours before she and Charles are supposed to be flying out to Monaco, they're both coming to terms with another winless race, just barely deprived of a podium. 

A part of her should be happy that Lewis, her best friend, has once again begun familiarising himself with podiums after the initial struggle the W13 showed, but this was her brother. The brother she would do anything in the world for, the person she could kill for. 

Engulfed in Rory's warm embrace, Charles allows himself to cry into the nap of her neck, the sound of his quiet sobs filling the tense air between them, and she lets him. 

"Sorry..."Charles mumbles after some time, letting go of her to wipe his face. "I'm sorry. I just didn't know where else to go."

"Charles," Rory shakes her head, brows scrunching together as she places her hands on his shoulders, forcing him to face her. "Never apologise. I'm always here, whenever you need me."

He's hiding, compartmentalizing his emotions once again, and she won't have it. 

"It's fine..." Charles waves her off, a nervous chuckle leaving his throat as he sniffles. "I just..." He trails off, hesitating to speak his mind.

"Tell me what's on your mind, Cha."

"I am a failure."

And the dam breaks.

"This was supposed to be my year. I finally get a car that can win, the was leading the championship and now what? I've fucked it all up. Je suis un échec." I am a failure, he says it with such assuredness as if it is a truth, set in stone that it breaks Rory's heart.

"No, Charles. De quoi diable parlez-vous?" What the hell are you talking about? "You seriously cannot believe that it is all your fault." But he does. He would never burden anyone else with the blame, but himself and they both know it. 

"Listen to me now," She shakes his shoulders before taking his face between her hands. "You are an excellent driver, and you have shown everyone that, every single weekend on the track. Do you understand me? You are not to be blamed for the mistakes they made, that cost you the wins," she jabs her finger at the prancing horse emblem on his chest.

"Do you understand me?" She urges again, not giving up on this fight until this seed of blame is so far removed from his head that he may never call himself a failure ever again.

He nods half-heartedly, eyes looking downcast as he refuses to meet Rory's gaze. 

"You're going to be a World Champion one day, Cha," Rory utters softly, but with a firmness that leaves no space for an argument. That is a truth set in stone. Charles Leclerc will be a World Champion.