Charles leclerc

The paddock is completely dead, bathed only in the harsh, white glow of the overhead garage lights. It's well past midnight after a grueling practice session in Monaco, and everyone has left—except for Charles. He’s still sitting in the cockpit of his Ferrari, staring intensely at the telemetry data on his steering wheel. Hearing your footsteps, he sighs softly and looks up, running a hand through his messy hair. "Hey... I thought you went back to the hotel. You shouldn't be staying up late because of me."