Was challenged in the Discord to write "meeting at a festival" as a prompt in 20ish minutes. Came out with this little SebChal film festival moment. Please enjoy!
Charles sighed impatiently, tapping his foot against the ground while he checked his phone. The Monaco Film Festival was the biggest event he’d been offered to cover so far, and he didn’t want to waste a second waiting around. His eyes flickered to the line for Michael Schumacher’s new film, the hushed whispers from fellow journalists filling the auditorium. It was the German director’s last film, after his tragic accident last year, a film about fatherhood and how it had shaped him.
A subject Charles was desperate to write about.
He glanced back at his phone, text thread with Carlos still pulled up; the last message was that his bus was running late, sent ten minutes ago. Charles was tempted to get in line anyways, text Carlos that if he made it he could join him, but this was just too important to miss. Instead, he blew hot air through his nose, typing out ‘any updates???’ before looking up from his phone.
And nearly choked on the stale gum in his mouth.
Sebastian Vettel—Hollywood flirt, philanthropist, and recent Oscar winner for his turn as the protagonist in The Red Bull—was standing less than twenty feet away from him. Also checking his phone, lips pursed and brow furrowed.
There’d been rumors a special guest would attend Schumacher’s film in his steed, but the whispers had been either about his long-suffering cowriter, Mika Hakkinen, or even cinematographer Alain Prost.
Not Vettel. Not the star of the movie.
Charles was frozen in shock, feeling heat rise in his cheeks, when Vettel raised his eyes and turned his way. He blinked slowly, raising an eyebrow, and then—
Now. Charles had been able to interview multiple celebrities since starting his work in film journalism. Plenty. But those were with press managers staring him down, PR people saying if an answer was or wasn’t getting through the paper. This was different. He hadn’t talked to an actor half as famous as Sebastian Vettel yet.
“I, uh,” he stuttered, cheeks warming. “I did not-no, I did not expect it to be you attending, no.” Oh, God, his professors would be furious at how much he was stumbling right now. Take his degree away. He wasn’t supposed to be shaky!
Vettel laughed, free and easy, and somehow it made Charles relax—which was ridiculous. “Yes, Michael’s son asked me to do it as a favor. I couldn’t turn Mick down even if I wanted to.” He glanced at Charles’ press badge for a moment, before meeting his eyes again. “Is this your first festival, Charles? I don’t think I’ve seen you before.”
He was using his name. Oh God. “No-non, but it’s the biggest I’ve covered so far.” Despite his nerves, he quickly added, “I’ve also covered Monza and Austin. So far.”
His response earned him a nod, as Vettel took his phone out and sighed. “Well, I suppose you better get in line, shouldn’t you? Seats are limited.”
Oh. Right. His job. The one he was paid to do. How furious Fred would be if he bungled this. “Right. Well, it was—I mean, thank you for talking to me.”
There it was. That famous, simple smile, that people swore had won Vettel his Oscar. “Perhaps we’ll talk after the movie, too.” Before Charles could respond, Vettel winked and turned, heading to the special entry for the theater reserved for VIPs.
Charles was still so stunned, so starstruck, he didn’t hear the footsteps behind him, Carlos’ heavy hand resting on his shoulder. “Charlito! You’re not in there yet?”
He turned to his friend, watching Carlos’ expression change from his typical amusement to surprise. Oh, his blush hadn’t disappeared yet, hadn’t it? “I just spoke to Sebastian Vettel.”