i've been so utterly, dreadfully uninspired these past couple of weeks (not that the state of the season is helping me much in that aspect). i keep writing and deleting so many drafts but then i remembered that i have a tumblr and figured whatever 100 or so words i write i'll at least post them on here because although i think they're too short to post on ao3 at least the words i write are not ai generated (big barf) so, here you guys go. pls enjoy
Charles loves his sleep. His sleep is probably one of the most precious things for him, right after his dog Leo and his family of course. And that is exactly the reason why he is immensely annoyed at the consistent ringing of his phone at this ungodly hour. Charles groans and mutters a curse as his fingers look for his phone on the nightstand.
“‘Ello?”
“Hello, am I speaking to Mr. Charles Leclerc?” a woman’s voice says on the other side.
“Yes, I’m Charles.”
“Mr. Leclerc, I’m calling from the Centre Hospitalier Princesse Grace, your number was mentioned as the emergency contact for a patient who has been admitted h—”
No, no, no, oh God no, please.
“—Mr. Verstappen was brought in yesterday at around—”
“Wait, sorry, hold on,” Charles interrupts because there is no way he just heard that right. “Who did you say was admitted?”
“Mr. Max Verstappen? He was involved in a motorway accident yesterday evening around 5:47 PM and was brought into our hospital by the first responders around 6:23 PM. We checked his medical records and found your number to be listed as the emergency contact number.”
“Oh,” is what Charles says in response, because he can’t find any other words anyway. “Is, um, how is he? What do I need to do?”
“He is stable as of now but still unconscious.”
“Okay, okay. Um, where, uh, where do I need to come?”
“The Centre Hospitalier Princesse Grace,” the woman repeats patiently.
“Right, yes. Sorry. I’ll be there soon. Thank you.”
“Thank you.”
Charles is sitting up in his bed now, all remnants of sleep gone from his eyes the second he heard Max’s name being mentioned.
Max.
Charles unlocks his phone, opens his WhatsApp, and scrolls down, past the hundreds of chat threads, till he reaches the one he’s looking for.
i will regret you forever
That was the last text he sent Max almost two years ago before blocking his number.
