Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"When you said you're bad at padel, I didn't actually believe you'd suck at it, putain!"

Well, Max should have seen that one coming. He raises his head to look at a very frustrated Ferrari driver. "I did warn you, didn't I?"

Charles rolls his eyes, dropping down next to the Dutchman. He discards his padel racket with a sigh before lying flat on the field.

"Ay, no rematch?" Lando screams from the opposite side in good humor. Fernando is still celebrating in a corner, doing some funky dance Max vaguely remembers from his Renault days.

Before Max can answer his best friend, Charles flips off the Britt from his position on the floor. It only makes Lando laugh louder. "Come on, old man. Oscar and Logan should be around here somewhere. Maybe we can ask them."

Fernando turns surprised as Lando loops an arm around the older man's shoulders before pulling him toward a nearby court, where another group of drivers' laughter vibrates over the Bahrain International Circuit's sports area.

Max focuses on Charles again, who's eyes shut with a grimance. "I think I pulled a muscle running after your ball."

A snort escapes the Dutchman. "I didn't ask you to run after it like a madman. Besides, we were losing anyway."

"Since when do you enjoy losing?" Charles counters, opening one eye to check out his rival. Max narrows his eyes at the Monegasque. Charles chuckles: "Relax! I'm only teasing you." He grabs Max's right thigh, squeezing it before resting his hand in the same spot.

Max feels heat pool into his cheeks, eyes locked on the hand resting on his leg. It's no secret that Max and Charles have gotten a lot closer in the past year. He even calls Charles one of his closer friends in the paddock now. Yet, he isn't sure if Charles sees it the same way. The Ferrari driver isn't as vocal about it as he is. 'Maybe he'd rather show it?' Max thinks as he sees the content smile on Charles face as he turns his head away from the sun to look at Max.

Max parts his lips to speak, but he can't. The forest green eyes keep him silent, his cheeks turning a deeper shade of red. Maybe Max has formed some sort of feeling for his newfound friend. Maybe Max has been in love with Charles for as long as he can remember. Maybe Max is pretty sure Charlie won't reciprocate those feelings. Maybe... He looks down at the hand that's rubbing circles on the lean muscles. Maybe he isn't sure about anything anymore.

"Spit it out, Max. It looks like you're going to get a headache if you keep at it," Charles says, lifting one eyebrow. Max takes the look as a challenge, but he isn't ready to take him up on it just yet. "I was just thinking about testing and the GP."

'That lie went fairly smoothly.'

Charles's hand stills. Does Max see a hint of disappointment in the Monegasque's features? Or is it his imagination?

"You're going to win it, Max. After I take pole, of course," Charles says matter-of-factly before pushing himself to his feet. He picks up his racket before offering the Dutchman a hand.

"You don't know that," Max answers, grabbing Charles's extended hand. "We were suddenly up there after Lewis's biggest season. It can all change in the blink of an eye."

"True." Max is on his feet in no time, standing face-to-face with the Ferrari driver, their noses only inches apart. "But Lewis isn't you. You're something else, Max. You only got to believe it yourself."

Max doesn't know what to say to that. His eyes draw over every inch of Charles's face. His green eyes with brown specks, the sweat dripping down his face, his lips curled in a small smile... "If only you saw yourself the way all of us do. The way I do."

The Dutchman's pulled back to reality. He swallows before taking a step back. "Thanks." is all he manages to say.

"Anytime," Charles replies with his trademark wink. Max feels the blush creep back into his cheeks. "Let's go find Lando and Fernando. I need that rematch."

Before Max can answer, the Monegasque has taken off in the direction their fellow drivers went. Max lets go of a breath he didn't know he was holding. Maybe it's time to face the fact that he has growing feelings for his longtime rival and possible direct contender this championship year. Or maybe he can keep it bottled up a little longer. The Bahrain GP is around the corner after all.

"Are you coming, buddy?" Charles is back at the entrance, standing in the frame of the gate to the court. That trademark smile of his is shining brightly in Max's direction. The Dutchman can't help but rub his hair, scratching the strands behind his right ear. A nervous tic Daniel has teased him about before. "You wanna be on my team again?"

Charles rolls his eyes, strolling toward the Red Bull driver. For a second, Max's afraid that Charles is going to hit him with his racket. He lifts an arm in defense. "Of course, babe."

Charles grabs Max's hand, dragging him to the exit. "We've got to settle this once and for all."

Maybe keeping his feelings bottled up will be a lot harder than Max expected.

Chapter Text

Max's laugh echos across the speakers. The pole position at the season's opener is his, and it has been close with the Ferrari's and especially close with Charles. Maybe this can be the year he battles it out with Charles on track. 2022 had been such a healthy and fun battle, until Ferrari screwed everything up.

Max loves to dominate. Pushing himself further than he thought possible gives him a thrill he has never experienced before. Clinching record after record, showing who he is to the world, means everything to him. However, some battling would be fun.

As Max waves at the crowds, he can't help but reminisce about the Las Vegas GP of a few months ago. Battling Charles had lit a new fire in him. And Max wants nothing more than to feel that fire again.

Max gets out of his RB20, going straight to his crew waiting on the sidelines. With quick pats on the back and a few hugs later, he makes his way to the scales. Max feels he's near before he even sees him. He takes the receipt from the FIA representative, turning around. Charles and George are behind him. He quickly gives George a hand. The Briton congratulates him with a smile before turning to the scales. The Monegasque reaches out, grabbing a hold of Max's hand. Even through the helmet, Max notices Charles his genuine smile. "Well done," the Ferrari driver says, winking at Max.

The Dutchman feels his cheeks heat up, something that has been happening quite a lot around the Brunet lately. "Thanks," Max replies, holding a little longer than necessary onto the other man's hand.

"It was close, no?" Max nods while fastening the strap of his cap. George had begun to analyze qualifying the moment their helmets went off. Not that Max minds. He enjoys recapitulating what has happened during every race-related event, but his head is somewhere else at the moment. He can't get Charles's wink out of his head. The way the Monegasque's nose scrunches as he does so. Both eyes nearly shut instead of one. It's endearing to Max, and it's extremely hot when it's directed at him.

"I thought you said Red Bull would be miles ahead?" Charles challenges, mingling in the conversation. Max grins, turning around to face them both while sipping some water from his personal bottle.

"In race pace. Not during qualifying," George counters. "Besides, who knows if they have cranked up their engine? They could be driving at half power..."

When realization dawns on the friends, they direct their gaze at Max simultaneously. Seeing the humor in the situation, Max just shrugs his shoulders with a pout.

"Merde..." He can hear the Ferrari driver mutter before he's being pulled toward the camera's for his interview.

After a few quick answers, he returns to the pairing. Charles is next, and Max can't help but stare at the back of the brunet. Charles told Max he'd gotten Ferrari to tighten his suit. It hasn't gone unnoticed by the Dutchman. The waste is slim, fitting Charles perfectly.
"Mate, you're about to drool."

George's words pull Max back into reality. "I- I don't know what you're talking about," he says, trying his best not to look like a dear caught in headlights. "Sure," George says with a small smirk, before moving to take Charles's spot in front of the camera's.

On his way over, George quickly whispers something to the returning Monegasque. Charles lifts his eyebrows in the Mercedes driver's direction, a stunned expression crossing his features. Max wants to run face-first into a wall.

Charles halts next to the Dutchman, gracing his shoulder softly against Max's chest. "George said you were enjoying the view?"

Max feels the heat crawl into his cheeks again. "You know George, he loves being dramatic."

Charles laughs, and the sound makes Max's stomach flutter. "I was joking," the brunet says, leaning a little harder against Max's broad frame. "George always sees things that aren't there."

"Yeah," Max confirms, feeling relieved with a pang of regret.

-------------------

"You were asking about me?" Max nearly breaks his neck, lifting his head at lightning speed in the direction of the voice. Charles drops down next to the Dutchman in the chairs at the private lounge of the airport. "Sorry. Did I scare you?"

Max wants to joke, saying he'd never be scared of Charles, but he decides to stay silent. He shakes his head with a small smile. Ever since the Grand Prix, Charles has been quiet. Max knows why. Braking issues from pretty much the first lap prevented Charles from putting up a fight against him and Checo. Even against Carlos. The Spaniard had passed Charles twice while on the less favorable strategy.

"Good. Do you mind if I sit here for a while? My plane is delayed, and I lost Andrea a few terminals back." Max knows he should say something, but he doesn't know what. He wants to comfort Charles and let him know that he understands and that things will get better, but it sounds enormously tone-deaf at the moment. Max is winning everything left and right, and Charles is still battling his own team.

"Carlos told me you asked about me in the cool-down room." Charles tries again, his eyes roaming the Dutchman's face for a sliver of emotion. "I did. I followed the race on the screens and saw what happened," he states, rubbing the hair behind his right ear. "You... You deserve better, Charles."

The Monegasque sighs, dropping back against the metal seat. "It isn't the team's fault. Just an unforseen issue with the brakes."

"Charles," Max begins, but he's interrupted by Rupert barging in on their conversation. The trainer squeezes Max's shoulders, shaking him back and forth. "Look who I ran into!"

"Hi!" Andrea drops down on the opposite side of Charles, some candy in hand. "We ran into one another in the customs store."

Rupert sits across from the trio, handing Max a candy bar as well. "To celebrate."
Max takes it with a forced smile, his eyes darting toward Charles again, who's slumped down in his seat.

"Where are you going? Jeddah already?" Rupert asks, giving Charles some M&Ms. The Monegasque plays with them instead of eating them. Max seems to be the only one who notices. "Dubai," he answers.

"Us too! Are you flying commercial?" Rupert is way too excited for Max's liking. He knows Rupert and Andrea must be close from his years of being Carlos's trainer, but they aren't reading the room at all.

"Yeah. You're using Max Air?"
"Air Max," Charles corrects, sneaking a look at the Red Bull driver next to him. He winks as Max catches his gaze. With burning cheeks, Max looks down. 'Get it together, man!'

"Why won't you fly with us then?" Rupert offers excitedly. "We have some catching up to do, and they can entertain themselves." Max directs his gaze to Charles, eyebrows raised.

"Why not?" Charles agrees, causing Max's stomach to drop. 2 hours with Charles stuck in a plane. 'This will go great.'

----------------

The thing is, Max and Charles have never been fully alone together. Sure, they'd done events and gone out on non-race weekends, but never before were they utterly alone, and with Rupert and Andrea asleep in their seats, Max becomes very aware of the Monegasque opposite of him.

Max can't help but capture every inch of Charles. His face, his hair lifted by a bandana, the glasses, the soft white and black Ferrari hoodie, the baggy black jeans... "You're doing it again."

"What?"

A laugh escapes the Monegasque and it feels like the first time in forever. It makes the Dutchman chuckle along too.

"You've been staring at me the whole weekend. Is something permanently stuck on my face?" Charles asks, eyeing the Red Bull driver over the rim of his glasses. Max wishes he could remember this moment forever.

"No, of course not," Max replies with an eye roll, but he can't help but fumble a little in his seat. "I just worry about you, Charles."

It's part of the truth. Max worries about Charles, especially after seeing the news break about his commitment to Ferrari. Deep down, Max had hoped Charles would look at Red Bull's offer. Yet he chose the scarlet team once again.

"There's no need to worry. I'm fine."
"You don't sound fine," Max says, reaching out to take Charles's hand. He halts mid-air, unable to grab it. If Charles notices it, he doesn't show it. "Why did you sign another contract?"

Charles takes off his glasses, rubbing his eyes as he repositions himself. "Not you too," he groans. "Everyone keeps asking me that. It's Ferrari. If Lewis signs for them, he's the next coming of God. If I sign again, I'm mad for doing so. Why can't everyone just mind their own fucking business?!"

Max doesn't know what to say to that. He's never been in Charles's position, but he does know what pressure can do to a driver. He remembers 2018 like it was yesterday. Mistake after mistake, headline after headline. Charles needs what he needed back then.

Max lunges forward before he can change his mind, pulling Charles in for a tight hug. At first, the Monegasque goes numb, unsure of how to react. After a second, he decides to let Max in. He wraps his arms around the Dutchman's back, his nose digging into the taller man's neck. Tears of frustration threaten to spill, but Charles won't let them fall. Instead, "Thank you, Max."

"No worries, Charles."

Chapter Text

"Thank you for the flight, Max." Charles pulls the Dutchman in with one arm. A hug Max has gotten familiar with over the past year. He can't help but pat Charles's back a little harder than normal. A glance passes between the two. Max swears he catches Charles looking at his lips, but the moment's gone in an instant. "See you in the paddock," Charles says softly before taking off toward the taxi waiting for him. Andrea is already inside, telling the driver where to bring them.

Max waits on the steps of his private plane until the black Mercedes drives off. Did he imagine it? The look of longing Charles had given him? A look of lust? Maybe the Monegasque does feel the same...

Unable to hide his grin, Max jumps off the final step, his feet hitting the tarmac with a thud.
"Well, you're happy, aren't you?" Rupert claps his hand on Max's back. Under any other circumstance, Max would've tried to ignore it, but he can't help himself.
"Rupert", He turns to face the Briton. "I feel like this will be the season. The season I get it all."

------

Max drops down onto the hotel bed. He's been on cloud nine the whole ride to the hotel. Finally, Max has broken through Charles's walls. The same walls resurfaced last year after Max had missed the Padel Tournament. Now, they are crumbling down, and Max would do anything in his power to break them down fully.

He pulls his cellphone out of his pants pocket. Max always texts his mom and sister when he arrives at a new destination, but he's completely forgotten. Turning off airplane mode, he watches the messages pop up.

Noticing them rise to an unseen level, Max pushes himself into a sitting position. He always gets a lot of messages after a win. Both from close family and friends and fans, but this amount is unusual. He puts his phone in 'do not disturb', silencing the notifications, before opening his messages. Through all of them, three stick out.

Charlie: "Thank you again. Maybe we can meet up after Jeddah?"

Papa: "Bel me METEEN! Praat niet met Horner."

Christian: "None of it is true, Max. Don't read the papers."

Max's hands begin to shake. Ignoring the messages, he opens the internet app, typing in Red Bull Racing.

Thousands of news reports pop up. Some about his victory in Bahrain, but many more about the future of the team, his future. A quote from Toto Wolff grabs his attention. Max clicks on the link.

"I think this is a decision that Max needs to take, and there is no team up and down the grid who wouldn’t do handstands to have him in the car."

'What decision?' Going back to the articles, Max chooses another one.

"Horner sees Red Bull Racing succeed without Verstappen and Newey."

'Wait, what?'

Ignoring the headline, he calls the one person who'll give him a straight answer, no matter what.

"Hello?" The old voice cracks on the other line. The familiarity of it settles Max's nerves, but he needs to know what's going on.
"Helmut, what's happening, and why do I have to learn it from the press?"

It's quiet on the other end. Max checks his screen quickly to see if Helmut ended the call. He hasn't.

"It's difficult to explain, Max. Apparantly, Christian wants to buy the Austrian shares of Red Bull Racing and-"
"Why would he do that? It's always been Austrian!" Max knows he shouldn't raise his voice at Helmut. He'd learned that lesson the hard way. He feels betrayed, though. "And how does all this involve me? Why is Wolff acting as if I'm leaving?"
"Because your father said so."

Max feels his blood run cold. His dad did that? Jos's message flashes through his mind. "Call me IMMEDIATELY! Don't call Horner."
None of this makes sense.

"Why would he do that? Helmut, I don't know what's happening. Why is it happening now?" Max knows he sounds desperate, but he feels desperate.

"Just let me deal with Christian and your dad. Focus on the next race. Focus on the marketing of your esports team. Don't talk to the press until Wednesday, and it'll all be fine," Helmut assures him, but Max knows better. A media shitstorm will hit them, and he'll have to bite his tongue more than ever.

"Okay. Thanks, Helmut," Max answers, defeated. The line goes dead, and Max feels utterly alone. With a sigh, he checks his other notifications. Several teambosses have contacted him in the past hour to ask if it's true and if he'll really be free in 2025. Some drivers, who rarely talk to him, even texted him.
With a groan, Max throws his phone down onto the bed. This can't be happening. Everything was going perfectly so far. Ever since 2022, it has been smooth sailing. Why did anything have to change?

Why does his dad get involved every time something happens around him? Why won't he let Max make his own choices? Let him choose where his loyalties lie. An anger Max hasn't felt in a long time begins to boil in the pit of his stomach. He wants to scream, but he can't. If he does, Rupert will barge in from the room next to him, and he'll have to explain. He doesn't even know what's going on with himself.

Max balls his hands into fists. He needs to let go of some steam, or he's going to explode. Grabbing the key to the room off the nightstand, he hurries to the door.

-----

Thuds echo through the empty fitness area. The sun will rise soon, but Max can't stop. Not yet. He has to continue. He hits the boxball once more, his fists aching in the white wrappings. He knows he's killing his hands by not using gloves, but he needs to feel the pain. The ache helps him take his mind off everything. It makes him forget that once again, people try to control him. His dad, Christian, Helmut... He owes his career to every single one of them. He owes them everything. They made him who he is now. A triple world champion. His dreams are real because of them.

Then why does he feel betrayed? Why does he feel used? By his dad for using him in another power play against his boss. Max is well aware that Jos envies Christian and their relationship. He still has resentment for the time he was kicked out of the paddock for interfering within the team. Sometimes Max wishes that ban still stood, but he'd never tell his dad that.

Max feels betrayed by Christian, by the man who's always helped him and always defended him. Why did he want to buy shares of the team? Why the Austrian shares? Didn't Christian care for everything Dietrich had built? For their relationship? For Helmut, who has helped him choose great drivers from the very beginning?

"Fuck!" Max exclaims, hitting the bag one more time with as much force as he can muster. Panting, he leans against the ball, tears stinging his eyes. He wouldn't cry. Not about this. Not about another person he loves and thrusts betraying him. Not again. A scream escapes him. Throat raw, he feels a sob burst through.

------

The gaming event with Gianni in Dubai had taken his mind off of things, but he has to go into the paddock for media day. Delaying it as long as possible, Max walks in when most teams have already left. Cameras flash around him as soon as he steps through the gates. Journalists run after him, asking him questions he isn't allowed to answer. Helmut had given him a detailed list of things he could and couldn't say this weekend. A straight answer to what's happening at his team he hadn't gotten yet. Max fears he'll never get it.

He'd called his dad on the drive-over. His father had been angry. Max had ignored him for 48 hours, but he didn't care. Ever since he'd seen the news reports, Max had felt numb. He's not himself, and everything happening around him feels like nothing more than a bad dream he'll wake up from soon.

It isn't a dream, though. Jos really did go to Toto Wolff to negotiate a deal. Max feels like throwing up just thinking about driving for Mercedes. Max and Lewis have made up in 2022. He even likes the Briton now, and they speak in private occasionally, but he'll never forget what the team has said in the past. He'll never forget the direct attacks aimed at him and his family. Max would rather retire than drive for Mercedes.

He'd spoken to Adrian about everything. Just like the Dutchman, the engineer had become a ploy in this fight for power. Max knows Adrian loves working for Red Bull. It's the first team; he's gotten free reign. He can do anything he wants. But Adrian did confide to the driver that he dreams of Ferrari red sometimes. He'd love to return the Italian team to glory. Adrian doesn't regret not leaving when Sebastian asked him to in 2015, but he'd love to end his career there, possibly with Max.
Max knows that isn't an option, though, no matter the texts he's gotten from Fred Vasseur over the past few days. Max would never take Charles's place, not like that.

------

Max feels claustrophobic at the Red Bull hospitality. He's sat at a small table, surrounded by journalists, team members, TV crews, and a few curious fans. The same questions phrased differently are thrown at him, and Max keeps answering that he'll finish his contract at Red Bull, that he wants to focus on this race weekend, and that the drama the media's creating doesn't help the internal powerplay. Max wants nothing more than to run away from it all.

After thirty minutes, Red Bull calls it quits. Max can finally go back inside his driver's room; he can finally breathe again. Out of habit, he grabs his phone. Max has ignored everyone for a few days now, except for one.

Charlie: Are you alright? I saw them circling you.

Max: I'm not, but it'll die down. How was your day?

Max's heart warms as the typing notification shows on his screen. Charles has been the only driver who didn't ask. He only cared about how Max was dealing with it all, and it's been Max's only reason to smile so far.

Charlie: Relatively okay. Carlos isn't feeling well, but I hope it's just something he ate. We gotta beat you and Checo this weekend, aye ;)

Max rolls his eyes. Of course, Charles's already focused on the race.

Max: We'll see about that. Good luck this weekend.

Charlie: You too 😘

-----

Max finally feels as if everything's back to normal once he's in the car. FP1's going great so far, and GP encourages Max to go a little faster.
In his RB20, Max is in control. Not his dad, not Christian, not Helmut. He is. No one can tell him what he can and can't do, how to take a corner, or if he has to calm down.

Over the years, Max has grown a lot calmer. Winning a championship does that to you. All the pressure is gone because you've proven you're worthy of your seat. Max knows all he's won since that race in Abu Dhabi is extra. This weekend, however, he has something to prove. He needs this win. He needs it to prove to everyone that it's him who's capable of this, not those around him with their ill advice.

Qualifying is closer than he'd expected, but Max knows it's thanks to the driver starting P2 and not their car. Charles comes towards him, winking at him. Max feels that same blush from a week before creeping into his cheeks. No matter how often Charles winks at him, it'll always root Max in his place. "Well done," the Monegasque says, the crinkle in his eyes showing the smile hidden by his helmet. "I'll get you next time."

"We'll see about that," Max replies in good faith. "Well done, Charles. You did great."

The Ferrari driver redirects his gaze at the floor, nodding before taking off toward his team. Max already misses Charles near him.

After the mandatory interviews and press conference, Max follows Charles. Being near the Monegasque calms his nerves, and if Max is fully honest, he isn't ready to face his team yet.

"Charles!" Max jogs up to the Ferrari driver, following him in between the red trucks. With a frown, Charles turns, spotting the Dutchman. A smile lights up his features at the sight of the Dutchman, and Max feels his worries disappear.

"Charles," he nearly whispers as he comes face-to-face with the brunet. Max wants to say something, but he can't.
"Max," Charles replies after a beat, wiggling his eyebrows. A chuckle escapes the Red Bull driver.

"Something up?" Charles asks as Max remains silent. Max doesn't know what to say. Being in front of him, he doesn't remember why he ran after him in the first place. He knows Charles brings him peace, and that's all he needs right now.

"I..." Max trails off, not knowing what to say. Well, he does know, but is he brave enough to do so? Charles gazes at him softly. He reaches out to touch Max's bicep, squeezing it. His forest green eyes search Max's ocean blue ones for answers. It's as if Charles can see right through him.

"Charles... I-" A lump forms in Max's throat. He can't say it, not yet. Not this weekend when his world's crumbling down. "I... I'm sorry for bothering you."

Without another word, Max walks past, leaving a confused Charles behind.

----

Come Sunday, as Max walks into the Red Bull Racing home, Helmut quickly takes him aside. "They're here."

"Who?" Max appreciates Helmut keeping him informed; some clarity would be nice, though. "The Mateshitz's?"

"Yes. I've got a meeting with them later today, without Christian. I'll tell you what'll happen next once I know."

"Thanks Helmut." The old man pats him on the back before going to the shareholders sitting a little further away.

"What was that about?" Max has a near-heart attack as Checo suddenly appears next to him. The Mexican looks at him questionably.

"Nothing special, mate," Max replies, rubbing the hair behind his ear. He has no idea how much his teammate knows about the current situation. Sergio just wants to race, preferably at Red Bull, so he doesn't care as much who rules the team. Max does. Most of all, he wants everything to remain the same.

"Are you really going to Mercedes?" The question hits the Dutchman hard. Not Checo too...

"No. Why?" Max answers coolly.

Checo takes his teammate's tone as his cue to leave. He shrugs his shoulders before taking off towards his driver's room.

Max deflates, his focus shifting back to Helmut and the people who might decide his future.

-----

Max is already on the grid when Helmut pulls him away from the cameras. "It's done."

"What is?" Max would like the Austrian to be a little less vague.

"They're taking Christian off the team."

"What?" Max feels his voice reach new heights. Helmut hushes him. "Why would they want that?"

"Christian is trying to take Red Bull over, Max. They won't let that happen."

"But that means we'll need a new teamboss. Why can't they just reprimand him?" Max is becoming desperate. Christian is just as involved in Max's career as Helmut and his dad. He doesn't want the Briton to be fired.

"We're past that already. Focus on the race now, Max. It'll be fine."

Max is pretty sure nothing will be the same again.

------

"P1! Mega race, Max. Well done." Max has the urge to ignore his teamboss, but he doesn't.
"Thanks, Christian. Well done to the team."

He'd raced his heart out, and taking P1 on a weekend like this means the world to Max. Parking behind the number one sign, Max jumps out of the car, running toward his team. He knows they don't know yet. To them, Max drove another brilliant race and won again. To Max, this feels like the start of a new, terrifying era in his career. He hugs them each separately before going to Checo, who has come in second, and... and Charles. Back on the podium together. Max feels a genuine smile spread on his face as he pats the Monegasque on the back.

"Well done! You'll break your own record again," Charles grins, winking at the Dutchman. Max feels a familiar blush appear on his cheeks. He doesn't break eye contact this time. "Australia is a happy hunting ground for you, though. We might be in trouble."

Charles snorts, but Max sees how much the compliment means to the Ferrari driver. They're pulled apart by the FIA crew. It's time for interviews. While answering the routine questions, Max can't help but glance behind him from time to time. He notices Charles and Checo sitting close to one another, debriefing the Grand Prix. A small pang of jealousy hits him, but it evaporates the moment Charles lays eyes on the Dutchman. A dazzling smile lights up his features, and it's reserved for Max only. Maybe some things never change.

As Max listens to his national anthem, staring at the night sky, a calm sets over him. A loud scream comes from above. Leaning forward, he notices his pit crew is up there. A laugh escapes him, and the feeling of dread that had been there all week finally disappears. Maybe it would be alright in the end.

Later that night, Helmut announces to the media that he and Max are staying at Red Bull. Max doesn't notice. After a weekend with little to no sleep, he's snoring in his hotel room, dreaming of forest green eyes.

Chapter Text

Flying in early is always on the cards for Charles when it comes to the Australian Grand Prix. The atmosphere, the fans, the weather, the location... there's nothing the Monegasque doesn't like about the race down under. He decides to fly in on Monday morning, taking Andrea and Joris with him. The idea's to go surfing, to go karting, and most of all, to enjoy the sun. And that's what Charles does.

Laying on the beach, eyes hidden by sunglasses and a drink in hand, the Ferrari driver enjoys the sound of waves crashing against the shore. Charles hasn't had the chance yet to fully relax this season. He needs the Italian squad to catch up with the Red Bulls, and to have them succeed, he has to work on himself. The past winter has been the most intense one yet. Charles didn't rest. Instead, he went over every single piece of possible data, trained as much as possible, and had occasional talks with therapists to get mentally ready as well.

So far, Charles is content with the season. Testing went well, and a podium in Jeddah has lifted his spirits a little bit. He isn't happy, though. Bahrain was a disaster. Issues during the first race are far from ideal, especially if they lead to a podium for his teammate. Charles loves Carlos. The Spaniard is a good friend. They've got a good bond, and the Monegasque will truly miss him next year, but on track, they're anything but friendly.

Charles needs to finish on top in the standings. If only to send a statement to Lewis, who's coming in the following season. And, of course, to show Max that he's still his main rival.

It's always been Max and Charles. Ever since karting, it's Verstappen versus Leclerc. And Charles would like it to stay that way. A smile graces the brunet's lips as he remembers Max coming to him after qualifying in Saudi Arabia. The Dutchman wanted to tell him something but changed his mind at the last minute. Charles can't stop thinking about it. What did Max want to tell him?

Unconciously, he reaches for his phone, lying next to him on the beach towel. Taking off his sunglasses, Charles squints at the screen. No new messages. The past week, they have texted a few times, but ever since he's arrived in Australia, it has been radio silence. A pang of something, the Monegasque rather does not delve into forms in his stomach as he puts his phone away.

Before he can overthink any of it, Joris drops next to him on the towel, splashing water everywhere. "Mate!"

"Come into the water, Charles!" Joris exclaims, tugging at his best friend. "It's so good! And it'll wipe that pout off your face."

"What pout?" Charles demands incrudelously. He isn't pouting, right?

"The one that's been on your face ever since we've been here," Joris counters, rubbing Charles's head. "I don't know what's up with you, but if it's Ferrari, ignore it. We've only got one day to do what we want."

Knowing his friend's right, Charles pushes himself up, grabbing the surfboard next to him. "Alright, mate. Just no photos."

Pictures of Charles falling face-first into the sea appeared online later that night, causing a certain Dutchman to grin from ear to ear.

Worst Padel Player Ever: I wish I could've witnessed that.

Charles: It happened once! I can actually surf, you know. :(

Worst Padel Player Ever: I don't believe it until I see it.

Charles: Are you asking me out on a surf date?

Worst Padel Player Ever: In your dreams, Charlie. I'd rather drown.

Worst Padel Player Ever: I would like a pedal rematch, though ;)

Charles: Deal! Once we're back in Monaco?

Worst Padel Player Ever: Deal.

-----

During Friday's free practices, Charles feels on a roll. Everything comes naturally. The race pace is great, and it makes him hopeful for Sunday. Qualifying is rarely an issue for the Monegasque, but he does worry about race day. If the car works, they're still not driving at the same pace as the Red Bulls. For the first time since Singapore, Charles senses it can be different here. With both high and low fuel, the Ferrari handles it the exact way he wants, and it's gotten him in a triumphant mood.

After the necessary press events, Charles finds himself at the Red Bull motorhome. He feels like discussing the weekend so far with the one person who'll talk as excitedly back to him. He can't just burst through the front door, though.

After standing immobilized for a good few minutes, paired with strange looks from both team personnel and fans, he decides to wing it. Barging through the doors, Charles is greeted with a few weird glances, but most people ignore him. He makes his way to the stairs, going straight up to the private area. He knows he shouldn't be here. Hell, he doesn't know what's gotten into him to be so bold, but he's come this far already.

Finding Max's name tag next to a closed door, Charles comes to a halt. His fist is hovering in front of the door, and he feels conscious of the situation all of a sudden. What is he doing in the Red Bull motorhome to talk about a session with his greatest rival?

Before he can turn away, Max's voice echoes through the door: "I can hear you; just enter."

'Shit!' Doing as ordered, the Monegasque walks in.

"It took you long enough. I thought you went to grab some from your room, not the grocery store." Max's sarcasm is evident, but Charles is at a loss for words. With his back turned to him, Max Verstappen is wearing nothing more than a towel. As Max flexes his back, Charles is on the verge of losing his damn mind. The taught muscle of the blond's shoulders is tanner than usual. He can't help but stare, his eyes tracing the water droplets dripping down the Dutchman's back and arms. He's forgotten what he's come here for.

"Rupert, mate-" Max turns around, annoyance gracing his features, which quickly turns to surprise at the sight of the Monegasque in his driver's room. "Charles! What are you doing here?"

Charles isn't prepared for the view. Max's chest has gotten broader this year, and it's impossible not to look. Trying to get his mind out of the gutter, Charles focuses on those ocean blue eyes filled with embarrassment.

"I... I'm sorry," Charles starts, looking everywhere but the Dutchman. "I wanted to talk to you, 'cause I-I felt like debriefing today, and I love doing that with you. And I... I gotta go!"

"Wait!" Max reaches out, grabbing Charles by the arm. The Ferrari driver glances at the hand wrapped firmly around his bicep before meeting the other man's eyes. "I don't want you to go."

The tension is palpable between them, and Charles doesn't know how to react. His mind is one big blur of Max's chest in such close proximity. 'Get a grip, Leclerc!'

Max must have misread the monegasque's frown as he quickly released Charles. "I thought you were Rupert. I pulled a muscle, and he was going to get some oils to massage it out, but he's been gone for a while now."

Charles casts his gaze to the ceiling as Max puts on his usual paddock attire. "You wanted to talk about the free practices?"

A small sigh escapes Charles as he nods. He isn't sure yet if it's one of relief or disappointment. He takes a seat on the small bed in the room. "Yeah, without sharing our run plans, of course." It's meant to be a joke, but Charles's not too sure he wouldn't fully spill the beans to his rival.

"Don't you have meetings for that?" Max asks, but the glint in his eyes gives away his intentions. Charles rolls his eyes at the remark. "You know nothing beats Maxplaining."

"Neither does Leclarifying," the blond counters, dropping next to Charles on the bed. If Max notices their proximity the way Charles does, he doesn't react to it, unless the small flush in his cheeks is anything to go by.

The moment of silence is blissful, and Charles can't help but observe the blond. Those blue eyes, his full lips, and the small freckle Charles is dying to kiss—"Wait, what?'

"Your long stint pace seems good," Max says, pulling Charles from his thoughts. "It is," Charles agrees, but he can't really focus on the conversation anymore. His gaze continuously goes to that freckle. Images of pushing Max against the wall and kissing him 'til there's no tomorrow invade Charles's brain. He can already imagine the moan coming from the Dutchman as he pushes into his hips. That familiar feeling in his gut acts up again, but Charles doesn't want to ignore it this time. Max is explaining something with his hands, and the Monegasque can't help but think of the things he'd let that man do to him.

"I've to go! I have a meeting with Fred," Charles blurts out, jumping off the bed and interrupting Max mid-sentence.

"Oh. Alright", Max nods, brows furrowed. If he's surprised, he doesn't show it. "I'll see you tomorrow then."

Charles awkwardly waves at the blond, before exiting his driver's room and hurrying toward his own.

-----

Carlos is explaining his appendix situation again as the Ferrari drivers walk into the paddock on Saturday. The Spaniard is still in pain, and joking about it seems like his way of coping, so Charles lets him. He laughs on cue and asks the questions he already knows the answers to, but his mind is somewhere else.

Last night, the driver's WhatsApp group had been active for quite a while. Pierre had sent a video of Daniel and Max in it. Thinking nothing of it, Charles ignored it until he saw some of his fellow drivers's reactions to it.

Alex: Tell me the details when you return :p

George: Finally, guys!

Lando: I thought those trips were reserved for me, Danny :((((

His curiosity getting the better of him, Charles had pressed play. A video of an Australian interview appeared. The interviewer had asked where they'd take one another on a romantic date, and while Daniel did confirm it's just a friendship, Charles still saw red.

The chat had put him in a bad mood, and twelve hours later, Charles still feels bitter."Do you think Daniel and Max are involved with each other?" Charles asks his teammate as they pass the Racing Bulls garages.

Thinking Charles is joking, Carlos plays along. "Of course they are, mate. Haven't they been since 2016?"

Charles snaps toward the Spaniard, shock gracing his features. "Really?"

Carlos bursts out laughing, slapping the Monegasque on the back. "No, Mate! You should've seen your face!"

Charles's expression turns sour, and if his teammate wasn't in pain still, he'd poke him in the chest.

As Carlos finishes laughing at Charles's mood, they walk into the garage. They're about to part ways when the Spaniard turns back around. "Oi! I do remember they did actually date a little back in 2018, but Daniel leaving messed it all up."

"Very funny, Carlos," Charles replies, rolling his eyes.

"I'm serious, mate. Lando told me about it. Daniel explained it all to him after the Monza GP three years ago, when he had a little bit too much to drink." Charles must have looked ready to kill because Carlos lifts his hands in surrender before continuing, "It ain't a thing anymore, obviously. Daniel's been happy with Heidi for a while now."

Charles knows that. The Australian has been dating Berger's daughter for years now. Yet he can't help but feel butthurt by the gossip. Why did no one tell him? Why didn't Max tell him before?

Charles knows he's acting irrational. They didn't even talk in 2018. Not the way they do now, at least. Still, he feels bitter.

"Charlito, are you jealous?" Carlos asks with a widening grin. Charles scoffs, which feeds the Spaniard's suspicion. "You are! No worries, Cabron, it's over."

"I know..." Charles replies, and Daniel walks in with no one other than Max Verstappen catching his eye. Max's laughter reaches his ears, and another pang of jealousy hits him.

----

Driving the whole of FP3 with a knife stuck between his teeth, Charles actually manages to break the track record. After his conversation with Carlos, Charles couldn't help himself and looked up hundreds of videos of something the fans called Maxiel. Charles still feels like throwing up.

And while frustration did its part during FP3, he totally lost it during qualifying. When it matters, Charles slips up. He ends up in P5, with Max obviously on pole. At least Daniel's down in P18. 'Something to celebrate', Charles catches himself thinking. In just a matter of hours, he's gotten obsessed with watching the Australians fail. He knows it's unlogical, but he chooses to be petty sometimes.

Once he's able to check his phone in his driver's room, he sees the messages appear. The frustration leaves his body momentarily as he clicks them open.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Being on pole sucks without you there. They started talking in Spanish. I didn't get a word.

Worst Padel Player Ever: It's no fun without you.

Charles: Believe me, I wish I was up there too.

Charles doesn't know if he should text what's been on his mind all day or not. The race is tomorrow, and they should both be focusing on it, but Charles feels restless. The idea that Daniel has been able to see Max in a way no one else has makes his blood boil.

Charles: Max

Worst Padel Player Ever: Charles :)))

Charles: Is it true you and Daniel were a thing?

Charles is left so long on read that he fears Max has blocked his number.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Why do you want to know that?

'Fuck!' Why does Charles want to know? It's something friends should know. Or because he wants to know if Max's bi? Or maybe because he's jealous?

Charles: Never mind.

The Ferrari driver puts his phone down, expecting that to be the end of it. He rubs his tired eyes as he drops down onto the couch.
Charles doesn't want to admit that it bothers him more than it should. Since Carlos told him, his mind has been filled with Daniel, especially with everything Daniel must have done to Max. Images of Daniel fucking Max in his driver's room creep into his mind, and Charles wants to slam his head into the wall.

His phone dings, and he grabs it almost immediately.

Worst Padel Player Ever: I don't know if you could call what Daniel and I had a thing, but we did go out on a few dates. We had a good thing going until Baku. It ended not too much later, after petty fights. I was young, and I had some fun. It's not the same now, Charles. We're just friends.

It's only when Charles hears Max's confused voice through the speaker that he realizes he's calling him.

"I'm sorry for asking. I shouldn't have," he rushes out.

"It's okay, Charlie. I thought you already knew. I figured out everyone knew by now," Max admits dryly.

It's quiet for a moment, and Charles wants to ask so many questions. He's afraid for the answers, though. So instead, "How did qualifying go?"

-----

It's not until the driver's parade that Charles runs into Max again. The Red Bull driver is talking animately to Oscar and Daniel, causing both Aussies to laugh a few times.

The Monegaqsue is afraid Max might think of him differently after yesterday's conversation. He tries to get to the Dutchman, but he's held back by Carlos. "Cabron, what's up with you this weekend?"

Charles turns in annoyance, ready to tell his teammate to entertain someone else, when Carlos points straight at his face. "That!" He exclaims, booping Charles's nose. "That's the face you've been making all weekend."

A snickering Lando appears out of nowhere, and Charles knows he won't be able to escape them now.

"Mate, you shouldn't have told him! You know how he gets." Lando's smug smile irritates Charles on a new level.

"I don't get any way." The way both drivers's lips perk up at his broken English seems to make them think he's proving their point.

"Like I said, petty," Lando says, pinching Charles's side, who pushes his hand away.

"And a little bit jealous," Carlos continues, winking at his teammate. "We won't tell, mate."

"You already did!" Charles counters, gesturing to the Briton.

"Oi, Lando doesn't count. You know that!"

Exasperated Charles groans, rubbing his face, unaware of a certain blond staring at him.

----

Once on the grid, Charles is finally able to drone out everything that's been happening lately. As he stares at the back of the other Ferrari, he can't help but let his anger boil over. That should be him on the front row, and he is going to prove it too.

As the five red lights go off, Charles presses the accelerator. Max's off in the distance. No surprise there. Everyone gets through unscatched. As Charles sees the Red Bull already pulling a gap, he knows it's over before it even truly began.

He has to eat his words, though, as suddenly Carlos catches Max, passing him in turn nine. Charles knows something must be wrong with the RB20. There is no way that Max would let him go that easily. He hasn't even finished his thought when white smoke blows from the Red Bull. Max still tries to keep the car on track, but it's no use. He slows down, and as Charles passes him, he can't help but feel a little sympathy.

However, with Max out, it means the win's fair game. And there's no way in hell that he'll let Carlos take it from him again.

After the first stints, Charles knows he won't be able to get the Spaniard, but it isn't until the team tells him to keep position that he truly feels like screaming his lungs out.

Carlos easily wins, and Charles is happy for his friend, but he's also bitter. He does as he's told, taking a selfie with the team, answering Guenther Steiner's questions he didn't understand a word of, and smiling wildly whenever there are cameras around.

It's not until he's in the cool-down room that he finally feels he's able to relax. It's way more quiet without Max there, and Charles decides to focus on the race replay. As Max's car farts out the brake disc in the pitlane, Charles can't help but snicker. He is definitely going to tease the Dutchman with it.

He wonders how Max is doing. An incredible reliability streak has come to an end, and it must hurt like hell. Yet Charles is glad his rival suffered some misfortune. It got him second in the standings after all.

A sinister thought crosses his mind as he walks to the podium. Maybe his fascination with Max is linked to nothing more than the glory he's currently experiencing? Is he truly jealous of Daniel, or is he jealous that Daniel could bathe in Max's glory for some time?

It's not until the Italian anthem plays that Charles can finally muster a smile.

----

There aren't any messages from Max until Monday morning. Charles hasn't found the courage yet to text the Dutchman himself, so he's glad he's taken the first step.

Worst Padel Player Ever: I'm heading to Japan early. Are you coming too?

Already? It's two weeks until they go racing again, and usually Max is the last to arrive. Dread immobilizes him. Maybe he should've checked in yesterday evening.

Charles: I'm going to Bali for some time. Relax a little. Want to join me?

Worst Padel Player Ever: There is no time to relax. I've got to figure out what went wrong. Gotta be on my A-game again in Suzuka.

Charles: But it wasn't your fault, Max.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Maybe not. But if people laugh at me, it only makes me wanna work harder.

Fuck! They must have broadcast Charles's giggle at the brake disc exploding. Charles didn't expect Max to take it with ill intent. Guilt for laughing and not reaching out, takes over, and Charles doesn't know what to write anymore. He chooses to play innocent.

Charles: Fans will always hate those who win. Don't take it personal, Max.

Worst Padel Player Ever: It's not the fans I'm upset about, Charles. See you at the track.

Charles: See you in Japan.

Chapter Text

So far, Charles's week off should feel like a dream. He's flown straight to Bali after the Australian Grand Prix, has done the craziest things with Andrea and Joris, relaxed near the sea and saw the prettiest sights... Yet... Charles feels everything but happiness at the moment.

Carlos has profited from his win in the media. Everyone sees him as the number one driver at the Scuderia. No one can believe they didn't offer the Spaniard a new contract as he's clearly the one in the form of his life. While the media outlets don't outright say it, Charles knows what they're thinking.

They don't understand why it isn't Carlos and Lewis in 2025. They don't understand why Ferrari didn't drop him instead. Because it's Carlos who jumps on the opportunity when Red Bull loses it. It's Carlos who would've been leading the championship if it weren't for his appendix. Everyone seems to forget it's Charles who's currently P2.

And then there's Max. Max's brakes caught fire. Max, who's seen as the defeated villain of the sport, Max, who's been criticized for stuff out of his control, and Max, who's been ignoring him ever since that final text nearly two weeks ago.

Charles's friends have tried to distract him during their trip. They kept him off his phone and social media. Joris convinced him to focus on his personal life a lot more. While Charles enjoys working on LEC and spreading the rumors of his future Milan shop, it hasn't exactly helped his thoughts slow down.

Besides the media dragging him through the mud and his rocky relationship with Max, it's also the Japanese Grand Prix. It has been ten years since the accident happened, which changed his life forever.

As he walks through the paddock on Thursday, Charles's grip tightens on the helmet he's holding. He's informed Jules's family about the idea. They fully agreed on it, but now that he's on his way to photograph the tribute, he isn't so sure anymore.

Is Jules proud of him? Charles has followed in the Frenchman's footsteps. He's done anything he wishes his friend could've accomplished in his career. Yet he feels like it isn't enough. He's living the life his friend should've had.

Charles searches for a quiet spot on track, away from all the reporters and cameras. Unveiling the helmet, he places it on one of the kerbs. He takes out his phone, snapping pictures of it in the serene comfort of an empty track. He hasn't visited Japan in April before, and it's breathtaking. The cherry blossoms bloom, and Charles can't help but think Jules would've loved it.

He picks up the helmet, walking down the cold asphalt to the one corner he fears in all of F1. As Charles reaches the Dunlop Curve, he kneels down, resting the helmet on the apex of the corner, before taking place next to it.

He's seen the weather forecast. There will be rain during FP2 and possibly during the race as well. He's aware the FIA has improved the rules surrounding rain and track safety, but it can still go wrong. Charles remembers the 2022 race as if it were yesterday. He didn't just lose the championship that day; he'd risked it all in dreadful conditions; he'd seen his teammate, crash and he'd heard his best friend panic over the radio. It was a horrific weekend, and no one seemed to care. Just like no one seems to care this week.

"Are you alright?"

Charles nearly jumps out of his skin at the intruder's words. "Fine," he whispers back, his voice hoarse from unshed tears.

The last person he expected to see there takes place next to him. Shoulders softly gracing one another cause Charles to turn toward him. Blue eyes stare back with uncertainty and worry. His lips parted slightly. Charles can't help but evade his gaze. It's too much.

Max reaches out slowly, putting his arm around Charles's shoulders and pulling him into his chest. At first, the Monegasque is stunned, but as the familiar smell of shampoo and lavender detergent hits him, he reacts. A tear escapes Charles as he digs his face into the crook of the blond's neck, his arms ingulving Max's back.

"It's okay, Charles," Max whispers, his voice breaking on his rival's name, who's sobbing violently.

-----

It's dark out when the pair returns to the paddock. Charles has no idea how long they've sat there in silence. He hasn't cried like that in months, perhaps even years. In a way, he feels ashamed that Max, of all people, had to see that side of him. On the other hand, he's glad it was Max. Max will never judge Charles for expressing his emotions. He never has; even when they hated each other, Max still checked in.

Flashes of the Austrian Grand Prix of 2019 cross his mind, causing Charles to smile. He'd been so mad at the Dutchman, unfollowing him on social media, making posts about it even, and Max had just ignored all of it, thinking the backslap in the stewards' room had been the end of it. He tried talking to Charles at the British GP two weeks later, but the Brunet had blocked him off completely.

As Charles sees Max's retreating form disappear between the Red Bull trucks, he runs after him. "Max!"

Max turns with a frown, taking in the brunet. "Charles," he replies with a lopsided grin.

"I forgot to give you these back." Charles quickly takes off the sunglasses Max had given him on their walk back to the paddock. "To hide from the press," he'd said, offering them. Charles can't help but find it endearing.

"You can keep them until China," Max replies, accepting them before putting them back on Charles's nose. As the Dutchman's fingers graze his cheeks, Charles's gut twists. "Thanks," he whispers, accepting the offer.

"They look better on you, anyway." Charles could swear a blush creeps onto Max's cheeks as he says so, but it must be the colored glasses clouding his vision. He feels himself leaning in as he looks at those full lips. If only they'd be pressed to his...

"I'm sorry!" Charles blurts it out before he can't stop himself from ruining their friendship. "I'm sorry for not checking in after your DNF and for laughing. I didn't mean it like that. Your car just farted, and it looked funny, but the media and the fans somehow took it as me laughing at you, and I didn't mean it like that, okay? I'd never laugh at you. Well, maybe during some games we do off track and at your terrible padel skills, but I'd never laugh at your failures on track, because I want you to succeed and you were doing amazing and-"

"Charlie!" Max interrupts, grabbing the Monegasque's shoulders. "You're rambling. Take a breather."

The blond's laughter settles Charles's nerves. "You're not angry with me?"

"I'm not. And I owe you an apology as well. I should've never sent you that text," Max admits, rubbing the hair behind his right ear. "It's been a tough time lately."

"Tell me about it," Charles agrees with a sigh. "Sometimes I feel like my life's out of control."

"It's always been that way for me." Charles locked eyes with the Red Bull driver at the statement. Max simply shrugs his shoulders. "I've never really had a choice in what I do. I've been put into karting because my dad wanted it. I've chosen Red Bull because my dad wanted it. I've done and said everything Helmut and Christian asked of me. And here I am, in a team about to fall apart."

"Wait," Charles says lifting a hand to halt the blond. "I thought reports said Horner had to leave Red Bull."

"I thought so too, but it's not happening. I'm glad he's staying. Christian's always believed in me, and the team is the way it is because of him, but I want the media speculations to end. I'm tired of the circus, Charles."

It's just then that the Monegasque notices how tired Max really looks. Carefully, he reaches out, pulling the Dutchman in for a hug. In one afternoon, they'd gone from friendly one-armed hugs, to embracing and holding on to each other as a lifeline.

-----

As feared, the clouds above Suzuka opened up Friday afternoon. Light rain hits the track, and it's too slippery to drive on slicks and too dry to use the intermediates. Ferrari decides to go out, even if it's for limited running, and Charles wants to throw up.

He does as he's told and drives out, setting some timed laps before asking to return to the pits. Ferrari denies him, asking him to do a few more.

As Charles reaches the Dunlop Curve once again, flashes of Jules skidding off track and hitting the crane appear. Shaking his head in the cockpit, Charles tries to get rid of the images. As he reaches the final chicane, Charles pulls aside before entering the pitlane. He's had enough.

As mechanics push the SF24 into the garage, Charles is already unbuckling the straps. He needs to get out of there. Scrambling out of the car, he ignores his crew and the questionable look of Fred Vasseur, who'd entered the garage seconds earlier, before heading out the back.

Helmet still on, he rushes towards the Ferrari hospitality. He's nearly reached the stairs to the sliding doors when an arm wraps around his bicep.

A flash of anger hits him as he pulls his arm free. A series of curses in several languages escape him as he turns toward the ambusher, ready to tell the innocent fan off.

"Charles, stop." Max's words cut through him like a knife. He's glad the Dutchman can't see his face through the visor right now, because he's sure he'd be mortified.

Charles has never felt this kind of longing toward a rival. Never has it felt like he's able to breathe again with a rival near. He's never felt like he can finally turn the world off when that one person is next to him. Yet he can with Max. Everything except for Max fades away when the Dutchman is near. It scares Charles.

"Come on." Max pulls him toward the Red Bull trucks, opening one of them. He peaks inside to make sure no one's present before pushing the Ferrari driver up the stairs and inside. He closes the door behind him, locking it, before taking a seat on one of the fold-up chairs.

Charles slowly takes off his helmet. The tribute piece to Jules reminds him of the memories that had come back in the car, and he wants to throw it right on the floor. He won't, though. Putting it next to him on the floor, Charles takes off his balaclava and gloves before taking a seat on one of the counters. He notices Max's worried stare but doesn't say anything. It's not until green meets blue that Max speaks up.

"Are you okay?"

"Shouldn't you be in the garage?" Charles counters, ignoring the question.

"We're not going out in these conditions. So no one will come here until tomorrow," Max sighs, rubbing his face. That same tiredness from the day before is visible again, and Charles's heart aches at the sight.

"I'm not okay," he admits. "I had flashbacks to that day."

Max nods, averting his eyes. "It's strange, no?"

"What is?"

"The Japanese GP of 2014 was my debut in a F1 car, and it was the best weekend of my life thus far. And it was your worst," Max says, wetting his lips. "All we've done is intertwined somehow. The good and the bad. Even when I feel like I don't want to be here anymore, I still want to hold on. Because you're here. And if you're still here, so should I? No?"

Charles doesn't know what to say. He pushes himself off the counter, holding out a hand for Max to grab. He pulls the Dutchman to his feet and straight into a hug. Charles doesn't know where his life will go, but he does know one thing. As long as Max's around, they'll be fine.

-----

"P8. Verstappen on pole. Carlos in P4." Xavi's voice sounds far away over the radio. Charles wants to scream his lungs out. P fucking 8. And of course, Carlos is on the second row.

He can already imagine the headlines.

"Mister Saturday no longer has it!"

"Ferrari lost their best driver!"

"What happened to Charles Leclerc?"

Charles is done for the day when he finds himself in between a familiar pair of navy trucks. He doesn't know when it became their spot exactly, but he likes it.

"I got your text." Max appears out of nowhere, startling the Monegasque. "Are you okay?"

Max has been asking him that too often lately.

"Yeah... It could've been better, but the pace just wasn't there," Charles admits as he leans against the truck. "Happy to be on pole? Again..."

Max knows Charles is teasing him, but he can't help but go along. "Not really. The gap wasn't big enough to consider a great pole."

Charles must look at him in disbelief because the Red Bull driver doubles over in laughter. "You should've seen your face, mate!"

"Very funny!" Charles chuckles, a blush creeping into his cheeks. No one lately has been able to turn his mood around like Max has. In a way, his happiness depends on him, and it scares and enthralls the Monegasque at the same time.

-----

It's lap 17 when Charles leads the Japanese GP after the Red Bulls pit for new tyres. Charles isn't a religious man, but he swears he feels Jules with him in the cockpit during that one lap. A grin spreads across his lips.

-----

Charles is on the plane, ready to take off to Italy for the promotional event of LEC, when Joris shows him the video. It's from the cool-down room during the Japanese GP. Max walks into the room, putting his stuff down between Carlos and Checo. Asking about tyre degradation, Max states Carlos wouldn't have been able to do a one-stop, and neither would they've.

"He always thinks about you, Mec", Joris says, winking at his best friend. Charles rolls his eyes, opening his WhatsApp.

Charles: So you're even talking about me now without me being there, huh?

It takes Max mere seconds to reply. He must still be in Japan.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Checo brought you up.

Worst Padel Player Ever: But you did great! No one would've pulled off a one-stop the way you did :)

Charles: Thanks, Max. For everything 😘

Worst Padel Player Ever: You're welcome X.

-----

Charles did not expect LEC to be as big as it is in less than 24 hours. After picking up his new puppy, he drives straight to Milan for the opening of his ice cream shop. The Dachshund puppy is wriggling in its seat, waiting to show himself to the world.

Charles didn't plan on getting a puppy, but after one of his friends' dogs had a litter, he couldn't resist taking the littlest boy. He just needs a name.

Taking the little pup to the event turns out to be the best idea ever because everyone immediately falls in love with him. He gives the little one to Andrea, when he has to do several interviews. The little one yawns in his friend's hands, looking content.

"He looks like Max," Andrea says, scratching the dog's chin.

"What?" Charles replies, eyebrows raised.

"Look at him! Same color hair even!" Andrea exclaims, turning the cute puppy's snout to its owner. "He looks as in love with you as Max does."

"Very funny," Charles groans before petting the puppy. "He does have blond manes."

Later, Charles would deny Andrea helped him pick a name, but the lightbulb very much turned on at the time. "Leo! Leo Leclerc."

"Leo?" Andrea doesn't look convinced. "That's a cat name."

"It's not," Charles disagrees, kissing Leo's head. "And he's my puppy, so I pick the name."

With a sigh, his friend walks off, Leo in hand.

-----

Worst Padel Player Ever: I'd like Vanillove.

Charles: I had a sneaking suspicion that you would choose that one.

Worst Padel Player Ever: You said I was allowed to choose, no? I'd very much like to taste that one.

Charles: Ice cream date in Imola? 😘

Worst Padel Player Ever: I'd love that :)

Chapter Text

Five years ago, Max had five race wins. Now, he has 56. Even to his own ears, he can't quite believe how far he's come since the final Chinese Grand Prix. Back then, people still didn't fully believe he would succeed in the sport he'd given his life to. Those same people wish he'd quit winning already. It feels good.

In the past five years, something else has changed as well. In Austria in 2019, Max believed he'd destroyed his relationship with Charles completely. Five years later, they're going on not one but two dates.

Well, dates... Max isn't fully sure Charles actually meant what he texted during the past few weeks. The Monegasque hadn't texted Max much since Japan. He doesn't know if the ice cream and padel dates are still happening. And if Charles sees them the same way as Max does, as a real date.

"So, we're going to film two promotional videos." Max is brought back to the present as the PR manager at Red Bull speaks. He's stood on top of their motorhome, American livery helmet in hand. Max hates the PR side of F1, but he does love to design new helmet liveries.

For Miami, Austin, and Las Vegas, he has chosen a dark blue and red livery, resembling both the flag of the US and someone else's maroon car. A smile graces his lips as he thinks of Charles.

"Yes! Keep that smile there during the whole video," his PR manager says, snapping his fingers at the camera crew to start rolling. Max says his lines, does as he's supposed to, and has a certain brunet in the back of his mind while doing so.

------

It's only when he's back at his hotel that Max notices the text message.

Charlie: How do you do it? I've been gone for two days, and I already miss Leo like crazy :(

Max bites his lower lip to refrain from grinning like an idiot at his phone. He has seen photos of the cute Dachshund. He might have even screenshotted those that Charles posted on his Instagram a few days ago.

Max: Believe me, it's hard. The worst is going back home, though. Jimmy and Sassy are always mad at me for leaving them behind.

Charlie: No! Leo can't do that. I won't survive it, Max :(((((

Max: How did you think of the name Leo?

The Red Bull driver has been wondering why Charles has chosen the name since he read the articles about the dog.

Charlie: No reason...

Max: No one picks a name without a reason.

Charlie: Then why did you pick Jimmy and Sassy?

Max: The bars... in your very own country.

Charlie: You named your cats after two clubs?

Max: Not clubs. Bars. Now, speak up. Why Leo?

It is quiet for a few minutes. Max's afraid he might have pushed his luck. Until...

Charlie: Look, he's blond, and Andrea said he reminds him of you, and then I noticed how he's indeed blond like you, and then I thought they looked like a lion's manes, and I ended up with Leo.

Charlie: Leo Leclerc :)

Max: Did you just compare me to a puppy?

Charlie: Well, you do yawn like one.

Max: When do I even yawn in your vincinity?

Charlie: Max. I've known you for most of my life. I've seen you yawn plenty.

Max: So you've named your dog after me?

Charlie: No... Maybe... Do you mind?

Max: No, actually, I like it :)

Charlie: I'm glad you do :)

-----

It isn't until the buildup on the sprint race grid that Max runs into Charles physically. And quite literally.

Shoulders colliding, Max reaches to grab the person he's run into. Redness fills his cheeks as he grabs onto the waist of the Monegasque, steadying them both.

"Thanks," Charles says breathlessly as he locks eyes with Max.

"You're welcome," the Dutchman whispers, holding onto Charles's thin waist a moment longer than necessary. Gaze drawn to every feature of the brunet's face, Max swears he sees Charles lick his lips.

"Good luck," the Ferrari driver nods, breaking their private haze by moving toward his team.

"You too," Max says to thin air, his arms still reaching out.

A whistle sounds from behind, shaking the Dutchman out of his reverie. Daniel appears at his side, swining an arm around his friend's shoulder. "You're down bad, mate."

Knowing there's no need to be defensive, Max sighs, "Is it that obvious?"

Looking Daniel in the eye, a small pang of regret hits him. Once, those honey-colored eyes were his home. He destroyed that home in Baku. Would he ever see the same hatred he'd seen back then in forest green?

"Frankly, you are," Daniel admits, squeezing his arm comfortingly. "Luckily, I heard from a little bird that Charles feels the same."

"What?!" As if stung, Max jumps aside, his jaw slack. "Who told you?"

Before Daniel answers, Max is dragged away by Rupert. Looking over his shoulder, he sees the Australian wink at him. Max wants nothing more than answers right now, but first, he has to focus. After all, there's a sprint to win from P4.

-----

After Max exits the media pen, he slips away from his PR representative. He only has a few hours until qualifying, and while his focus should be on that, his mind keeps going to Daniel.

Sprinting down the paddock, he finds his friend near the RB garage box, talking to Yuki animatedly. The Japanese driver frowns as Max comes into view, panting and red-faced.

"I need you to tell me what you meant," Max says, breathing haggeredly.

Taking it as his cue to leave, Yuki turns and enters one of their trucks. Daniel looks at the blond confused.

"I need to know what you meant by what you said on the grid, mate," Max whines. He knows he sounds pathetic, but he doesn't give a fuck. He never does, unless it involves Charles.

"I'm not following," Daniel admits, his brows uncharacteristically furrowed.

Max is on the verge of screaming. Grabbing the Aussie by the elbow, he drags him off toward a quiet corner in the Racing Bulls garage.

"On the grid, you said Charles feels the same. Someone told you so. Who?" Max's curiosity is taking the better of him; he knows so, but he can't back down now.

The same grin from earlier is plastered on Daniel's face again. "Wouldn't you like to know, loverboy?"

Max wants to strangle his ex-teammate. It must be readable on his face because Daniel breaks out in laughter, doubling over.

"You really have no clue, do you?"

"No, I don't! So tell me, please." Max isn't one to beg, but he has to know.

"Lando told me," Daniel begins, suddenly dead-serious. "Carlos told him that Charles has become quite fond of you lately. He doesn't think you're into him, though."

"Why would he think that?" Max can barely hear Daniel's reply over the thudding of his heart.

"You're not exactly an open book, mate," Daniel states, squeezing his shoulder. "And you didn't exactly notice Charles's heart-eyes either."

Heart-eyes, feelings... Max can't believe it. Despite their conversations lately, all the texts, and the briefings after sessions, Max wouldn't have thought Charles actually felt the same way. Or even felt something more than kind rivalry.

"You've got that look in your eyes again," Daniel says, booping the blond's nose.

"What look?" Max swats the tanned hand away, feigning annoyance to hide the glee he's currently experiencing.

"The one you gave me during the winter break of 2018," Daniel says with a soft smile. The comment sucks the air out of Max.

"Daniel..." He wants to say something meaningful, but he comes up empty.

"It's alright, Maxie." Daniel nods his head toward the exit of the pit box. "We'll always be friends."

Max pulls the Australian in, hugging him tight. Daniel places his head on the Dutchman's shoulder, like he'd done after the 2022 Abu Dhabi Grand Prix. "I love you, man."

"I love you too, mate."

-----

It's not until after qualifying that Max runs into Charles. And while Max is on cloud nine thanks to an impressive pole and recent revelations, Charles seems anything but content.

He finds the Ferrari driver behind the Red Bull motorhome scrolling on his phone. Ever since Charles snuck into Max's driver's room at the Australian Grand Prix, they have been meeting up to talk about sessions. Max could've sworn he'd caught Charles looking at his lips back then. He thought he'd imagined it, but apparently he didn't.

"Congratulations on another pole and another record," Charles says as a way of greeting.

"Thanks! You did great too," Max replies, a blush creeping into his cheeks once more.

Shrugging, Charles lets out a long sigh. "It's not what I want, but what can we do, right?"

"You were great in the sprint, though. I saw your overtakes," Max offers, trying to make the Monegasque smile. Sadly, it has the opposite effect.

"Don't even get me started on the sprint! Did you see what Carlos pulled on me?" Charles is gesturing wildly, causing Max to chuckle.

"He didn't do anything out of the ordinary. Carlos defended, like I would've done." The moment the words leave his mouth, Max knows he said the wrong thing. Charles's face drops.

"Are you defending the shit he pulled? Again?"

"I'm just saying that he did what I would've done."

"Oh, so you would've banged weels with Checo, even though you've damage already and Checo's ahead in the championship?" Charles counters, fire burning in his eyes.

Max knows he shouldn't entertain Charles's anger, but honesty is what's most important to him. If Charles does have feelings for him, he should know that by now.

"Maybe I would if my seat was on the line despite being the one who won the last two races for my team while my teammate hasn't won anything since the summer of '22."

"So you're saying Ferrari should've fired me instead?!" The Monegasque yells.

"I'm just seeing Carlos's side, Charles!" Max has to refrain from screaming himself. "I'm your biggest fan out there, Charlie! I defend you in front of the media. I always talk about you positively. I just agree with Carlos on this one thing."

"And I thought you'd always have my back." Charles pushes past the blond, taking off toward his own motorhome. Max lets him go. The good news is forgotten.

-----

Max's jaw has been set in a permanent frown since their fight. For once, it looked like everything was going well for him. The chaos in Red Bull has cooled down, with everyone of importance to Max staying at the team and the media focusing on the usual stuff. He feels comfortable in the RB21. Checo seems to feel the same, securing all the top spots in the championship.

Flashes of the brunet's outburst enter his mind involuntarily. Max spoke his truth when he defended Carlos. He still agrees with what he said yesterday. Did Charles expect him to lie?

The Dutchman's mind remains a whirlwind until he closes the visor, ready to race. Ready to win.

Despite two safety cars, Max wins the Chinese GP comfortably. Just what he needs: celebrating with his team, a team that always appreciates him.

-----

Max is on his way to the cab that will pick him and Lando up at the edge of the track to go to the airport when he hears a familiar voice call out to him.

"Charles," he acknowledges the Ferrari driver, who halts next to him, dressed in his own brand. 'He looks divine.'

"I want to congratulate you. You were once again unbeatable," Charles says, toying with the sleeves of his hoodie.

"Thanks," Max murmers, waiting for the Monegasque to continue.

Charles remains silent, his lips parting and closing as if he's uncertain if he should speak up.

"Spit it out, Leclerc," Max states, lifting his eyebrows in question.

"I'm sorry. For earlier, I mean. I shouldn't have freaked out at you like that. Sometimes, I feel like the weight of the world is on my shoulders, and usually talking to you lifts most of that weight," Charles rambles. God, Max loves when Charles rambles.

"Again, I'm incredibly sorry. I shouldn't be angry with you for picking Carlos's side. You two are friends, just like we are, and I know you'll always say what you think, even if it hurts," Charles finishes, a sad smile on his face.

"I didn't mean to hurt you, Charlie," Max admits, his heart shattering at the confession. "I didn't think my opinion meant that much to you."

"It means everything to me, Max," Charles says, letting out a raggedy breath. "I care about what you think of me."

"I think I know what you mean," Max buts in, reaching out to grab Charles's hand. As their hands collide, Max swears he feels electricity. "Charles, I think I'm-"

"Ready for takeoff, mate?!"

Lando throws his arms around Max's neck, nearly causing them to topple over. Charles lets go, jumping back, and just like that, the moment's gone.

"Mate!" Max groans, pulling the Briton off his back. "You nearly gave me a heart attack!"

"Woops, sorry, mates!" Lando laughs, slapping Charles on the back. The Monegasque's smile seems forced when he excuses himself, leaving the best friends alone.

'Fuck...'

Max can't dwell on the lost confession too long as Lando talks every possible moment until they're on Air Max, ready for takeoff.

After taking a selfie to celebrate their joint podium, it's Lando who brings Charles into the conversation. "Sorry if I interrupted something important. I didn't notice until it was too late."

"It's fine, mate," Max replies, looking out the window at the night sky. "Charles just wanted to apologize."

"For?" Lando leans forward in his chair, his interest peaked.

"Nothing, really. He freaked out on me when I defended Carlos yesterday." Max trusts Lando enough to keep this to himself, but the smirk forming on the McLaren driver's face makes him doubt himself.

"Charles is one jealous guy, oh my," Lando laughs, rubbing his eyes.

"What do you mean?"

"Max, isn't it painstakingly obvious yet? Charles is into you!" Lando exclaims, hands up in the air. "He's also one jealous motherfucker. Carlos and I have been teasing him with it for ages."

"Daniel said something like that," Max says, finding the whole situation a lot less funny. "I don't know, Lando. I like Charles a lot, but sometimes I don't know how to act around him. One moment, I feel like there's genuinely something between us. The next, he blows me off. It's karting all over again."

"I thought you hated one another back then."

"He hated me," Max sighs, rubbing the hair behind his ear. "I never hated him."

"Maybe you should tell him that," Lando replies, not a trace of humor in his voice. "I fear Charles doesn't know just how crazy you are about him."

"I don't know when to tell him. I don't know how. What if I screw this up?"

"You won't," Lando says, patting Max's knee. "You're going to try his ice cream in Imola, right?"

Max nods: "We might even play padel once we're both in Monaco."

"Well, tell him then. Miami is going to be a hectic shitshow. You won't have time to tell him there. Do it soon. It'll be a lot easier for the rest of us," Lando chuckles, back in his goofy mood.

"Rest of us? Who knows about all this?" Max asks incredulously.

"Carlos, Daniel, George, Alex, Pierre, I think Fernando as well," Lando says, before noticing Max's grave look. "You two are painstakingly obvious, mate."

Max groans, dropping his head against the back of the chair. "Thanks, bud."

Chapter Text

Lando's voice is echoing in his mind as Max's thumbs hover above the keyboard of his iPhone.

'Well, tell him then.'

Lando had sounded so sure yesterday. Max had been fully convinced to invite Charles to Padel. Now, he isn't too sure anymore.

Deciding against it, Max drops his phone on the desk, returning to his sim set-up. He still has time until Miami. A full week. It'd be fine.

-----

Come Friday, Max still hasn't talked to Charles. The Monegasque has been radio silent since their final talk in the Shanghai paddock. Max knows it's his move to make. After everything that has been said, he has to take the first step. Why doesn't he do so then?

Staring at his phone for the umpteenth time this week, he wills it to receive a message from the Ferrari driver.

As it rings, Max lunges for it, hoping the universe has heard him correctly.

"Mate! I haven't heard from you in ages," Max answers the caller, a grin making his cheeks ache.

"It's been hectic, man," Jake Dennis sighs. Max can fully picture the Briton rubbing his forehead in defeat.

Despite his dislike for Formula E, Max has been keeping tabs on the racing series, as several of his close friends take part in it. Sadly, none of them have been quite successful so far this season.

"Wanna talk about it?" Max asks, knowing Jake's answer will be negative.

"Not really, mate," he replies cheerfully. "However, I do need something else from you."

"What?"

"Come join me in the paddock! It's Monaco this weekend. We could hang out with Norman and Mitch. Even invite Stoff!"

Despite his preference to remain low-key during non-race weekends, Max feels like agreeing. He hasn't seen them in a long time, and maybe it'd do him good.

"Why not."

"Yes, mate! Come to my apartment tomorrow morning; I'll arrange everything." Max notes that he hasn't heard Jake this happy in a while.

-----

Not in the mood to deal with the media, Max is in full incognito mode, strolling after Jake and Norman through the E-Prix paddock.

Avalanche Andretti has arranged a special seat for the Dutchman, away from prying eyes, just the way he likes it. Jake's taking him there right now.

That's when Max hears him, halting in his step as he does.

"Bon chance, mec!"

Max would recognize that voice anywhere.

Walking into the nearest pitbox, Max finds himself surrounded by DS Penske colors and a few mechanics with raised eyebrows.

"Wrong turn," he states with a shrug. Max's ready to run for it when someone speaks up.

"Maat!"

"Stoff." Max pulls the Belgian in for a big hug. As they switch to their mother tongue, most mechanics leave, unable to understand a word of it anyway.

"I didn't know you'd come," Stoffel says, offering Max a seat in his driver's room.

"It was a spur-of-the-moment decision," the Dutchman admits, rubbing his neck. "Jake invited me."

"So you're the mystery guest he talked about in the group chat. I thought it was Charles. I saw him in the paddock earlier," Stoffel replies before sipping his water bottle.

At the mention of the Monegasque, Max feels a familiar heat spread in his cheeks. He's fairly sure his friend notices.

"So," Stoffel begins, dropping down next to Max on a nearby chair. "Charles, huh?"

Baffled Stoffel needs so little to guess Max's greatest secret; he's unable to speak. It only makes the Belgian's smile widen. "Come on, buddy. Remember Belgium 2017?"

How could Max forget? Stoffel, still a McLaren driver back then, had walked in on him and Daniel kissing in the back of the main Spa paddock building. He even admitted to having placed a bet with Fernando on them ever dating. Stoffel never judged and never told anyone, not even Fernando, after seeing Max freak out that day.

"I do, and I'm still grateful for it," Max admits, reaching out to squeeze the DS Penske driver's shoulder.

"So tell me," Stoffel continues, leaning into the Dutchman's touch ever so slightly before standing up to grab his racing gear.

"Won't I distract you?" Max asks, knowing how he gets himself before a race.

"Nothing can prepare you for an E-Prix anyway, maat, so speak up."

Stoffel's fully dressed and ready to go when Max finally finishes telling him about everything Charles and he have been through lately.

"Well? What do you think?"

"I think," Stoffels drawls, grabbing his helmet. "You should go out there and tell him. It's obvious he's into you too."

"I should?"

"Definitely. Now, get out of here. I've got a race to win," Stoffels says dryly, but the glint in his eyes tells Max he's only teasing.

"Thanks, buddy," Max says, relief flooding his veins for the first time in a while.

-----

Max doesn't spot Charles in the paddock anymore. Not even after the race's over. Max decides to go watch the podium ceremony, with both Mitch Evans and Stoffel up there. There will most definitely be a party to attend later that day, but Max only has Charles on his mind. He has to find the Monegasque before he loses his nerve again.

Walking through a fairly abandoned paddock, Max hears them before he sees them. Charles is talking to Norman at the back of his garage. When Max's name drops in the conversation, the Red Bull driver is rooted in his spot.

"I don't know, Mec... What if I'm just attracted to him winning?"

"That's not fair, Charles. He's a person too, you know?"

Max doesn't need to be fluent in French to understand the conversation. Turning on his heel, Max walks straight into the Jaguar pit box.

Soaked in champagne with that winning glow surrounding him, Mitch Evans awaits the world champion. "I thought you'd never drop by," the New Zealander slurs, clearly a little tipsy already.

-----

Max doesn't remember how he ended up at Mitch's apartment or what the fuck happened the night before, but he does remember Charles's words.

'What if I'm just attracted to him winning?'

The spark Max had felt in his driver's room in Australia, at that dreadful curve at Suzuka, in the paddock of Shanghai... All of it had been one-sided.

"Good morning, sunshine!" Mitch is way too chipper for someone who drank his body weight in alcohol the night before. Max groans, grabbing a pillow to block out the noise of clattering plates.

"Keep it down, will yah?" Max snarls, aware he's giving his friend a hard time for no reason. Luckily, Mitch isn't one to dwell on something for too long.

"I know you're struggling with your feelings right now, but you do need to eat," the New Zealander says, pulling the pillow off the blond's head. "Besides, Ferrari's pretty boy ain't worth your worries."

Max shoots upright, regretting it immediately as his head pounds painfully. Mitch only laughs at him while shoveling scrambled eggs into his mouth. "Come eat, bro."

Dejectedly, Max takes a seat opposite the Jaguar driver, who eyes him with an eyebrow raised. Rolling his eyes, Max grabs his fork before pushing some eggs into his mouth. "Happy?" He mumbles, earning an approving nod from his friend.

"You know you're a yapper, right?" Mitch offers.

Not knowing what he means, Max raises an eyebrow in question himself.

"A yapper is someone who always talks, and you did more than just that yesterday, bro."

Fear settles in the pit of his stomach as Max forces another bite down his throat. "What did I say?"

"You babbled the whole night long about Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc," Mitch states, causing Max to choke on his food.

It earns a laugh out of his friend as he reaches out to pat his back. "Easy, buddy. You mostly said shit to me, Jake, and Stoff. And Norman."

Norman... Charles had been with Norman all day. What if he told Charles everything?

Mitch has always been good at reading his thoughts. "Max, he won't tell. Norman is your friend too, and after the stuff you told us, he sure as hell won't say a word."

"What did I say?" Max is afraid to hear the answer.

Mitch suddenly goes quiet; all humor disappears from his face as he smiles sympathically at the blond. "You told us you're in love with him, Max."

"Fuck." Dropping his head in his hands, Max feels every possible emotion he's felt before toward his rival. Anger, sadness, and fear. But also relief and happiness. Happy that it's out to those who matter.

"Mate, we don't care if you're gay or bi or whatever, you know," Mitch says, getting up to round the table and pulling Max in. "Anyone who says differently will have to go through all of us."

"Who's us?" Max asks, glancing at Mitch's face from the corner of his eye, knowing the answer.

"The whole FE paddock! Mate, we're used to team relationships, and we don't give a fuck what the world or FIA thinks of us. We're not F1!"

Max chuckles at Mitch's anger, knowing his friend despises the way the media treats them versus the F1 drivers.

"Don't laugh at me," the Jaguar driver deadpans, pulling Max into an even tighter hug. "We're here to talk about your trauma, not mine."

Max hasn't laughed this loud in a while. "Thanks, mate. Really. All of you."

"You're welcome."

-----

When Jake texts Max to play Padel on Monday, he knows straightaway what the Briton wants to talk about.

Max: I'd love to play Padel. Who's coming?

Jake: Just us for now. Wanna invite someone else?

Max: No, just us is great :)

Jake lasts not even ten minutes into the session before asking, "So you and Leclerc?"

"What about me and Charles?" Max counters, catching a stray ball in his hand. He hasn't exactly gotten better at Padel. Neither did Jake.

"You said some things last Saturday, and I was just wondering if you remember?" Jake isn't as confident in his phrasing as he usually is.

"You want to know if I feel more for Charles than just rivalry?" Max deadpans, slamming the ball toward Jake.

Max's frankness surprises the Briton, causing him to halt mid-movement. The ball flies straight into his chest, earning a grunt out of him.

"Are you okay, mate?" Max asks, rushing toward the brunet.

"All good," Jake confirms, rubbing the sore spot. He drops down onto the field. "Why didn't you tell me before, though? About Leclerc, I mean."

Max takes a seat next to him, their shoulders touching. "I don't know," he admits. "I don't fully understand this myself, Jake."

"Max, come on..."

"What?"

"There's a reason we call him Leclerc. You two make one another miserable!"

"You're the only one who does so," Max says, rolling his eyes.

"That's beside the point," Jake digresses, pushing Max aside slowly.

"What point?" Max asks, his voice lethally sweet.

"The point is that Charles hasn't refrained from kicking you down to the curb whenever he could."

"That's so not true!"

"It is!"

"You're seeing ghosts, Jake. Charles and I've had a great relationship for the past year." Max feels defensive toward the Monegasque, confirming once more what he already feels in his gut. He's in love with Charles Leclerc.

"Maybe so," Jake sighs. "But I'm just looking out for you, mate. I don't want to see a 2.0 of what happened between you and Daniel."

"It won't," Max states, his eyes locking with Jake's. The Briton is quiet for a moment, assessing the Dutchman's face carefully.

"If you say so," he gives in.

Max's phone rings. Pulling it out of his pants pocket, he checks the caller ID.

"Christian? What's up?"

-----

Adrian's retiring. Max knows it's been a long time coming. The chief designer had grown tired of the sport, especially during the tough times of the past few years. However, Max would've never expected he'd quit before the end of his contract. Despite the unrest it might cause within the team, he's happy for the legend.

After parting ways with Jake, Max goes back to his apartment. He wants to call his head designer and hear what he has to say about it all.

Putting his Padel equipment in the hallway of his apartment, Max drops down on a kitchen chair. He immediately dials Adrian, unable to wait any longer.

"Hey Max."

"Adrian." Max notices the emotion in both of their voices. "I heard."

"I suppose everyone did. Even the media is already theorizing where I'm going next," the designer is his usual dry-self, and Max loves that nothing seems to have changed.

"Yeah. When are you telling them about the retirement?"

"Probably during media day in Miami. Why?"

"Are you sure?" Max hears the edge of desperation tinting his words.

"I am, Max." Adrian's voice is firm and convinced. He's made up his mind. "However, I have to say that I'm going to miss Red Bull a lot. I'm going to miss you a lot."

"I'll miss you too." Max rubs his eyes, ignoring the burning of unshed tears.

"Can I ask you something?" Adrian says this after a moment of silence.

"Of course," Max replies, nodding to no one in the room.

"I've listened to offers from other teams, including Ferrari's. I even met up with them in Maranello. Charles was there during one of the meetings."

"Yes?" Max has no idea where Adrian's going with this.

"Well, most drivers are quite self-centered when it comes to F1. Not Leclerc, though. He actually asked me what would happen to you after I leave," Adrian admits. "Do you know why he's interested in your career more than his?"

Shock doesn't even begin to describe Max's current state. Charles asked Adrian Newey of all people how Max was feeling. Adrian...

"I have no idea," Max answers, trying to keep his voice steady. "Is it okay if I call you back later?"

"Of course. Goodbye Max."

Hanging up the phone, Max finally finds the guts to do what has to be done.
The Monegasque picks up after the first ring.

"Max..."

"Charles," Max feels the air get knocked out of him at the hint of hopefulness in his rival's voice.

"Something wrong?"

"Charles, I need you to listen to me, okay?" Max states, aware there's no way back now. "I don't know what we are, if there's even something between us, or if I've been imagining it for two years now, but I like you. I like you more than I'd like to admit. I like that you invite me to play Padel, even though I suck. I like our debriefs at every race. I like sharing the podium with you. Hell, I like talking to you as much as I enjoy racing lately."

"Max-" Charles tries to butt in, but Max won't let him just yet.

"Charles, I like being with you. It makes me happy in a way I haven't felt in a long time. And if you don't feel that way, that's fine, but just tell me so I can get rid of this fantasy," Max finishes, hoarse and panting.

It's quiet for some time, and the Dutchman's afraid he's scared Charles off.

"I don't know what to say."

Max's heart drops. He's ready to throw his phone across the room. It's all a big mistake.

"Except, I like you too," Charles sounds small.

"You do?"

"I do. Like you said, I don't know what this is, but I'd like to explore it too. If you want to, at least."

"I do. Meet up in Miami?" Max feels like shouting on his balcony for the whole of Monaco to hear.

"Definitely!" He can just picture the dimples in Charles's smile.

"Great!"

"One thing, though," the brunet continues. "You went to play Padel, and you didn't invite me?"

"What? That happened like an hour ago!"

"You're at my home turf, Verstappen; I know everything."

"Jake posted something on his private Instagram."

"He did," Charles admits, a giggle sounding through the speaker. Max can't help but chuckle along.

"Next time, Leclerc. You do owe me some LEC ice cream still."

"You'll get some. First, Miami. I have to go! See you later, Max."

"Bye."

-----

Thursday evening in Miami, and Max is standing incognito on the beach. Charles had told him in the media to get there on time. Neither of them call it a first date, but Max feels the same nerves he'd feel if they did call it that.

Already annoyed with the sand in his sneakers, Max silently curses the spot Charles has chosen. The Monegasque knows he dislikes the beach.

"You're here." Speaking of the brunet...

"Charles!" Max turns on his heal, the beach forgotten. Charles is hiding something behind his back. And it looks to be squirming...

"I wanted you to meet someone," he admits, bringing the struggling puppy into view. "Leo meet Max; Max meet Leo."

The Dachshund barks happily at the Red Bull driver, squirming in his owner's arms. Charles reaches out to push Leo into Max's arms. He takes the puppy, holding him right in front of his face. Leo licks Max's nose before yawning and settling down in the blond's arms.

"Wow!" Charles is in awe. "I've never seen him this cuddly with someone new."

"Well, he's a cutie, and I like dogs," Max answers. "I had a Dachshund myself, and my mom still has two."

Charles starts walking, so Max follows, letting Leo sleep in his arms. It's quiet for a while, with both drivers enjoying the peacefulness of a beach at night—the peacefulness of not being recognized.

"So, your call." Charles is the first to speak. "I'm glad you called when you did."

"Howso?" Max notices the way Charles evades his gaze, looking anywhere but at him.

"After China, I had doubts," Charles whispers. If Max hadn't hung onto every word of the Monegasque, he wouldn't have heard it. "Look, I know you heard me in the paddock last week."

"What?" Max halts, waking Leo up in the progress. He puts the dog on the ground, taking hold of his leash.

Charles keeps his back toward him as he continues: "Norman already said you were coming to the E-Prix. I knew you were going to celebrate with Mitch the moment I saw him cross the line. I just didn't think you were that close with them."

Max has no idea where this is going or how it correlates to Max hearing Charles say he's in love with him winning rather than his personality.

Charles laughs all of a sudden, confusing the Dutchman even more: "Mate, I saw you dart into the garage when I said hi to Norman. You weren't exactly subtle."

"Ah yeah, I don't know why I did that," Max replies, trying to hide his disappointment. He should ask him about what he said, but Max doesn't feel like ruining the moment. "Sorry."

"There is no need to apologize," Charles states, reaching out his hand. Max hands over Leo's leash, who's tugging like crazy to get them to walk again.

Charles pushes Max's hand down again, taking hold of the empty one, before intertwining their fingers. "Let's go," he whispers, pulling Max further along the beach.

Max is speechless as familiar heat pools into his stomach and cheeks.

-----

Come Friday morning, Max can still not believe what happened the night before. Charles, Leo, and Max taking a stroll down the beach on a date, holding hands.

"You look blissful," GP says, his lips curling into a smile as he walks over to his driver in the garage. "I thought you disliked Miami?"

"It's growing on me," Max answers, mirroring his friend's grin. GP unclasps his notebook, showing him different targets he has to complete during the single practice session.

"Well, then, let's get into it."

-----

The car is absolute dogshit this weekend, and Max wants to scream out of pure frustration. He can't hide his surprise when he grabs the pole during sprint qualifying. He might regret saying "lol" of all things on a worldwide live broadcast, but so be it. As he sees Charles in P2, he can't hide his excitement. Finally, on the front row together again.

They run quite literally into one another at the scales, offering to go first. Even with the visor down, Max can imagine Charles's dimpled smile. He loves that dimple.

Max can't help but debrief everything with his rival. Charles talks happily along, excitement showing in his eyes. God, he's missed this.

-----

Saturday is more of the same. While the car is still uncomfortable, Max is excited to see Charles next to him.

As they receive their sprint top three placques, he can't help but check out the Monegasque. The temporary blue overalls accentuate Charles's body on a new level. Max is unable to take his eyes off the Ferrari driver, who's talking animatedly to the football player.

When the obligatory photo is taken, Max pulls in Charles a little closer than intended, earning a yelp out of the brunet. The sound is music to the Dutchman's ears. 'Fuck, he's hot.'

-----

After qualifying, once most of the teams have left, Max makes his way over to the Ferrari motorhome. In Australia, Charles had slid into his driver's home unannounced, and Max couldn't help but feel like he should return the favor.

Luckily, the place is pretty empty. Hurrying his way up the stairs, he's looking for the correct room. The number sixteen sticks out quite easily, and Max walks straight over to the door.

"Well, well, well, it took you long enough."

The thick accent can only belong to one person. Caught, Max turns around redhanded. Carlos is leaning against the door to his own room, a big grin forming.

"I have no idea what you're talking about, mate," Max stammers, taking a step back. He has to refrain from rubbing the hair behind his ear. Carlos has known him inside out since he was a teen. It'd give him away.

"You're visiting my teammate in the middle of the weekend in our motorhome after personal has gone home," Carlos says, poking Max in the chest with every word.

Swatting the hand away, Max tries to look as neutral as possible. "So?"

"So I think you two are either in kahoots or Charlito finally got the guts to tell you he likes you," Carlos says, clapping his hands happily together. "Am I right? Tell me I am, mate!"

Max doesn't have time to react as the door between them swings open. "You're mostly being annoying," Charles huffs, pulling Max into the room by his arm before slamming the door closed again.

Carlos's high-pitched laughter is audible through the door before he leaves.

"Next time, a heads-up is welcome," Charles says, pointing at the door. "So I can keep Nosy out of our way."

"It's alright," Max shrugs. "I'm best friends with Lando, remember? I've got some dirt on him of my own."

Charles's stunned expression gets a chuckle out of Max: "You're adorable."

"Me? Adorable?" Charles says indignantly.

"You are!" Max confirms, stepping closer to brunet. "And especially when you're celebrating for me."

"No celebrating yet, though," Charles counters, keeping Max at arm length. "Still a race to win, no?"

"If I win, will you go on a proper date with me?" Max is feeling bold, and there's no backing down now.

"Yes," Charles says simply. He sidesteps the Red Bull driver to open the door. "Now, get out of here. I need to make sure I beat you off the line tomorrow."

"Cocky," Max comments, stepping out into the hallway. "I like that."

"Bye, Verstappen," Charles concludes with a smirk, closing the door.

"Bye Charlie," Max mumbles to an empty hallway, until...

"I'm right, no?" Carlos's head pops out from the nearby door.

"Fuck off, mate!" Max laughs, flipping him off while walking back down the stairs.

-----

"You waited," Charles says softly as he steps into Max's ride to the podium.

"Of course," Max replies. His knee drops down as he leans it against Charles's. There are too many cameras around to do more than just touch, but Max wants nothing more than a hug.

"You didn't win," Charles waves at the fans as they pass some.

"I didn't." Max knows what Charles's hinting at. "Our agreement will have to wait until Imola."

"Does it have to?" Charles says, green eyes searching for blue ones.

"No, but I want it to." Charles's words at the Monaco E-Prix ring through his head as they'd done the whole race long: 'I don't know, Mec... What if I'm just attracted to him winning?'

"Okay." A long sigh escapes Charles. "But I am getting you some LEC soon. Agreement or not. You're not getting rid of me that easily, Max."

Max finally locks eyes with the Ferrari driver. "Neither are you," he challenges. He wishes he could kiss him right there and now.

"We're here, boys!" The cart driver calls out, the moment gone.

As they walk down the halls toward the podium ceremony, Charles stops Max, grabbing his hand. "Is this real? Between us, I mean."

"The realest thing I've ever felt," Max whispers. It's now or never, he supposes. Leaning in, Max reaches out his hand to touch Charles's cheek.

"Charlie, I-"

"Guys, come on!" Lando's voice echoes through the hallway. The duo jumps apart, fear breaking them apart.

Lando runs up behind them, swinging his arms around both their shoulders. "Happy faces, dudes! I just won my first Grand Prix!"

Max laughs along with his best friend, as does Charles, but the brunet's flushed cheeks don't go unnoticed by the Dutchman.

Perhaps Imola will be the place to do what he's been hoping for forever—to kiss Charles.

However, now is Lando's time, and as the Briton pleads with Max to go out with him later tonight, the World Champion can't help but say yes.

Chapter Text

Come Monday morning, Max's head is pounding like crazy. He remembers flashes of going out with Lando and several other F1 drivers, but the details are blurry after one too many gin tonics.

Grabbing his phone, Max checks the time. It's way past noon, and hundreds of notifications have been bombarding his lockscreen. Scrolling through them quickly, he halts at a certain name.

Charlie: Pierre told me it was pretty wild last night. You alive?

Charlie: It was just a joke. Sorry. When are you flying to Monaco?

Charlie: Did I do something?

Charlie: Max?

Trying not to overthink it, Max presses the call button. It rings a single time before Charles's voice echoes through the speaker.

"Max."

"Charles", Max doesn't know what to say exactly. He's simply happy to hear the Ferrari driver's voice, despite it sounding insecure. "I missed you at the party last night."

"I heard you did." The light chuckle in Charles's voice erupts a warm sensation in the pit of Max's stomach. He vividly imagines those dimples he loves. "Pierre said you wouldn't stop talking about me."

Feeling bolt, Max doesn't deny it: "How could I? It's you, Charlie."

The Monegasque goes quiet. After sixteen seconds, Max counts every single one, Charles replies: "Why didn't you answer my messages, then?"

"I just woke up with the worst headache since Abu Dhabi 2021," Max laughs, a hand going through his hair. "I'll never ignore you on purpose."

"Me neither," Charles agrees, and Max almost sees the happy crinkle in those green eyes. He's down bad.

"I was wondering when you're flying back to Europe," Charles says, referencing his texts. "We have an ice cream date to plan." There's no trace of hesitation in his voice.

"On Saturday. I'm staying here to play padel with some of my guys. I still need to practice before we're going back at it."

If Charles is disappointed, his voice doesn't show it: "I've got to go to Maranello on Monday. How does Sunday sound?"

"Great."

"Great," Max echoes, rubbing the spot behind his ear.

"I'm looking forward to it," Charles breathlessly utters.

"Me too," Max nods, his grin widening. "See you Saturday."

"Bye Max."

-----

When Air Max touches down in Nice, Max feels like throwing up. Tomorrow evening, after the Monaco Historic Races, Max is meeting up with Charles in his apartment. He's been there before, but never like this. Never on a date.

The nausea doesn't disappear; instead, it amplifies every hour until he's knocking on the Monegasque's door. Charles opens it a beat later, a dazzling smile gracing his lips. Just like that, the feeling's gone, replaced by warmth.

"Come in!"

Stepping into the apartment, Max takes in the interior. Charles's place is an organized mess. Books are everywhere, as are coffee cups. Ferrari merchandise is the only color in the room, contrasting the neat black and white furniture. 'It's so Charles', Max thinks.

His eyes land on the trophee cabinet. Taking a step toward it, he notices the 2022 Australian one.

"I love that one." Charles comes up behind him, his hand resting on Max's lower back. "It's one of my favorites, actually."

"You sure?" Max replies, reaching out to touch it. Wiping his hand against the metal, a heap of dust comes off. Turning around, the Dutchman holds his fingers up closely to the Ferrari driver's face and says, "It hasn't been cleaned since 2022."

Charles laughs loudly as he pushes Max away: "I like to keep it authentic!"

"Rather, you don't like cleaning," the blond counters, pushing Charles onto the sofa, who grabs his arm in the nick of time to pull Max down with him.

Max lands half on top of Charles, a blush gracing his cheeks as he notices how close they are. It's quiet for a moment as Charles's eyes dart to his lips. Feeling Charles's hot breath, the Dutchman leans forward, doing what he's been longing for ever since he can remember.

Their noses touch softly, and Max feels his heart beat loudly in his throat. He's only just out of reach when Charles pulls back. Bolting out of the couch and straight toward the kitchen, Charles swings open the fridge door.

Max's left stunned on the couch, not really sure how to handle this kind of rejection. Did he misread all their conversations up until this point? Even the Miami bet?

"I have four options to choose from, but I think you'll like this one the most." Charles drops back down next to Max, handing him an ice bucket. LEC Vanillove. "You always say vanilla is your favorite. It is mine too. I hope you like it. I named it Vanillove for a reason."

Flabbergasted, Max just looks at the melting ice cream. He grabs the little spoon numbly. "Charles-"

"Try it!" Charles's smile is wide, as if nothing has happened. "I'm sure you'll love it."

Max forces a chuckle as he puts the spoon in his mouth. "And?" Charles demands, angling forward.

It takes Max a minute to taste the textures and hints of different flavors of vanilla. "Fuck, mate, this tastes amazing!"

"I knew you'd love it!" Charles is delighted, and his excitement distracts Max for a moment. "Wanna try the others?"

"I'd love to, Charles."

The brunet can't hide the spring in his step as he returns to the freezer. Max follows his every single move, conflicted. Beforehand, he was so sure that this is a date and that it would lead to something more. Yet, after the past few events, Max isn't so sure anymore.

Charles comes over with a tray filled with different types of LEC. Two big bowls and several spoons are paired with the buckets. "Is it too much?" Charles asks as he puts the tray on the coffee table, sitting back down. "I just wanted you to have the opportunity to try everything, and this seems like the most enjoyable way."

"It's perfect," Max replies, patting Charles's knee before inspecting the tray. "Let's dive right into it!"

As Charles goes into grave detail about his new brand, Max can't help but smile into his bowl. As much as he loves talking F1 with the Monegasque, nothing beats hearing him speak on subjects he's passionate about.

There will be a time to talk about what happened earlier, but now isn't the time, Max decides, as he feels heat creep into his cheeks while watching Charles.

-----

Due to Ferrari's busy schedule in Imola, Max doesn't hear much from Charles. Not that he minds, knowing how intense F1 can be himself, but it didn't ease his mind. The moment in Charles's apartment keeps replaying in his head. Max has no clue what he did wrong. He wishes Charles would just give in, 'cause he's certain the Monegasque feels the same.

"I haven't seen you in a while." The familiar voice shakes Max out of his thoughts as he turns to face the four-time world champion.

"Seb!" Getting up from his spot in the Red Bull garage, Max gives the German a hug. "It's been too long. How have you been?"

"Good," Sebastian replies, eyeing the Dutchman carefully. "How are you?"

"I'm great," Max says, rubbing the hair behind his ear.

"No, you're not," Sebastian deadpans, putting his bags on the ground. "Daniel was right when he said you have a tick."

"I do not," Max groans, putting his hands in his pants pockets. "You went to see Daniel already, huh?"

"Jealous?" Sebastian teases, bowing down to grab something out of one of the bags.

"I'm not; you know that," Max answers honestly, craning his neck to check what the German's looking for. "I'm happy you two are on good terms. All your teammates adore you."

"Speaking about teammates," Sebastian continues, finding the opening he needs. "How have you and Charles been?"

"What?" The heat immediately pools in Max's cheeks as he curses inwardly.

"Sign this, please," Sebastian butts in holding out a helmet Max had given him a few years ago. "You forgot your signature last time."

Max does as he's told, grabbing the marker from the German on auto-pilot. He returns the signed helmet, which Sebastian tucks away securely again.

"Has he finally told you?"

"Who?" Max plays dumb, causing the retired driver to roll his eyes.

"Charles, he likes you."

"Did he say that?"

"Not directly, but I've seen the way he looks at you for two years, you know."

"He hated me."

Sebastian laughs, pulling everyone's attention in the room. Max tries to shush him: "Charles hated me and my guts for years."

"And I won a title with Ferrari."

"Seb," Max puts an arm on the German's shoulder.

"What?" Sebastian replies with a grin. "I might no longer race, but I have been here long enough."

"Well, he doesn't like me."

"He does."

"Does not."

"I'm not going to argue with you, Max, but he does like you. A lot, even. Just go for it," Sebastian states before grabbing something small from his bag. "Anyhow, I made personal t-shirts, but yours has been stolen, so you'll have to do with this."

Sebastian hands the Dutchman a small pin, which honors Roland Ratzenberger. Max takes it with a small smile. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," Sebastian nods with a wink.

-----

After two frustrating practice sessions, Max feels like thrashing his entire driver's room. He's close to doing so when a knock on the door distracts him.

"Come in," he groans, expecting Rupert or Christian to walk in.

Instead, a brunet wearing Ferrari red carrying a puppy enters the room, closing the door behind him hastily.

"Hey," Max whispers, unsure if Charles's heard.

"I wanted to see you," Charles says, putting Leo on the ground. "I haven't seen you much since our date."

"So it was a date?" Max states, trying not to sound too snappy. After the shitty practice sessions today, his mood is worsening by the minute.

"Of course it was," Charles huffs, sitting down next to Max on his bed.

"Then why did you run?" Max asks, feeling his voice crack.

"I didn't run," Charles says defensively, his eyes focused on his puppy playing with Max's racing shoes. "It didn't feel right."

"We don't feel right?"

"I didn't say that. It wasn't the right time."

"When will it be, Charles? We've been doing this since we were five."

"I don't know, Max. I genuinely don't know."

"Fuck this." Max gets up, going toward his door. "I want you to leave, Charles."

"What? Why?" Charles sounds hurt, and Max can't stand to look at him.

"I have a simrace to prepare for, and after today, I can't do this right now."

"If that's what you want," Charles mutters, taking Leo back in his arms. "Briefing after qualifying tomorrow?"

"We'll see," Max nods, petting Leo on the head as he does. "Bye Charles."

"Bye Max."

-----

Max can't control himself on the radio as he grabs a very unexpected pole. Celebrating more than usual, Max quickly notices Charles isn't by his side. The McLaren duo is.

Glancing across Parc Fermé for a familiar red, he notices the pairing heading inside the FIA part of the pits. Max wants to follow, but his team intercepts him. Charles's out of sight as he's dragged toward the TV crew.

-----

Charlie: Congratulations on pole position. You really made the difference today :)

Max didn't expect Charles to text him after his behavior the day before. Unsure what to reply, the Dutchman takes his hotel room keycard before heading into the hallway. He knocks on his neighbor's door. After some curses, the door swings open, revealing a grumbling Carlos.

"What?" the Spaniard spits, trying to tame his wild hair. "It's the middle of the night. Go to bed."

"It's 11 p.m., mate," Max counters with furrowed brows. "Why the fuck are you asleep already?"

"You want to drive a 24H Simrace; fine by me, but I need my beauty sleep, so tell me why you woke me up."

A chuckle escapes the Dutchman at Carlos's pout. "I was hoping you knew Charles's room number."

"This one."

Max turns so fast that he feels his neck crack. Charles is standing on the opposite side of the hall, Leo in hand.

"Great. You found him. Night, cabron", Carlos sighs, closing the door in Max's face.

Charles walks into his own room, leaving the door open, allowing Max to follow. He does so, noticing Charles's hotel room is as messy as his apartment. Leo, however, distracts him as the puppy starts licking his leg.

"He had to pee," Charles says, petting the puppy. "You need something?"

Max feels Charles closing off, and he knows there's only one way to prevent him from building those walls again.

"I'm sorry."

"No, you were right."

"I wasn't, Charles. I was pissed off, and I let F1 dictate my mood. It shouldn't."

Max reaches out to take hold of the Monegasque's hand. He lets him. "I'm truly sorry, Charles."

"I'm too," the brunet admits. "You were right, you know. I did run. I don't know why, but I did."

Rubbing his forehead, Charles closes his eyes. "I don't know what I'm feeling or how to express it. I've never felt this way before, Max. It's killing me."

Charles pulls his hand out of the Dutchman's grasp, taking a seat on the edge of his bed. "I like you. That's all I'm certain of."

"Well, I like you too," Max says, taking a seat next to him.

They remain seated in silence for a while, Leo's pitter-patter being the only noise in the room.

"I've got an idea." Max begins. "We'll let fate decide."

"What?" Charles looks incrudelously at the world champion. "Fate?"

"Yes. Fate brought us together, didn't it?"

"Yes, I guess-"

"That's it, then," Max interrupts. He knows his plan is bonkers, but fortune favors the brave. "If one of us wins tomorrow, we'll know this is worth it."

Charles laughs out loud, the sound music to Max's ears: "Are you genuinely betting on yourself right now?"

"Of course I am. Are you in?"

Charles sucks in his bottom lip, thinking the offer through. "Deal."

"Deal," Max agrees. "I'm heading to bed. I've got a Simrace to win."

"You're insane," Charles grins.

"I know."

-----

As Max passes the DRS zone in the final lap, he knows he's won the Grand Prix. Fate genuinely tested him with a bright orange car in his mirrors for the majority of the final stint of the race, but he persevered.

Never before felt crossing the line first as good as it does now. Max feels lost in a lavender haze. Doing the interviews, the national anthems, the trophees, the champagne - all of it feels overwhelming. He has only one thing on his mind, and it's standing right there beside him.

As the champagne has been sprayed, Charles lightly taps his back. Max turns upward, leaning in to understand the Monegasque.

"My hotel room, tonight."

-----

As Max knocks, he feels as calm as he did in the car during the race. He's got this. This is his track, and he's going to master it.

"Hey," Charles says as opens the door, his dimples on full display. 'Fuck, he's handsome.'

"Hey," Max echoes, taking a step forward.

Charles lets him enter, closing and locking the door behind him. "You won."

"I did."

It's quiet for a moment, but it doesn't feel uncomfortable. Blue locks with green.

"Max, I-"

"Enough," Max whispers, rushing over to Charles and grabbing him by the collar, lips colliding.

Chapter Text

Charles rushes to open the door as soon as he hears the knock. Max Verstappen, the Imola Grand Prix winner, is standing in front of him with a small smile gracing those full lips Charles is dying to kiss. "Hey."

"Hey."

Stepping aside, Charles lets the Dutchman enter. 'Fuck, he's hot.'

The door closes, and Charles decides to be brave, locking the door while his heart beats loudly in his chest. "You won."

"I did," Max replies, turning toward the Ferrari driver with a grin plastered on his face.

"Max, I-"

"Enough," Max interrupts, just loud enough for Charles to hear, as he rushes toward him. Charles can barely register what's happening when the blond grabs the collar of his polo, pulling him in.

As their lips collide roughly, Charles's first reaction is to push Max off him. Hurt paired with confusion shows in those blue eyes Charles has grown all too familiar with.

It takes a split second for Charles to decide if this is worth the risk. If getting together with your rival since you were five, your direct title rival this year, the one who's hurt you on so many occasions, is worth getting your reputation potentially ruined for, risking his Ferrari seat in the process.

"You are," Charles whispers, earning a weird look from the blond.

Closing the space between them, Charles reaches out to cup Max's cheeks, pulling him in softly. The Dutchman is stunned but reacts by grabbing Charles's hair, pulling him in even closer. A moan escapes the brunet as Max tugs his head back, creating an opening for his tongue to slide in.

Charles has never been kissed like this before, that's for sure. Neither has he ever felt such burning sensations or pure desire for someone else. Let alone a man.

Max devours the Monegasque's mouth, battling for dominance as he does so. Charles needs air. Pulling back, he's breathing heavily, and the sight before him doesn't help him calm down either. Max looks dazed. His hair tousled and his lips swollen. "You're so fucking hot," Charles whines, reaching out to grab the Dutchman's face again.

He has no idea what's driven him to this point, but Charles feels himself taking the reins. He's never been this desperate before to kiss someone, to taste every single inch of someone, until Max.

Max, however, doesn't go down without a fight. He pushes back without losing Charles's lips once. The Monegasque's back hits the wall. Max moves his hand down from his hair to take a hold of his neck. The air's knocked out of him as the blond pulls back with a grin. "I've been wanting to do this since forever," Max says, his voice rough. "I just need to know if you're okay. If you don't want this, we can stop. I just need to be sure, Charlie."

Charles doesn't know what to say. Never before has he seen the Dutchman this sincere; his eyes are searching Charles's face for an answer.

"I'm sure," Charles replies, nodding. "I want this."

A smile that could rival his championship-winning one shows, and Charles knows he's made the right decision.

Max leans in again, his hand still holding on to the brunet's neck tightly. Pecking Charles's lips softly, he moves over to his cheeks and down his jawline, nimbling slightly on the rough skin. Charles feels his legs give out underneath him, deciding it's the right time to switch things up. Tugging at Max's hair until his back is fully arched, Charles goes full in, kissing his neck and sucking away at his pulsepoint.

A visceral moan escapes Max, who redirects their make-out session to the bed in the room. He lets himself fall onto the mattress, pulling Charles on top of him. He rests his head on the Dutchman's chest, looking up at him.

"You're not running this time," Max comments, unsure, searching Charles's eyes.

"I'm not," the Monegasque confirms, unable to conceal his glee. "Sorry about that."

Charles had felt so guilty for leaving Max hanging on their ice cream date, but he wanted their first kiss to be something special. He wanted to be sure Max wants what he wants, despite the occasional flirting over the past year. He is now.

"If it wasn't obvious by now, I've got a massive boner," Max states dryly, causing Charles to erupt into a fit of laughter.

"Too much?" Max asks, laughing along. His hand reaches out to touch Charles's back, stroking it softly. The contrast to Max's public persona is huge. Charles feels extremely lucky to know the real Max.

"No, I get it. I mean, look at me," Charlie replies in good humor, winking at the blond.

Max groans, dropping his head back. "I know; I haven't been doing anything but looking for the past few years."

"It makes it all too much sweeter now, doesn't it?" Charles counters, knowing the exact feeling and experiencing it himself. He wonders how he's ever doubted the Red Bull driver's intentions.

"It does," Max muses, a hand cupping Charles's face. "I never expected this to become real."

"Me neither." Craning his neck, Charles plants a small kiss on Max's lips, who smiles into it. "You've got to get going now, though."

"What?" Max grows paler by the second. Charles is quick to explain: "Carlos is coming over to discuss the race. And unless you want to hide in the bathroom until tomorrow morning, I'd leave."

Max looks relieved, and it warms Charles's guts. "Right," he sighs, booping the Monegasque's nose. "You'll have to get off of me, though."

"Yes, of course." Charles feels his cheeks heat up as he rolls off the Dutchman.

Max sits upright, gathering clothes that got discarded along the way. Charles can't help but watch and wonder how he got so lucky to call Max his. Well, he assumes they're together.

As if the Monegasque spoke out loud, Max turns toward the flustered Charles, asking, "What are we now?"

"I don't know," he replies, his heart hammering once more in his chest. "What do you want us to be?"

Max isn't as blunt as he usually is; instead, he contemplates Charles's question, sucking his bottom lip as he does.

"I don't know either," he concludes, and Charles's heart sinks. "But I do know I want this, us, and more than just kissing in a hotel room."

"Me too," Charles answers, but he'd hoped for more. "Will I see you before Monaco?"

Max closes the gap between them, taking a seat next to Charles on the bed. He grabs the other man's hand, intertwining their fingers, before kissing his hand. "I'd love nothing more than to spend every single day with you," Max states, taking Charles's breath away as he does. "I have to go to several events this week, but will I see you Wednesday? My place this time?"

A simple "yes" is all that Charles can muster. He's never seen this side of Max before. He's seen him flirt in Australia; he's seen him be caring in Japan and Bahrain; he's seen him calling everyone and everything out, but never before has Charles seen this look in his eye. A glint of pure love...

A knock sounds on the door, and the two jump apart. "Fuck!" Charles whisper-yells, motioning wildly at the door. "Carlos is here!"

"I know!" Max replies, just as panicked. "What do we do now?"

"Just play along!" Charles makes his way to the door, the Red Bull driver in tow.

As he opens it, Carlos is standing there with raised eyebrows. "Took you long enough, cabron."

Max's steps out behind the brunet, waving awkwardly at the Spaniard. Carlos's face drops, and for a second, Charles fears the worst until a grin spreads out onto his face. "I knew it!"

"Nothing happened, mate," Charles sighs. "Max just came to debrief. He was about to leave."

"Of course." Carlos nods, letting Max out of the door. "That's why you've got a hickey and Max has a wet spot on his crotch."

Charles turns the color of his Ferrari as Max flips off Carlos in the hallway.

-----

"So did you tell him?"

"Of course not! He wanted to know every detail, though."

"Carlos has always been one nosy motherfucker."

"Don't insult my teammate like that."

"He was mine first!"

Charles hits his friend? boyfriend? lover? rival? God knows—on the chest, shutting him up.

It's near midnight in Monaco, and Charles is staring at Max's trophee cabinet as they watch TV. He has silverware from nearly every race they've visited before, and while it's supposed to sting, Charles can't help but be proud of what the man next to him has accomplished in such a short amount of time.

His eye lands on the Monaco one. Charles would want nothing more—except to become a world champion, of course—than to add it to his own collection.

"Does the Red Bull suit Monaco?" He asks, eyeing the Dutchman from the corner of his eye.

Max pauses the show they've been watching, giving his full attention to Charles. "I honestly don't know. This year's car isn't as straightforward as last year's."

Charles tries to find any secret messages in that statement, but he knows Max wears his heart on his sleeve. If he doesn't know, he truly doesn't.

Deciding he owns him the same truth, Charles says: "I believe Ferrari will be able to win it this year. I think I am able to win it."

"No," Max answers, and the feeling of betrayal makes Charles physically shuffle back on the couch.

"That's the wrong mindset," Max continues, pulling on Charles's hand. The Monegasque lets himself be dragged out of the sofa and toward the balcony. It's raining, but Max doesn't seem to care as he steps outside.

"This," Max says, pointing down toward the still-busy streets. "Is your home. None of us know this track like you do. None of us have memories like you do here, and no one is as driven as you are to win here."

"But I'm cursed."

"You're not!" Max shouts, frustration edging into his voice. "God, Charles! Back in Bahrain, you said I'd have to believe in myself because I don't realize how special I am. Same goes for you, Charlie."

Max takes a step closer, cupping Charles's wet cheeks as he does. Even in the dark, Charles will always see the light in those ocean blue eyes.

"You are something special. You just have to believe it yourself. I see it, Ferrari sees it, and the world sees it. Now, you have to see it too."

"What if it'll never be enough?"

"It will be," Max says firmly, pulling Charles in for a kiss. Charles never understands the hype of kissing in the rain, but at this very moment, he finally realizes the magic behind it. Deepening the kiss, he asks Max for permission, licking those full lips he's madly hung up on.

Max pulls back, gasping for air. "I need you to scream it."

"What?"

"Come on, do it."

"People know me here, Max; I'm not screaming bloody murder on your balcony."

"You are, or I'm hitting you with my car during qualifying."

Charles narrows his eyes at the Dutchman, who simply shrugs.

"Fine!" Charles sighs, turning toward the railing. "I'm going to win the Monaco Grand Prix."

"Louder."

"I'm going to win the Monaco Grand Prix."

"Scream it, Charles!" Max says, pushing his hips into the railing. "Or I'll make you scream something else."

With flushed cheeks, Charles looks at the Monaco skyline: "I'm going to win the Monaco Grand Prix!"

"Yes, you are, love," Max whispers in his ear, turning him around and planting another kiss on his lips.

-----

"Why is Monaco always so dramatic? Like, who decided on a dinner event on Friday?"

"Stop complaining," Charles counters, looking at Max through the mirror in his dressing room. "You get to go to dinner with me."

"And David Coulthard," Max pouts, getting a laugh out of Charles. The Monegasque turns to look at his boyfriend—yeah, that sounds right, he thinks—who's struggling with his hair.

"I still think you should grow it out," Charles comments as Max tries to tame the short strands. "You cut it twice in like a month."

"It was itchy," he states dryly. "Besides, everyone says I look younger."

"You're 26."

"So?"

"You are young."

"I don't care anyway, you know that."

"I do." Charles can't hide his smile. "And even with this terrible haircut, you look cute as hell."

"Only cute?" Max asks with raised eyebrows.

Charles rolls his eyes, causing Max to laugh.

-----

"Did you know Max has the highest average of wins versus races he's done in F1?"

"I do."

Charles has no idea why he just said that, but the retired Scottish driver doesn't seem to notice how odd his statement is. He immediately begins to converse with Max's manager, who's sitting on his right.

"Cabron, what's up with you this week?"

With a deep sigh, Charles turns to his own right. Carlos is munching down on his salad loudly.

"Yeah, all you talk about is Max!"

Turning to his left, Lando is grimacing at the sushi in front of him. He shoves the plate away with his fork.

"Guys, I don't talk that much about Max. Stop inventing."

"Copyright," Carlos stabs Charles's arm softly with the tip of his knife, earning a whine out of the Monegasque. "And you do. More than usual, even."

"You always blab about him, but there's something different now," Lando muses, rubbing his chin.

"Oh, I know." Carlos's insinuation alerts Charles, who roughly elbows him. Lando doesn't seem to notice.

"Yeah, Max acts different too. If he's going to rub his hair any more, he's gonna turn bald."

"Ey!" Charles wants to go defensive on instinct, but he bites his tongue instead. Max must have noticed from across the table, 'cause he winks in Charles's direction.

"Now, that's new!" Lando has noticed too. "He never winks at anyone! Not with intent at least."

"Shut up and eat your food, Norris."

"You were about to say Nowins, but that's no longer possible." Lando's voice is full of glee, and Charles wants to shove a piece of raw fish straight up his nose.

Carlos leans in, whispering, "Your secret's safe with me."

A genuine smile spreads on Charles's face, who doesn't notice Max's face dropping at the sight.

-----

When qualifying ends, Charles can't believe he's put his Ferrari back on pole. Afraid to jinx it, he doesn't dare comment too much on it. Neither does he want to celebrate too much.

However, when Max walks past him in the media pen, he can't help but let loose. The Dutchman congratulates him with a huge smile, making Charles feel even more giddy than he already is.

-----

Charles's on his way to the grid when he feels an arm sneak around him and pull him behind the Haas motorhome.

A yelp nearly escapes him, but a hand is placed over his mouth, keeping him quiet.

"I wanted to wish you luck," Max says, the crinkles of his eyes showing just how happy he is, despite his P6 starting spot.

Charles nimbles softly on Max's palm, who pulls back as if touched by fire. "Naughty," he says, slightly surprised.

"Always," Charles jokes. "Good luck to you too. I can't wait to see you in my mirrors."

"I'm not going to be there, 'cause you're going to dominate this race," Max says, playing with the Ferrari driver's brown strands. "You've got this, Charles."

"I've got this," Charles echoes, believing it too. "Thanks, Max."

After a quick peck on the lips, Charles runs off, not looking back; his mind set on victory.

-----

When Charles drives across the finish line, he can't conceal his emotions. Flashes of his father, Jules, and everything his family's been through flash before his eyes. He cries for them and for himself. A dream has finally come true, and there's only one thing left he wants to achieve: to become a world champion.

The moment he parks behind the number-one sign, a different feeling takes over. Pure adrenaline. He's aware of the hard-on growing in his suit, but Charles has no fucks left to give. He wants to celebrate and he's going to do so in the grandest way possible, with the one person he needs by his side right now.

Carlos is the first driver to find him, clinging to him tightly. Oscar follows, and Charles's being ushered into the cool downroom, unaware of his surroundings while being hyperaware at the same time. Life's never been better than the past seven days.

-----

Charles doesn't run into Max until the media pen. The familiar shoulder squeeze makes him turn to face a grinning Dutchman.

"Finally, mate," Max says as Charles goes in for the hug. Their first real one on camera. Max pulls back, but Charles doesn't care, knowing he'll have Max to himself later that night. An unspoken promise as they part ways. The best is yet to come.

For now, though, Charles feels on top of the world.

Chapter Text

When Max opens his eyes, the unfamiliar bedroom takes him off guard at first. Blinking warily, he tries to recall last night at Jimmy's. A hazy mess of drinks, chatting with friends, and Charles kissing him drunkily in a bathroom stall flash through his mind, but he can't tell in which order. One thing is very clear, though. The man snoring next to him is Charles Leclerc. And it fills Max's heart with joy.

Deciding to let the Monaco Grand Prix winner sleep a little longer, Max gets up and tiptoes toward the kitchen. On the way over, he grabs his shirt and pants off the floor. A whiff of alcohol reaches his nose, causing his stomach to turn. Thinking the better of it, Max throws the shirt in the corner of the room before grabbing the first thing he can find and putting it on.

Max is munching down on his final piece of egg when Charles walks into the kitchen. He can't hold back a chuckle when he sees the Monegasque's hair standing up straight in all possible directions. Still half asleep, Charles walks over, pressing a lazy kiss on the top of Max's head before taking a seat next to him at the table.

"Sleep well?" Max asks, amused. Charles had more than enough to drink last night, and it's clear as day on his face.

"Kind of. You?" Rubbing his eyes with the palms of both hands, Charles looks adorable, and Max's heart swells with love. He still can't believe he can call this beautiful man his.

"Good, good. You snore."

"I do not!" Charles exclaims, pointing a finger in Max's direction. "You-"

Charles suddenly freezes, looking at Max with a face he's never seen before. The Dutchman looks behind him to see what's shocked Charles this much, but sees nothing but a white wall.

"Charlie?"

"That's my jersey," the brunet states, causing Max to look down at the shirt he grabbed earlier. It's indeed a Ferrari jersey, with the number 16 on it.

"It is," Max says, looking back up at Charles, who's still frozen in place. "I'll take it off if you don't like it."

That shakes him out of his reverie. Charles jumps up, bridging the gap between them. "No! No, I love it. Ferrari red looks... good on you. Really good."

Max puts his hands around Charles's waist, pulling him between his legs. "Not as good as it does on you."

Charles, in turn, grabs Max's neck, licking his lips as he glances down at the blond. "Fuck, you're hot."

As Charles leans in, he pulls Max up by his cheek, lips colliding and teeth clashing. The heat immediately forms in Max's belly, one that he's gotten all too familiar with, with Charles by his side. The Monegasque loves fighting for dominance, and Max isn't ashamed to admit it turns him on. He lets him this time, though, enjoying as Charles roams his mouth with his tongue, sucking and biting wherever he finds the skin to do so.

As they part for air, Charles takes a step back. Max misses him instantly.

"Fuck, Max," Charles moans, going with a hand over his face. "You make me go insane."

The Red Bull driver stands up, reaching out toward Charles. Eyes are filled with lust as blue and green collide. "Says the one with a boner when getting out of the car."

A chuckle escapes Charles, who lets his head hang in slight shame. Max feels a smile creep onto his lips as he lifts his chin up again. "It was very hot."

"The whole world noticed," Charles says, laughing now.

Max can't help but join in. "They'll forget it in Canada."

Charles nods, agreeing. Reaching out, he grabs Max's cheeks, pulling him in for a soft kiss. Max grins into the kiss, deepening it softly. God, he's fallen hard for this man.

"Speaking about Canada," Max sighs as they pull apart, Charles's hands still on his cheeks. "I've to get going. I'm going to the factory until Saturday."

"What? Why?" Charles asks, pulling back. Max grabs his arms, putting them around his neck. He notices the faint blush creeping onto the brunet's cheeks, pocketing the sight in his endless list of memories of Charles.

"I know you were focused on winning, but I ended up sixth, and Checo didn't even drive a kilometer."

"Right," Charles says, nodding his head. "I forgot."

Max rolls his eyes, knowing Charles won't blame him for it. The Monegasque narrows his eyes at him, sticking his tongue out.

"So," Max continues, chuckling along. "I've got work to do if I want to win the upcoming races."

"And beat me!" Charles pipes in. "I'm officially your closest rival in the championship."

"I wouldn't want it any other way, schat," Max states, meaning it, before leaning down to steal a kiss. Charles happily lets him.

Max breaks the contact as he starts cleaning up his dishes. Charles, however, is still rooted in the same spot. "What does sjat mean?"

"Schat?" Max asks, trying not to laugh at Charles's pronunciation.

"Yeah."

"Literally treasure, but we use it like baby."

"I like the sound of it!" Charles says, grabbing the pan off the stove to put it in the dishwasher. "Sjat."

-----

Except for the occasional text message, Max doesn't hear much from Charles the rest of the week. It causes the period to drag and Max to slightly obsessively check his socials. So when Max gets an invitation to go to a horse-riding competition, he decides to be bold.

Max: Would you like to join me in Saint-Tropez?

Charlie <3: I'd love to! But I can't. I've got to go to the factory this weekend before flying off to Canada :(

Max: It's okay :) Want to meet up there?

Charlie <3: I'll let you know once I know the schedule!

Max: Okay.

It remains quiet, and Max can't help but be disappointed. He puts his phone down, focusing on his simulator, but he can't get the Monegasque out of his head.

Before he can think too much, he presses the call button. It rings a few times before Charles finally picks up.

"Hey. Everything okay?" The worry is evident in Charles's voice. Max feels guilty.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine," he mumbles, rubbing the hair behind his left ear. "I... Nothing."

"What?" Charles's soft tone surprises Max. He isn't used to anyone being this patient with him.

"I miss you, that's all." It remains quiet, and Max regrets being open already when Charles speaks up.

"I miss you too. I'd hoped to see you by now."

"Me too," Max says, a small smile toying with his lips. "Do you want to meet up?"

"I'd love to, but I've got so much work to go through, and my EP is releasing as well. I don't have time. Sorry, mon amour."

"It's alright," Max answers, trying not to show any disappointment. "Let me know when you're in Canada, okay?"

"I will."

The line goes dead, and Max has never felt more alone than right now.

-----

Max notices something's off when Rupert is pushing their luggage into Max's car. The Briton is uncharacteristically quiet, and it bothers Max more than it should.

On the drive to Nice Airport, a peep hasn't left his trainer's mouth, causing Max to become annoyed. However, he doesn't ask until they're miles up in the air on his private plane.

"Are you hiding something from me?"

"Why would I?" Rupert's brows are furrowed. Maybe Max misjudged the situation after all.

"No reason," the blond replies, easing into his seat. "You're more quiet than usual, that's all."

"Well, I had a small disagreement with Carlos. Just mewing on it still."

"A disagreement?" Max can't hide his curiosity. A small part of him hopes to exploit it in his championship fight; a much bigger part is worried.

"Don't tell him you got it from me," Rupert whispers, leaning in toward the Red Bull driver. "Apparantly, Carlos had to drive over to get Charles's ass from some club."

Max's stomach churns in alarm, but he ignores it. "Drive over? From Madrid?" He asks incredulously.

"Of course not, mate," Rupert sighs. "He was staying at Lando's place for a few days. Pierre called him. I've told him plenty of times that he shouldn't babysit Charles like that. He has his own career to focus on."

"When was this?"

"Last Sunday."

The churning intensifies, and Max realizes Charles lied to him. "Oh, okay."

"Are you okay, buddy? You look pale."

"Fine."

-----

Red Bull is quite an event in Canada, and while Max usually hates PR, he's grateful for it now. The soapbox race and the many small video bits keep his mind off things. It isn't until an interview for Dazn, where he has to name potential future world champions, that he thinks of his lover.

For a split second, Max wants to be vile. He wants to say Carlos, knowing it would hurt Charles the way his betrayal had hurt him. He can't, though.

"Charles, of course."

-----

Charles doesn't come looking for him after the free practice sessions on Friday. Max can't bring himself to go toward the Ferrari motorhome.

Staring at the picture of his first world championship title up on his wall in his driver's room, Max recalls the moment. He'd never been happier in his life. Not until Charles's lips finally touched his.

Memories of both flash before his eyes when a dark truth creeps into his soul. What if Charles used him? What if Charles's goal is to distract him?

It had worked in Australia, in China before the sprint, as well as in Miami. What if it's all a game?

A knock sounds on the door. Max doesn't answer it, hoping the person on the other end leaves. No such luck, though.

"Hi."

Max doesn't look at him; his eyes are set on the picture. "Hey."

The door clicks shut beside him. The bed dips seconds later. It's not until Charles grabs his hand, intertwining their fingers as he does so, that Max looks at him. God, he's missed him.

"Hi." Charles repeats, leaning in to kiss Max softly. "I've missed you so much."

"I've missed you too," Max replies automatically, but the blossom of love that was once there is replaced by bitterness.

"Do you think it'll rain?" Charles asks, changing the subject swiftly.

"I do," Max replies, licking his lips. "I also wonder about something else."

"What?" Charles asks, his eyebrow raised in concern.

"When were you going to tell me you were out Sunday night?"

Charles freezes, and it confirms Max's suspicions. Something happened that he wasn't allowed to know.

"Who told you that?"

"That doesn't matter, now does it?" Max drops Charles's hand, getting up to pace the room. "You barely acknowledge my existence after everything that happened the last two races, and when I ask to go out together, you lie to me."

"Max, it's not like that."

"Then what is it? Because it seems to me you're lying straight to my face while you know I prefer honesty!" He's yelling now, but he doesn't care.

"You're not my secretary, Max! I shouldn't have to tell you everything I do!"

"Well, if you're so drunk you can't find your own way home, maybe you should call me instead of relying on your teammate!"

"Is Carlos genuinely the issue? He has a fucking girlfriend!"

"And so did you at the end of last year!"

"So? You did too!"

Sighing, Max rubs his face. He wants to scream in frustration, but he won't give Charles the satisfaction.

"Maybe this was all a big mistake."

"What?" The air's knocked out of him at Charles's words. "No."

"No?" Charles asks, his voice edging on manically. "You just freaked out on me for going out with my friends."

"That's not why I'm angry, and you know it. I'm not even angry. It just hurts Charles," Max admits, his eyes stinging.

"Well, that makes two of us," Charles replies, looking at the same picture Max has been staring at. "I thought you trusted me, but there's clearly no trust."

"That's not true," Max begins, but Charles is out the door before he can finish what he has to say.

Screw the thin walls. Max curses at the top of his lungs. Grabbing his phone, he throws it straight at the picture. The beautiful memory falls to the floor, and the glass cracks.

-----

Qualifying isn't as straightforward as Max had hoped. The Red Bull is again not the fastest car on track, and he fights it in every corner. On the bright side, Ferrari seems to struggle too. They both exit in Q2, and while Max feels bad for Charles, a part of him can't help but smirk underneath his helmet.

George snatches the pole with an identical time, but Max has a good eye on the race. He isn't afraid to say so in the press, knowing a certain someone will see it too.

-----

Max notices Charles is out of the race on the big screen on the back straight. The Monegasque looks on via the TV, clearly frustrated. While it should feel like justice, it just makes Max feel like shit.

-----

His sixtieth victory. Max has no words. The past few years have been so intense. These feel like reward upon reward, especially during races like this one where he has to fight for it.

Lando and George join him on the podium. Max's bright smile quickly diminishes during the national anthem, though, as Lando's fans begin shouting his name. While he's used to fans being against him, he doesn't expect the Briton to urge them on. Max notices George's frown and feels his eyes rest on him, but Max keeps a straight face. No one should know how he feels right now.

-----

Max and Checo are walking down the paddock on their way to the team photo when George appears in front of them out of nowhere.

The Briton looks frantic, and Max knows something's happened. "George?"

"Come with me, guys," the Mercedes driver says, going with a hand through his wet hair. "Something's going down that the press shouldn't see."

Without waiting for an answer, George takes off between the Mercedes trucks. Max follows without another thought, Checo in tow.

In those few meters, Max is imaging every possible scenario that could be playing out right now, but seeing Charles and Lando at odds wasn't one of them.

Charles is up close in the younger man's face, Lando's back against a Ferrari truck. Carlos and Oscar are on either side, shock gracing their features.

"Max! Come get your boy off me!"

Never before has Max seen Lando this hostile. The comment catches him off guard, as does Charles's anger as he turns around to look at the Red Bull pairing.

"I'm not Verstappen's lapdog!"

'Auch.'

"Charlitos-" Carlos tries to come in between, but Charles pushes him back.

"Yeah, let him fight if he so badly wants to. Dude won Monaco once, and now he's acting like a brat."

"Lando." Oscar doesn't move, but Max hears the warning in the Australian's voice.

"At least, I've won a proper race."

"Take that back!"

"Enough! Guys, what is going on?" George speaks up, pulling Charles off Lando, his size coming in handy.

"I was minding my business when he jumped me!" Lando defends himself, putting his shirt back on straight.

"That's true," Oscar confirms, standing in between the fighting duo. "We were just talking about the race."

"I think it's better you leave," Carlos says, his unease showing. "We'll see you in Barcelona."

"Whatever," Lando shrugs, walking off toward the paddock entrance. "Congratulations on your victory, Max!"

Oscar follows, smiling apologethically as he does.

"You guys good?" George asks, looking at the remaining drivers. Charles nods before pushing past Max and Checo.

"I'd like to talk to Carlos privately," Max mumbles, finally finding his voice again. His teammate and George leave without a word, the Briton patting his shoulder.

Max waits until he's certain no one's around before closing the gap between himself and Carlos. "What happened?"

Carlos sighs, lowering his eyes. "I don't know if I should tell you, man."

"Carlos." Max's jaw clenches around the word. He waits for the Spaniard to look him in the eye. "You know what's going on between us. So please, tell me."

Carlos seems to contemplate his options but gives in to his ex-teammate: "Charles was upset about what Lando pulled on the podium. He confronted him when we ran into them. Lando took it too far. Charles got handsy."

"Fuck," Max groans, going with a hand over his face.

"You could say that, Cabron. I don't know what's going on between you two in detail, but I do know Charles has changed. For better and for worse," Carlos eyes the Dutchman carefully.

"Are you saying I'm a bad influence?" Max demands, sucking his bottom lip in.

"I'm not, but whatever you two have going on, talk about it." Carlos pats Max on the shoulder before moving past him to follow his teammate.

"I don't know if he wants to talk to me," Max admits, feeling more and more like he's lost Charles.

"Give it some time. But Max?"

"Yeah?"

"Do you love him?"

Max is stunned. He rarely lays his heart on the line like this. "I-"

"You do," Carlos finishes for him. "I'll see what I can do, then."

"Thanks, mate." Max feels grateful to have found an ally in all this, someone to confide in.

"Thank me later, Cabron."

Chapter Text

Carlos believes he's a great teammate. Maybe that's not always the case on track during a race or during interviews, but he is a good teammate and an even better friend. The thing is, if Carlos wants to continue being a good friend to his current teammate, that might involve some scheming. And if there's one thing he's good at, it's coming up with something audacious.

Ever since the Spaniard left Montréal, he's been thinking of a way to knock some sense into his lovely idiot of a teammate. However, it's his girlfriend who comes up with the idea while on their private flight toward Barcelona.

"It's obvious Charles has stuff he has to resolve, babe. He's not ready to open up himself, so I would just let him be. You can't fix it for them. It'll only make things worse if you're involved. They might even stop talking if all of you keep interfering."

Okay, maybe Rebecca doesn't exactly tell him that he has to make things a lot worse before they can get better, but that's what he takes away from it. So the moment Max texts him that he's landed and is on his way to the hotel Ferrari and Red Bull share this weekend, Carlos gets to work.

----

"You need to bully him."

"I have to do what?" Max's expression can rival the surprised Pikachu meme, and Carlos has to bite his lower lip to refrain from laughing. "I'm not bullying Charles, Carlos! Last time I did, we ended up on a very painful flight home without any words being said for hours. And he even unfollowed me!"

"Do you trust me, or not?" Carlos swears he can see the wheels in Max's head turn as he mulls over the question.

"You were my first teammate and the first one to hug me after I won my first championship. Of course I do."

"Then trust me and do what I say. Bully Charles."

"To his face? What will I even say?" Max is rubbing the spot behind his ear again. Carlos slaps his hand away. "Hey!"

"Stop doing that. It gives you away!" Carlos hisses, painfully aware they're in a lobby Charles could walk into at any given moment.

"Gives what away?" Max asks with a frown. Carlos has no idea how the Dutchman could be so oblivious about pretty much everything non-racing-related.

"That you're nervous. You do it every time Charles is near. You do it with Daniel, too. Stop it!"

"I do not. I just have an itch."

"Yeah, from rubbing it all the times you're nervous."

"I'm never nervous!"

"You do it during interviews."

"Because my head itches!"

"Than go to the doctor to check for lice, because no way in hell should it itch that much, Cabron!"

Max doesn't have a comeback. Instead, he just sighs, resting his hands on his hips. "Fine. It's me coping."

"Well, stop coping. There's no need for it," Carlos reassures him, reaching out to squeeze the blond's shoulder. "Back to my fantastic plan."

Max rolls his eyes, but he does take a step closer toward the Spaniard. "All ears, mate."

"You've got to bully him on TV."

"What?" Carlos has to refrain from slapping his Toro Rosso teammate. If only he'd just hear him out.

"Shut the fuck up and listen. Charles has a praising kink. And you are the king of praising him."

Max opens his mouth to reply, but ends up pouting instead. The sight satisfies Carlos, because it only proves he's right.

"If you stop praising him, he'll inevitably crawl back to you to figure out why. And then, you can talk this out properly." Carlos forgets to mention that he actually doesn't know why Charles behaved the way he did in Canada. He just hopes the Monegasque has found a solution to his problems.

"What if it doesn't work? I'm not ready to lose him, Carlos. We only just found each other again." Max voices his concern, stirring bits of doubt in the ravenhead's stomach. However, Carlos believes in his plan and in his ability to read Charles like an open book.

"It will work. And I know the perfect way to get right into it."

As if on cue, Charles walks into the hotel lobby, dragging his luggage after him. Leo is happily napping on his shoulder. Reacting out of instinct, Carlos pulls Max in, hugging him tight against his chest.

"What the fuck, mate?" Max shrieks, trying to push Carlos off him, but it only causes the Ferrari driver to hug him more tightly.

"Just hug me, Cabron!" He hisses in his ear before feeling Max ingulf him in one of his famous hugs.

Carlos laughs loudly, for good measure. If Charles hadn't noticed yet, he definitely has now. The brunet's eyes dart toward the pair before he turns the other way around. Charles whispers something to Andrea before walking out of the lobby with Leo still in his arms.

Carlos releases Max, who follows his trail of sight. He notices the familiar suitcases and an apologetic Andrea Ferrari right away. The look on his face only confirms for Carlos that Max's a goner for his teammate. This will definitely work.

"Step one: jealousy. Completed."

"I hope so," the Dutchman mutters, rubbing the same spot behind his ear again. Carlos slaps his hand away, earning a wince from Max.

----

Carlos cannot wait to go on the fan stage. It's his final home race for Ferrari, and he's already seen so many fans dressed in his merchandise. He wants to see them all up close.

The Ferrari drivers are waiting for their turn in the backstage area when the Haas drivers come down. Charles makes his way toward the stage stairs, ready to go on, when Checo walks down, closely followed by Max.

As Charles's gaze lands on the Dutchman, he halts in his step. Carlos eyes his teammate carefully, noticing the longing radiating off the Monegasque's body.

"Hey," Max softly says, awkwardly waving at the pairing. "Have fun up there."

"Thanks, mate!" Carlos answers, winking at the Dutchman. Charles obviously notices. His jaw sets, and Carlos knows his plan's working.

As they're called onto the stage by the presenter, Carlos quickly pulls out his phone, sending a quick text to Max.

Carlos: It is working!

Puta Madre: It better!

----

"I've called in reinforcements," says Carlos as he enters Max's driver's room with a giggly Briton in toe. "Hi!"

Max's still in his fireproofs after a very hot FP3. The flush in his face only deepens as he sees Lando enter. "How did you both sneak in here unnoticed?"

"We asked Rupert for a keycard," Carlos replies. Max might have stolen his old physio, but it clearly has some perks. "We need to confirm our plan for the upcoming days."

"And why's Lando here?" Carlos hasn't seen Max look this confused before, and it would've been funny if it didn't involve his master plan.

"Oi, I thought you told him," Lando says, lifting a brow in Carlos's direction.

"He did," Max answers. "I didn't mention Charles in the top three things for Sportbible."

"I saw you say my name! Thanks, mate," Lando awes, fistbumping Max before dropping onto his makeshift couch. "That's just step one, though."

"Step three, actually!" Carlos buts in, sitting down as well, before pulling Max down in between them. "Step one was making Charles jealous in the hotel lobby and at the fanzone, which worked. Step two was excluding him from your best friend list, and step three was adding Daniel back into the mix."

"I did all that," Max sighs, rubbing the spot behind his ear. "It felt wrong, though. What if he'll hate me for it?"

"He won't," Carlos reassures the Red Bull driver, slapping the hand away once more. "Charles can simply be petty at times."

"Yeah! He'll grow tired of it eventually," Lando states, but the comment makes Max's eye twitch.

"Not of you, of course," Lando continues, his voice reaching a new pitch as he tries to calm down the Dutchman, but it doesn't seem to work.

"Just tell me step four."

"Step four, disagree."

"We heard from a little birdy that Charles has to go to the stewards for hitting me earlier."

"Said little birdy being me, of course."

"Carlos, stop ruining the phrasing."

"Get to the point, both of you!" Max groans, seemingly done with the dynamic duo. Carlos loves to rile his ex-teammate up.

"The point being, Charles probably won't get a penalty for it. You've got to tell me he should get one. Preferably, where there are cameras."

"He should get one," Max states, and that's when Carlos knows where Charles's issues lie. Max will praise him endlessly, but he'll also tell him when he thinks Charles's in the wrong. The Monegasque can't handle a loved one criticizing him openly, especially Max, who's accomplished so much. Carlos debates telling Max this, but now's not the time.

"Good!" Lando grins, slapping the Dutchman's back. "Tell me on live TV so after qualifying whenever you feel is appropriate."

----

Carlos has to admit that both Max and Lando are great actors. The hushed interaction right in front of an international feed camera seems genuine. The video goes viral, and it doesn't take long for Charles to see it.

Angry taps echo through the motorhome as Charles types furiously on his phone.

"Charlitos, stop."

"He said I should've gotten a penalty!" Charles whines, and Carlos is trying his hardest not to laugh. "I clearly did it by accident!"

"You're P2 in the championship, mate. If he can give you hell, he will." Carlos knows his words are accurate, and perhaps he can talk some sense into his friend before he screws up for real.

"I know that."

"Max loves you." Charles's stunned, and just like that, Carlos knows they haven't had the talk yet, while it's been painfully obvious for years now that Max is in love with Charles Leclerc.

"Does he?"

"He does, Charlitos. His disagreeing when it comes to F1 doesn't mean he suddenly hates you."

"What if I'm not good enough?" Charles sounds so small, causing Carlos to reach out and pull him into a hug.

"You'll always be good enough, mate. For Max, for me, for Ferrari. Don't ever doubt that." Carlos means every single word he says.

"What am I doing, Carlos?" Charles groans as he pulls back. "Why am I like this?"

Not too sure what to say, he lets the younger man ramble on. "I've been such an idiot! I need to talk to him!"

"To max?"

"No, to Enzo Ferrari," Charles deadpans, and finally Carlos allows himself to laugh. "Of course, to Max!"

"I've got to go now!" Charles jumps upright, but Carlos pulls him back down.

"We've got to go to the final debrief in five."

"I'll call him then!"

Before Carlos can interfere, Charles is already calling. Max picks up immediately, his voice booming happily through the speakers.

"I'm so sorry. For everything, mon amour."

And that's Carlos's cue to leave the room.

----

He keeps an eye on his teammate during the driver's parade, but it isn't necessary. Charles and Max talk happily the whole time, except for when they're called up for interviews. Carlos even notices their hands brushing together ever so often, but it seems like his plan's worked.

As they exit the truck to finally prepare for the race, Max rushes over to him. The wind's knocked out of the Spaniard as Max hugs him tight, sticking his nose into his shoulder. "I owe you one."

----

Carlos's frustrated when he enters Parc Fermé. His final home race has been average at best, and on top of that, he collided with his teammate.

Speaking of the devil, Charles comes rushing over to him as he makes his way to the scales. Carlos, ready for the familiar list of complaints, is bracing for impact.

"You tricked me!"

'Oh shit.'

"Max told me everything on the driver's parade."

"It worked out, no?" Carlos offers sheepishly, rubbing the hair behind his right ear. He catches himself mid-movement. Max's rubbing off on him more than he'd like.

Charles squints at him. "You're lucky it did. And don't get me even started on what you pulled out there."

Carlos doesn't even hide his sigh, knowing all too well what's in store for him the rest of the day.

----

Carlos: How do you put up with him? He whines all the time.

Puta Madre: He's cute when he does so!

Carlos: Right.

It remains quiet. Carlos is ready to log off and go to bed when his phone beeps once more. Max has sent him a photo of a sleeping Charles on his chest and Leo curled up on his stomach. Carlos can't help but grin at the sight.

Puta Madre: Thank you.

Carlos: You're welcome.

Chapter Text

When Max is finally able to go to his driver's room to relax, he finds the door locked. He tries his keycard once more while juggling his Pirelli cap and the first-place trophy in the same hand. The cap slips out of his grasp just as the door opens. Max reaches for it when another hand gets there first.

Stunned, Max halts his movements. He'd recognize those hands anywhere. "Charles?"

"Hi, mon amour."

Looking up, he's face to face with a kneeling Charles Leclerc, still dressed in his racing suit. Max drops the trophy and keycard to the floor before ingulving his boyfriend in a much-needed hug. "You're here."

"Of course. I told you I would during the driver's parade," Charles mumbles into the crook of the blond's neck. "I'm still so sorry for everything."

"Me too," Max admits, pulling back to grab Charles's face. "I've missed you so much the past two weeks."

"Me too," Charles mimics, leaning in to steal a kiss from the Dutchman. As Charles licks his lips, Max opens them, letting the brunet roam his mouth. God, he's missed them. He's missed this.

Parting for air, Max grabs his discarded items from the floor, throwing them inside the room. Still on his knees, he pushes Charles into his room, who falls down onto his back with a grin that rivals Max's own.

The door slides closed behind them, pushing Max into action. Crawling toward the Monegasque, he places his hands beside his head, climbing on top of him slowly. Charles's lust is evident in his eyes and the hard-on pressing against Max's ass.

Leaning down, Max captures Charles's lips again, riding slowly back and forth on his boyfriend's dick. A hiss escapes Charles, and it's the hottest thing Max's ever heard.

"You're so fucking hot," Charles moans as Max moves slowly toward his neck, sucking and biting at the exposed skin. He's wanted to do this since forever but has barely gotten the chance with everything that happened the past months.

"Max, Imma come in my suit if you keep at this for much longer," Charles pants, the air sucked out of him. "Fuck, Max..."

Not ready to give in just yet, Max hovers near his ear, breath hot: "See it as revenge."

Reaching down toward Charles's zipper, he grabs it. As he unzips the red suit, Max swears Charles stops breathing for a hot minute. As he reaches the fireproof-clad bulge, Max stops. Instead, he travels his hand down Charles' chest until he finds the hem of the white safety clothing. Pulling it up, he lifts it as high as possible, with Charles's sweat still clinging to it. Leaning back down, he kisses the tanned skin wherever he feels like it. Every time they touch, Charles shudders, and it's the sexiest thing Max has ever seen.

"Putain, Max..."

Knowing Charles won't last much longer, he reaches into the Monegasque's underwear. Charles is rockhard, and just a few pumps are all he needs to come undone underneath Max. Max comes on the spot in his own suit, but he won't tell Charles so.

"Fucking hell, Max!" Charles moans as the Dutchman sits down beside him before leaning down to lay next to him. "How will I explain this?"

Max turns toward Charles, a hand caressing his abs. "Just say what you said after Monaco."

"Very funny!" Charles sighs, but the look in his eye confirms he thinks it's just as hilarious as Max.

Charles leans forward, stealing a small kiss, before standing up. "I've got to hurry back to the team. I've got a flight home with Carlos, and we'll need it after today."

As Charles suits himself up again, Max slowly rises to his feet. A certain doubt edges into the back of Max's brain as Charles takes off again. What if this isn't as resolved as he'd hoped?

"When will we meet up? Spielberg?" Max asks, hearing the uncertainty shining through in his own voice.

"Of course not, silly," Charles replies, reaching out to grab Max's cheeks. Green meets blue, and the warmth is back in Max's belly. "As soon as we're in Nice, I'm coming over. I need to be with you. Preferably all the time."

Max lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding. "Okay. See you tonight."

With another small kiss, Charles leaves, and Max screams out of joy.

-----

As promised, Charles ends up knocking at his door near midnight with a yawning Leo in his arms.

Despite his protests, Max convinces Charles to go to bed with him. It doesn't take long before the Ferrari driver falls asleep, cuddled up on Max's chest.

Leo jumps onto the bed not too much later, crawling onto Max's lap, falling asleep seconds after doing so.

Max reaches out for his phone on his nightstand, trying not to wake the Leclercs. Besides the usual congratulations, Max notices the two usual suspects in his messages.

Idiot Number 1: How do you put up with him? He whines all the time.

Max chuckles to himself as he reads Carlos's message. Despite the Spaniard's usual mingling, he did indeed help him big time this week, and Max owes him big time.

Max: He's cute when he does so.

Idiot Number 1: Right.

Moving on to the other half of the old Mclaren pairing, Max opens Lando's message. He expects banter; instead, it's an apology.

Idiot Number 2: I'm sorry for what I said after the race. No bad blood, right?

Max: Never.

The message leaves a bad taste in Max's mouth. McLaren is getting a lot closer to Red Bull in both qualifying and the races. Lando's eager to win, and Max hopes it won't lead to any unnecessary heroics.

Max: Thanks, by the way.

Trying to get his mind off racing for a moment, he snaps a picture of the adorable boys sleeping in his bed. He sends it to both Lando and Carlos, who both reply immediately.

Idiot Number 1: You're welcome.

Idiot Number 2: Awww, how adorable, mate!

Max puts his phone away, reaching to turn off the lights, when Jimmy and Sassy appear next to the bed. Blinking at them, Max doesn't know what to do exactly. His cats have never asked to lay on the bed before, but Leo's presence must have caused some jealousy to arise.

Grabbing Jimmy and then Sassy, he puts them against Charles's back, where they curl up against one another.

'One big happy family,' Max thinks. 'All I've ever wanted.'

----

Charles leaves for Maranello the morning after. Max hates to see him go, but he has a sim event coming up on Wednesday and a lot of team calls before that.

They haven't fully talked about everything yet. The triple header is taking most of their energy. However, summer break is right around the corner, and Max knows it'll give them the opportunity to talk about everything in detail. Charles seems to agree with him.

"We'll talk during our date," Charles says while running after Leo.

"Date?" Max asks, the surprise evident on his face. Jimmy and Sassy are both clawing at his shirt as he tries to keep them away from Leo.

"Yeah. Thursday, lunch in the hotel before we've got to go in." It's clearly a question, but Charles says it with such confidence that Max can only nod.

"Sounds great."

And it was going great until Max's private plane got stuck at Nice International Airport due to a storm above Italy on Thursday morning.

When the plane finally touches down, it's already late in the afternoon. Together with Gemma, he rushes to the track and through the paddock to make it in time for the press conference.

Max's only fifteen minutes late as he enters the press event. Charles has left a spot open for him, and he sits down quickly, greeting everyone present.

"Finally," Charles whispers as Tom Clarkson continues interviewing the other drivers. "I thought you were chickening out."

"Never," Max replies with a bright smile. "Raincheck on that date?"

"Sunday evening?"

"Yes."

In between questions, Max can't help but talk to the enigmatic man next to him. Charles listens intently as Max shows him his elbow injury he got during his sim session the day before. Overall, Charles entertains the Dutchman throughout, and the session flies by. Max is over the moon.

----

The happiness Max feels while being with Charles radiates off him in the car. Despite the sensor issue in the free practice session, Max still puts it on top. Both qualifying sessions and the sprint race aren't an issue either. Charles, however, has less luck.

"I'm the worst," Charles groans underneath the covers of Max's bed. Max can't help but laugh as he pulls the duvet away. "You're not."

"I took the car rallying in turns nine and ten."

"And you looked hot while doing so."

"Max."

"What? I'm serious!" Max grins, earning a pillow to the face. "Seriously, Charles, you're the greatest driver to have driven that Ferrari in recent years."

"Better than Kimi?"

"Yes."

"Seb?"

"Yes."

"Nando?"

"Don't push it," Max says with raised eyebrows, but he can't hide the smile forming on his face.

"Maxxxxx," Charles whines, pulling the duvet back over his head. "Not helping."

"You're the best to me," Max says, shuffling down the mattress to lay shoulder to shoulder with the brunet. "A shit car won't change that."

"Thanks," Charles says, his eyes peeping out from underneath the blanket. "You're great too."

"Wow, thanks," Max answers with a laugh. "It took you some time."

"Five years, to be exact," Charles muses, poking Max's side. "Five years have passed since I unfollowed you."

"And you haven't followed me since, but I did make you come."

"Max!" Charles pokes him a little harder, earning a yelp from the Dutchman. "You know I'm doing so on purpose, right?"

"Yeah, but why?"

"PR, I guess," Charles says honestly. "I've got an idea, though."

"Tell me."

"If you win tomorrow, I'll follow you again on Instagram."

"Seriously?" Max answers, unable to believe his ears. "Another bet on me winning?"

"Worked out great last time," Charles says, biting his lower lip.

Memories of Imola cloud Max's mind as he feels the Monegasque turn to cuddle into his chest. "Those were easier days. The McLaren's are catching up."

"And your dad and Christian aren't exactly helping," Charles sighs.

Max knows Charles is right. Despite trying his best to ignore the ongoing fights between his father and teamboss, it's come back to the front this weekend. Jos being at the track did more harm than good, and Max regrets inviting him.

"I don't know the details, but I like that Checo has another contract," Max says, pulling Charles a little closer until he's lying with his chin on his chest, staring up at Max.

"I know you see Checo as a close friend, but he isn't exactly performing lately," Charles says, drawing circles on Max's chest absentmindedly with his left thumb. "Maybe Marko was right."

"Yuki? Liam?" Max asks, unsure. He likes both, but he has no idea if they're ready.

"Or someone else."

"I know who I want," Max admits, craning his neck to kiss Charles's head softly.

"Me?" The Monegasque asks, eyes wide in shock. "We'd fight after one test session!"

"Maybe, but we know how to race one another," Max says, missing their battles from the end of last year. He rates Charles incredibly high. Always has, always will.

"I don't know," Charles hesitatingly says. "My heart's at Ferrari."

"I know," Max replies, sucking in his bottom lip. "One can dream, though."

"Yes..."

It's quiet for a moment as the pair enjoys one another's company. Max wants this every race. Charles near him helps him relax, helps him recover and helps him think. Charles does so much more than he'll ever realize.

"About that bet..." Charles starts.

"I'll bring it home," Max replies, confident.

-----

Max doesn't know who to kill first. GP for not listening, his mechanics for screwing up his pitstop, or Lando for driving like an erratic fool.

With less than twenty laps to go, Max's holding on to the lead by the skin of his teeth. Lando has chosen turn three as his favorite overtaking spot but can't seem to decide on a line. As the Briton overshoots once again, Max's pushed wide. Going off track, he gets out first. He should probably give it back, but he has no fucks to give anymore. He promised he'd win this, and he will.

On the next lap, it goes terribly wrong. Max closes the door, aware that the McLaren is on the left. There's just enough space, yet they collide. Max feels the puncture immediately. He won't win this one, and it devastates him.

----

Max is in his driver's room when a knock sounds on the door. He calls for them to come in, but the last he'd expected was George Russell.

"Shouldn't you be celebrating, mate?" Max offers, standing up to hug the Briton. "Congratulations."

"Thanks!" George leans into the hug, patting the Red Bull driver's back. "I'm not here for that, though."

Fear created by the troubles that had formed after the Canadian Grand Prix settle in the pit of Max's stomach. "Something happened?"

George nods, and Max follows him without another word, dreading the worst. After everything that has been said since the race ended, Max has felt like shit. It feels like he's lost a friend with a move anyone could've made in the heat of the moment. Lando doesn't want to talk to him. He's being shamed for racing hard and fairly. It's 2021 all over again, and yet he's in the lead for the championship.

"We're here," George announces, shaking Max out of his thoughts. They're in front of the Mercedes motorhome.

"I've told Toto plenty of times. I'm staying at Red Bull," Max sighs, rubbing his eyes.

"No, mate, look," George says, nudging him.

Max squints in the direction he's pointing. Between the Mercedes and Ferrari motorhomes, Charles's standing, typing away on his phone.

Max immediately takes off toward the Monegasque, scooping him up into a tight hug.

"Hey champ!" Charles laughs as Max lifts him up. "I couldn't reach you, so I sent George to fetch you."

"I turned off my phone. Let's say the messages weren't that nice and never ending too," Max admits, putting Charles back down. "I fucked it up, Charlie."

"Mon amour, you didn't."

"No?" Some of the nausea Max's been feeling since he crossed the line disappears.

"No. We've been able to race here cleanly," Charles states, earning a frown from his boyfriend. "Well, mostly. My point is, it takes two great drivers to battle cleanly, and we both know you're the greatest."

"I love you so much," Max blurts out. Charles's face falls, and for a second, the Dutchman's afraid he's gone too far too soon, but then Charles's face lights up the way it did on that Monaco podium.

"I love you too."

Aware they're in public, Max leans in quickly, pecking the Monegasque's lips.

"Let's get out of here," Charles says, wrapping an arm around Max's shoulders.

"So no follow?" Max asks as they near the paddock exit.

"Nope."

"Damnit!"

Chapter Text

As Max wakes up on Monday morning in his Monaco apartment, he reaches for his phone immediately.

Despite Charles's best offers to distract him on their flight back from Spielberg, Max couldn't stop thinking about Lando. The Briton has said certain things during the press pen that weren't exactly kind. Max knows it's the heat of the moment. He's been there himself, but while he had time to grow through his championship battles, Lando hasn't found himself in such a position yet.

Max is still fully confident that he did nothing wrong. It was hard racing, and it sadly ended badly for both of them. He won't apologize for his racing. He's never done that, and he never will.

As Max scrolls through several messages, one sticks out, and it has him grinning ear to ear.

Idiot Number 2: Hey. I'm sorry for what I said yesterday. Emotions were running high, and I said shit I shouldn't have. Can we talk this out?

Max immediately hits the dial button.

"Hey," Lando says, sounding small on the other end of the call. Max feels bad for his best friend.

"Hey. I just read your message. It's alright."

"Really?" Lando's usual glee returns slowly. "Look, mate, I still think you took it too far at times, but there's no need to apologize. I was out of line, saying such shit."

"Good, cause I wasn't going to anyway," Max laughs, going with a hand through his hair. He's so relieved. His relationship with Lando's too important to go to waste over something like this.

"You're a prick," Lando whines, but Max knows it's with no ill-intent.

"Love you too, mate."

"Piss off!"

They laugh in unison, and all of Max's worries disappear.

"I do want to talk about this in person," Lando continues after a moment of pleasant silence between them. "I'm stuck at the factory for a while, but do you have time on Wednesday?"

"Of course," Max replies, glad Lando feels the same way. "I'll fly in a little earlier. I do have a Redline event. So, early in the afternoon?"

"Sounds great. See you, then."

"Lando?"

"Yeah?"

"Can I bring someone?" Max asks, sucking in his bottom lip.

"Is it official, mate?" Max can already imagine the McLaren driver bouncing in his seat at the thought of seeing him and Charles officially together.

"Yeah, I think it is." Max admits feeling a blush creep into his cheeks.

"Take him with you if he can! I'll see you then!"

"Bye, Lando!"

Max puts his phone back down on his nightstand, lying on the mattress. Maybe Silverstone won't be the worst week of the year after all.

----

Charles has to go to Maranello again after an everything but perfect few races, but Max is happy the Monegasque has found the time to drop by on Tuesday.

"So you two are back to normal?"

Max looks over his shoulder at his boyfriend lying on his bed, Jimmy and Leo by his side. Sassy is looking at them from a safe spot on the ground, still not used to the dachshund in their home. The image makes Max smile.

"I guess so. He's not as melodramatic as some people," he replies, smirking as he turns to grab another few Red Bull shirts to pack.

"Aye! You ran me off the track and celebrated as a conard while I still had to fly home with you!"

"And you unfollowed me like a pussy."

"You did the same thing!"

Max can't help but laugh at Charles's incredulous face. "You're cute when you're angry."

"I'm not cute!" Charles pouts, pulling Leo and Jimmy closer to his chest. "I'm vicious, right guys?"

"Girl," Max corrects, coming over to grab Charles cheeks. He plants a kiss on the brunet's lips, who melts into his touch. The look of pure happiness left on Charles's face has Max's stomach fluttering. "Jimmy and Sassy are girls."

Charles looks back at the two Bengals. "Girls?"

"Yeah."

"With bar names?"

"Yes," Max confirms once more, chuckling as he does so. "Something wrong with that?"

"No, no, no..." Charles trails off.

As Max continues packing, he notices Charles picking Jimmy up, looking at the cat's private parts, and Leo looking on jealously as he does.

"It's alright, Leo," Max sighs, turning to grab the dog. "I'll give you some love while your dad ignores you."

Caught, Charles laughs awkwardly, pulling Jimmy to his chest. Max can see his cat scratch through Charles's shirt, but the Monegasque puts on a brave face. God, he loves this man.

"Switch?" Max asks as Leo starts licking his chin.

"Please," Charles hisses as Jimmy uses her nails to scratch even deeper.

Max unceremoniously drops Leo on Charles's lap before taking Jimmy, hugging her tight. The cat purrs, cuddling into his neck.

"They act so differently around you," Charles says, petting Leo, who's sniffling at the exact spot Jimmy sat.

"They're my cats, schat, of course they love me more."

"Well, I'll always have Leo," Charles says, looking at his puppy with so much love.

Max puts Jimmy near Sassy before laying down beside Charles. Leo notices immediately, waddling over to the Dutchman to continue licking his face.

"Unbelievable!" Charles whines. "My dog prefers you!"

Max laughs as he pushes Leo back down, but it's of no use. "Like his owner, then?"

Charles's eyes darken slightly as he turns to his side, pressing himself against the world champion. "Exactly."

Max turns his head to steal a kiss from his boyfriend. Charles has other plans, though, as he deepens the kiss, surprising Max by biting roughly.

"Feeling naughty?" Max asks, breathless, as Charles pulls back. He receives no reply, though, as Charles picks up Leo to drop him on the floor. The Monegasque turns back to the blond, sitting down on his lap, straddling his hips as he does so.

"I'm still in need of some payback for Barcelona," Charles whispers as his fingers toy with the hem of Max's white shirt. "I just don't know how yet."

Max feels himself harden. If Charles slowly riding on his dick through his skinny jeans wasn't enough, his lustful gaze would do. Unable to speak, Max gives himself to the brunet.

Charles pulls softly at his shirt. Max sits upright, letting the Monegasque pull the piece of clothing over his head. Max reaches out to do the same, desperate to tear the hoodie off, desperate to take in Charles's perfect body.

Charles lets him. Clothes discared on the bedroom floor, Max pulls the Ferrari driver on him, tangling their limbs as he does so. Charles reaches for his neck, kissing each spot and sucking some when he feels like it. Max can't hide his moans as he scratches down Charles's back.

"What's gotten into you?" the blond wispers as Charles bites down on his pulse point.

Charles resurfaces, looking Max straight in the eye. "I'm done holding back. The past months—no, the past years—I've been so stuck in my own head. I always found a reason to run. I'm done running now. This, us, you. You're what I want, and I'm not backing down. Not ever."

"Me neither," is all Max manages to say, not expecting such a declaration of pure love. "I love you, Charles."

"I love you too, Max." Charles murmers, and Max swears he sees tears forming in the corner of the sixteen-days-younger man.

Max leans in again, ready to kiss himself senseless, when Sassy jumps on the bed. She quickly crawls between them, blocking Max's view. On cue, Leo starts to bark, causing Charles to roll off Max's lap to look pointedly at his puppy. "Leo, no! Ce n'est pas cool. Arrete!"

"I guess we'll have to find somewhere less crowded to do this," Max says, grabbing Sassy to pet her back.

"I'd say Silverstone, but this cutie is coming with me," Charles answers, picking Leo up. Sassy runs the moment she sees the dog.

-----

Max would be lying if he said he was looking forward to the British Grand Prix. As his private jet touches down in England, he's already feeling dread.

Tonight, his dinner with Lando takes place. Charles couldn't come. He's stuck in Italy until tomorrow. Max wishes desperately that the Ferrari driver was with him right now.

"Ready to face it?" Rupert asks as he steps out of the plane.

"Nope," Max replies, following his personal trainer. "I don't really have a choice, though."

"You'll be fine, buddy." Rupert comforts him, ruffling Max's hair.

"I hope so."

----

Max didn't expect it to be this familiar from the get-go, but it is. The moment Lando sits down at the table Max reserved for them at a restaurant not too far away from Silverstone, it's like nothing has ever happened.

Lando apologizes for his behavior and clarifies that he doesn't agree with what his team's been doing in the media the past few days. Max admits he hasn't been much on social media since the race. It feels good.

"So," Lando drawls. "How long have you and our loverboy been together?"

Max rolls his eyes, aware that this question would come up sooner rather than later. "We haven't officially talked about it yet."

"But you said your love yous already, right?" Lando half-yells. Max is quick to shush him as people are starting to stare.

"We did, yeah."

"I knew it!" Lando squeals. "Carlos had to tell me about it last year when you were acting like Charles hung the moon in Vegas, but I knew it!"

"Lando!" Max groans, looking around the room to check if anyone recognizes them. "Inner voice, mate."

"Sorry!" The Briton squeaks. Max rubs the hair behind his ear, but he can't hide the smile forming. "I'm just happy for you!"

"Me too," Max says. "It's taken us a long time."

"That's an understatement."

"Hey!"

"What? You thought it! I know you did."

Unable to think of something witty to say, Max kicks Lando underneath the table. The Mclaren driver looks betrayed as he rubs the sore spot.

"So what now?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, what if you two have an accident like we did? Or Ferrari is suddenly quick again, and you'll battle week in and week out. What then?" Lando asks, no trace of humor left in his features.

Max hasn't really thought about that yet. He assumes Charles is aware that racing is what matters most to him. Charles must think the same way.

"I don't know, but I'll enjoy it. No one races Charles like I do," Max shrugs. He knows it's cheesy, but it's true. No one can anticipate what Max's going to do, both on and off track, like Charles can.

"You two are adorable!" Lando yells, making Max want to murder his best friend.

-----

"Did you read what everyone said?" Charles asks as he lays on Max's chest. The Dutchman plays with his hair, reading through several posts on Charles's X-profile. "Every single driver agreed with you. So did everyone but the British press. I call this a win."

Max snorts, rubbing his eyes with his free hand. "You know I don't care about any of this."

'Except what you think of me,' he adds silently.

"I know. Your statement was loud and clear, mon amour," Charles says, looking up at him with amusement in his eyes. "Can I read some quotes, though?"

"Sure, why not?" says Max, kissing the top of Charles's head. "The top three best ones."

"Well, at number three, I'd say Daniel's!" Charles muses, reading the several posts fan accounts made with the drivers's quotes.

Max is only half listening as he takes in the beautiful man in his arms. The things he wants to do to him have his dick twisting in his pj's.

"And last but not least, Lewis's!" Charles concludes. "He deflected all the attention-seekers."

"That was indeed kind of him," Max agrees. "Yours was the most meaningful, though."

"Just the truth," Charles huffs, turning in Max's arms. He boops the blond's nose.

"I'm your long-lasting rival, and no one should ever say otherwise!" Charles declares, and Max's grin widens as he does so.

"I couldn't have said it any better."

The moment their lips touch, a whimper erupts from the floor. Max looks over the edge of the hotel bed to spot a sad-looking Leo. "Your dog's jealous again."

"He's not jealous! Just lonely," Charles disagrees, picking up Leo to place him on Max's chest. "Look at this cute boy."

"The cutest," Max sighs as Leo happily starts licking his cheek. The sheer happiness on Charles's face is worth it.

----

Max can't take his eyes off Charles, despite the cameras tracking his every move. He's walking back to the garage after the national anthem when Nathalie Pinkman intercepts him to ask some questions about the weekend. Charles, however, chooses that exact moment to walk by in his fireproofs, his overalls hanging low around his hips. He's never looked hotter.

Max trails his boyfriend with his eyes, noticing Charles looking back, winking as he does so. He's lost his trail of words, and the cameraman even repositions to keep his face in focus. If Nathalie, who's known Max for most of his career, notices, she doesn't comment on it.

Max's jaw clenches as she offers a new question, praying to keep the flush out of his cheeks. He's got a race to focus on.

----

P fucking 2. P2! Max genuinely can't believe it. If the race had been a few laps longer, he might have caught up with Lewis, but he doesn't care. The Briton deserves this, and Max's extended his lead in the championship. That's all that matters right now.

Or... Max checks the results when he's waiting for Lewis in the press conference room. Charles is P14 and has been pretty much a guinea pig for Ferrari's strategy team. Disappointment sinks in his gut as he sends a quick text to the brunet.

Max: Come over to my room tonight. We'll forget this together ❤️

The moment Max hits 'send', Lewis enters the room. He has to put his phone away, but he feels it vibrate minutes later. Pulling it out of his pocket, he takes a glance at the new message.

Charlie ❤️: I'd love that, mon amour 😘

----

It's quite late when Max hears a knock on his hotel door. Not needing to check who it is, he swings open the door. Charles's standing hunched over in his Ferrari hoodie, eyes red and swollen. Max pulls him in immediately, hugging him tight.

The door shuts behind them. It's earily quiet in the room, except for Charles's soft sobs in the crook of Max's neck.

Max has no idea how long they've been standing there when Charles finally pulls back. The look on his face breaks the Dutchman's heart.

"I'll get you some water," Max says, moving toward the small kitchenette.

"I hate them so much sometimes." He hears Charles say, "So fucking much."

Max turns, a glass of water in hand, to see a heap of Ferrari red clothing on the ground. "I don't even want to wear it anymore."

"Schat..." He takes a step toward Charles, giving him the water. "You'll get cold. Put it back on."

Max reaches for the hoodie, turning it over in his hands as Charles downs the water. The Monegasque shakes his head furiously.

"No, Max. I'm genuinely done. They can all fuck themselves. They sign me, only to use me as some labrat for the guy who's leaving the team!"

Knowing Charles needs everything but Max's opinion right now, he decides to take off his own hoodie.

"What are you doing?" Charles asks, wiping away the remaining tears. "I know we're finally alone since Leo's with Joris, but I'm not in the mood."

"As much as I'd enjoy that," Max chuckles. "I just wanted to give you this."

He reaches out to put the hoodie over Charles head. The brunet obliges, lifting his arms. Max tries his best to dress his boyfriend, but it doesn't go as smoothly as expected. Charles laughs as his head gets stuck in the hood. It warms Max's heart.

"Wait. Let me." Charles's muffled voice comes from inside the dark blue fabric. Max takes a step back. In a matter of milliseconds, Charles's ruffled hair appears. "How do I look?"

"Perfect." Max's breathless at the sight of Charles in Red Bull merchandise. Charles in dark blue is a sight to behold. "You're absolutely perfect."

"I'm a mess," Charles sighs, draping his arms around Max's neck.

"My mess," Max replies, winking. Charles sucks in his bottom lip, trying not to laugh.

"What?" Max asks. "I tried!"

"It was definitely something," Charles counters, his worries seemingly forgotten for now.

"Ready for bed?" Max asks, desperate to cuddle with his boyfriend.

"With this on and you shirtless," Charles fake ponders, pounting as he does so. "Definitely!"

Without another word, Max ducks to throw Charles over his shoulder. The Monegasque freezes in surprise before hitting the blond's back with his fists. "Max!"

His name on Charles's tongue is the best sound Max's ever heard, and he prays he can hear it forever.

Chapter Text

"It's been a week," Max whines into the empty void of his room. His iPhone screen crackles due to the shitty service at the Sussex hotel.

Charles's laugh echoes contortedly as the image on FaceTime freezes. Max can't help but pout. "Mon amour, I was with you until Thursday. It's Sunday."

"You could've come with me to Goodwoods," Max offers, fully aware that wasn't possible at all.

"Max," Charles deadpans, raising an eyebrow. "It's the celebration of Red Bull Racing. I don't think I would have fit in. Besides, I promised Alex I'd take her to Taylor Swift."

"I know," Max sighs. Before Charles broke up with Alexandra, he'd gotten them VIP tickets to Taylor Swift's Milan show. The separation being amicable, they decided they'd still go, with Kika and Pierre joining them. Charles asked Max several times, and the Dutchman told him to enjoy himself. Now, he just wishes Charles was next to him.

"How was she?" Max asks. Charles's face lights up, causing butterflies to swim in Max's stomach.

"It was really good! I didn't know all the songs, but Alex really enjoyed herself. It was fun!" Charles rambles, causing Max to mirror his grin. "Do you listen to her?"

Max shrugs: "Not much. I know some of her songs. I like Anti-Hero."

Charles nods knowingly: "It is very Mister Max Emilian Verstappen."

"My middle name's not French," Max replies, giving his boyfriend the finger. "Stop pronouncing it that way."

"But it sounds good when I do!" Charles counters, repeating the name several times. Max drops the phone on the covers before hovering both middle fingers above his camera.

Charles cackles, and Max is genuinely worried about the Ferrari driver's sanity for a moment.

"You're too funny, mon amour," the brunet says, wiping away some tears.

Max feels the blush forming on his cheeks. Anything Charles does makes him infinitely happy, but he's still not used to the many, intended or not, compliments the Monegasque sends his way daily.

"Anyhow, Pierre has adopted a dog too! Simba. I hope Leo finally finds a playmate in him, 'cause Roscoe was not having it," Charles continues, typing away on his phone as he does.

A second later, Max receives a message. It contains a photo of Simba. Max narrows his eyes. "What the hell is that?"

"A poodle! I think," Charles answers, looking at the picture too. "He's still young."

"I prefer cats," Max concludes, scrunching his nose. "They're less... like that."

"You like Leo!"

"I do, because I had the same dog. He gets a free pass."

Charles breathes out a sigh of relief, causing Max to shake his head. "I love you, you idiot."

"I love you too."

Max's heart skips a beat. He'll never get used to hearing those words. He can't help studying Charles's face, scanning every inch for a sign of lies, but it's open and honest, which means it's still true. For now...

"Good night, mon amour."

"Good night, schat."

-----

When Max's private plane lands in Nice, a Ferrari is waiting for him on the landing strip. Max spots the familiar mob of brown strands and wants nothing more than to run toward the man behind the wheel.

However, he isn't alone.

"Mate, did you buy a new Ferrari?" Daniel's Australian drawl shakes Max out of his reverie.

"No," Max whispers hesitantly. "That's Charles."

"So it finally happened?"

Max expected hatred to shine through in his ex-boyfriend and -teammate's voice. Instead, there's light curiosity. As Max turns to face Daniel, he's greeted by the biggest possible smile.

"Yeah." Max has no words left.

"I'm so happy for you! Both of you." Daniel pulls him into a bear hug.

Max can't help but linger in the familiar, warm embrace. Daniel's fruity shampoo hits his nostrils, and Max's transported back to wild nights and flights in 2018. What a time it was!

"Thanks, mate."

"Always!"

They pull back, and for a moment, there's nothing but them. Max owes Daniel so much. From helping him discover his sexuality to supporting him through thick and thin, Daniel's always been there, and he always will be. No matter what.

"Let's meet your boyfriend!" Daniel near-shouts.

"You literally have known him for years," Max sighs, following the Aussie, who's already ready to get down to the tarmac.

"But not as your boyfriend." Daniel turns around abruptly, coming face-to-face with Max. He grabs the Dutchman's cheeks, pulling him in, nose to nose. "I need to know Charles on a different level now, Maxie! I need to put the fear of God in him, and I need him to understand he doesn't mess with you."

Max pries Daniel's hands away from his squished cheeks, holding them trapped in his own. "Dan. You. Already. Know. Charles."

"And. I. Need. To. Know. Him. Even. Better. Now. Max."

The crew opens the plane door, and Daniel shoots down the stairs, leaving a befuddled Max behind. As he realizes Daniel's already opening the Ferrari's door, Max hurries after him. "Daniel!"

Charles gets out of his car, his back turned toward Max. The Red Bull driver can't see the expression on his boyfriend's face, but Daniel doesn't seem fazed. Pulling Charles into a big hug, the Australian jumps up and down. The ordeal is adorable, and Max is glad to see there are no bad feelings between his ex and the love of his life.

As Daniel jumps around the landing stripe, nearly kicking straight into the expensive red Ferrari, Max is finally able to see Charles's features. The Monegasque looks as confused as he possibly can, brows hitched, mouth agape, and eyes comically wide.

"Hey, schat," Max says, swinging one arm around his boyfriend's shoulders. Charles lets himself be pulled into Max's side. The Dutchman kisses the top of the brunet's head lovingly. It's only been a few days, but Max has missed him like crazy.

"Babe, what the fuck is he doing?"

Shifting his gaze from Charles to Daniel, he notices the Australian's attempt to dance out the word 'Lestappen'.

Max can't help the smirk forming on his face: "Being an idiot."

"I heard that!" Daniel shouts, still trying to get a hang of the P. "And I don't care! My boys are in L-O-V-E!"

-----

"Helmut signed on until 2026."

"What?" Charles's head appears from underneath the covers. Leo's following suit mere moments later.

"Helmut signed on until 2026," Max repeats, rubbing the spot of hair behind his right ear. "Christian just texted me. My clause is gone."

"What clause?"

Max isn't sure he should tell Charles. They rarely talk in depth about what's happening at their respective teams in an attempt to be impartial. It's becoming more difficult the longer they're together, though.

"I've got a clause that if Helmut decides to retire or leave the team, I can go wherever I want without consequences."

"So? You love Red Bull," Charles says, sitting upright to take a place in front of Max. He puts Leo on the ground, the dog rushing toward the living room, where Jimmy and Sassy are.

"I do. They're my team, but it isn't exactly going great at the moment."

"You lead the driver's championship with over seventy points, and you've won seven races. It can't be that bad."

Max sucks in his lower lip. To Charles, this must sound like heaven. To Max, it's hell.

"You don't understand. We're losing ground. In Austria, we messed up the pitstop. In Silverstone, we were slow. I don't think Hungary will be any better."

"You'll be fine. You always are," Charles reassures, but Max isn't confident.

"They rely on me to fix things, Charles. I'm not a miracle worker."

"No, but you are the greatest driver on the grid," Charles states. "No one outdrives a car like you do."

"Don't say that," Max sighs, getting up and pacing his bedroom. Charles remains on the bed, looking at the Dutchman with worry.

"I'm not perfect. I've never been."

"Max, stop." Charles gets up, grabbing a hold of Max's biceps. "Babe, you've got this. So will your team."

"Maybe I should go to Mercedes."

"What?" Charles has no idea how to respond, and it makes Max even more miserable.

"Maybe I should retire."

"Hold the fuck up," Charles interrupts, shaking Max slightly. "What are you talking about? You're loyal to Red Bull. They're your family. Why would you leave them over a few dodgy races?"

Max finally meets Charles's eyes. The usual reassurance he finds in those forest green eyes is gone. "I don't want to be a midfielder again. I need to win."

"Max-"

"No, Charles! I like the battle. I love racing, but I don't love the media shitstorm that comes with it. I don't like being dissected as if I'm some sort of nutcase. I'm too passionate, too reckless, and too hot-headed. Or I'm dead inside, not emotional enough, and I don't care about my sport. I never truly win. No matter how many wins I rack up or how many titles I win, it'll never be enough."

"It's enough for me. For your parents. For the people who love you." Charles reaches out to touch Max's face, but the Dutchman steps out of his grasp. The one thing Charles shouldn't have brought up, he did. The pain flashing across Charles's features hurts Max on another level.

"You should say parent," is all Max says before leaving the room. He needs some time alone. Leo greets him, waggling his tail eagerly.

"I'm taking Leo for a walk!" Max shouts, hoping Charles has heard him.

----

When Max returns, it's nearly midnight. Leo's asleep in his arms. The adorable dog had gotten tired after a few miles, but Max was unable to stop. He needed the walk to clear his head.

Charles doesn't know half of what Max has experienced as a kid. Yes, he was physically there, but they were far from being close. Charles doesn't know what his dad did when everything went wrong, when he didn't race the way he wanted, when he made mistakes. Max loves his dad. He's happy when Jos comes to his races, like he will this weekend. Yet he's afraid for the repercussions when he will no longer have that number one on his car.

"I'm back," Max announces after closing the main door to his apartment. He puts Leo in his basket before petting Jimmy, who's resting near it.

With no sign of Charles, Max makes his way to the main bedroom, where the Monegasque is asleep. The nightstand light is still on. Charles has his phone in his hand, lying spread out across the mattress. The sight warms Max's heart.

He kisses the Monegasque's cheek, trying to wake him up as softly as possible. "Charlie," Max whispers, going with a hand through the dark strands. "Wake up, schat."

Charles turns on his side, his phone still clutched in his hand, his lips smacking as he does. "No, I'm waiting for Maxie."

Max can't contain the giggle forming in his throat. How did he get so lucky?

Deciding against waking up Charles fully, Max kicks off his shoes, crawling into the bed. He reaches out to pull the Monegasque's back flush into his chest. "I love you so much," Max whispers to the silent room. "I'm so sorry."

----

Charles doesn't bring Max's confession up again. Max is glad he doesn't. Rarely does Max let someone else, especially a direct rival, know how he truly feels. He never did so with Daniel, which resulted in a meltdown on his side.

A small but loud part of him is convinced Charles will use it against him. Max, however, tries to put it to the back of his mind. A race weekend isn't the time to delve into his insecurities. Depsite them eating him alive.

"Are you there, Max?" GP asks, shaking him out of his thoughts. Max's being pulled back to the present strategy meeting on Saturday afternoon.

"Yeah, I'm just tired," he says, forcing a smile. Many curious gazes switch back to their screens. Max's smile drops as he tries to focus on everything his team says. While Red Bull's strategy is usually spot on, he has his doubts about today's choices for the race.

"Well, we should react to potential undercuts, no?" He interjects at one point. "It's impossible to overtake here, and we're not as fast as we were at the beginning of the year."

Hannah nods, writing his statements down, but no one else even glances his way. Familiar anger begins to boil in his stomach, but Max bites his tongue. Now isn't the place. They've got their traditional dinner in a few hours, and he has his simrace later tonight.

----

As Max feels the back of the car skyrocket into the air, he braces for impact. The thud comes mere milliseconds later, reverbirating through his spine. For a second, Max sees stars, but the white hot rage pouring through his veins takes control over him.

The team went with the wildest strategy he voiced his concerns about, with GP fueling his anger on the radio and dropping behind Lewis several times... He's had enough.

Max doesn't even remember everything he said on the radio as he tries to get Charles, who's driving in P4. The irony of it all doesn't go unnoticed.

-----

Max leaves the paddock without saying a word. Dialing Toto is on his mind as Charles runs into him at the parking spot. The Monegasque looks happier than he has been in the past few weeks, but his face falls as he notices Max. If Max didn't feel like shit already, he does now.

"Mon amour?" He asks, reaching out to grab Max's shoulder. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" Max bites back, regretting it immediately.

'I always ruin everything,' echoes through his mind.

"Max, what happened?" Charles asks, pulling him off toward a secluded corner.

"As if you don't know! I heard you laughing about it in the press pen!"

"You know damn well, I was laughing at the fact that your car was still whole while mine would probably fall apart."

"Yeah, right," Max sighs. He wants to stop arguing with Charles, but he can't. He sees red, and he has to release it at something—at someone. "Like Australia, no?"

"Max, I apologized for that." Charles looks rejected as Max pulls free, stalking off toward his car. "Max!"

"Fuck off, Charles. Not today," Max warns. "We'll call, okay?"

"Okay."

Max doesn't look back, aware that Charles's look of confusion will shatter him completely.

-----

It's late—nearly midnight—when a knock sounds on his door. He left the hotel immediately, grabbing his already packed bags, and went straight to the airport, straight home. Max remains silent, hoping the intruder will leave him to rot on his own, playing his video games in peace. He isn't in the mood to see anyone tonight.

The knocking doesn't stop, however. Refraining from throwing his controller across the room, Max gets up. He opens the door without checking the peephole.

"What the fuck do you wa-" His voice hitches in his throat at the sight of the two men he least expected here, especially together.

"Son, we need to talk," Jos says, his face as emotionless as ever.

"We really do," Charles agrees. "Can we come in?"

Chapter Text

"We'll call, okay?" Max snaps, halting Charles on the spot. He doesn't know how to reply. Max has never spoken to him like that, like he can't wait to get away from him.

"Okay," Charles says, defeated. He watches as Max gets into his car and takes off without looking at him once.

"Merde..." Charles sighs to no one in particular before turning toward the Ferrari he shares with Carlos during the weekends. His teammate is already seated behind the wheel, looking at him with a frown.

Charles gets in, trying to play it off cool, but Carlos sees right through him. His friend always does.

"Why did he act that way?" The Spaniard demands, staring at Charles's side profile.

"I said something wrong," Charles replies, looking at his hands. Carlos's gaze burns, but he refuses to meet his eyes.

"What did you say?" Carlos isn't giving up.

"Nothing. Just drive." To Charles's surprise, Carlos does as he's told.

It's quiet until they reach their hotel. Carlos parks the car, but as Charles reaches for the handle, Carlos pulls him back in.

"Was it about the race?"

Charles nods. He doesn't understand why Carlos wants to bring it up again. It's Max and his business, not anyone else's.

"Did you bring up his P5?"

"Yes. Mate, I don't feel like talking about-"

"Well, we're going to, Charlitos!" Charles is taken aback by the force behind Carlos's words. He opens his mouth to reply, but the Spaniard cuts him off once more.

"No, listen," Carlos says, holding up his hand. "I've been watching you two dance around one another for years now. You finally got your act together, so keep it together!"

"You're acting as if I lashed out!" Charles raises his voice, matching Carlos's volume. He loves his teammate, but he has no right to talk about his relationship like that.

"No, that was last time," Carlos groans.

"I apologized for that."

"After, I had to think of something to screw your head back on."

"Well, I don't need your help this time."

"So you admit you're fucking it up once more?"

"Who's side are you on?"

"No one's!" Carlos yells. "I just want to see you happy!"

Charles rubs his eyes. "As if I don't want that. I love Max so much it hurts, Carlos."

"I can assure you, Max is hurting just as much right now."

"I don't think so. He clearly doesn't care," Charles says, pulling at his hair. Somehow, he's always known it would end up this way. One of them freaking out about a bad result. He didn't think it'd happen so soon.

"He cares a lot more than you think. Max cares too much." Carlos goes with a hand over his face. "His dad's here this weekend. You know how he gets when Max doesn't do well."

Charles drops back against the headrest. "I know. He freaks out when we talk about him."

"You know why, right?"

"Everyone knows about the gas station."

"Well, there's a lot more to it than that. I think Max still feels like he owes his dad something."

"He shouldn't have to."

"Tell Max that," Carlos concludes, before opening his door. Charles follows suit.

"I don't know if us being together is a good thing."

"It is. You need to learn to talk, though," Carlos says, grabbing his helmet bag. "I can't keep interfering every time you fight, Cabron."

"I never asked you to," Charles chuckles, but it doesn't feel genuine.

"Max did."

Charles has no rebuttal.

"See you in Spa."

----

When Charles entered the VIP lounge at the local airport, he didn't expect to run into him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I'm looking for a plane to catch," Jos sighs, typing away on his phone. "My son decided to throw a temper tantrum and fly off on his own."

"He probably has a good reason for it," Charles says under his breath, dropping down onto the chair next to the Dutchman.

"I heard that." Jos still hasn't looked at him, and it infuriates Charles more than it should. "He drove like he had peanuts for brains. No need to take it out on his old man."

"No need to shittalk your own son," Charles counters, hands balling into fists as he does.

"You're one to talk. You laughed at your fuckbuddy on live TV."

"Excuse me?!" Charles's voice reaches an octave he didn't know was possible. Did Max tell Jos about their relationship? No, he wouldn't have done so without asking Charles if it was okay. Then how does Jos know? Does anyone else know? Does the press?

"Relax, Charles." Jos finally looks him in the eye. "I know when my son's in love. He's not good at hiding it."

Charles remains silent. He sees so much of Max in Jos, yet he doesn't at the same time. As much as they look alike, Max is nothing like his father.

"He doesn't know I'm aware if that's what you're wondering," Jos continues, shifting in his seat.

"I wasn't," Charles answers, smiling as sweetly as he possibly can. "I was wondering how such a good man could come from someone like you."

"He inherited that from his mother," Jos says without missing a beat.

"You're an asshole," Charles blurts out. "No wonder he left you."

"He left you too, didn't he?" Jos asks, cocking his head to the right. Charles feels watched. Like his every move is being judged as worthy or not. Max must have felt this every day of his life. Charles's heart bleeds for the world champion, for his boyfriend.

"Look, kid," Jos says, reaching out to grab Charles's shoulder. The Monegasque doesn't move, but the touch burns through his sweater. "I did and still do what I think is best for Max. Believe it or not, I love my son more than anything. So if you're looking for an excuse for his blunder of a race today, look at Max. He only has his own head to blame."

"Did you ever tell him that?" Charles swallows the many expletives that threaten to follow. Talking to Jos behind Max's back feels wrong, but if someone can give him an insight into the workings of Max Verstappen, it's the man who created him... and abused him.

"Why would I?"

"Maybe you should."

They're called to board the plane to Nice. However, Jos doesn't take off. Instead, he remains close to Charles throughout the whole waiting line.

"You want him to win, no?" Charles says, looking over his shoulder at the Dutchman.

"Of course. I want to see my child succeed, but everything he has accomplished is due to his own skills and mentality. I just helped."

Charles doesn't know what to say to that. Jos isn't the monster he expected him to be. He's a grade A dickhead for sure, but Charles never expected to hear love and pride in his voice when talking about Max.

"I've got an idea, but you've got to promise me you'll behave."

----

It's nearly midnight when Charles sees Max again, but it feels like ages ago. The Red Bull driver looks terrible. His hair is disheveled, and he's still wearing his shirt from the Hungaroring, but most of all, he looks tired.

"Son, we need to talk," Jos says.

"We really do," Charles continues. As Max's sea-blue eyes land on him, Charles feels incredibly small. "Can we come in?"

Max seems to contemplate leaving both of them at the door. Charles can't read his boyfriend at all. Ever since Spain, he feels like he knows Max inside out, but the man standing before him is not the same one he held in his arms yesterday. This is the same Max who drove him off the track in Austria and gloated about it.

"Sure," Max eventually sighs, taking a step back to let them by. He closes the door behind Charles. The Monegasque swears he hears Max whisper "sorry," but he's afraid it's his own imagination.

"Max, we need to talk." Jos gets straight to the point, and for once, Charles's glad for the man's bluntness.

"Pap, niet waar Charles bij is." Max switches to Dutch, leaving Charles in the dark.

"Jongen, ik weet het van jullie twee. Het maakt me echt niet uit."

"Waar heb je het over?"

"Jij en Charles. Jullie hebben iets. Dat is echt oké. Je weet toch dat ik je gewoon gelukkig wil zien."

"Is dat zo?"

"Natuurlijk, Max. Ik ben Godverdomme trots op je! Wanneer ga je dat nu eindelijk eens inzien?"

"Geen idee, pap! Als je het nooit toont, is het moeilijk te geloven! En nu wals je hier binnen met mijn fucking vriend in het hol van de nacht. Wat moet ik hier van denken?"

"Godverdomme Max! Je bent geen zestien jaar meer, eh! Charles komt naar mij om jou te verdedigen en heeft ervoor gezorgd dat ik hier nu sta om jou eens te laten inzien dat je voor mij part mag gaan rijden in een amateursklasse zolang je maar gelukkig bent! Waarom zie je dat toch niet in?"

"Omdat je me dat nooit gezegd hebt!"

They're both screaming now, and Charles grows more uncomfortable by the minute. He hears his name several times, but he has no clue what's being said about him. He does know Max's livid. He hasn't seen him this angry in a long time. It doesn't scare him, though. Max could never scare him away.

"Het spijt me, Max," Jos says, reaching out to pull his son into a hug, but Max recoils. Charles notices the shame and hurt that descend on the older man.

"Charles is a good kid." Jos switches to English, turning to Charles, who's still rooted in place near the front door. "Don't let what you have go to waste like I did."

"I won't, dad," Max says, and Charles's heart jumps. Max turns to him, crossing the gap between them. "I'm so sorry for everything."

Charles lets Max ingulve him in a hug, holding onto him just as tight. "I'm sorry too."

"You don't have to be," Max whispers into the crook of his neck.

"I think it's time for me to leave." Jos speaks up, walking over toward the door. Max doesn't react, but Charles interjects.

"Stay! We can continue this in the morning. In English, hopefully."

Jos laughs, and so does Max. Just then, Charles finally sees a real resemblance between the two of them.

"Stay, dad. The guest room's ready."

-----

"I'm incredibly sorry." Charles looks up, shifting his position on Max's chest. "I'm too much into my own head sometimes, and I took it out on you."

"I know. It's okay," Charles says, reaching out to touch Max's cheek. "I understand emotions can run high after a race."

"You drove amazing, by the way. I'm sorry for not acknowledging it earlier." Charles notices Max's eyes watering, and it hurts.

"Mon amour, it's okay."

"It's not, Charles. I need to get a grip. Or I'll lose this championship. I might even lose you."

"Don't say that. You won't lose me." Charles sits upright, pulling the covers off them both. He opens his arms, and Max quickly dives in. "The world we're in isn't an ordinary one. It never has been. Yet, here we are."

"Here we are," Max chuckles, hugging Charles even tighter.

It's been only two months since his Monaco win, but so much has happened since. The rollercoaster of emotions he's been on this year is one he has never experienced before, but he never wants to get off the ride again. He loves Max so much that whether he's winning and glowing or a sad mess, he'll always love him the same. If only Max could understand.

"One race left. Your favorite." Charles changes the subject as he pulls back to look Max straight in the eye. "You'll win it, no doubt."

"I've got an engine penalty," Max sighs, rubbing the spot behind his ear. Charles reaches out to stop him, smiling softly at the nervous habit.

"You'll still do great."

"I don't know, schat. It's so much closer than it's been in years. We're no longer the car to beat."

"Maybe not, but you're still the driver to beat," Charles points out. "The goat."

"God, stop!" Max laughs, covering his face. "You know, I don't give a fuck about those things."

"No, but I did make you laugh." Charles grins, pulling Max's hands back. "And that's exactly what I wanted to hear tonight."

He leans in, capturing Max's lips. The Dutchman eagerly deepens the kiss, swiping his tongue across Charles's lower lip, demanding entrance. Charles lets him. Max tastes of Red Bull, which is quickly becoming Charles's favorite flavor.

"I love you so much," Charles whispers as they part for air. "I'll always love you, Max."

"I love you, Charlie."

-----

Charles awakens to scratches down his back. He reaches out behind him, expecting to find Max's bicep. Instead, he hears a hiss. Opening one eye, he peaks over his shoulder, spotting Sassy looking at him with mild curiosity. He turns, grabbing the cat and cuddling her close to his chest. She purrs as Charles kisses the top of her head.

Looking around the room, he notices Max is nowhere to be found. Charles drops Sassy back on the mattress, grabs Max's hoodie from a nearby chair, and puts it on. Carefully opening the door, he tiptoes toward the kitchen, where he can hear Jos talk. Peaking around the corner, he spots them seated at the kitchen table, talking in hushed voices.

"Good morning, Charles. Come join us," Jos says without looking at the Monegasque.

Feeling caught, Charles walks in, his face flushed. "Good morning," he musters as he takes a seat next to Max.

The blond smiles at Charles, looking him up and down. "Orange looks good on you," Max says before kissing Charles on the cheek.

Charles chuckles awkwardly, glancing at Jos from across the table. "Thanks, mon amour."
He expects daggers to shoot from the Dutchman's eyes, but Jos's face shows no emotion at all.

"What were you talking about?" Charles says to ease the tension in the room, which only he seems to feel.

"About a lot of things," Jos replies, his gaze set on Charles. "You, for example."

"Only good things, I hope?" Charles wheezes, causing Max to snort.

"You could say that. Relax, Charlie. Dad's fine with it." Max pulls Charles into his side, kissing the top of his head. "We were talking about Spa."

"Spa?" Charles asks, his curiosity spikes once more.

"We're thinking of ways to beat the grid penalty. With the way Christian's currently handling this team, it looks like a disaster in the making."

"Dad," Max warns, giving his father a pointed look. Charles has never seen Max like this before. He seems so young.

"What? He's been making a mess of things by keeping Perez on board and relying on you that much."

"Dad!" Max groans this time. "Checo is good enough, and Christian knows what he's doing."

"If you say so."

Max turns to Charles, rolling his eyes once the Monegasque's gaze lands on him. Charles tries to refrain from laughing but fails, which causes Jos to drop his fork on his plate with a defeated sigh.

"You were already enough to handle. Now, I've got him to deal with."

"Get used to it, dad. Charles's not leaving." Max grins before kissing his boyfriend on the cheek.

Charles could definitely get used to this.

----

"Are you flying in on Thursday too?" Max asks as they walk down the hallway toward the elevator of the apartment building.

"Yes. Together with Carlos," Charles replies with a faint smile. "Did you hear already?"

"That he's going to Williams? I've had my suspicions," Max admits. "He's run out of options."

"I guess that's true," Charles sighs, going with a hand through his hair. "I'm going to miss him."

"Complaining about him?" Max jokes, sticking his tongue out as he does. Charles pushes the Red Bull driver toward the wall with a laugh.

"No! He might not be the best teammate, but he is a good friend."

"That's true. We've got to thank him for this," Max muses, pulling Charles against him with a grin. He kisses the Monegasque and Charles can't help but smile against his lips. Despite everything they've been through from the age of five up until now, in their late twenties, they've always found their way to one another.

Charles feels the familiar bubbly sensation in his guts as Max pulls back with pure joy, gracing his features. He never wants to lose this again.

"Will I see you in Spa, then?" Charles asks with a sad smile.

"Definitely, schat," Max nods, kissing him once more. The elevator dings behind them. Charles's cue to leave. "Give Leo a kiss from me."

-----

While everyone's too busy worrying about qualifying and whether it will happen due to the torrential rain, Charles sneaks out of his motorhome. Jogging across the paddock, he reaches the Red Bull one without being noticed. He can't just walk in, though. It's filled to the brim with VIPs and personals. He has to see him, though. It's been so long.

Taking out his phone from his raincoat pocket, Charles dials the first number in his favorite contacts.

Max picks up without missing a beat: "Everything alright?"

"I need to see you. Can you come out to the waffle stand?"

"The waffle stand? Of the movie crew?" Max's confusion is audible over the line, causing Charles to chuckle.

"Yes, that one!"

"Meet you there in five."

Charles is overlooking the F2 and F3 paddocks from the elevated platform. His eyes trace Eau Rouge as his memories return to that fateful August day in 2019. From losing Anthoine to winning his first Grand Prix in less than 24 hours. It feels like yesterday.

"There you are!"

Max's voice pulls him back into the present.

"You alright?" Max looks worried as he takes in Charles's pale features. The Ferrari driver puts on a smile, hoping it reaches his eyes.

"Just thinking about 2019."

Max opens his arms. The Monegasque accepts the invitation, hugging his boyfriend tight.

"I'm so sorry I wasn't able to run along on Thursday," Max says while softly stroking Charles's back.

"I get it. You never really knew him that well," Charles answers, pulling back to wipe the rain from his face.

"Still. I would've come for you. I would do anything for you."

Charles wants to kiss Max senseless at the admission, but he can't risk them being seen. "I love you so much, Max."

The Dutchman looks at his hands, and Charles could swear he sees a blush spread on his cheeks. No matter how often Charles compliments him, Max will always blush like a teenager. It's adorable.

Max's phone rings. "Christian."

Max turns to talk to his team principal for a short minute as Charles observes the Dutchman.

"I've got to go to the meeting for qualifying," Max states as he shuts off the call. "I've to go."

"Alright. I'm already ready to beat you to P6!" Charles jokes, but Max's face falls. "Too soon?"

"Quite," Max chuckles, moving away from the waffle stand. "Will I see you tonight?"

"Maybe. If you get pole!" Charles shouts after him.

"Pole it is then!" Max yells back.

----

The motherfucker actually put it on pole. Charles is at a loss for words as he sees Max step out of the car. He did it. He really did it.

Charles goes inside the FIA garage to check the times. Six tenths. He took pole by six tenths. Charles doesn't know if he should be disappointed in himself or insanely proud of everything Max is able to accomplish.

As he goes back outside, he runs into Max. He congratulates him with a smirk, which Max copies. He's not going to hear the end of this.

----

"You checked me out four times," Charles laughs, showing Max the TikTok of his post-qualifying interview. Max does not only pay more attention to Charles and Checo than the interviewer; he's pretty obvious about it too. So much so that the TV crew cuts to Checo and Charles talking, with Max looking longingly at them.

"It's been so long since we've had a 1-2! I just wanted to talk with you." Max pouts, and it's the most adorable thing Charles has ever seen.

"Too bad we weren't able to do the same during the race," Charles sighs, pocketing his phone. "Now, we even have to say goodbye!"

He pushes himself off the couch in Max's driver's room. They've got to leave the paddock soon. While Charles's flying home, Max is going with Daniel to England to discuss the internal feuds at Red Bull. Charles didn't dare ask too much about the agreements within the team, knowing it's not his place to know, but God does he wish Max'd tell him. And he wishes Max would fly home with him instead of Daniel.

"It's just for a little while," Max says, getting up to pull Charles against his chest. He puts his head on Charles's shoulder, kissing his neck softly. "We've got a baby to visit."

"I'm looking forward to it."

Since Jos knows, Max thought it would be best to formally introduce Charles to his mom and sister too. And that includes a visit to Max's newborn niece, Hayley.

"Me too," Max agrees, and Charles can imagine the grin on his lover's face.

"I'm going to miss this. Us in the paddock."

"It's just three weeks."

"Three long weeks, mon amour."

A knock sounds on the door before Daniel enters. "Ready to go, cuties?"

"Yes!" Max laughs, kissing Charles on the cheek. He lets go of the Monegasque to grab his helmet bag and the wine Daniel gave him earlier. Charles looks on longingly, trying to hide his disappointment.

"Let's go, mate! England's waiting!" Daniel shouts before hurrying out the door.

Max follows suit, turning at the door. He smiles at Charles before blowing a kiss in his direction. Charles winks in return, and just like that, Max's gone.

Chapter Text

"I want you to meet my sister," Max blurts out.

It remains silent on the other side of the phone. Charles's face fills the screen suddenly from the opposite side. "You want me to do what?"

"Meet my sister," Max repeats, his heart hammering in his chest. "I want to officially introduce you."

"Putain!" Charles curses. He disappears from the screen, causing Max's intestants to twist. His dad knowing is one thing, but his sister and eventually his mom are another. Max has no clue if they even suspect he's bisexual. He also doesn't know if Charles's family knows he is.

"I'm sorry if this is too soon," Max stammers while still looking at Charles's ceiling through the screen. "I guess I got too overexcited."

"Wait!" Charles sounds distant. Max frowns as Charles appears seconds later in front of the camera again. "I'd love to meet your sister, Max."

Max squints, noticing Charles's teary eyes. "Schat, what did you do?"

"I might have been cutting a cucumber, and you might have caught me by surprise, and I might have cut my finger," Charles rambles, showing his bleeding finger in a washcloth.

"Charlie," Max grins, trying to hide his laughter. "Please, go clean up before it actually infects."

"Very funny," the Monegasque groans, but there's a hint of joy traceable in the outline of his features.

'He's so fucking handsome.'

The phone moves as Charles takes Max with him to, presumably, the bathroom. He props Max up against the wall to show himself fully, and it's a sight Max has missed since he left Belgium last week.

"So, your sister?" Charles begins working on his finger, grabbing his emergency kit from the cabinet.

"She's flying over with the kids tomorrow, and they're staying for a few days. I'd love to officially introduce you as my..." Max hesitates, but as Charles looks straight at him, humor and pure love shining in his eyes, Max can't help but confirm. "As my boyfriend."

"I'd love that too," Charles replies, wincing as the disinfectant hits his wound. "We can cook for them."

"Charles, I don't want to poison them," Max deadpans, knowing the brunet will be offended by it.

"I'm a good cook!"

"You're not, and I'm even worse." Max laughs as Charles mimics his words. "I've eaten your pasta, schat. It's not even that hard to make, and you managed to screw it up."

"Okay, that's true. But-"

"And you can't even cut a cucumber," Max challenges, raising his eyebrows at the disgruntled Ferrari driver.

"I would slap you if I could right now," Charles fake-pouts, causing Max to laugh once more.

"I love you too, schat."

"I love you more, mon amour."

-----

"When will they get here?" Charles asks nervously, toying with his red shirt. Somehow they managed to coorodinate like they do at the track: Charles in red and black, Max in blue and white. Somehow, this has always been meant to be.

"Normally, I guess, in like ten minutes or so. Why?" Max asks, aware that Charles is on the verge of throwing up.

"Ten minutes?" Charles's voice pitches, and Max pulls him against him, kissing the top of his head.

"There is no need to be nervous. They already know you."

"No, your sister knows me. Her husband and her kids don't. What if they don't like me?" Charles eyes the door once more, knibbling his bottom lip.

Max reaches out, tugging Charles's lip free with his thumb. Green connects with blue, and a calm seems to wash over the Monegasque. While Charles's chaos brings Max comfort, Max seems to be able to calm Charles with just a touch. "They'll love you so much. Just like I do."

Charles strains his neck to kiss Max. Afraid to break the moment they have going on, Max deepens the kiss, comforting Charles as long as he needs it.

When the intercom rings, Charles jumps toward the other side of the couch. Max covers his mouth, trying to stifle a laugh at the pure fear in Charles's eyes. As he gets up to buzz his family in, Charles disappears toward the kitchen.

Max hears his nephews before they even reach the door, as his sister tells them off. God, he's missed them so much. He hasn't seen them since the winter break. He has yet to meet the new addition.

"Max!" As he opens the door, Victoria jumps right into his arms. He's hugging her just as tight when two pairs of arms lodge around his legs.

"Maxie!" Luka and Lio shout in unison. Max lets his sister go, dropping down at eye level with the little ones. Meanwhile, Tom strolls in with baby Hailey.

"Maxie!" Lio shouts once more, attacking his uncle for another hug. Max catches him, hugging the little Dutchman close to his chest. "We passen mooi samen!" Laughs the World Champion as he sees the dark blue and white fit his nephew's wearing.

"Hi." Charles's small voice barely registers above the Verstappen family, but Max spots him right away. Victoria and Tom turn toward the Monegasque, who's awkwardly standing in the doorframe.

"Hey Charles," Victoria replies, looking back down at her older brother. "I didn't know you'd be here."

"About that," Max says, switching to English as well. He gets up, stepping toward the Ferrari driver. Max holds out his hand for Charles to grab, which he does. As they intertwine their fingers, Max looks back at his sister. "I've got an announcement too."

"Oh my God!" Victoria covers her mouth in shock before breaking out into a squeal. She walks over toward them, swinging her arms around their necks. "I'm so happy for you, Max!"

She kisses the cheek of her brother, leaning in toward his ear: "Ik wist wel dat je een boontje had voor hem. Was al heel snel duidelijk, broer."

Caught, Max feels the heat flush into his checks. As they look one another in the eye, his sister winks before turning to Charles.

"Welcome to the family, Charles! I'll introduce you to everyone."

----

As Max promised, Charles is already so loved by his sister's family. As he holds Hailey and talks sports with Tom, Charles is playing with Luka and Lio. Conversating is difficult, as the small ones don't speak English, but they make do. Victoria translates when she has to, and the sight warms Max's heart.

"We were thinking of playing some padel with dad and Jaye tonight. Do you want to come too?" She asks Charles. The brunet looks at Max, an eyebrow raised in question.

"You go. We've seen dad enough these past few weeks," Max chuckles, giving Hailey to Tom. "Dad knows, by the way. There is no need to hide your excitement from him."

If there's one thing Max loves more than teasing Charles, it's teasing his little sister.

"I'm not excited," she says, rolling her eyes. "I'm just incredibly happy for the both of you."

"Besides," she gets off the ground, pulling Charles up as well. She has a mischievous glint in her eyes, and Max knows that rarely bodes well for him. "Like I said before, you've been pretty much in love with Charles since you were five or six. So much was clear from the get-go."

"Vic," Max warns, lifting an eyebrow.

She smiles sweetly at him before turning to the Monegasque. "Did I ever tell you about the time Max kept pictures of you two during your karting time?"

Charles laughs, shaking his head. "No! Do tell."

"Good luck, man," Tom grins, slapping Max's shoulder as Victoria begins to explain in grave detail every time Max has spoken about Charles in her vincinity.

-----

"Your sister's family is adorable," Charles says dreamily, toying with Max's fingers. The brunet is cuddled up on Max's chest as they keep an eye on the Olympics. Well, Charles is watching the Olympics. Max is taking in every inch of Charles.

"They're the cutest. I wish to have the same someday," the Dutchman muses, petting Charles's hair.

"Kids?"

"Yes. One or two. Maybe three," Max replies, looking at the ceiling. He doesn't miss the relationship he had with Kelly last year. He does, however, miss the little family they had with Penelope. "Look, I love my life. I love racing, but I'm turning 27 soon. Kids would be nice."

Charles turns, focusing fully on the Dutchman. As Max looks down at him, he notices Charles's soft smile. "I want the same thing. Three kids, preferably. Just like me, Arthur and Lorenzo."

"Maybe once we retire." Max hesitates, hoping Charles won't be scared away by the idea. He doesn't need to worry, though, as Charles nods eagerly. "Definitly once we retire."

The small confession makes Max's heart flutter. He cranes his neck to kiss the Ferrari driver, who leans upward to capture the blond's lips.

"I'm so happy," Max sighs, smiling into the kiss as Charles keeps pecking his lips. "You make me so incredibly happy."

"I love you." Charles reaches out to cup Max's cheeks. "I'll love you forever. I'm so sure of it."

"I'll love you 'til the day I die," Max agrees, leaning down once more to kiss Charles. Never would he've thought that one day this would be a reality. That his friends and family would accept this and them. It feels like a dream. Like a summer tale, people write all those romance books about, that he will never read, but God, does he love being in one. Especially with Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc.

Chapter Text

"Mate!" Charles jumps slightly in his spot on the yaucht's front deck. He drops his phone on his towel before pushing himself upright. Joris is waving wildly from the other side of the boat while holding Leo in his other hand.

"What?" Charles shouts back, taking off his sunglasses.

"Leo a fait pipi sur le canapé," Joris groans, holding the Dachshund away from his body.

"Non, Leo!" Charles whines, walking over to grab his dog from his best friend.

"Oui. Norman est en train de le nettoyer."

"Mais c'est son anniversaire. Il n'est pas obligé de faire ça," Charles sighs as Joris shrugs. He goes back inside while the Ferrari driver stares with a frown at his dog. Leo sticks out his tongue on cue. Charles doesn't know if he should return the boat to the port or drop Leo into the sea.

As he's almost made up his mind, his phone rings loudly against the deck. The familiar fan-made song echoes across the sea as Charles hurries over to take the call before his friends notice. He's almost there when he trips on the final step leading to the deck. Leo goes flying, landing gracefully on the beach towel, while Charles faceplants first on the wooden underground.

Face down, he reaches for his phone. He accepts the video call, finally lifting his head to look his boyfriend in the eye.

"What happened to you?" Worry is etched in Max's features.

"Well, I burned on day two of this getaway. Leo has peed and pooped on the boat several times, and I just faceplanted rather painfully on a wooden deck, and I don't feel like getting up," Charles says, trying to keep a straight face. Going to Ibiza with friends sounded great in theory a few weeks ago, but after the mess the past week's been, he just longs to return to his boyfriend.

"That all?" Max snorts, trying to hide his laughter behind his hands.

"And I miss you." Charles bites his lip, feeling a blush creep into his cheeks as Max's face lights up.

"I miss you too. Portugal's been a drag without you."

Charles can't wait to return to Monaco.

-----

Charles knows Monte Carlo like no one else. He's grown up here and raced several times around the infamous track. Yet, when he wants to visit his boyfriend, he manages to walk the wrong way twice. He has no idea why he's nervous. They've gone longer without one another than last week. It shouldn't make him this anxious. It does, though. After meeting Max's sister and her small family, Charles's been on edge. He doesn't know if Max expects the same from him. Hell, he doesn't know how to act once the F1 season starts again. They were in such a happy bubble the past few weeks. What if it changes once more?

"Hey." Max's voice erases all the worries that have been forming for days.

"Hi." Charles launches himself at the Dutchman, throwing his arms around his neck and going straight in for a desperate kiss.

Max stumbles backwards but catches Charles just in time. He kisses him just as feverishly back while kicking the door closed.

"I've missed you so much," Max pants as Charles moves towards his neck, sucking and biting as he does.

"I've missed you, too," Charles whispers against Max's sunburned skin.

'At least, we're both Ferrari red,' Charles thinks to himself, trying not to break out into laughter and failing.

"What's so funny?" Max chuckles, pulling back before grabbing Charles's cheeks. The pure love shining through those ocean blue eyes has Charles feeling weak. How could he once have pushed this beautiful man away? He's everything.

"Nothing," Charles pouts. "We're just a little red."

"Red?" Max frowns. It's the cutest sight.

"Yes, red," Charles grins, booping Max's nose. "We need to learn to wear sunscreen."

"I did," Max groans, resting his forehead against the Monegasque's. "I don't tan. I just turn red."

Charles's hands travel up Max's arm to rest on his. "Luckily, red's my favorite color."

----

"You liked Norman's post," Charles deadpans, looking across the sofa at the world champion scrolling on his phone.

"I'm his friend too, you know."

"You never like his posts," Charles pushes, eyeing Max with healthy curiosity. Charles is featured in Norman Nato's latest post. Shirtless.

"I liked this one."

"You liked it?"

Max turns toward him, raising his middle finger. Charles bursts out in laughter. "You liked it because I was in it!"

"So what if I did? It's not that weird."

"You rarely like anything yourself."

"I like cat videos."

"Yes, but not stuff featuring people you know."

"Not true! I like Daniel and Seb's stuff."

"That's your social media manager!" Charles huffs, ignoring the acid crawling up his troat at the mere mention of Daniel.

"Who says so?" Max counters, offering Charles his phone. "Sure, I've got a social media manager who posts, but I'm the one liking stuff."

Hesitantly, Charles reaches out to grab the iPhone. Max's Instagram is open, revealing his feed. "Why are you giving me this?"

"So you can see I actually use it."

"Every blue moon," Charles teases, causing Max to roll his eyes.

"Come here." Max lifts one arm so Charles can curl himself into the Dutchman's chest. The Monegasque does as he's told, never missing the opportunity to cuddle with his boyfriend.

"Want to scroll through my holiday pictures?" Max offers. Charles nods. Max takes the phone, opening his picture app. "Here."

Charles happily scrolls through the many cat photos. He'd assumed Max chose Portugal for the many stray cats, but it's pretty much confirmed now.

"I so badly wanted to take a few home, but Sassy and Jimmy would never let me live it down."

Charles looks up at Max, who immediately catches his gaze. He places a kiss against Charles's hairline, erupting butterflies in the Ferrari driver's stomach.

"Do you have any other pics?" Charles asks, scrolling past another twenty or so of strays.

Charles doesn't even hear Max's answer. He's too focused on the photo featuring Max with Penelope. Kelly's daughter. Scrolling further, he spots another one. This time, Kelly and Penelope are on swings near a beach.

Charles doesn't remember what he exactly did or said, but one minute he's in Max's arms, and the next he's running out of the apartment building.

He hears Max shout his name. At least, he thinks he does. He doesn't dare look behind him.

Charles keeps running until he's reached his favorite place in Monaco. A spot on the beach that's hidden between several rocks. No one's there. Charles drops down on the warm sand, staring up at the darkening sky. Tears start to well until the moon is one blurry mess.

He should've known. First, he flew home with Daniel. Then he went to Portugal at the same time Kelly did. He should've known this would never last. If only he'd believed his gut feeling. If only he stuck to his mindset of keeping things casual. If only Carlos hadn't gotten them back together. If only-

"Charles?"

"Please, leave."

"Charles, we need to talk about this."

"Please. Leave."

"Charl-"

"No, Max!" Charles shouts, finally turning to look at the person who betrayed him once more. "Leave! I don't need to hear your bullshit excuses, Conard!"

"Charles, it's not what you think it is. Far from it, actually."

"I just said I don't want to hear it!"

Max kneels down next to the Monegasque, hovering above him. Charles notices Max's lower lip quivering, but he ignores it. He has no right to cry right now. He ruined this. Again.

"Talk to me, schat."

"I'm not your sjat! Max, just fucking go!" Charles whines, covering his face. "I can't do this anymore."

"Because of a stupid photo?" Max demands, his anger lacing his tone. "I ran into them! Penelope missed me, so we spent the day together as friends. I was her stepdad for years, Charles."

"And I've been in love with you for years!"

"Don't give me that bullshit! I was single after Daniel and you got together with Charlotte! Then, you jumped straight into a relationship with Alexandra, so don't act like I ignored us for years! You did!"

Charles pushes himself upright, turning toward the sea. "Salaud infidèle."

"I heard that," Max says. "And you might have forgotten that I do understand French. I didn't cheat, Charlie."

"Then why didn't you tell me?" Charles's voice cracks, and the tears finally spill. Max is in nothing but a shirt and boxer briefs. The idiot ran out on his bare feet...

"Because I know you'd react like this," Max sighs, rubbing his face.

"Like what?" Charles asks, defeated.

"You acted the same way when I left Spa with Daniel."

"Like what, Max?"

Max looks him straight in the eye. "Like you're looking for an excuse to run away."

Max motions between them: "Like you literally did."

Charles rolls his eyes, turning toward the ocean. He feels Max closing in, but he's rooted in place.

"I've given you many reasons to run away. Hell, I've given you reasons to crash into me more than once since we've been dating. Why now?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know? Or you don't want to admit it to me?"

Charles turns. Max is inches away from him. The Dutchman reaches out. Hesistantly, he hovers near Charles's cheeks. Charles grabs Max's hands, bringing them to his cheeks. The familiar warmth makes him calm down. It shouldn't, but it does. God, Charles is so close to forgetting all about this. He shouldn't, but he wants to. He wants everything with Max and more.

"I'm scared that one day I'm going to wake up and you'll realize I'm an annoying brat who you don't want in your life. You'll leave me. You'll realize you deserve better than me," Charles admits. He's too ashamed to look at Max.

"Charlie, you're the one who deserves better than me." Max strokes his cheeks softly with his thumbs, forcing the Monegasque to look him in the eye. "I've given you plenty of reasons to run, and when you did, my heart sank. I don't want to lose you. Not over Kelly, not over Daniel, not over our sport. Over nothing."

Charles laughs: "Despite what my head tries to tell me sometimes, me neither."

"Good!" Max laughs, a sob escaping his troat.

Closing the bridge between them, Charles kisses Max like there's no tomorrow. Max's lips taste of salt, and Charles's heart hurts. He did this. He nearly ruined them. This can only end one way. He knows so. Max knows so.

"Will you stay at my hotel in Zandvoort?" Max asks as they part, searching Charles's face for an answer.

Charles nods, trying to smile through the pain.

The second half of the season starts in a few days, and Charles's far from ready for it.

Chapter Text

"Earth to Max!"

Max jolts in his chair. He glances at Daniel, who's sitting across from him on his private jet. They're landing in Shiphol before a taxi takes them to Zandvoort. Max doesn't even remember when the plane took off.

"You alright?" Daniel asks. Worry is clear in the furrow of his brows. He reaches out to pat the Dutchman's knee. Max recoils, causing the Aussie's frown to deepen. "Max?"

"I don't know," Max admits, rubbing his tired eyes.

His conversation with Charles on the beach earlier in the week keeps replaying in his head. He thought they were fine. Perfect even. The longer Max ponders about it, the more he's convinced it's one-sided. Charles seems unsure, yet Max's fully in. Why? What did he do to cause this?

A snort escapes Max as he shakes his head in his hands. He knows where it went wrong. Loosing his head after Hungary and not telling him about running into Kelly. Those were his mistakes. He just didn't expect this to happen.

"Mate?" Daniel's voice breaks through his thoughts once more. "Answer me, please. You're scaring me."

Max drops his hands, looking straight at the Australian with his best possible smile. "I'm simply lovely."

Daniel unbuckles his seatbelt before lunching himself at the Dutchman. The bear hug feels familiar, and Max can't help but nudge his nose against Daniel's shoulder. "No tears, Maxie. Not this weekend."

Is he crying? Max didn't even notice. Now it's painfully clear, though, as a sob escapes him. Daniel holds him a little tighter: "Whatever it is, it'll be alright. I promise you. It'll be alright."

-----

Max feels like hell when he drops his bag down in front of the Red Bull Racing motorhome. His eyes sting from crying and unshed tears. He looks up at the logo gracing the walls of his home away from home. It doesn't bring him joy. This weekend isn't going to go well. He senses it in his bones. After the simulator tests in Milton Keynes, he might as well have it printed out and given to the journalists. He's not winning anything soon.

His eyes trail off toward the Ferrari one a little bit further down the paddock. They're still building it up, but the prancing horse is as clear as day. Charles... He hasn't heard much from his boyfriend since their final conversation. They were supposed to share a hotel room, but Max decided that it might not be a good idea. He wants to stay in his motorhome this weekend. Here, he can be himself. Here, no one will bother him as he plays on the sim. Here, he's alone. Just what he needs. Just what he deserves.

-----

A bell rings through the empty space, and for a moment, Max is transported back to his Monaco apartment. "Charles?" He asks, reaching out for his phone, head warry with sleep. It's 7 a.m. No one is awake but him and the one ringing his doorbell.

Getting out of bed, he puts on some team gear before heading downstairs. The area is still empty, so it must be someone on his team. As he swings the door open, he's met by drug control, who smile brightly at him. "Do you have time for us, Mr. Verstappen?"

-----

The medical crew left some time ago, but Max is too awake to sleep. He's scrolling through his pictures. Charles's happy face greets him with every slide. He misses him so much that it physically hurts.

Trying not to overthink it, Max dials Charles's number. It rings one single time before the Monegasque's small voice comes through the speaker.

"Max?"

"I'm so sorry," Max says, closing his eyes. He only needs Charles's voice right now. "I have no idea where we went wrong. I don't even know if we've truly gone wrong. I just know that us means everything to me."

"Even this weekend?" Charles's whisper is barely audible, but Max catches every emotion laced in it.

"Especially during this weekend. I need you more than anything in life, Charlie. You're my everything."

It remains silent on the other side, and Max's afraid Charles has hung up. Checking the caller ID, he sees the time tick on. Charles is still there.

"Schat?"

"I don't know, Max." And just like that, Max's heart shatters.

"How did this go wrong?" Max asks, silent tears slipping down his face. "We were talking about kids not even a month ago."

"I know, and believe me or not, I meant every word. I still do," Charles states firmly, causing Max's brain to swim in despair. He doesn't understand.

"If you still do, then why did you run out on me?"

"I don't know," Charles admits sincerely. "I'm scared. I'm too much in my own head to be there for you. I'm focused on you, Leo, my career, and the prospect of Lewis joining in next year, and I'm afraid I'll fail to meet your expectations."

"What expectations, Charles?" Max's breathing is becoming uneven. He knows where this is going. He just doesn't want to accept it. Not after everything.

"Your family knows. Your friends know. About us, I mean. I don't know if I'm ready to do the same."

"I never asked you to introduce me to your friends. I'm happy in this bubble we're currently in. I don't understand where this is coming from." Anger is taking over, and Max is doing anything to refrain himself from being all-consumed by it.

"The thing is, Max, I don't know either," Charles says, tone flat.

Max requests a video call. He has to look Charles in the eye when he inevitably ends it. The Ferrari driver accepts. Max feels like looking in a mirror at the sight of Charles's tear-streaked face.

"How did this suddenly end?" Max asks, his troat raw.

"I don't know," Charles repeats once more. "Maybe this wasn't a good idea after all."

"Is it because of Kelly and Daniel?" Max needs a reason. He needs to find something to fix this. There has to be an explanation.

"For me running out on you, yes. For this? No." Charles looks down when suddenly Leo's nose covers the screen. "Leo, no!"

The sight is so familiar, Max feels like breaking down fully. He'll have to miss this. No, he'll have to forget about this. All of it.

Leo disappears from view, showing Charles up close again. The Monegasque is in another room, and the different lighting shows just how miserable he is.

"We were never meant to work," Charles says, going with a hand over his face. He looks tired. Max's heart aches at the sight. "I'm not what you need."

"Let me decide what I need, please, Charles," Max whines. He's behaving like a child, but he doesn't care. He only wants Charles. "I need you."

"You don't. I only bring you down."

Max doesn't understand. It's as if Charles is thinking up ways for them to fall apart on purpose. "You don-"

"I do!" Charles yells, and Max jolts in his seat. "Ever since we began dating properly, you have had bad races. Your lead in the championship is disappearing. I've already hurt you plenty of times this year. It isn't a good idea. It never was."

"I don't understand where this is coming from, but it's not true," Max pleads. "Me not winning has everything to do with the car and me, not you, Charlie. I don't get it."

"Me neither, but I know it's for the better," Charles concludes, his lips spreading out into a thin line.

"So, what? This is over?" Max asks, preparing himself for the final blow.

"It is." Charles nods. "For now, at least. I need to work on myself. And you'll have to work on the championship fight."

"This certainly won't help," Max snorts in disbelief. "I don't want this."

"I don't want this either, but it's for the best. I promise you," Charles sighs. "You'll see."

"I love you, Charles."

"I love you too, but for now, we're just friends. Okay?"

Max feels like arguing, but he can't. He doesn't have the energy for it. "Okay."

-----

As Lando passes him toward turn 1, Max's heart sinks. He won't win this one. He won't win his home Grand Prix, his 200th race. He's lost everything this weekend.

-----

As Max gets out of his car, he isn't surprised to see the bright red car parked behind P3. He'd seen Charles fight off Oscar on the TV screens scattered across the circuit. He should be happy to celebrate once more with Charles, but he only feels numb.

Charles asks him about his pace and the gap between him and Lando in the cool-down room, but Max knows it's just small talk for the cameras. There's no heart in it.

As their bottles touch on the podium, Charles gives him one of those smiles Max's only seen directed at him. For just one moment, he allows himself to forget the past week. He smiles back, not caring that anyone might see them. This is how they've always been, and he wants it to stay that way. He simply hopes Charles feels the same way.

-----

Max takes off toward Nice almost immediately. For the first time ever, Zandvoort has left a bad aftertaste. He wants to get out of here as soon as possible to focus on Monza. Monza... Ferrari's home.

Max sighs as he reaches for his phone. The thought of being at the track where Charles's treated as the next coming of Christ makes his stomach turn. He won't be able to escape him there.

Max stares at the last message Charles sent him before qualifying, wishing him luck. Max never replied. His thumbs hover above his screen. He wants to send something. He has to. He can't let Charles go. Not after that smile. Not after today's race.

Suddenly, a picture pops up. Charles is typing. The photo loads the moment Charles's text comes in.

Charlie <3: I got this yesterday from Viaplay. Leo loves it.

A cuddly toy of Max's Red Bull is between Leo's paws. He sleeps happily beside it. The sight makes Max's whole face light up.

Max: I love it, too.

Max: I love you.

Charles's typing once more, but no reaction follows. Max put his phone in his pocket before staring out the airplane window.

A message comes in, but the Dutchman doesn't notice.

Charlie <3: I love you, too. We shouldn't have broken up. I'm so sorry.

Max doesn't answer, as he has fallen asleep against the window sill. Charles deletes the message.

Chapter Text

As the plane touches down in Linate, Max jolts in his seat. He's here. At Ferrari's home.

After spending two days alone in his apartment, he was ready to climb up the walls. Deciding the team might distract him, Max flew in early.

He hasn't heard from Charles since he confessed his love once more on the flight home from Zandvoort. 'Deleted message' was all their WhatsApp chat showed, and Charles turned off the feature to be able to see when he's online.

Max has had to refrain himself several times from calling the Monegasque. Hell, he nearly ran to his apartment to beg him to explain why. He still doesn't understand Charles's decision. This is clearly not for the best, and it'll never be, because Max loves nothing more than Charles. Except, perhaps, racing.

"Ready, Max?" Rupert asks with a small smile from the open airplane door.

"Ready as I'll ever be, mate," Max replies, trying to mirror his trainer's smile.

----

"Mate, you're not fair!" Checo's frustrated sigh drags a laugh out of Max. "Don't laugh!"

"I'm sorry, Checo," Max near-cackles as he sends his FIFA player once more toward the Mexican's goal. "I thought you said you were good at this game."

"I play it with my kids, but they don't play like this. You never kick the ball!"

Checo has been an amazing friend. He knew something was off straightaway but never asked about it once. Max is grateful for his teammate, who is struggling once more with keeping the ball. If it were up to Max, Checo would remain his teammate forever.

"Max!" Checo shouts, and it's the most hilarious thing Max has heard in a while.

A knock sounds on the door. It opens immediately after. Yuki and Daniel's faces peek around the frame with slight curiousity.

"It's just FIFA," Yuki says, looking up at Daniel.

Max lifts an eyebrow in question. Checo is too focused on the game to pay the Racing Bulls any attention.

"We heard yelling and thought Checo was finally done with your ass," Daniel explains with his trademark smile.

"Can we play too?" Yuki asks, stepping closer toward the TV.

"Take my place," Max offers, getting up to hand the Japanese the PS5 controller.

Yuki accepts, dropping down next to Checo on the couch. "20-2?" He asks, mouth agape.

"Don't tell me," Checo grins, shoving Yuki aside.

"How have you been?" Daniel's question draws Max's attention to his ex-teammate.

Max's smile turns into a frown, causing pity to shine through Daniel's honey-colored eyes.

"We're in Daniel's driver's room if you need us," Max tells the duo on the couch, but they're too caught up in the game to notice them leave.

"So?" Daniel asks as the door closes behind him. Max takes in the pictures scattered across the walls of the small room. He notices a few of himself, too. 'Good old times.'

"Nothing," Max sighs, taking place on Daniel's couch.

"Nothing? What do you mean?" The Australian follows suit, leaning his back against the armrest so his feet are across Max's lap. Unconsciously, Max starts massaging Daniel's calves.

"Well, not nothing, actually." Max sucks in his lower lip, focusing on the pictures on the wall across from him. His own baby face is staring back at him. "We broke up."

"You did what?" Daniel shoots forward, pulling back his legs. Max turns to the Australian, who's already reaching out to hug him. "What happened?"

"I don't know. We were talking about the future weeks ago, and then we had this big fight."

"Fight?"

"Yeah," Max pulls back, evading his eyes. "About Kelly. And about you. Charles still sees you as a threat."

"Me?" Daniel bursts out into laughter. "Max, I love you. I always will, but Charles knows I'm in a happy relationship, right?"

"I never told him about you and Seb."

"What?" Daniel rubs his eyes warily. "Seb didn't tell him either, I assume."

"It's not my story to tell," Max argues. Sebastian and Daniel have been going out for nearly two years now. Max was the first to know. After the German's retirement, he asked Max for permission during their helmet swap. Max was so happy for them both. Still is.

"I'll tell him," Daniel says, already making his way toward the door. Max reaches out to grab hold of his wrist.

"No! Mate, that's not the only reason," Max says, pulling Daniel back on the couch.

"Then tell me the full story, Max."

"I don't know the full story," Max sighs. "He says he doesn't know his own reasoning either."

"That's bullshit," Daniel interjects.

Max chuckles to himself. "I know."

"Then why don't you fight?" Daniel pats Max's knee, squeezing it softly. "This doesn't sound like you, Max."

"Because Charles believes I'm currently losing the championship lead because of him."

"Did Ferrari find out?"

"What?" Max doesn't know how his confession can lead to that follow-up question. Daniel looks at him expectantly.

"Not that he told me," Max replies. "Why?"

"Because maybe they did, and maybe that's why he broke up with you in the first place."

"Or he simply doesn't love me anymore?"

"Don't say that, Max." Daniel sounds so sure, and it gives Max hope.

"Go talk to him."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. It's still a while before FP1. Go."

----

Standing between Ferrari trucks, Max isn't so sure anymore. He shouldn't have listened to Daniel. Why would Ferrari forbid Charles to see him? How would they even know? No, this is a bad idea.

Max is about to leave when he hears his own name. It isn't the Ferrari driver he expected, though.

"Carlos?" Turning around, Max spots the Spaniard walking over to him. The usual Ferrari red is replaced by black for the weekend. Max's imagination takes him to Charles dressed in the same uniform, and he desperatly wishes he could tear the black fit off the Monegasque's body instead.

"I texted Charles," Max says once Carlos is in front of him.

"I know," the Spaniard says with a pained expression. "He sent me."

Max goes with a hand over his face, slumping against the Ferrari truck.

"I heard what happened. I'm so sorry," Carlos says, reaching out to squeeze the Dutchman's shoulder.

"Do you have another great plan up your sleeve?" Max asks, trying to force out a chuckle.

"He asked me not to," Carlos replies, causing Max's world to crumble down even further.

"Do you know why?" He asks, hoping the Spaniard might know.

"He didn't want to tell me why." Carlos dashes the bits of hope that Daniel had built up again.

"Thanks, Carlos."

"I'm sorry, mate."

----

P7. P fucking 7.

Anger rises in Max's veins, and he feels like cursing out everyone near him. Yet he manages to keep it contained in the drivers' pen. It's not until he runs into someone in the paddock that the anger gets the best of him.

"Look out, man!"

"Sorry."

Max stops dead in his tracks when the voice he's missed so much this past week reaches his ears. Looking over his shoulder, Charles is walking down the paddock, still dressed in his black overalls.

"Charles?"

Max is sure the Monegasque doesn't hear him, but the hesitancy in his posture tells him otherwise.

Max carefully walks toward Charles, who has walked in between the Williams trucks away from curious gazes.

Max follows, expecting Charles to be gone already, but he's waiting for him.

Charles looks just as disappointed with his P4 as Max feels right now.

"Hey," Max offers, rubbing the spot behind his ear.

"Hey," Charles copies, his gaze directed toward his racing boots.

The tension is palpable, and Max is not sure if he should speak or leave. He doesn't run away from a fight, though.

"You hurt me," Max says, feeling the anger from minutes before seeping through. "And I deserve an explanation."

"Max-"

"No, Charles! I fucking texted you that I love you, and you left me on read."

"I-" Charles looks over Max's shoulder before ducking away.

"The fuck?" Max looks down as Charles tries to hide behind one of the wheels of the truck.

"This was a waste of my time," Max sighs, walking away. "Maybe you were right! This is for the best."

"Max, wait!"

Max tries to ignore the Ferrari driver despite every cell in his body telling him to turn around and give him another chance.

"Max, listen," Charles's hand clasps around his wrist. Max pulls back as if he's burned by just his touch. In a way, he truly is. Charles has left a mark on him.

"I love you still, too. This is just for the better."

"If it really is for the better, why are you P4 and I'm P7? F1 has nothing to do with us, Charles!"

"It has! You need this championship."

"I need you, Charles."

"You don't. You need to win."

Max's right hand balls into a fist. His whole life, his dad has told him he's doing everything in his power to do what's best for him. Leaving him at a gas station? For his own good. Leaving him out in the cold at Karting Genk? For his own good. Hitting him? For his own good.

Charles has no right to do the same.

"Fuck off, Charles. I can make my own decisions."

"And what is your decision then?" Max can see the twitch of Charles's jaw and the way the fire is brewing in the pit of the Monegasque's stomach. He knows him better than anyone.

"This." Max grabs Charles's cheeks between his palms, kissing him hard. The Monegasque doesn't react, and Max realizes he's truly lost the love of his life.

Max pulls back, letting Charles go. "I'm sorry."
He turns on his heel, trying to bite down the tears threatining to spill.

Max's about to round the corner toward his garage when an arm pulls him back against the truck. Max doesn't have the time to gather his thoughts when Charles's lips slam against his. The Ferrari driver's hands roam Max's body, twisting the dark blue material in his fists. Max pushes Charles's legs apart, feeling the Monegasque's erection press against his thigh. Charles's sloppy kisses make their way toward the Dutchman's neck. Max groans as Charles bites the sensitive skin, definitely leaving another mark.

Max pulls Charles back by his hair. The pure look of love and lust catches Max off guard. He's missed Charles so much.

Reversing their positions, Max pushes Charles roughly against the Williams truck. Charles actually whimpers, causing Max's dick to twist in his shorts.

"My driver's room. Right... Now..." Charles pants as Max sucks at his jawline.

-----

Max walks into the familiar driver's room, his eyes roaming the several pictures of Charles's victories. One stands out. Max and Charles are hugging in the media press pen. Max has the biggest smile on his face as Charles ingulves him in a hug. He didn't even know this picture existed.

The door shuts behind him. The click of the lock is the only noise. Max turns to spot Charles leaning against the door, hunger burning in his eyes.

Max takes a step closer. Everything inside of him screams that he should be asking questions right now. He should demand an explanation for Charles's indecisiveness. He should-

Charles pulls Max in, attacking his mouth ferociously. Every single emotion and thought are replaced by lust as Max unzips Charles's suit. Black fireproofs appear, showing Charles's defined abs. Max's knees buckle at the sight. He drops to the ground, pulling Charles's overalls down with him. The Monegasque's hard on is visible in his boxer. Max's index finger traces down the shaft as he gauges Charles's reaction, who's head falls back against the door with a moan.

"May I?" Max asks hoarsly as he slowly pulls down Charles's underwear. The Ferrari driver nods, fisting Max's hair and pulling him closer.

Max releases Charles's cock. Taking a hold of it, he brings the tip covered in cum to his lips. Charles shudders as Max takes him in. The Dutchman reaches out his right arm, holding Charles's frame steady against the door.

Max wouldn't call himself an expert, but he's been told many times he has a magic tongue, and Charles seems to agree. As Max takes Charles in fully, quickening his pace as he does so, Charles curses in any language he knows, including broken Dutch.

Max pulls back with a smirk before teasing Charles's tip once more with his tongue. The Monegasque's hand caresses Max's cheek, his finger gingerly touching the corner of Max's mouth.

"I knew those lips covering my cock would be the sexiest thing in the world," Charles whispers as Max pulls back.

"I want us to finish differently though," Max says, feeling his dick twist.

"What did you have in mind?" Charles asks, pulling at Max's hair.

"Top or bottom?" Max challenges before leaning in to kiss the insides of Charles's thighs.

Charles moans, pulling Max back to look him in the eye. "Today? Bottom."

"You have everything?" Max asks as he rises to his feet. Charles kisses the blond once more before leading him toward the couch.

Without another word, he takes a condom, lube, and tissues from one of the drawers. He hands all three to Max, who's pleasantly surprised.

"Make yourself ready," Max orders, and Charles does as he's told.

The small couch is anything but easy for their first time, but as Max slowly enters Charles and blue connects with green, it feels perfect.

"This okay?" Max asks breathlessly as he carefully moves back and forth. Charles nods, kissing Max's chest, before working his way up his neck.

As the brunet puts his legs around the other man's lower back, Max takes it as his cue to speed up, until he reaches his peak, exploding inside of Charles.

The sight of Max's pleasure-filled face is enough for Charles to come too as he moans out Max's name. His cum sticks to their chests, but Max couldn't care less. He's got Charles back in a more intimate way than ever before.

"I love you so much," Charles says, reaching out to touch the freckle on Max's lip.

"Me too," Max agrees, hope restored.

----

P6 is far from great, but Max couldn't care less as he drives into Parc Fermé. Charles has won Monza in dominant fashion, and he couldn't be prouder.

Hustling his way through a frenzy of drivers and team personnel, he's the first to reach Charles. The Ferrari driver turns, his smile visible through his helmet. Max smiles as he shakes his hand, before Charles leans slightly closer.

"My hotel?"

Max's smile widens in a promise.

-----

When Canal+ brings up Charles in his post-race interview, Max can't help but blush. Charles is really helping him secure his fourth consecutive driver's title. He tries to school his features, but it's useless.

----

It's nearly 10 p.m. when Max finally reaches the hotel Ferrari's staying at. Hords of fans stakeout the entrance, but Max luckily knows another way in. He makes his way to Charles's floor. As he reaches the hotel room, he knocks twice, unable to contain his excitement.

"Max?"

Max's heart drops as Alexandra opens the door, Leo in her arms. "What are you doing here? Do you need Charles?"

Max can't form a coherent thought, let alone a fully sentence. He doesn't have to, though, as Charles appears behind the brunette. "Max..."

Max takes in Charles, only clad in his boxers, the hickey he gave him yesterday prominently on display, and it's enough for him to draw his conclusions.

"Wrong room. Sorry," Max says. He walks down the hall when another door opens. Carlos appears in the hallway, face somber.

"Sorry, mate," the Spaniard says, offering Max entry to his hotel room. Max takes it, feeling Charles's gaze burning holes in his back.

"Wait!" Charles's voice halts him in his step.

Max turns toward the Monegasque, rage clouding his vision.

"I can explain!"

"You've been loud and clear. This is the last straw, Charles. It's been enough."

"Max, Alex is just visiting."

"In your hotel room at night?" Max's voice is dangerously low. He feels Carlos stepping in between them, but he chooses to ignore him.

"I can explain that too," Charles tries again, reaching out to grab Max's hand.

Max roughly pulls back before shoving Charles out of the way. "You're always able to explain your bullshit. I've had enough, Charles. You were right. I don't need this. I don't need you. Thanks for making it loud and clear."

"Max," Charles tries once more, grabbing the retreating Dutchman's shoulder.

Only once in his career has Max been violent toward someone. Esteban in Brazil in 2018. Only once, until now.

Max's fist connects with Charles's jaw. Charles stumbles back in shock, holding his already bruising cheek.

Max has no fucks left to give.

"You deserved that one, Cabron." Max hears Carlos say as he steps into the lift.

Chapter Text

As Max's phone rings once more, he declines the call before putting the device in flight mode. Nico eyes him warily on the landing strip, but Max ignores the German.

The past few weeks were pretty much like this. Charles calling him to explain, Max declining his call with all the self-control he's gathered across the years.

The thing is, Max regrets what he did in the hotel hallway in a way he's never regretted anything before. The imagery of Charles's shocked face haunts him.

Going to the Red Bull Racing factory didn't even take his mind off things. He does think he found the issue with the car, but it doesn't make him feel anything but regret.

Checo and Daniel called him several times across the week. Max put on his brightest smile, 'cause if he didn't, he'd break down, and he doesn't believe he'd be able to piece himself together ever again.

Carlos came over on Sunday, trying to explain for Charles, but Max showed him the door. Another ruise from the Spaniard wouldn't save them this time.

"You ready to board?" Nico asks, patting Max's back softly.

Max nods, forcing a grin on his lips: "Always."

Max lets Nico talk while they wait for Lando to arrive. He's glad he doesn't have to fly to Baku on his own. Nico is a welcome distraction. Speaking his own language also feels refreshing after the mess that recently occurred. He wishes Nico knew the whole story so he could talk it all over in his mother tongue.

"I've arrived, boys!" Lando puts his bag in the bagage compartment before dropping down into the seat next to Nico.

The British driver hasn't been on Air Max in a while. Besides losing Charles, Max feels like his friendship with Lando's souring too over the championship. As much as the Briton denies it, Max sees the video's too. He sees the comments. He tries to ignore them when Lando's near him, though.

"How's Charles? He must have celebrated that one nicely." Lando asks, pulling Max into the conversation.

Alexandra opening the hotel room door appears once more in Max's mind. He sucks in his bottom lip, nodding. "Hell of a party."

Lando arches an eyebrow but doesn't comment on it further. Carlos hasn't told him, Max concludes. Except for those who were there and the two drivers Max told himself, no one knows.

----

Being able to sit in the RB20 again takes Max's mind off the whole situation. He feels himself come alive again during the first free practice, as if he's been in a slumber since the Monza Grand Prix.

He feels everything again. Happiness at doing what he loves. Self-assured when the car does what he tells it to. Confidence in his abilities.

Until he sees Charles has hit the wall. Worry takes over once more. The fear he'd seen in Charles's eyes when he'd hit him across the jaw flashes through his mind.

"Box box," Max croaks over the radio.

"Understood," GP replies. If his engineer notices something's wrong, he doesn't comment on it.

Max gets out of his car and goes straight to the back of the Red Bull garage. He takes off his helmet, rubbing his tired eyes to get the image out of his mind.

He was so wrong in Italy. He cares; he cares so fucking much about Charles Leclerc, and he has so many regrets. He regrets not taking the issues in their relationship head-on. He regrets not seeing the signs. He regrets trying to hold on to Charles, who clearly did not want this anymore. He regrets everything he's done this year.

"Max?" GP is kneeling in front of him, his hands firmly on the Dutchman's shoulders. Max didn't even notice he slumped down to the floor.

"Yeah?" Max manages to speak, but his voice sounds weak to his own ears. "Is it back to green flag conditions?"

"Yes, but it's okay. What's up with you?" GP demands, squeezing his driver's shoulders a little harder.

"I don't know," Max says, evading the older man's gaze.

"Come on, Max. I know you. I also noticed someone clad in red didn't sneak in our hospitality once this weekend."

Max's face shoots up, caught. He doesn't know what to say.

"Don't often render you speechless, do I?" GP says, standing up and pulling Max with him. He ingulves the driver in a tight hug. "Whatever happened, whatever it is, talk to him."

"I fear we're past talking," Max mumbles, but GP hears him.

"I know Charles, and I know you. He'll talk to you. Whatever you did, he'll talk to you."

"I hit him, GP," Max admits for the first time aloud. He was unable to tell Checo and Daniel last week. He's been afraid to tell anyone so. Afraid they'll think he's as violent as the press has said all these years. Afraid, he's turning into his father.

"I hit him across the jaw," Max says again, louder this time. GP pulls him in tighter. "He ran after me, and I hit him. How will he ever forgive me?"

"You won't know if you don't talk to him," GP replies, pulling back to look him in the eye. "But first, you've got a job to do. An important one."

Max nods, taking a deep breath. "I know. I'll be ready in a minute."

GP leaves with one final squeeze of Max's upperarm. Pulling on his helmet, Max prepares himself. He's got this. He can separate the two.

As he prepares to return to the car, Max turns back to the small area. He spots his iPhone. Grabbing the device, he turns flight mode off again. Several missed calls from Charles enter his notifications, together with one single message.

Charlie ❤️: I'm incredibly sorry for hurting you. It was never my intention, and I know that was deserved. I still love you, Max, but I got the message. I won't bother you anymore unless we're forced together.

With a heavy heart, Max puts his phone back down before leaving toward his car.

-----

The team changed the set-up of Max's RB20 last minute, and the Dutchman notices right away during qualifying. The rear jumps around, and he has to do everything in his power to keep it on track.

He can't hide his disappointment when he eventually qualifies P6. Max notices Charles is on pole. The Monegasque is chatting happily with Oscar. Ignoring him, Max walks to the scales, trying to hide his emotions the best he can in front of the many cameras.

His every move is being watched. He knows it. Lando qualified P17, and he has been unable to put it on pole. Going with a hand through his hair, Max exits toward the team personnel. They need to do something about the mess they've turned into; this isn't sustainable anymore.

As soon as he sees Rupert, Max lashes out, aware the personal trainer has nothing to do with the performance of the car. Rupert takes it on the chin, guiding him to his press officer, who pulls him toward the media pen. Max doesn't spare the team in his interviews, but he tries to stay positive for the race tomorrow.

He's waiting for Lewis to finish his interview when Carlos passes by. Glancing up from his phone, he spots another flurry of red a little father away.

'Charles...'

They hadn't run into one another yet this weekend except for the official meetings, but Charles kept to himself there.

Trying to act casual about it, Max looks everywhere but at the Ferrari driver. His gaze lands on Oscar passing by before Charles reaches him.

Max extends his hand and says, "Congrats. I knew you'd do great."

If Charles's shocked by Max's openness after nearly two weeks of the cold shoulder, he doesn't show it. Taking Max's hand, Charles smiles. The dimples on full display feel like home.

Charles walks off. The realization dawns on him: those dimples are no longer Max's home.

----

It's late when someone knocks on his hotel room door, but Max knows who it is by the rhythm of his knuckles hitting the wood. He sucks in a breath. When he finally texted Charles back, including his hotel and room number, he didn't expect the Monegasque to come over immediately.

Max checks himself out in the mirror in the hallway—he looks like shit—before opening the door. Charles is in the hall, eyes bloodshot. They stand there for what feels like ages, taking one another in. For the first time, Max feels like he fully sees Charles. There's no more mystery to him. He's just a guy. Not the person he's been putting on a pedestal since 2022. Not the one he's loved since karting. He's just a boy. Max's boy...

Max holds his arms open. Charles lets out a sob before diving in. Max stumbles backward slightly at the force with which Charles attacks his chest. He reaches out to close the door before hugging Charles back.

"I'm so sorry," Max whispers in the crook of Charles's hoodie. "I should've never hit you. I don't know why I did that. I promise I'll never lay a hand on you again."

Max pulls back, holding Charles's cheeks softly between his hands. Green connects with blue. "I know promises like mine seem like excuses, and I've been there. I promise you on everything I own and love that I'll never do that again. No matter what did or didn't happen with Alexandra, I should've never hurt you. It'll never happen again. I'd rather die than break that promise."

"Max," Charles's voice is rough. "I know. I know you, and I know you'll never do that again. I deserved it, though."

"Don't ever say that again," Max replies firmly. He's been beating himself up over this for days. Charles can't dismiss it as deserved. "No one has any right to lay a hand on you. Definitely not me."

"Okay." Charles nods. He's taking in every inch of Max's face as if he's trying to read his mind. Max feels scrutinized under his gaze.

"You wanted to talk," Charles says eventually, before untangling him from the embrace. He takes a place on the edge of Max's bed. The Dutchman follows suit, taking a place next to him.

"I did."

"I'll let you start," Charles says, eyeing Max's side profile with that same focused look.

"No," Max replies, jaw firm. "Look, I love you, Charles. Despite everything, I still love you, and I'm afraid I'll never be able to stop. But I need answers."

Charles evades his gaze, his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. Max realizes he's never seen this side of Charles before. Not even when Jules died.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything," Max says, nibbling his bottom lip. "Start with Alexandra."

Charles's head shoots up as he reaches out to grab Max's hand. Max pulls back. He doesn't want to touch Charles during this. He didn't lie; he loves Charles, but if Charles cheated on him, he wouldn't survive it.

"Ferrari invited Alex," Charles begins, dejected by Max's recoil. "Obviously, Ferrari doesn't know about this, us. Only Andrea and Carlos know."

Max is aware, and he doesn't mind that. "Inside Red Bull, not many know either."

"Good," Charles smiles faintly. "Anyhow, since we went to the Taylor Swift concert, some of the press team thought we were back together, so they invited her as a VIP. She didn't have a room, so I let her stay in mine, and I stayed in Andrea's room. She was just returning Leo. She kept an eye on him during the race, and I asked her to do the same while I showered. That's when you knocked."

Max feels dumb. He should've asked before drawing conclusions. "Did anyone know it was just friendly?"

After a long silence, Charles looks out the window at the Baku skyline. Max follows his trail of sight. "No one knew, and I didn't correct those who assumed."

"Why?" Max asks, fearing Charles's reply.

"You're the first man I've ever fallen for Max," Charles continues, keeping his gaze on the beautiful nightsky. "I was scared. I still am."

He turns toward the Dutchman, grabbing his hand. Max lets him. "It's new for me. Coming out as bisexual, meeting your family, the whole thing with your dad. It was too much."

"Why didn't you tell me?" Max demands, feeling like he should've seen this coming.

"I gave you so many signs," Charles huffs in frustration. "I was clearly not okay, and you didn't even notice."

"If you hadn't noticed, I've got my own problems this year," Max hisses, pulling his hand back. He stands up, pacing the space near the bed.

"I have an underdeveloped car they didn't bother to look at since Barcelona last fucking year! I've got two teams begging for me with my current team bitching and moaning every time I open my fucking mouth! You've iced me out so many times, and I had to guess why. I still don't know why." Max's heaving, feeling tears threatening to spill, but he blinks them back. "I can't see this ending well anymore. The championship and us."

"You're acting as if being hunted is a bad thing. Lando is P17! Grow some balls and drive," Charles replies through gritted teeth.

"Says Il Predestinato," Max scoffs.

"What does that mean?" Charles is on his feet, halting Max's pace.

"What do you think? You're everyone's hero," Max says with a lethal smile.

"So? I can't help people love me."

"And I can't help that I like to win and that I'm actually good at it."

"You're impossible. You're so full of yourself." Charles rolls his eyes, turning away from Max.

"At least, I can convert a pole to a win." Max regrets his words the moment they leave his lips. Charles's shoulders slump, and he knows he's hurt him. "Charles, I shouldn't have said that. I'm so-"

"Are you, though?" Charles spits out, walking up to Max's chest. "I thought you always said what you think? I thought honesty meant everything to you. Well, don't hold back!"

"Charles, stop," Max pleads as the Monegasque pushes his chest. Max stumbles slightly.

"No. Speak your mind; I won't stop you," Charles says.

"Fine," Max agrees, holding his hands up. "I think you're one of the best drivers in the world. You can race me like no one else. You're fast. You're methodical. But Ferrari holds you down. You'll never be a champion with them. Not with this team. At this rate, you'll end up like Daniel. The should've-been-champion who should retire before he embarrasses himself further."

Max's shocked at his own words. He drops back down onto the mattress. "I'm sorry."

"I'm too," Charles says, taking a place next to Max. He lays down on his back, and Max follows suit. "But you're right. I have so much belief in this team. I really do. But you also just described my biggest fear."

"I'm sorry," Max repeats. "I'm so sorry."

"I forced you to say it."

"I shouldn't think like that about my own boyfriend. I should put you first, not the sport."

"We both know we're not capable of that," Charles sighs, finally looking at Max again.

"Maybe we should not force each other to do so," Max says, turning on his side to take in Charles fully.

"Maybe we shouldn't," Charles echoes. He turns on his side, linking the fingers of his left hand with Max's right.

"We need to start over," Max says, hoping Charles will agree with him. "We need to be honest. Even if the truth is painful. Even if it's just a white little lie. Always the truth."

"Always the truth," Charles agrees, kissing the top of Max's hand.

Max feels a smile spread across his face for the first time in a while. Charles mirrors it.

"Are we starting over?"

"We are, schat." Max leans in to kiss Charles. The Monegasque deepens it, and Max feels finally at home.

Chapter Text

"I thought you two were fighting?" Daniel's question tears Max's gaze away from his screen for the first time since they entered the taxi toward the airport. The Australian feels Lando eye him curiously from his other side, but he doesn't care.

"Who?" Max frowns, and Daniel wants to slap the pout off his face.

"You and Charles," he clarifies instead. "You were a wreck until this morning."

"Mate-" Lando tries to interject, but Max beats him to it. "We talked it out. We're back together."

"Of course you are," Daniel smiles, but he knows Max sees right through him. "I'm happy for you."

"Are you, though?" Max asks, narrowing his eyes.

"I am! I really am. You could make it less obvious, maybe."

"Why would we?"

"I dunno. Maybe because Charles laughed so loudly at your terrible jokes, it looked like he was having a stroke."

"True," Lando butts in. "You aren't that funny."

"Go choke some more on your straw," Max replies, causing Daniel to grin. Lando sticks out his tongue like the big kid he is.

"I'm just saying," Daniel continues. "I don't know if this is such a good idea."

"Why not?" Max replies defensively. To Daniel, Max hasn't changed one bit since he joined the Red Bull family. He loves the Dutchman for it, but he wants to knock some sense into him as well.

"Because since you're together, your driving's been off. You're also emotional—nearly every race."

"As if that's Charles's fault! It's just a difficult year due to that idiot," Max groans, gesturing in Lando's direction.

"Hey!"

"I'm looking out for you, Maxie," Daniel says, turning toward Max as much as the seatbelt allows. "I don't trust him."

"You don't know him like I do."

"I wouldn't want to."

"I wouldn't let you get that close."

"Good!"

"Good!"

Next to the pairing, Lando snorts. The ex-teammates turn to their friend. Lando's red-faced, trying to hold in his laughter.

"What?" Daniel and Max ask in unison. Just like that, the tension's gone. Looking one another in the eye, they break out into laughter.

"I'm sorry, buddy," Daniel sighs. His hand rests on Max's thigh. "I'm just trying to look out for you."

"I know, but it's not necessary," Max answers, mirroring Daniel's hand movement.

The Aussie hopes he's right.

-----

"I'm going to be blunt. I don't know if you'll be in the seat in Austin."

Daniel's world crashes down at Laurent's words. When his team principle asked him to come in on Wednesday—right after a way too long flight on Air Max—he thought it would be to discuss the basics. Not to hear life-altering news.

"What do you mean? I thought I was doing good." The fear of failure and the desperation to stay in F1 nibble on his insides. It's the McLaren situation all over again.

"You are. There's simply pressure to get Liam in," Laurent states matter-of-factly.

"I beat Yuki in the past races." Daniel's aware it's a weak move. He adores his young teammate, but this is his career on the line. His dream of becoming world champion and of returning to Red Bull is falling apart.

"It's not official yet," Laurent continues, ignoring Daniel's rebuttal. "I'll talk to Helmut and Christian during the autumn break. I'll let you know when I know."

Daniel wants to curse, to scream, to throw out every frustration he's felt since 2021. Instead, he puts on his biggest smile and thanks Laurent before walking out of the small office.

-----

"So it's the end?" Daniel looks at everything but those ocean blue eyes he loved more than anything once. He hears the tears in Max's voice. He notices it in the tremble of his lip. To the outside world, Max looks as if he's discussing his favorite foods. Daniel sees through it, though. Max's hurting, and it kills him to be the reason.

"I'm not sure, but I'm treating it as one. If this is the end, I wanna go out with a bang. Enjoy it all one more time with the biggest fucking smile."

Max shakes his head. "Don't say that when the cameras are on you. They'll make you do community service with me."

Due to all the questions about his possible retirement, Daniel has forgotten about the shit Max has had to endure. "I can't believe they're trying to silence you. Hell, they're trying to silence all of us!"

"I won't let them," Max says confidently. Daniel sees the fire raging inside him. Once Max puts his mind to something, there's not stopping him. Daniel knows that better than anyone else.

"Good boy." Daniel's grin feels natural for the first time in a while.

----

"Now we're getting to the hot ones? You did not actually say that on camera?"

"Of course I did, mon amour. And I meant every word of it."

"You did?"

"Of course! Have you seen yourself on those cards?"

Daniel's one split second away from ditching Charles and Max to talk to Nico when Carlos intercepts him, blocking his way out of the line to the driver's parade truck.

"I genuinely thought Monza was the end for them," Carlos whispers. "I'd never forgiven him."

"Who? Charles for cheating?" Carlos softly tugs Daniel to a secluded corner away from the camera and the couple.

"Both. Charles for lying and Max for hitting Charles," Carlos says, looking around him. "Cabron, it was insane. He acted like a torro, ready to smash his target."

"Max's not the violant type," Daniel replies, feeling defensive of the Dutchman. "He'd never do that."

"People do out of character things when pushed to the edge, mate. If I were cheated on and lied to, I would too," Carlos muses, looking over Daniel's shoulder. "If I knew his plan, I never would've helped them get back together. Fuck, if I were Max, I'd tell Charles to go to hell."

Daniel can't string Carlos's story together. Max told him they'd fought and that Alexandra and Charles were back together. Nothing more. Yet Daniel knew Max wasn't telling him the full story. Max rarely admits the full truth, even to himself.

"What do you mean? What plan?" Daniel demands, Carlos's words still ringing in his ears.

"Max didn't say anything about a plan?"

Daniel shakes his head. Carlos visibly pales, his eyes darting from the Aussie to Max and Charles. "Puta madre. He's still lying."

Before Daniel can say another word, they're guided toward the driver's parade truck. Carlos moves over to Charles, pulling him away from Max. The Dutchman frowns before turning to Alex next to him. The Williams driver laughs loudly as Franco joins them. Daniel joins them too.

----

"Schatz, you were amazing." Daniel wipes the tears, threatening to fall away.

"Thank you, baby. I wish you were here."

"If I'd known, I would have been there." Daniel knows Sebastian's being truthful. The German has always been there for him, and it certainly did not change when he retired.

"You gave McLaren the biggest flip-off too!" Sebastian sounds delighted. Daniel feels his signature grin push the tears back. He loves when Seb returns to his track terrorizing ways. He always loved him most then. Well, until two years ago, at least.

"It felt so good. I'm happy Pierre and Laurent let me do the fastest lap."

"They adore you. They don't know how to say no. Just like me!" Daniel's laugh echoes through the near-empty paddock. He's hidden between two trucks. Nearly everyone has left already. He just needed Seb near during these final moments in the place he's loved during the good and bad times.

"Says the most loved champion of recent years."

"I can't help that everyone forgets the time I was the menace of the grid."

Daniel's about to reply when two familiar voices in a heated conversation reach his ears.

"I'll call you back in a few, babe," Daniel whispers, waving good bye. Sebastian doesn't question it, waving back before ending the call.

Sneaking around the V-Carb trucks, he spots the teammates right away. Carlos is gesturing wildly, spitting Italian curse words left and right. Charles isn't holding back either, speaking at a rapid pace. Daniel isn't as fluent as the Ferrari drivers, but words like 'lies', 'plan', and 'fake relationship' reach his ears.

"What did you do?" Charles jumps out of his skin as Daniel makes his presence known. Normally, he'd find it hilarious, but Daniel knows this isn't the time to laugh. He can see it in the worry on Carlos's face and Charles's tired eyes.

"Daniel-"

"What did you plan? How does it involve Max?"

"Daniel, it's not like that."

"Cabron, you can't hide this forever."

"I'm not hiding anything!"

"Just tell me what you did!" Daniel rarely gets angry, but right now his blood's boiling in his veins. Charles avoids the Australian's gaze, looking at his hands.

Carlos clicks his tongue, pulling Daniel's attention toward him. "If you won't tell him or Max, I will."

"Carlos..." Charles turns toward his teammate. "I can't."

"You can't what?" Daniel pushes.

"It was fake. Charles did what Fred asked of him. He has to distract Max, and it's clearly working."

"Carlos!"

"It isn't real," Carlos spits out the words as if they're laced with poison. "I can't believe you. I've helped you! You made me an accomplice in your bullshit. You made me hurt a friend!"

"Mate-" Charles tries, but Carlos holds up a hand, silencing the Monegasque. "You tell Max, or I will."

Daniel finally finds his voice again. The news makes so much sense looking from the outside in, yet feels like a movie. "You won't have to, Carlos. I will."

"No, Daniel! You can't," Charles pleads. "I love Max more than anything. I really do. I... I never wanted this."

"Fred might be your boss, but he can't put this shit in your contract," Daniel says, tone flat. "I can't believe this is real. Max has never been this happy. Not even with me, Charles. He loves you more than anything in the world. Why?"

"I can't tell you." Tears are streaming down Charles's cheeks; his voice is hoarse.

Carlos chuckles humorlessly. "Whatever, mate. I'll see you in Austin."

Daniel's about to follow Carlos when Charles grabs his arm. "You can't tell Max. I have to tell him this myself or he'll never forgive me. Please, Daniel."

The Australian pulls his arm free, looking Charles in the eye. "You lost the right to do so when you decided to lie to him in the first place."

"Daniel," Charles pleads again, but he ignores him, walking toward the Red Bull motorhome. "Daniel!"

-----

"There you are! Ready to leave?" Max's smile is wide as he hands Daniel his suitcase. "I packed it for you. You needed time to cherish everything; I get that."

"Thank you," Daniel says, taking the trolley. "I'm going to miss you, Max."

"I'm going to miss you too," Max agrees, pulling Daniel into a hug. "It won't be the same without you here."

Daniel pulls Max closer than he has ever before, causing the Dutchman to laugh.

"I need to tell you something."

"Me too!" Max pulls back, eyes crinkling in pure delight. "Charles is moving in with me in a few weeks!"

"Is he?"

"Yes! I can't believe it. I genuinely can't wait. I'll have to rearrange some rooms, especially the living room for his piano, but it'll be fine. If you're in Monaco, you can help!"

Daniel wants to tell him. He should tell him, but the sheer happiness on Max's face... He can't take it away from him. "I'll help."

"Thank you, mate!"

----

Mister Smiley Face: You've got 'till Austin. Or Carlos and I tell him.

"Putain!"

Chapter Text

Charles twists and turns in his bed. Daniel's text haunts him.

Mister Smiley Face: You've got 'till Austin. Or Carlos and I tell him.

Every time he closes his eyes, he sees it again. He sees himself throwing the phone on the floor and thrashing his hotel room. He feels the anger and betrayal bubbling in his chest at Carlos's vile words.

"You can't do this to him, Charles!" Carlos followed him through the Singapore paddock after the race. Most people had left already, but Charles had wanted to go to Max one more time.

"Mate, I'm talking to you!" Charles halted in his step and rubbed his eyes before turning to Carlos.

"What do you want from me?!" He yelled in Italian.

"I want you to tell Max the truth about this ridiculous plan!"

"Max knows the truth, and it's that I love him! I really do!"

"Then why did you fake it in the first place?! If you love him, if you always loved him, then why agree with this plan?!"

"You wouldn't understand. Ferrari is Ferrari, Carlos! For fuck's sake, I'd do anything for them!"

"Even break up with your girlfriend and get into a fake relationship?!"

"It's not fake!"

"What did you do?"

Charles shudders at the memory. Daniel hearing all of that was not supposed to happen. Carlos shouldn't have confronted him in the middle of the paddock.

Charles turns on his side. Daniel probably won't be able to tell Max, as his seat will probably go to someone else. But Carlos... Charles is sure Carlos will actually tell Max. He hurt Carlos by involving him in this lie. He should've never let it come this far.

"Putain," Charles whispers, feeling the tears roll down his cheek onto the pillow.

- R17 Azerbaijan -

"What do you want to know?" Charles already knew what Max was going to ask him.

"Everything. Start with Alexandra." Max looked like a mess. Charles had never seen him this disheveled before. His heart burned at the realization it was because of him and that he was going to make it worse. He couldn't tell him. Not now. He had to lie again.

"Ferrari invited Alex. Obviously, Ferrari doesn't know about this, us. Only Andrea and Carlos know." It couldn't be worse from the truth. Everyone knew, and everyone enjoys seeing the Dutchman struggle. Charles bit his cheek, trying to refrain from blurting out the truth.

"Inside Red Bull, not many know either."

"Good," Charles's smile felt fake, but Max seemed to buy it. "Anyhow, since we went to the Taylor Swift concert, some of the press team thought we were back together, so they invited her as a VIP. She didn't have a room, so I let her stay in mine, and I stayed in Andrea's room. She was just returning Leo. She kept an eye on him during the race, and I asked her to do the same while I showered. That's when you knocked."

Alexandra cussing him out entered his mind, but he tried to push it back. If he believed it, maybe Max would believe it too. And by the hope dawning on Max's face, Charles knew he'd won this battle.

As they kissed on the bed, Max calling him sweet pet names again, Charles finally let the happiness in. He knew it couldn't last forever. Carlos knew, and he'd been on a warpath since. Yet, for this moment, Charles could pretend it was an everlasting love.

- R16 Italy -

"You fucked him?" In their few years together, Charles had never seen Alex this angry. "You told me by Italy this stupid game would be over!"

"I can expla-"

"I don't need your explanation, Charles." Alex sounded calm, and it scared Charles more than if she'd been yelling every possible French expletive at him.

"Alex-"

"No, stop. You're in love with him." Alex didn't look as if it hurt her, but Charles had known her since they were teenagers. She was dying on the inside. And he was the reason.

"You won't even deny it," she concluded, wiping her eyes.

"I'm so sorry, Alex."

"It's alright. I should've known when we went to Taylor together. You talked more about him than to me that day."

A knock echoed through the hotel room, followed by another one. Alexandra bent down to pick up Leo before going toward the door. Charles stood rooted in place, unable to move. He couldn't pinpoint when he'd fallen out of love with the beautiful girl in front of him and fallen for his rival. Maybe he'd done so when he told her about the plan in the first place.

"Max? What are you doing here? Do you need Charles?" Alex's voice was cheerful, and Charles knew this was her version of revenge.

"Max..." Charles walked toward the door, the sight of Max's eyes welling up breaking his heart.

"Wrong room. Sorry." Max had never sounded this hoarse before.

As the Dutchman walked off, Charles turned to Alexandra. "This will never happen again. I'm sorry for pulling you into this mess, but please don't tell anyone."

"I never want to see you again," she said, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"You won't," Charles confirmed before following Max into the hall.

"Sorry, mate," Carlos's voice echoed through the empty hallway. Max was about to walk into the Spaniard's room. Unaware of his own actions, Charles called out for the Dutchman to wait.

Max remained in the doorway, turning toward Charles. Carlos stood behind Max protectively, and all of a sudden Charles felt naked under their gaze.

"I can explain!"

"You've been loud and clear. This is the last straw, Charles. It's been enough."

"Max, Alex is just visiting."

"In your hotel room at night?"

Carlos stepped out from behind Max to get in between them, but Charles didn't need protection from the man he loves.

"I can explain that too."

"You're always able to explain your bullshit. I've had enough, Charles. You were right. I don't need this. I don't need you. Thanks for making it loud and clear."

"Max." Charles reached out to grab Max's shoulder.

The next thing he knew, Charles stumbled against the nearby wall. He held his cheek. Max had hit him. And as reality sank in, he knew he deserved it.

Max walked away, not gracing the Monegasque another look.

"You deserved that one, Cabron." Carlos reached out to pull Charles into his room.

As the door closed behind them, Charles walked to the mirror to check out his already-forming bruise.

"I fucked up," Charles sighed, touching the sensitive spot. He winced at the burst of pain.

"You certainly did," Carlos commented, taking a seat on one of the chairs. "When were you going to tell me this was all fake?"

"What?" Charles felt the earth disappear under his feet. "What are you talking about?"

"I ran into Alexandra in the paddock," Carlos said, as Charles turned to look the Spaniard in the eye. "She was wondering why you ran off after qualifying. I told her you were probably with Max, and all of a sudden she told me about your breakup."

"Carlos, I can explain."

"Like you were going to explain to Max, right?" Carlos's face showed no emotion as he looked his teammate straight in the eye. Charles didn't reply.

"When Fred called me to tell me Ferrari had chosen you and Lewis, I was sad. If I'd known what was really happening, I would've been overjoyed."

"Don't say that. Nothing is more important than winning with Ferrari."

Carlos scoffed, shaking his head furiously. "Lying to the person you love about your intentions is less important than winning with Ferrari?"

Charles's lips parted, ready to reply, but he couldn't. Carlos knew, which meant everyone would know. Max would know. "That's not the full truth."

"It isn't?" Carlos demanded, his voice lethal. He pushed himself up, walking over to Charles. Their noses were inches apart. "So tell me you aren't faking being in love with Max since last year. Tell me this wasn't some elaborate plan created by John and Fred to fuck with Max's head. Tell me you didn't play with Max's heart for your own personal gain!"

Charles was cornered against the wall. After months and months of keeping this hidden, after months and months of lying to himself, he couldn't lie anymore.

"I can't," Charles's voice broke. "I've tried to put a stop to this so many times already. I broke up with him in Zandvoort for a reason. But I can't. I love him too much, Carlos. This became real, and I can't stay away from him."

Carlos's eyes roamed Charles's features before he took a step back. "You need to tell him."

"I can't! I'll lose him forever if I do. I genuinely can't." Charles's breath sped up as panic set in.

"You can, and you will. Tell Ferrari to go fuck themselves and tell Max the truth."

Carlos walked toward the door and opened it. "I want you to leave."

"Carlos," Charles pleaded, trying to grab the older man's shoulder. Carlos pushed his arm away.

"You made me an accomplice in this mess. I need time to process this."

"Car-"

"Leave!"

- Fall break -

"You're doing a perfect job. He hasn't won since Spain." John Elkann's grin is wide.

"We haven't won much either, though," Charles replies, rubbing his face. "McLaren is the team to beat at the moment."

"Everything in do time, Charles. Red Bull is falling apart. Max is no longer his calm and collected self. We've got you to thank for this." Fred's satisfied smile fills the Zoom screen. "You've done everything we asked for. Let us take care of everything else."

Charles nods with a faint smile before ending the call. His mind races over the past GPs. He hasn't done much to distract Max in Austria or Silverstone. Neither in Belgium nor Hungary. They were happy. Hell, he's still happy with Max.

Since Spain, there has been a shift in their relationship. Charles didn't have to fake it anymore. Max's soft caresses and never-ending support have made him realize he didn't have to fake his love for the blond. A small part of him might have loved him a lot longer than he wants to admit.

Charles's mind flashes to the conversations with Jos after the Hungarian Grand Prix. He'd helped Max because he wanted to.

Charles shuts his laptop, turning toward his piano. Taking a seat, he lets his fingers trail among the keys. He starts to play, the events of the year so far playing in his mind.

In Bahrain and Saudi Arabia, he'd tried so badly to connect with Max. He'd felt like a different person when talking to the Dutchman as he thought through every word he said. Max had always been the same. He was honest, loyal, kind, caring... He was everything Charles needed at the time. He is everything Charles needs.

During the Australian Grand Prix, the first cracks in Charles's demeanor appeared. He could no longer fight the attraction he felt to Max. He had felt jealousy toward Daniel, possessive of Max. He named his dog after the man for fuck's sake. He'd been obsessed. In hindsight, Charles played his part, and yet it became personal.

Charles hits the wrong key as Ferrari's plan during the Japanese Grand Prix comes back to mind. They'd asked him to get close to Max again and to use Jules if necessary. He hadn't done it; he would never insult Jules's memory like that. But Max was there for him anyway. Has been there for him for two years now whenever he asked.

Angry tears that have been coming unannounced since his final conversation with Daniel and Carlos appear once more. He plays the piano with more force, aware it sounds anything but clean.

Flashes of Charles toying with Max's emotion in Miami and Shanghai play in his line of vision. Their first kiss in Imola, the ice cream date, Max's support during the Monaco weekend.

"Monaco," he whispers to the empty room.

- R8 Monaco -

The sight of Max in his jersey the morning after Monaco had hit Charles in a way he didn't anticipate. There and then it had dawned on him: he wanted the relationship to be real. He had fallen, and he'd fallen hard. And when he realized it, he'd taken a step back.

Pierre had invited him to celebrate once more in Sassy's in Monaco, but all Charles had been able to think about was Max. Max's eyes, Max's smile, Max's pet names, Max's smell, Max in that fucking Ferrari shirt. He'd been consumed by Max and by guilt, and the combination had led to a severe dosis of alcohol.

Charles doesn't remember much of that night. He barely remembers anything about the drive home. All he remembers is the guilt and the need to protect Max against the comments of his friends. Protect him from Lando's antics in Canada and Austria; protect him from the press; protect him from his own team.

Charles slams the keys before grabbing his phone. It's dark out. Charles has no idea how long he's sat here.

Worst Padel Player Ever: When do you want to move in? Before Austin or during the winter? Daniel has offered to help us.

Carlos: You've got a few weeks left. Use them wisely.

Fred Vasseur: How's plan MV going? Made progress?

Charles deletes Fred's message before calling Max. After two rings, the Dutchman picks up.

"Schat?"

"Hi. Happy birthday."

It's silent for a moment, causing Charles to check if the connection's died.

"Thank you. Right at midnight," Max's voice is filled with happiness, and it pulls at Charles's heartstrings.

"I wanted to be the first one."

"I'll do the same the 16th."

"You feeling better?" Charles asks, playing with the strings of his hoodie.

"Still a bit feverish, but it'll pass before Texas."

"Good."

It's silent once more, and Charles just feels the question burning on Max's lips. "Spit it out, Max."

"When are you moving in? Because if you changed your mind, I just want to know. Honest conversations, remember?"

Charles will never forget, especially because he started that conversation with a lie.

"How about a week or so? I've got to go to the factory after that. This week, I'm with my brothers because Lorenzo's engaged."

"Sounds great. Congratulate your brother for me!"

"I will." And Charles means it. He's planning on telling his brothers and his mom about Max when he sees them.

"I'm going back to bed. Good night, Charlie."

"Love you, Max."

A yawn sounds through the speaker. "Love you more."

- Las Vegas, 2023 -

"You sure he's not in love with you?" Carlos's laugh echoed through the Ferrari motorhome as Max and Charles's impromptu duo interview filled the TV screen.

"Very funny," Charles snorted, typing away on his phone. He and Alexandra had been on a rough path for a while now. Another discussion filled his screen. "He hates me."

"If that's hate, I'm Britsh," Carlos scoffed, turning up the volume. Charles's attention was drawn to the interview immediately. He paid attention to every movement Max made—the way his face lit up when Charles came to do the interview, his blush as Charles looked at him. It captivated the Monegasque.

"He does seem to be fond of you," John Elkann came into the room, causing Charles to straighten up immediately.

"I guess he is," Charles commented, eyes back on the screen.

----

P2 again. Charles had become sick of always being the bridesmaid on the F1 podium. Max was glowing next to him on the Las Vegas' stage. The issues he had with the whole spectacle had suddenly disappeared.

As he dropped his trophee on the table in his driver's room, a knock sounded on the door. With a sigh, he told the person to come in. His team principle grinned at him before locking the door behind him.

"Beautiful overtake!"

"Merci." Charles took a seat on the couch, resting his head against the wall. "Only P2."

"Verstappen is truly in a league of his own."

"He is."

"We might have found a way to stop it."

"Who's we?" Charles asked, moving to one end of the couch so Fred could take a seat next to him.

"The Ferrari board members and I," he answered. Charles searched his face for answers, but he couldn't find any.

"Okay. Tell me!"

"It involves you."

"Yes?" Charles was used to Fred being straightforward. The anticipation was killing him.

"We have noticed that Verstappen has a soft spot for you. We would like to exploit that."

Charles frowned. He had no idea how he'd be able to exploit the fact that Max had grown to like him. "How?"

"We've overheard someone say that Max is interested in guys, too."

"And?" Charles had to bite his tongue. The way Fred said it showed he didn't approve of Max's bisexuality. It was one of the reasons Charles hadn't spoken up yet about his own.

"Yes. We suspect he might be interested in you."

"Me?" Charles shook his head. "What do you want me to do? Fake being in love with him?"

Charles laughed at the idea, but Fred remained the same. Charles's laughter died out once he noticed. "You want me to fake interest in him?"

"No, we need you to distract him."

"Fred, this is a big ask. I like Max. We get along. I don't like him like that, though. Isn't this insane?"

"It is, but it might lead you to a championship. You'd win with Ferrari." The idea of becoming world champion with the Italian team had always been Charles's dream. He'd do anything to succeed in that dream. But this?

"Think about it," Fred said, getting up again. "We decided you've got time to think it over until winter break."

"Okay," Charles said hesitantly. Could he really do something like this? Manipulate someone like this just to get them off their A-game?

"Oh, Charles," Fred opened the door, stepping into the near-empty motorhome. "Don't tell anyone. Especially not Carlos."

- Abu Dhabi, 2023 -

"We just missed out. Mercedes is P2 in the constructor's championship." Banging his hands against the wheel, Charles noticed the fireworks going off. Steam from donuts on the start/finish straight clouded the pitlane entry. Donuts done by Max, who broke all the records this year, who won nearly everything, who concluded the most dominant season of all time.

As Charles got out of the car, he went straight to Fred standing near parc fermé. "I'll do it. I'll get him to fall for me, and I'll fuck him up mentally."

"Great. We'll talk about our plan during the car launch. Enjoy the holidays first." Fred squeezed his arm before pushing him toward the other drivers.

Charles knew he was going to regret this at some point, but there was no going back now.

Chapter Text

Charles awakens to the buzzing of his phone. Half-asleep he reaches for it. The lit up screen blinds him. Eyes shut firmly, he accepts the video call.

"Hello?"

"Happy birthday, schat!" Max's excited voice reaches his ears. Charles squints at the screen. Max's bright smile is the only thing he sees, but joy fills his chest.

"You know what time it is?" Charles chuckles, rubbing his eyes.

"Midnight in the States," Max replies, clicking his tongue. "I told you I'd be the first to congratulate you."

"Merci, mon amour," Charles answers, finally able to take in the sight. Max's behind his sim, wearing the out-of-office shirt Charles adores. "Why are you up already? Isn't it like 8 AM or something over there?"

"7 AM, to be exact." Max's grin directed at the screen makes Charles feel giddy. "I wanted to play some more video games before unpacking some of your stuff."

And just like that, the shame and guilt kick in. Charles's mind backtracks to the week before, when he officially moved into Max's apartment. He'd never seen the Dutchman that happy. He'd practically bounced around the house.

"You're the best thing that has ever happened to me." Those words have haunted Charles's nights ever since. Those words are the reason he flew to Austin a day early.

"Charles?" Max pulls the Monegasque out of his thoughts and back into reality. He has three days left. Three days until Carlos and Daniel pull the trigger on raceday.

"Yeah, mon amour?" Charles tries to sound cheerful, but it comes out flat.

"I'm flying in today. Will I see you tonight? We can celebrate your birthday for real."

"Sounds great," Charles nods, trying to hide the lump forming in his throat.

"Great! I'll let you go back to sleep."

"Thanks. See you tonight." Charles is about to end the call when Max calls out his name.

"Yeah?"

"I love you, destinato a me."

The pure love shining in those ocean blue eyes is too much. A tear escapes as Charles replies, "Love you too."

----

"Has he flown in yet?" Charles didn't expect his team principle's first words at breakfast to be about his own personal torture, but he guesses he's got himself to blame for that.

"No, today," Charles stares at his toast, his hunger gone.

"Good. And you've moved in?"

"Who told you so?" Charles's head snaps up. "We haven't told anyone."

"Please, Charles," Fred scoffs. "You think we wouldn't notice a move like that in Monaco of all places? Small world, you know."

Charles parts his lips to reply, but he can't find his voice. He'll never be able to end this. He can't tell Ferrari no. He can't tell Max the truth. He can't do anything. No matter what he'll say or what he'll do, it'll end in tears.

"Charles?" Fred lifts an eyebrow at his immobility. "You alright?"

"I-"

"Good morning!" Carlos pulls back the chair next to Fred before taking a seat. "How's your birthday so far, Cabron?"

Glad for the distraction, Charles puts his full attention on Carlos. "Okayish so far."

"Good," the Spaniard replies, licking his lower lip. "Good of you for telling me the truth. The truth is so important. Don't you think, Fred?"

The team principle takes one look at the pairing, and Charles is sure he's onto them. Instead, he just shakes his head and gets up. "Enjoy the final day off, boys."

"Will do!" Carlos shouts after him.

Charles lets out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding in.

"Did you tell him?" Carlos asks, voice chipper.

Ashamed, Charles evades his gaze. Toying with his rings, he looks everywhere but at his teammate.

"I didn't think so," Carlos comments, voice sweet as sugar. "Listen, Charles. Daniel might not be here anymore, but I am. If you don't tell him by Sunday evening, I will."

"Carlos, that's not fair!"

"You know what's not fair? Faking your love for someone who looks at you like you've hung the moon since you were kids!"

Other teams's personnel surrounding them in the hotel restaurant look at them questionably. Charles smiles sheepishly at them before getting up. Carlos follows suit toward the elevator. Once they're inside, Carlos presses the emergency button.

"Carlos!" Charles whines, but the older man is done with him. As the lift grounds to a halt, Carlos pushes the Monegasque up against the mirror.

"No! You've got to tell him! You moved in with him, Charles. You made yourself a part of his home. You know how special a place to yourself is for us."

"I know-"

"Do you? Do you know anything? Because I'm severely judging your ability to make your own decisions right now. Lando was right. You're a lapdog. Just not Max's. Ferrari's."

"You don't know what you're talking about." Charles's jaw is clenched as he pushes Carlos off him. "I sacrificed everything for this team! Year in, year out, all I do is for them! I bleed Ferrari red! You'll never understand that."

"Maybe I won't, but I can say I'm a good person. I'm not so sure you still can." Carlos reaches behind Charles, pressing the emergency button once more. The elevator starts moving again, but the conversation's over.

----

"P1! It's just a sprint, but still! I knew I still got it!" Max attacks Charles with a hug the moment the Monegasque enters his driver's room.

Charles stumbles back against the door, embracing the Dutchman tightly. "I never doubted you."

"I know. Thank you for everything. Us being this happy got me back on track," Max mumbles against Charles's neck.

The guilt sets in once more, causing Charles to pull back. Max looks disappointed for a split second before masking his expression with joy. The heavy pit in Charles stomach only intensifies.

"I need to tell you something."

"Oh?" Max rubs the back of his neck, looking the same way at Charles as Leo does when he doesn't understand why he can't have another cookie. If it weren't this serious, Charles would laugh.

"Yeah," he says, taking a seat on Max's couch. The Dutchman follows suit, grabbing Charles's hand before toying with his fingers.

"I need to talk to you about something."

"You said that already," Max counters, eyes sparkling with hidden laughter. "Spit it out, Leclerc."

Charles narrows his eyes at the nickname he dislikes. "Don't call me that."

"Your last name?"

"Yeah," Charles pouts, trying to avoid the inevitable. "It reminds me of when you hated me."

"I never hated you, Charlie," Max states, serious all of a sudden. "No matter how much we argued, no matter how many times you drove me off the track, no matter how many inchidents we had, I always liked you."

Max reaches out to cup Charles's cheek, pulling him in for a soft kiss. Charles doesn't want to end this. He doesn't want to give it all up. He needs Max.

As he pulls back, Charles knows it's now or never. "Max, I-"

"Mate!" The door flies open, and Checo barges in. "You did it!"

Max jumps from the couch, embracing the Mexican. "I did! You're next, mate! You have to!"

Charles drops back against the couch. He can't do it. He genuinely can't.

----

P1! On a weekend where his mind is everywhere but on track, he manages to drive off into the sunset. Carlos is in P2, and if the big TV screen is right, Max's in P3. Together on the podium again. He can't believe it.

The champagne sprays fly across the many people standing beneath the podium. Carlos and Max are soaked, but they're laughing, and Charles is too. For the first time in weeks, he feels genuinely happy.

Carlos leans into Max, whispering something to him, causing the Dutchman to laugh. Charles loves them both so much. His boyfriend and his teammate, for now at least. He doesn't want this moment to end.

"Are you okay?" Charles asks as Max walks toward him, wiping the champagne off his face.

The GoPro falls from the champagne bottle just as Max leans in: "Yeah. I'm good, but you're perfect."

-----

Charles falls down onto his bed exhausted. The celebrations with the team went on for quite a while in the paddock before they had to pack everything up for Mexico. It's near midnight when Charles is finally able to check his phone.

Mister Smiley Face: We warned you.

Carlos: I'm sorry, Charles. But I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't keep watching. Max is my friend too.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Why?

Charles's heart drops at Max's message. He dials his number immediately, begging every entity that'll listen to him that the Dutchman picks up.

"Charles." His blood's pulsing loudly in his ears.

"Max..."

Chapter Text

Charles falls down onto his bed exhausted. The celebrations inside the team went on for quite a while in the paddock before they had to pack everything up for Mexico. It's near midnight when Charles is finally able to check his phone.

Mister Smiley Face: We warned you.

Carlos: I'm sorry, Charles. But I couldn't do this anymore. I couldn't keep watching on. Max is my friend too.

Worst Padel Player Ever: I know.

Charles heart drops at Max's message. He dials his number immediately, begging every entity that'll listen to him that the Dutchman picks up.

"Charles." His blood's pulsing loudly in his ears.

"Max..."

"Listen, Charles-" Charles knows he should let Max finish. What Max is going to say can go every possible way, but he can't refrain himself from interrupting.

"Max, I'm so incredibly sorry! I should've never agreed with Ferrari's idiotic plan. What we have, hell, what we've had since forever shouldn't have been used as a ploy between F1 teams. You have to believe me; I never faked my love for you. I- I-" Charles inhales sharply as memories from Japan flash across his mind. Max had been there for him. He should've known he'd be a lost cause by then.

"I love you more than anything. I never expected I could fall for someone this hard. I never imagined the one I'd disobey Ferrari for would be you. I can't do what they want from me anymore. I can't keep lying and distracting you because I'm in awe of you. I can't fake interest in you because you're the most interesting person I've ever met. I can't live without you, Max. You're the love of my life, and maybe it started with wrong intentions, but those intentions faltered the moment I got to know you."

Charles's breathing hard. His throat feels painfully tight. He needs to hear Max say it's okay while all of this is far from it.

"Max?" He whispers when it remains silent. Checking the phone, he notices Max has ended the call. Charles takes a deep breath, ready to scream out his frustration when a knock echoes through the room.

He debates ignoring the person, preferring the quiet the empty hotel room's giving him. The knocks become more frequent, though. With the adrenaline of the race and his confession still coursing through his veins, Charles rushes to the door before swinging it open.

His mouth drops open as he spots Max. The Red Bull driver is dressed up to go out. His dress shirt unbuttoned, cap on backwards, with a bottle of champagne in one hand and in the other his phone.

He looks amazing, and Charles wants nothing more than to pull him into the room and kiss him senseless. However, the tears forming in the corner of those ice blue eyes and his set jaw halt Charles in his movements.

"Max, I can-" Charles starts to say, but Max halts him by raising his hand, holding out his index finger. Charles is already prepared for a potential fist swing in his direction, but Max remains still, searching Charles's face for answers.

"I don't know what you were talking about, but fuck, Leclerc! You've got some explaining to do!" Max barges past Charles into his hotel room, throwing the bottle of champagne onto the bed. His hands clutch around his iPhone, and Charles's afraid he might break it.

"What the fuck were you talking about?" Max's voice is dangerously low. Charles closes the door behind him, locking it. No one else can interfere now.

"Max-"

"No, no, no... Don't 'Max' me! And no rambling, this time! Explain to me, in real sentences, what Ferrari made you do."

Charles doesn't understand why Max is forcing him to say it again. Why does he want to hear him repeat his biggest regret? Why does he want to hurt himself like that? A small part of Charles's brain whispers that maybe Max did the same thing. That Max never really loved him and saw all of this as one big joke, but Charles knows Max. Max is loyal to a fault. He'd never do something like this.

"Charles, now!" Max's voice reaches an octave Charles didn't think was possible. With his back against the wall, staring at his feet, Charles takes a deep breath.

"Ever since karting, I've felt threatened by you. You were the wonder child. You were the one destined to reach Formula 1 and become World Champion. You had enough money to race without issues. You had sponsors. You were ruthless on track, and you said whatever came to mind, consequences be damned. And yet, you were kind and caring."

"Charles, I don't want to hear a retelling of my life. You know it wasn't the way it seemed." Max's looking straight at him, making Charles feel incredibly small.

"I know, I know," Charles nods, evading his gaze. "But that's where all of this began. I envied you so much. Even when you and your dad got me a seat in F3, I envied you. You were everything I wanted to be. Or so I thought. I guess you were everything I wanted, but I knew I wouldn't be able to have."

Daring to go closer, Charles walks over, taking a seat besides the Dutchman on the bed. He reaches out to grab Max's hand, who lets him. The grip on his iPhone lessens, and soon Charles is able to intertwine their fingers. Max doesn't look at him, though. Instead, he's still staring at the spot Charles occupied near the door.

"During our time in F1, I grew to hate you. You were already winning races while I was struggling in a Sauber, and then you took my chance to win away." Austria 2019 flashes through his mind. Looking back at it, they both acted like teenagers that day.

"But then 2022 came around, and we raced fucking beautifully. Ferrari and I lost an unimaginable lead, but you were so clear of us. You completely changed as a person. At least it felt that way to me. Knowing you the way I do now, I've learned you never changed. I just saw the real you."

Max turns to Charles with a sad smile. A tear rolls down his cheek. "Took you long enough."

"In 2023, we grew so much closer. And you kept winning, and I was always the bridesmaid. During the Las Vegas Grand Prix, Carlos pointed out to John and to Fred that you looked in love with me. He was just joking, but the board came up with a plan. I had to fake interest in you to get your head out of the game. I refused, but then Abu Dhabi came around, and we lost P2 in the constructor's championship. I said yes, and I've regretted it ever since. I'm so sorry, Max. If I'd known everything I know now, I wouldn't have done this." The truth is fully out now. Charles feels lighter. The heavy weight of the secret he's kept for 11 months is gone.

"So, none of it was real then?" Max asks, looking at their hands. "This isn't real."

"It is, Max. I've had feelings for you long before this plan came to be, but I refused to listen to my own heart." Charles can hear the desperation seep through.

"Okay." Max drops Charles's hand. A pang hits Charles, and for the first time he knows how a broken heart feels.

Getting up, Max begins to pace the room. Charles lets him. He deserves everything that's going to be thrown his way.

"You've kept this from me for nearly a year? Okay." Max paces towards the balcony. He looks out to the Austin night sky.

Charles doesn't understand. He expected Max to be mad, to scream his head off, to do something. Not this.

"Max?"

"Who knew about this? Other than Ferrari, of course." Max doesn't look at him. Charles wants to lie. He wants to protect Daniel and Carlos, but he can't. He's done lying to Max.

"Alexandra knew. We broke things off because of this."

"That explains Monza then." Max chuckles, turning on his heel toward Charles. "Who else?"

"Carlos found out after Monza as well. Fred told me never to tell Carlos, but after you hit me... I had to confide in someone. Carlos hasn't been able to properly look at me since. He's been forcing me to tell you. That's how Daniel found out. He overheard us in Singapore." Charles feels small under Max's gaze.

Max bursts out into laughter, muttering to himself in Dutch. Charles swallows, trying to get rid of the unease building inside of him. He's never seen Max this manic before.

"That explains the texts," he says, still chuckling to himself. "Ever since Singapore, Daniel and Carlos have been telling me to talk to you. And not even an hour ago, they added me to this fucking group chat, asking me a bunch of weird questions about you before coming over and telling me to text you that and to go to your room."

"That?" Charles asks, brows knitted together in confusion. "You texted me, you knew. I thought they told you."

"I knew? Charles, did you even open my messages?"

Reaching for his phone on the nightstand, Charles opens his chat with Max.

Worst Padel Player Ever: You deserve a drink! What do you think? Party in your room before going to the club?

Worst Padel Player Ever: Charlie? You there? Or still in the paddock with your team?

Worst Padel Player Ever: I know you can't resist this. Ready to go out? Carlos told me you're back!

Attached to the text is a mirror selfie of Max. Carlos is behind him, giving Max bunny ears. Charles spots Daniel's face on videocall in the reflection of Carlos's phone.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Schat? Iknwo it's not that late, but are you still at the track?

Worst Padel Player Ever: *I know.

"Oh my God," Charles mutters, realizing Max didn't know. He confessed out of the blue. Carlos and Daniel didn't tell him. They planned this. "Oh my God, Max, I'm sorry."

"No, it's alright," Max concludes, lips spread thin. "At least, everything's been said now."

Max finally looks at Charles. There's no sign of tears or emotions in the lines of the Dutchman's face. Charles knows Max well enough to see this as a warning. Hell's going to be unleashed, and Charles fears for the person it'll be directed at.

"I'm going out, still. I don't want you to join me anymore, though." Max walks over, taking the bottle of champagne. He hesitates for a moment before pressing a kiss onto Charles's dark curls.

Dumbfounded, Charles looks on as Max makes his way toward the door and unlocks it. As he steps into the hallway, Max turns to the Monegasque. "I'd prefer it if you didn't text me for some time. I need time to think."

"Is this the end? Of us, I mean," Charles manages to say. His throat feels raw.

"I don't know yet," Max admits. "We'll see. I'll talk to you when I feel ready."

"Okay," Charles nods, tears rolling silently down his cheeks. "I understand."

"Thank you," Max says, closing the door. Just inches away from the doorframe, Max opens it again: "Congratulations on the victory. You deserved the win, Charlie."

Before Charles can react, Max closes the door behind him.

-----

"I'm so sorry to hear that, Cabron. You did the right thing, though," Carlos says once Charles is done retelling the previous night. "I got your horse!"

Rolling his eyes at the weak play of chess, Charles steals Carlos's queen without too much difficulty. "Hey!"

"I should thank you, though. Without you and Daniel's mind games, I would have probably never told him." Charles could barely sleep the night before, giving him time to think. Max's reaction gave him hope. Maybe, now that everything is finally out in the open, they can start fresh. At least Charles hopes so.

"I'm glad you told him," Carlos says, reaching out to pat Charles's knee underneath the table. "Now, it's time to get your dramatic asses back together!"

Charles can't help but laugh. "Really? You've pressured me into telling him for a month, and now you want to create some wild plan?"

"Look, you and Max are like fire and water. Destructive apart, but calming together... or something like that," Carlos's brows furrow in thought.

"Isn't water and fire even more destructive together?" Charles asks, trying to refrain from laughing by sucking in his lower lip.

Carlos seems to think it through in great detail, nodding contently to himself. "Perhaps, but you two are menaces after all."

"Hey!"

"Don't start with me, Leclerc. Or I won't help," Carlos threatens, but Charles knows there's no harm to it. He's happy they're back to being close friends.

"What's your grand plan this time around?"

"I'll get back to you about it," Carlos says, before focusing once more on their game of chess.

"But-"

"Trust the process, Charlitos! Madrid wasn't built in a day."

"Rome wasn't built in a day. The saying is Rome, not Madrid."

"Madrid is more beautiful. Now, hush! I need to focus."

-----

Carlos: 'My Max?' God, can you be even more pathetic?

Charles's cheeks heat up at the reminder of the press conference. He really didn't intend to say, 'My Max'. It just sort of happened. And he meant every word. If he had a car like Lando, he'd battle it out with Max like they've always done: clean but on the edge.

Carlos: I've got something else for you.

A video appears in the chat. Charles presses play. F1 made Max react to the inchident video they recreated in Austin. The grin that spreads on Max's face when Charles ends the video with his iconic line warms the Monegasque's heart.

He doesn't know how many times he rewatches the video, but that smile gives him hope. Hope that Max still loves him. Hope that he hasn't lost him. Hope that this will all end well.

-----

Charles knows Max's going all in before they even reach turn 8. As expected, he pushes Lando off track, opening the way for Charles to go through. This is going to attract quite a lot of media attention, and Charles can't help but feel guilty for Max's erratic behavior.

----

As the race replays in the cool-down room, Charles knows Lando's hoping for a reaction. He can feel the eagerness from the Briton. He needs someone near to root for him, but Charles isn't the right person for that. He only senses Max's frustration through the screen. Frustration he partly caused.

----

Worst Padel Player Ever: As much as I'd love someone to do community service with, that was too obvious.

Charles: Someone had to keep up the tradition when you're not there.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Tradition?

Charles: To clown the FIA.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Nice try, Charlie. You can't outdo the doer, though.

Charles: We'll see about that!

Charles's cheeks hurt from smiling. After one week of silence, Max finally texted him. It feels already familiar. Save and warm. He feels loved.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Thanks for defending me. It means a lot to me.

Charles: You're welcome ❤️

Charles: Do you want to meet up in Brazil?

If Charles chewed any harder, he'd bite straight through his bottom lip.

Worst Padel Player Ever: I don't know if I'm ready for that just yet. I'll let you know when I am.

Charles: That's okay. Good night.

Worst Padel Player Ever: Good night, Charlie.

Chapter Text

Max's sleep is disturbed by his phone going off. Sticking his head underneath the pillow, he tries to ignore the obnoxious ringtone he once installed and was unable to delete ever since.
After the third consecutive call, Max's had enough. Throwing the pillow across the room, he reaches for his phone, pressing accept without looking at the caller ID.

"What?"

"Good morning to you too, sunshine!" The German accent startles Max. He sits upright immediately. "Sebastian?"

"Hey Max. Am I calling at the wrong time?" There's humor in the four-time world champion's voice that doesn't go unnoticed to Max.

"Very funny. To what do I owe this call?" Max rubs his still-tired eyes. "I thought you were coming over today."

"I am! Britta told me you and Checo won't be able to make it to the presentation on the grid. I wanted to talk to you, so I guess this is the way." Max had forgotten about the Senna tribute. Together with Nico and Kevin, they are supposed to do meet and greets with the paddock club guests. Max would much rather meet up with everyone else on the grid.

"Yeah," Max nods to himself. "I wish I could've been there."

"Me too," Sebastian replies, and Max can hear the genuine smile on the older man's face through the speaker.

It remains quiet for a moment before Sebastian clears his throat. "Daniel told me."

There it is. Max should've known Sebastian called about his and Charles's... situation? Max doesn't know how to feel about anything anymore.

He should be upset, but he isn't. When Charles told him everything made sense all of a sudden. The way Charles would react at times or when he'd disappear for no apparent reason, he'd been conflicted about all of this.

"What did he say?" Max whispers into the phone, trying to keep his voice steady. Understanding Charles's behavior doesn't make it hurt any less.

"He told me when he came home after Singapore. Strangely enough, he was less upset over losing his seat than what Charles did to you. Carlos and Daniel kept talking about it over and over again on the phone. They always defended you. They wanted you to know."

"And I'm grateful for them, despite their strange way of forcing Charles to tell me." Flashes of Carlos barging through Max's Austin hotel room with Daniel on FaceTime enter his mind. They'd practically forced Max to over text Charles. It was a fun night, at least. He doesn't remember much from the party, though. Only memories of air hockey for some reason...

"Max?"

"Still present," the Dutchman chuckles, trying to forget the mess this triple header has been. "Go ahead."

"Look, I know you might not want to hear this right now, but you should talk to Charles. I've seen you two together. Something like that happens once in a lifetime. Daniel and I are proof of that."

"It's not like we aren't talking. We are still friendly, and I don't resent Charles for what he did. I just don't know if I'm ready to fully trust him again."

Despite everything that has been revealed to him, Max cannot hate Charles. Hell, in a sick way he understands. Would he've done the same? Never. Does he get doing everything and anything to win? Yes.

"That's up for you to decide," Sebastian says. "I'm here if you ever need someone to talk to. So is Daniel."

"Thank you."

"Good luck this weekend, Max. I'm betting on you." After all that's been said in the media these past few weeks, this means more to Max than Sebastian will ever realize.

----

Charlie <3: Sad you couldn't make it to Seb's presentation. It was fun.

Max: I know. I saw the pictures. You looked good.

Since the Mexican Grand Prix, Charles and Max have been texting non-stop. It feels refreshing. Charles doesn't pressure Max into meeting up, despite his several date ideas over the past few days.

Charlie <3: Thank you, mister Verstappen :)))

Max snorts at the reply before putting his phone away. GP and Hannah are discussing the options for Sunday's race. Heavy rain is forecasted. Max can't wait.

----

"Max!" The Dutchman halts in his step at the familiar voice. He looks over his shoulder to see Charles jog over toward the Red Bull motorhome. They've seen one another around, but it's the first time they're alone in the same place since the night Max's world fell apart.

"Charles, hey," Max whispers, cheeks flushed red.

"Hey," Charles replies, wide-eyed as if he's only just realized his actions. "Thank you."

"Thank you?" Max asks, brows furrowed.

"For the tow. I noticed," Charles says matter-of-factly.

"We're in this together," Max answers, rubbing the spot behind his ear. "I mean, I want us to be."

"I want us to be so too," Charles says. His eyes are filled with delight, and Max has to refrain himself from pulling him into a kiss.

"Good," Max nods, mirroring Charles's smile. "Thank you, by the way."

"Why?" Charles is genuinely mystified.

"For defending me every single time."

"I wasn't the only one who did so."

"Your opinion is the only one that matters to me," Max says, reaching out to touch Charles's shoulder. He gives it a squeeze. "Thank you so much."

"You're welcome," Charles replies, covering Max's hand with his own. Max never believed in fireworks shooting up your arm at a single touch or glance. He does now.

"Do you want to meet up tomorrow morning? Before the sprint."

"I'd love that!" Charles is beaming at him, causing Max to laugh.

"My driver's room?"

Charles nods, squeezing Max's hand before letting go and walking back toward the Ferrari motorhome.

Max hopes he's making the right decision.

----

"Ah, come on, Charles! So many mistakes," Max groans over the radio to GP. If they want to have a chance at overtaking the Mclarens, Charles has to drive cleaner laps. There are championships on the line.

Despite the urgency of the current situation, Max's mind backtracks to earlier. Charles had sneaked into his driver's room like he'd always done. They'd talked about everything but their relationship, and it had felt nice. Then the championship came up.

"I need all the help I can get," Max had said, head in hands. "The FIA doesn't want me to win this. It's pretty obvious."

"Ferrari needs this WCC. If we finally win it again, I might be able to convince John and Fred to drop this stupid idea."

"Idea?"

"Us. At least, forcing me to fake it."

Hearing Charles say it once more had hurt, but it did give Max an idea.

"What if we team up?"

"Team up?"

"Let's be real here. Carlos and Checo are amazing drivers, but they're not like us."

"Facts. Continue?" Charles had said it with a glint in his eyes.

"You help me. I'll help you."

"Teammates without being on the same team?"

"Pretty much."

"Sounds good."

"Deal?" Max had held out his hand, and Charles took it.

"I won't let you by without a fight, though."

"I don't expect you to."

And the pure love in Charles's eyes at that very moment gave Max the push he needed to pass the Ferrari driver on track.

----

P17. P fucking 17. Max feels like murdering someone. Preferably the morons of the FIA.

A knock sounds on the door to his driver's room, and the Dutchman has to refrain from screaming "no!".

Charles's head pops around the corner. As he spots Max's angry frame on the floor, he quickly enters, locking the door behind him.

Max laughs at the Monegasque who drops down in front of him. "We really are cut from the same cloth. No one else would be insane enough to talk to me right now. Let alone lock themselves in a room with me."

"You know what they say, you're insane, and I'm deranged," Charles says with the brightest smile, causing Max to laugh even louder.

"No one says that!"

"They think it though."

Max shakes his head in disbelief. "You always know what to say."

"And I'm never holding back again." Charles reaches out to take Max's hands in his. "You'll get pure honesty from me now. Like you've always spoken your truth, I'll speak mine."

Max wants to kiss Charles senseless, but he can't. It's too fresh. "Thank you."

"Now." Charles stands up, pulling Max with him. "How are we going to make sure you won't lose too many points?"

"Pray?" Max snorts, going with a hand through his hair. "The championship's over."

"Don't ever say that, Verstappen. Not until it's over!" Charles points a finger at his chest. "We're not going down without a fight! Especially not after everything that's been said."

"What did I do to deserve you?" Max blurts out. He wishes he could take those words back immediately. He's not ready for this yet. He doesn't know if he'll ever be.

"Being unapologetically you," Charles replies, squeezing Max's arm. "Let's think of a strategy."

"Strategy as in, 'let me by'?" Max fake-pouts.

"In your dreams."

-----

"You finally made up again?"

"Pierre, not now."

"Why? He doesn't speak French. You look in love."

"I hurt him. This will take time."

"I doubt it. He looks at you like you hung the moon."

"Mate!" Max has never been more grateful to understand French before. Pierre looks humored by Charles's blush that's definitely not created by the wind on the driver's parade truck.

Charles hasn't left his side since their talk in his driver's room. Max appreciates it. Pierre's right. Every single gesture, however small, makes Max's stomach flutter. Despite Charles's actions, Max hasn't lost any love for him.

"Max?" Pierre cuts through his thoughts.

"Yeah?"

"If you win today, will you take him out on a date?"

"Pierre!"

"Hush, Calamar! The adults are talking."

"Only if you end up on the podium with me," Max counters with a grin. Pierre's face drops at the same time Charles's lights up.

To anyone, Max's comment would sound like the biggest insult, but Charles knows Max. He remembers the Miami bet. He remembers how they jinxed it. Charles knows Max said he'd never bet on them again.

---

"Get ready to ask our boy out!" Pierre screams into Max's ear as Esteban sprays them with champagne.

He's won. He's won the Brazilian Grand Prix. Max hasn't felt this euphoric since he won his third championship. Except perhaps when he first kissed Charles.

"I am more than ready," he screams back at Pierre.

----

"Thought you deserved the George shirt today." Rupert's grinning wildly as Max puts on the fake muscle shirt in the cool-down room over his boxers. Rupert hands him a robe before the social media manager snaps a quick picture.

"I'll get you some new clothes," the Englishman says before leaving. The social media manager follows after congratulating Max once more.

Max drops down onto the first-place chair. He still cannot believe it. He expected the championship battle to be over. He expected the points gap to be reduced to 18 points today. He didn't expect to extend the gap. Hell, he didn't expect to win again this year.

"Today is a sign, isn't it?" He whispers to thin air.

"It is." Charles's voice makes Max jump in his chair. "Congratulations, champ."

"Charles..." Max's breath hitches in his throat.

"I wanted to congratulate you in person before we fly home. I know you probably don't want me in your apartment, so I'll go to Carlos's."

"Charles-"

"No, Max, please let me finish. Today showed I ruin your races. Ferrari used me to get your mind off things. They used me as a distraction. Ten races long, I caused you turmoil. Look at you now; no distractions, no me, and you win masterfully."

"Charles-"

"It's for the best. I'll see you in Las Vegas." The Monegasque leaves as suddenly as he appeared.

"Charles!" Max calls after him. When he hears footsteps down the stairs, Max rushes after him. "Charles!"

The Monegasque is nearly out into the rain when Max rounds the corner of the hallway. "Charles!"

"Max?" Charles turns, tears shining in his eyes.

"I love winning, but I love you more. Despite everything you've done, we've both done, I can't say goodbye to us, to you. I need you in my life, distractions and Ferrari be damned." Max walks over to Charles, cupping the Monegasque's cheeks. "Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, would you like to officially move in with me?"

Charles surges forward, kissing Max with a persistence the Dutchman didn't expect. He might be ruined forever by Charles, but he couldn't care less. One day with Charles was worth more than his 62 race wins combined.

Chapter Text

"Schat?" Max shoves against Charles's snoring form. He moves slightly with a small groan. "Schat!"

"What?" Charles sighs. "I'm trying to sleep."

Max rolls his eyes. Charles has a habit of being in a bad mood when woken up too early. Especially when the night before went on quite late. Max feels his cheeks heat up as he remembers the several rounds of celebratory sex. "It's Bubbles! He's got the seat at Sauber!"

"Who the fuck is Bubbles?" Charles asks, lifting his head to look at Max with a sleepy gaze.

"Gabriel Bortoleto," Max clarifies. "I'm doing the sim race with him next weekend."

"Oh, okay," Charles nods, dropping his head against the pillow. "Good for the kid!"

"I'm going to call him!" Max gets out of bed, tuning out Charles's protest. At his bedroom door, the world champion turns to look at the Monegasque. Charles is looking back at him with a content smile. Jimmy jumps onto the bed, cuddling against Charles's side. The scene feels like home.

"I love you," Max grins. They've only just returned from Brazil, but it already feels like forever.

"I love you too," Charles says, mindlessly petting Jimmy as he does. "So fucking much."

----

"So? Carlos told me you made up." Daniel pants as he smacks the ball across the net.

Max runs for it but misses. He drops onto the pavement with a frustrated sigh. It doesn't matter how often he practices; he'll never be good at padel.

"Yeah," he finally replies as Daniel comes to sit next to him. "I didn't get the chance to thank you properly yet. For looking out for me."

"No worries, Maxie. Even if I'm not in the paddock physically, I'll always be there for you." Daniel puts his arm around Max's shoulder, pulling the Dutchman closer.

"And I appreciate it more than you'll ever know. Charles does too."

"Does he?" Daniel asks with a laugh. "I think he kind of hated me and Carlos after our little trick."

"He just needed a push in the right direction."

"Maybe, yeah." Daniel moves to sit across from Max. "Look, Max. I don't know if I fully support this. He's hurt you so many times over the years. And I wasn't even present during all of those moments."

"Dani-"

"No, let me finish," Daniel holds up a hand, hushing the Dutchman. "But I'm happy you're happy. Carlos and I never doubted the fact he loves you. That's clear as day to everyone with a pair of functioning eyes."

Max shakes his head at that, but Daniel isn't finished yet. "If Charles is the one who makes you feel alive and gives you a reason to keep fighting every single day, then who would I be to tell you to drop him?"

"Thanks, mate," Max answers before getting up. He reaches out his hand. Daniel grabs it, engulving Max in a hug when he gets to his feet.

----

"So you have to go to the factory, right?" Charles summarizes before taking a bite from his salad.

Max nods, swallowing his food before confirming. "Yes. And you've got to go to the factory too, and you've got the Gladiator 2 premiere."

"Yes. When do you leave?"

"The fifteenth. I'm going to Milton Keynes before flying to Las Vegas."

Charles rubs his forehead in thought before chewing on another piece of lettuce. "I think that's around the same time I've got to go to the premiere."

"We'll need someone to babysit them, then," Max says, pointing his fork in the direction of Jimmy, Sassy, and Leo, who're all on the couch.

Charles's face lights up as he spots Leo: "Yes. Any ideas? It has to be someone who knows."

Max and Charles agreed they'd keep this as lowkey as possible. The drivers and their friends and family are allowed to know, but no one else can. That makes searching for a babysit quite difficult.

"Raymond maybe?"

"Your manager?" Charles frowns.

"Yeah, he has a cat too. She just had kittens." Max spots the worry on Charles's face. The Ferrari driver is scared to death that John Elkann or Fred find out this has become real. Every extra person that knows could be someone who spills the beans. "He doesn't have to know everything in full detail. We can just tell him you couldn't find a babysitter, either."

----

"Max!" Raymond opens the door to his apartment with a wide smile! That same smile diminishes the moment he spots Charles next to him. "And Charles?"

"Hi." Charles literally waves at the Dutchman before awkwardly putting his hand back in his coat pocket. Max notices his nerves and can't help the chuckle escaping his lips, which earns him a glare.

"Raymond, we need your help," Max speaks up as they enter the apartment. "We both need someone to babysit our pets while we go to Las Vegas."

"I'd love to, but I can't," the manager says with a shrug. "I won't be in the country either."

"Do you know anyone else who might want to do so?"

"Well, your dad is in town," Raymond says with a grin.

"He is?" Max asks, searching his brain. He can't remember if his dad told him or not.

"Yeah, Jos said you didn't really answer your phone lately." Raymond looks at Charles as he crouches down to pet his cat and its kitten. His eyes flick back to Max as he continues in Dutch, "Nu weet ik waarom."

"You don't know anything," Max replies in English. He doesn't want Charles to feel left out.

"Max, is this a good idea?" Raymond looks at him with doubt.

"He is the best thing that has happened to me. Believe me, mate. I know what I'm doing."

"Okay. If you say so," Raymond nods.

"Max! Look at this one," Charles nearly squeals as a small white kitten crawls onto his lap. "He's adorable and so sweet."

Max's heart beats loudly in his chest as pure love courses through him at the sight. "He's perfect," Max whispers, leaning down next to Charles to pet the cat.

"You can have him if you want to," Raymond says, causing both drivers to look up. "I was looking for an owner, but if you want to have him, you can."

"Really?" Max asks in disbelief.

"Really. See it as an early championship gift," Raymond winks. "I'll get his papers."

----

"Donatello? For a cat?" Max can't believe his ears. He looks at the Ferrari driver who's cuddling their first pet together close to his chest.

"Do not tell me it doesn't fit this precious face," Charles scoffs, turning the cat's face softly toward Max. The new ball of fur looks annoyed.

"It doesn't," Max deadpans. "And if you'll keep holding him like a dog, he's going to scratch you."

"He won't! Right, Donatello?" Charles asks, kissing the top of his head. He hisses, and Charles jumps slightly in his spot on the floor. "Do not scratch daddy one or two, please."

"Do not..." Max muses to himself. "Donut!"

"What?" Charles lifts an eyebrow in question. "We can't eat donuts less than a week before a grand prix."

"No," Max laughs before joining Charles on the floor. "What about Donut?"

"No, it's Donatello."

"That's a stupid name."

"No, it's adorable!"

"It sounds like something from some Italian soap opera."

Charles narrows his eyes at his boyfriend, earning him a sticked-out tongue. "Fine! Donatello on his passport. Donut when we call him. Deal?"

"Deal," Max grins, leaning in to kiss Charles. The Monegasque grins into the moment, allowing Max to deepen it. A small miauw sounds as Donut crawls in between them.

"He has the same attachment issues as Leo already," Max says, stroking the small one's fur.

"Let's hope he isn't as angry as Leo," Charles replies, looking over at a pissed Leo laying on the couch.

"He'll like Donut soon enough. Jimmy and Sassy needed some time to warm up to him when you first brought him here. Now, they love each other. It takes time," Max says, reaching out to play with Charles's hair.

Charles leans into his touch. "I hope you're right."

"I'm always right, schat."

----

Max barely watches TV, let alone YouTube, but this flight he can't stop. His feed is filled with Charles and Carlos at the Gladiator 2 premiere in Italy. Charles looks breathtaking as always in his suit tailored by Ferrari. Carlos... Well, he's there too.

Max falls asleep with a few hours still to go on his flight back from the factory, Charles's voice echoing through his headphones on repeat.

-----

"Another one?" Jos asks with a straight face as Donut wraps himself around the Dutchman's legs.

"Donut is saying hi!" Charles grins at Jos, who looks unimpressed.

"Yes, another one," Max answers, biting his lower lip to hide his laughter. "You don't mind watching them for a week or two, right?"

"Anything for you, my boy," Jos replies, reaching down to take Donut in his arms. "Now go, before you're both late."

"Late for? We're using Max's jet," Charles replies while reaching for his suitcase anyway.

Jos doesn't reply, turning to his son instead. "Je kan dit weekend winnen, maar leg jezelf niet te veel druk op. Rij gewoon je race en het komt wel vanzelf."

"Dank je, papa. Ook om op hen te letten. Het betekent enorm veel voor zowel mij als Charles."

"Jullie betekenen dan ook veel voor mij," says Jos with the faintest smile. Max feels tears burn, but he won't let them fall.

"Good luck, Charles! I'll try to keep Leo entertained."

"Thanks, Jos!" Charles replies, reaching out to pat the older man's back before thinking better of it and waving instead. He clears his throat: "Ready to go, Max?"

"Let's go," Max confirms, kissing his dad on the cheek. "Thank you."

----

"We've got the same time slot on the fan stage," Charles says in way of greeting as he enters Max's driver's room Saturday afternoon. He winks in Checo's direction, who's lounging on Max's couch.

"I know," Max answers. "So you can compliment me when I'm around this time."

"Compliment you?" Charles pouts as he leans against the closed door.

"Like you did on Wednesday."

Realization dawns on the Monegasque's face, but Max knows he's going to deny it. In one, two, three...

"I don't know what you're talking about."

"You called him one of the best drivers of our era," Checo says without looking up from his phone. "Even said he's one of the greats."

Charles's cheeks turn as red as his Ferrari jacket, causing the Red Bull drivers to laugh loudly.

"Anyway!" Charles says, raising his voice. "I'll see you there."

As quick as he arrived, Charles escaped again. Max can't help but sigh contently as he stares at the spot the brunet just occupied.

"You're in love," Checo says, patting Max on his back. "I'm happy for you, mate."

"I'm happy for us too," Max replies while going with a hand through his hair. "It's been a rough year. Both on and off track. And for once, I feel like it's all going to be alright. Like, we're nearing the conclusion, or something."

"I know what you mean. It's that end-of-season feeling. Everything has led up to this," Checo agrees, getting up. "Now, you just have to win that fourth WDC."

"I'm trying," Max laughs, standing up as well. "It's been difficult during practice. I don't know if we'll manage it here."

Checo hands Max his Red Bull coat. "You've got this, mate."

"I hope so."

"I know so. If you can pull Charles with a face like that, you can do anything."

"Aye!" Max laughs, pushing Checo out of the room.

----

"Cabron, again?"

"What?"

"Yesterday you were being moony-eyed, and now you look like a love-sick puppy."

"I do not!"

"You do! I had to boop you to your senses with my mic."

"I wasn't even looking at Charles then!"

"You were thinking about him. I saw it in your eyes."

"Carlos-"

"Hi," Charles interrupts the old teammates, walking up to them with a huge smile. "That was something else, huh?"

Max looks past him at the red carpet they all had to walk down. "Vegas is definitely something else."

"What were you talking about?" Charles asks, his dimples on full display, and it's the only thing Max has been able to focus on this weekend. Charles's soft smile distracts him from the possible championship-deciding race.

"You," Carlos states with a smirk. "And how mister Verstappen can't stop drooling over you."

"Really?" Charles asks with peaked interest.

Before Max can even muster a word, Carlos goes on a detailed rant that lasts the whole lap on the driver's parade.

----

A knock sounds on Max's driver's room door. "Yeah?"

Charles, still in his overalls, enters. Both men are unable to say anything. Max stumbles to his feet. The alcohol he's been consuming non-stop since he's gotten out of the car has made him a little bit woozy.

Charles takes another step, coming face-to-face with him. Max grabs the Monegasque's waist as Charles's hand reaches out to touch Max's cheek. "Four-time champion of the world."

"It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" Max replies, causing Charles to mirror his grin.

"Not as good as Charles Leclerc, champion of the world, but it is the next best thing," Charles jokes, winking at his boyfriend. "Congratulations, champ; you deserved it more than anyone else this year. Including me."

"I'm sorry your race didn't go as planned."

"Don't worry about that now. Tonight is about you."

"I love you so much, Charlie."

"Not as much as I love you," Charles replies, closing the distance between them.

Fireworks go off in Max's stomach. He can't tell if it's the alcohol, Charles's kiss, or the high of winning his fourth championship in a row, but Max feels electric in Charles's embrace.

"Klaar voor een fees- Sorry!"

Max and Charles jump apart, lips swollen, to look at a shocked Martin Garrix in the door opening.

"Martijn!" Max giggles, his head resting on Charles's shoulder. The Monegasque shakes with silent laughter.

Max lifts his head up. "Let's party. All of us, together."

"Sounds like a plan," Charles says, grabbing the Dutchman's hand. "Let's go, champ."

Chapter Text

"Schat, it's too sunny out."

"Maybe you should've stopped at five gin tonics. Instead of, you know, fifteen! No wonder you're still hungover."

"How does that involve the sun?"

"It doesn't, but it explains why you look like a ghost."

"I do not," Max huffs as he pulls a green shirt over his head. "You just opened the blinds unannounced."

Charles gives Max a look the Dutchman has only seen directed at Leo before: a mix of anger, disappointment, and pure love. It causes Max to break out in a wide grin.

"What?" Charles says, his eyebrows raised in question.

"Nothing," Max replies, walking up to Charles to wrap his arms around his waist. "Just admiring the view."

"Of Doha?" Charles asks innocently before planting a small kiss on Max's lips.

"Of course," Max says, sticking his tongue out at Charles's frown. "You're too cute."

"I know," Charles winks, wriggling out of Max's embrace. "But sadly we have a media day to attend."

"I genuinely don't feel like it," Max sighs, knowing he'll get loads of questions based on his drunk quotes after the Las Vegas Grand Prix. His mom and sister were right when they said he doesn't have a filter.

"I'd rather spend time watching Victoria drown you too, mon amour, but duty calls," Charles salutes, walking toward the hotel room door.

"She'll never let me live that down," Max whines, remembering his sister putting it on her Instagram for the world to see. "Mom genuinely thought I was not getting out of it."

"We both were worried," Charles says, but the sparkle in his eye tells Max they were anything but.

Max was nervous when he picked up his family on the flight over to Qatar. He'd told Stan, his best friend, about Charles before, and Victoria obviously knows, but his mom didn't. Sophie and Charles hitting it off in French was not what Max was expecting, but the two have been attached to the hip since.

"Let's go, champ," Charles says, pulling Max out of the memory.

"Let's go," Max agrees, following his boyfriend out the door.

----

"I did not say that," Max says as a way of greeting as Charles walks into his driver's room.

"I know you didn't," the Monegasque replies, closing the door behind him and locking it. "Your mom translated what you said on the flight over."

"She did?" Max asks, dumbfounded.

"Yeah, when you were passed out," Charles grins, dropping down onto the couch. "Nice balloons."

Max watches Charles look around the decorated room awestruck.

"The team did it. They made a video too," Max says, reaching for Charles's hand. "You're not mad?"

"I know. I helped Carlos come up with his part," Charles replies, intertwining their fingers. "And I'm not mad. You were drunk. And you said something entirely different than what they asked me today."

All the weight is lifted off Max's shoulders as Charles turns to him with a bright smile.

-----

"A fucking one-place grid drop!" Max near-shouts as he enters Charles's hotel room. They'd agreed on staying separate the night before race day, but Max is too angry to be alone at the moment. He's afraid he'll tear down his hotel room if Charles is not around to calm him down.

"And do you want to know the worst part? George! He acted as if I did it on fucking purpose. He actually tried to discredit my abilities!  As if I'd do something like that! On an outlap for fuck's sake!" Max's blood boils as George's words pester his thoughts. He never saw it coming from the Briton. They aren't best friends, but they've always been friendly.

"Mon amour?" Charles walks out of the bathroom, AirPods in. "Did you say something?"

The sight of a confused Charles in his pajamas does the trick for Max, who breaks out into hysterical laughter. Dropping his backpack on the ground near the door, Max walks over toward the bed, flopping down face first, still laughing.

"You're scaring me," Charles says while carefully sitting down next to the blond. "What happened? Did they give you a warning?"

"Worse," Max groans into the duvet, feeling Charles soothingly trace circles on his lower back. "They invented another new penalty to punish me and suck up to Woody."

"New penalty?"

"A one-place grid drop." Max turns his face to look at an appalled Charles Leclerc. "George nearly gave each and every one of them a blowjob to make it happen."

"What? I'm not following. This happened on an outlap?" Charles looks adorable, and it gives Max a reason to smile again.

"Tell them that. He pretty much said I did it on purpose. That I'm a dirty driver with low standards."

"Borderline sometimes, but not dirty," Charles muses, causing Max to snort.

"I hate this sport so fucking much sometimes."

"You and me both," Charles exhales while lying down next to Max. Their noses are only inches apart. "But at least it gave me you."

"I love you," Max whispers.

"Not as much as I love you."

----

"Max!"

"What?" The Dutchman asks cheekily, pushing himself upright on Charles's chest.

"You'll leave a hickey," Charles answers mortified.

"I might have done so already," Max says, licking his lips. "You suggested this."

"When I said let's meet for a pre-race screw, I did not expect visible damage," the Monegasque says, touching the sensitive spot on his neck.

"It looks hot on you, though."

"Everything looks hot on me," Charles challenges. "Especially you."

Max bows his head down, ready to place another one on Charles's jaw this time when a knock echoes through the room. Both men freeze in horror.

"Driver's parade is in 5 minutes. Hurry up!" Checo doesn't even twist the knob.

"Putain," Charles whispers the same time Max says, "Fuck!"

----

"You're late," George slaps Max's back, pulling the Red Bull driver's attention away from his conversation with Carlos. "Must be fun with loverboy."

"What? You're going to report it to the stewards?" Max replies with the fakest smile he can muster. He shakes George's hand before stuffing his hands in his pants pocket.

He's about to continue his conversation with the Ferrari driver when George hugs him again. "Don't be bitter, Max. It isn't a good look on you. What must Charles think about all of this?"

Carlos and Checo visibly grow pale as Max clicks his tongue. He might have let the Mercedes driver off the hook, but now he's brought Charles into the conversation.

"Turn one."

"What?" George looks genuinely confused, and it fills Max with glee.

"Just turn one."

"Okay," George says before saying his goodbyes and moving over to another group of drivers.

Carlos and Checo break out into laughter, but Max doesn't feel like it. Turn one is where he either wins this race or they both end in the gravel.

----

"Victory looks good on you," Charles whispers in Max's ear as they take pictures on the podium.

As they spray one another with rosewater, Max can't help but feel invincible. This whole year, all the cards were against him. The FIA, some of the drivers, his own car... Nothing worked, but he persevered.

Charles laughs at something Oscar said before making eye contact with Max once more. He mouths, "I love you."

GP was right on the radio. Karma really is in his favor.

Chapter Text

"I hate my life," Charles whispers before retching into the toilet. Max is rubbing supposedly soothing circles on his back, but it's so uncoordinated Charles wishes he'd stop.

"You wanted to try the crawling fish," Max hiccups. "It had paws, Charles."

"It was a squid, Max," Charles says hoarsely as bile rises in his throat at the memory of the dish. "I've eaten squid before. Besides, I didn't exactly plan on getting food poisoning from it. I'm also the only one who got sick!"

Max replies, but Charles doesn't hear him as he throws up once more, his ears ringing.

"What?" He asks as his face re-emerges from the toilet.

"I said I'll stay awake with you. All night."

"That's not necessary, mon amour. You're going to be hungover if you do. You drank your whole body weight." Despite his protests, Charles can't help but smile at Max's pout.

"Actually," Max says, pointing an index finger in Charles's direction. "I drank Franco's body weight. The kid thought he was a pro."

"Well, I'm pretty sure Franco's in the same situation as me right now." Charles feels his stomach churn once more.

"Let's get you to bed," Max says, dragging the Ferrari driver to his bed. "Tomorrow, you have to be fresh to drive with your baby brother."

"Oh God, I'd forgotten all about that." Since they flew in from Qatar, Charles has only had his mind on Max. Max out in the city. Max in his bed. Max doing interviews. Max having quite the public argument with George. "Mom's flown in today, and I wasn't even able to say hi."

"You'll get plenty of time to do so tomorrow if you sleep this off," Max says, still rubbing Charles's back as they take a seat on the hotel bed. "I'll stay here with you."

"That's kind of you." Charles's chest warms at the gesture as Max takes off Charles's dirty T-shirt before doing the same. Despite his ill stomach, Charles finds himself lustfully checking out the Dutchman's broad chest.

"Calm down, schat," Max chuckles, opening the duvet so both of them can lay down. "We'll have plenty of time for that after this weekend."

"You're right," Charles sighs, laying his head down on Max's chest. "But first I have to win the constructor's title."

----

"A ten-place grid penalty!" Charles nearly yells at Bryan. "For what?"

"Battery change," his engineer sighs. "We should've taken the penalty at Brazil."

"I know," Charles groans in frustration. "But it's no use to us now."

Turning toward the back of the garage, Charles drops his helmet in the cabinet. His stomach is still upset, his car decided to die, and McLaren is flying. Just his luck.

"Charles!" Arthur drops his stuff beside him. "How cool was that?!"

"It was everything I wanted it to be," Charles grins, hugging his baby brother. His mom appears, and so does his older brother. At least his family's here.

"Your dad would've been so proud," Pascale says, touching both her boys's cheeks. "I'm so proud of both of you."

"So are we," Charles nods, feeling tears appear. No matter what happens this weekend. No one will be able to take this away from him.

----

"I'm starting dead last, and you're not even on pole. We're doomed," Charles whines as he enters their hotel room. Max is already lounging on the bed, eyes fixated on his phone.

"Don't be dramatic. It won't help," he replies, not looking away from the screen.

"Dramatic? I'm not dramatic!" Charles says, reaching a level of hysteria he hasn't in a while. Max just lifts an eyebrow at him, causing Charles to nod. "Yeah, I am."

"And I love you for it," Max says, opening his arms. Charles accepts the wordless invitation, kicking off his shoes before nestling into Max's side on the king-size bed.

"What are you looking at?" Charles asks, interest piqued and worries temporarily forgotten. He swings his arm around Max's chest, his nose against the world champion's neck. He has no clue how Max was able to forgive him after everything he did, but he thanks every possible entity out there for it. He doesn't ever want to live without him again.

"I was looking for something to cheer you up."

"Did you find anything?"

"This," Max says with a grin, before turning the screen toward Charles. A video of all the Red Bull drivers appears. Isack, Amna, Hamda, and Emely are in it too.

"It's a challenge?" Charles states uncertain.

"Just watch."

With a frown, Charles turns to the video. The first challenge is guessing eyes. Soon enough Charles's own pair appears.

"Beautiful!" Max says in the video, right before Isack says his name. Charles's heart skips a beat at the word. Max hasn't been this vocal about their 'friendship' in a while.

"I thought we were keeping things quiet," Charles says, pushing himself upright on Max's chest.

"It's in good fun to those who don't know, and to those who know, it's confirmation you're mine," Max answers, straining his neck to give Charles a kiss. The Monegasque deepens it, cupping Max's cheek as he does so.

"You're something else, Max Verstappen," Charles exhales, resting his forehead against his.

----

"I need alcohol, putain," Charles groans, pulling Arthur with him to the bar. He orders a cocktail, barely registering what's in it. Luckily, the bartender is quick to serve, so he can't overthink his own actions. Charles downs the glass and asks for another one, as Arthur looks on with mild worry.

He didn't get P2 in the championship. Ferrari lost the constructor's. Carlos's goodbye speech had him bawling his eyes out, and to top it off, there's only one bar you can buy real alcohol in the whole of Abu Dhabi, which means he has to look at Mclaren celebrating their championship.

"I did not expect to run into you here."

The familiar voice near his ear takes Charles off guard as he snorts into his second drink. The pink liquid flies everywhere, causing Arthur to laugh.

"Max!" Charles groans, turning to look at the culprit. "Why did you do that?"

"I thought it'd finally make you laugh again," Max slurs, gin and tonic in hand. Arthur's still laughing, causing Max to grin. "At least one Leclerc thinks I'm hilarious."

Charles glares at Arthur, who immediately stops laughing before excusing himself and walking off in Jack Doohan's direction.

"Come on, Charles. Smile! The season's over. Fucking finally," Max says, swinging an arm around the Ferrari driver's shoulder.

"Easy to say for you. You won," Charles answers, cleaning the goo from his face. "I lost. Again. Despite your turn one antics."

"Hey," Max, sober in an instant, lifts Charles's chin softly to look at him. "One: I didn't do that on purpose. Two: You lost to no fault of your own. You did everything you could. Next year, it'll be us fighting for the title. I can feel it."

The neon lights of the night club reflect in Max's deep blue eyes, taking Charles's breath away. "Next year will be different, though."

"Tell me about it," Max agrees, his thumb gracing Charles's lips. "Fat chance, I've an even shittier car and Liam to deal with."

"And I've got Lewis Hamilton and his fanbase breathing down my neck," Charles chuckles, reaching up to grab Max's hand. "We'll be busy."

"But we're in it together." Max's voice is so firm, Charles can't help but nod along. "Whatever happens, we're in it together. Just like this year."

"Just like this year," Max echoes before hastily placing a kiss on Charles's lips. The Monegasque is shocked at the public display of affection.

"Now, let's drink this weekend away. Shall we?" Max's smirk usually means trouble, but Charles doesn't mind. He likes Max's trouble. He likes the chaos. He likes the push and pull. He likes them together. No. He loves them together. He loves Max. And no matter what 2025 will bring, that won't change.

Chapter Text

"I can't believe I won't see you properly until Christmas," Charles whines. His head is resting against the Ferrari truck. Max leans against the Red Bull one. The trucks are shielding them from curious eyes, and yet after everything that has happened this year, Max finds it hilariously fitting. Red and blue, opposite one another, yet always together.

"Believe me, I'd rather be cuddled up together too than going to hundreds of events," Max sighs. His schedule is packed for the upcoming weeks. He has the FIA gala, Heineken events, training sessions with his GT3 team... The racing season might be over, but he isn't exactly in vacation mode.

"Then let's skip everything!" Charles offers with a pout.

"We can't," Max counters, reaching out to grab Charles's hand in his. "Besides, I want to properly say goodbye to Checo."

"I know, I know. I'm planning on going to Carlos's final day in Firano too," Charles replies while toying with Max's fingers. "I'd rather skip today's filming, though."

"At least you're not the villain of the movie," Max chuckles, thinking about the ridiculous F1 movie coming out next year. He couldn't give a single fuck about the way he's portrayed in the movie, as long as they remain truthful.

"Speaking about that, I've got to go. We've got to orchestrate some laps in a bit."

"And I've a plane to catch. When will I see you again?" Max asks, his heart heavy with the dread of missing Charles in his arms.

"I guess on Friday, in Rwanda." Charles's face falls at the realization. "I'm going to miss you so much."

"Me too." Max exhales, pulling Charles into his arms. "But it'll be Christmas soon. No one will bother us then."

"We'll be together. I promise."

----

"It's going to be weird without you here," Max says, trying to fight the single tear threatening to escape.

"I'll still be here. Just... not on track, I guess," Checo answers with a faint smile. "I wish it were different."

"Me too," Max says, wiping his eyes.

Checo has just received the news 2024 is his final year as a Red Bull F1 driver. He'll stay on as an advisor, and he'll do media-related bits and bops, but his time racing is over.

After quite some tearful goodbyes from key members of the team, the soon-to-be ex-teammates managed to escape to a quiet room.

Checo has been there during all of Max's championships. He has helped him both on and off track. Now, he wouldn't even be on the grid. It doesn't feel right.

"I'm going to miss you, mate." Max pulls the Mexican into a crushing hug to try and ignore the sadness taking over his entire being. "It's been real."

"I'm going to miss you too," Checo replies, his face hidden in the crook of Max's neck. Max can feel him shake, feel the tears roll down his skin, but he doesn't comment on it. He just holds Checo close for as long as he needs it.

----

"Oscar!"

"Yes?"

"Tell Charles to take Lando's seat for as long as he's up there."

"For those ten minutes?"

"We've something to discuss."

"You live together."

"I was in Madrid for an event. I haven't properly talked to him yet."

"I literally saw you talk in the hallway before we had to come sit here for three hours to listen to the most boring speeches known to mankind."

"Please, Oscar."

With a resigned sigh, the Australian nods. Leaning over, he says something to Charles, who shakes his head "no.".

Oscar leans back toward Max. "He says no."

"Why not?"

Max has rarely seen Oscar annoyed, but if looks could kill, he'd be dead on the floor right now.

He watches the McLaren driver lean over once more to ask Charles, who whispers something back.

"He says people will notice."

Max parts his lips to argue, only to realize the Monegasque's right. He looks toward Charles, who almost unnoticeably shrugs, but Max sees it. Max sees everything his boyfriend does in laser focus. Like the quick wink he does in Max's direction while accepting his P3 trophy. Or the way his hand lingers a little too long on Max's back during the many photos. Or the pure look of love he sends his way while he accepts his fourth WDC trophy. He just knows Charles.

----

"How was Firano?"

"Fun."

Max notices Charles's red eyes through the shaky FaceTime connection, but he doesn't comment on it.

"How's Carlos holding up?"

"Well, I guess. He really enjoyed driving with his dad, and the celebrations were also a lot of fun. Less emotional than in Abu Dhabi."

"That was to be expected," Max says with a small smile. He wishes he could reach through the screen and pull the brunet into a hug.

"I heard my name!" Carlos appears mere seconds later. "Hey, Max!"

"How are you holding up, mate?"

"I'll be fine once the new season kicks off," Carlos says with a grin, but Max can see right through it. "I'll miss this annoying brat the most, though."

"I'm not annoying!" Charles looks genuinely insulted, and Max can't help but laugh.

"You are!"

"Not as annoying as you!"

"Puta madre, take that back!"

As the duo continues to bicker, the phone seemingly forgotten, Max can't help but watch in awe. He's going to miss having Carlos close. He's a big reason Charles finally confessed his ugly truth, and Max will never take that for granted.

Worry seeps into his gut as Lewis and Liam come to mind. The dynamics will shift both at Red Bull and Ferrari. It'll never fully be the same as it has been the past four years, and it worries the World Champion.

"Tell him he's more annoying, mon amour!" Charles's words pull Max out of his head. His worries vanishing like snow before the sun.

----

Max's awakened by pitter patter across his chest. He opens one eye and nearly jumps upright as Donatello is only inches away from his nose. The kitten meows loudly before nestling himself on Max's chest.

"Good morning, baby." Charles's cheerful voice catches his attention.

"Morning," Max grins, grabbing Donatello into his arms. "You're back."

"I promised you we'd be together on Christmas, didn't I?" Charles makes his way over to the bed, dropping Leo onto it as well. The Dachshund waddles around contently before setting his sights on Donatello. The cat jumps away, causing Leo to follow. "Leo, no!"

"Let them be. It's Christmas for them too," Max says before pulling Charles onto him. "And so I can kiss you without interruption."

"I thought you'd forgotten." Charles mirrors Max's smirk before stealing a kiss.

"Never."

"Good."

"Merry Christmas, Charlie."

"Merry Christmas, Max."

The End

Chapter Text

Thank you so much for your views, likes, comments and general love <3 Below, you'll find the songs I've used every chapter to set the ambiance and used a lyric for the title for in this fanfic.

Title: If Clarity's in Death, Then Why Won't This Die?

=> Would've, Could've, Should've by Taylor Swift

Chapter 1: Pre-season Test: Got love struck, went straight to my head

=> "Slut!" by Taylor Swift

Chapter 2: R1 Bahrain: You've been stressed out lately? Yeah, me too

=> It's Nice To Have A Friend by Taylor Swift

Chapter 3: R2 Saudi Arabia: Screaming, who could ever leave me, darling?

=> The Archer by Taylor Swift

Chapter 4: R3 Australia: I've got issues, baby, I can't help it

=> obsessed by Olivia Rodrigo

Chapter 5: R4 Japan: I got the things I wanted; it's just not what I imagined

=> making the bed by Olivia Rodrigo

Chapter 6: R5 China: I'm king of sand castles he destroys, 'cause it fit too right

=> My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys by Taylor Swift

Chapter 7: R6 Miami: They don't know how you've haunted me

=> Guilty as Sin? by Taylor Swift

Chapter 8: R7 Imola: Honestly, who are we to fight the alchemy?

=> The Alchemy by Taylor Swift

Chapter 9: R8 Monaco: Oh God, I'm gonna marry him if he keeps all this up

=> so american by Olivia Rodrigo

Chapter 10: R9 Canada: And when I fell hard, you took a step back

=> I Knew You Were Trouble by Taylor Swift

Chapter 11: R10 Spain: No need to ask, he's a smooth operator

=> Smooth Operator (Single Version) by Sade

Chapter 12: R11 Austria: He doesn't dress for friends, lately he's been dressing for revenge

=> Vigilante Shit by Taylor Swift

Chapter 13: R12 Great Britain: Our secret moments in a crowded room

=> Dress by Taylor Swift

Chapter 14: R13 Hungary: Cause I'm a real tough kid, I can handle my shit

=> I Can Do It With a Broken Heart by Taylor Swift

Chapter 15: R14 Belgium: I'd leave you, but the rollercoaster's all I've ever had

=> 1 step forward, 3 steps back by Oliva Rodrigo

Chapter 16: Summer break part 1: I can see us lost in the memory, august slipped away

=> august by Taylor Swift

Chapter 17: Summer break part 2: I scream inside to deal with it

=> all-american bitch by Olivia Rodrigo

Chapter 18: R15 The Netherlands: We learn the right steps to different dances

=> How Did It End? by Taylor Swift

Chapter 19: R16 Italy: Could've loved you all my life

=> You're Not Sorry by Taylor Swift

Chapter 20: R17 Azerbaijan: We always walked a very thin line

=> exile (feat. Bon Iver) by Taylor Swift

Chapter 21: R18 Singapore: Don't smile because it happened, cry because it's over

=> Don't Smile by Sabrina Carpenter

Chapter 22: Fall break: I can't lie to it the same way I lie to you

=> scared of my guitar by Olivia Rodrigo

Chapter 23: R19 USA: People are people, but it's like you're made of angel dust

=> lacy by Olivia Rodrigo

Chapter 24: R20 Mexico: He's gonna love me and hate me at the same time

=> get him back! by Olivia Rodrigo

Chapter 25: R21 Brazil: And you kiss me in a way that's gonna screw me up forever

=> Suburban Legends by Taylor Swift

Chapter 26: R22 Las Vegas: You know how to ball; I know Aristotle

=> So High School by Taylor Swift

Chapter 27: R23 Qatar: Karma is the guy on the podium, coming straight home to me

=> Karma by Taylor Swift

Chapter 28: R24 Abu Dhabi: This the kind of thanks I get?

=> brutal by Olivia Rodrigo

Chapter 29: Post-season: I once believed love was burning red, but it's golden

=> Daylight by Taylor Swift

See you in 2025 <3

Chapter Text

The Sequel to If clarity's in death is, then why won't this die? is officially out now!