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Chapter Text

The call came after Monza, not Singapore like most people theorized.

The geriatric turtle, Helmut Marko, himself called first. A simple “Hello Charles” was whispered ominously and his heart started racing, as if Helmut was standing on the other side of the hotel door with a chained bull waiting to pounce. Christian Horner jumped on second.

“Charles, we were impressed with your initiative today. Too bad you couldn’t make it on the podium.”

“Thank you, Mr. Horner.”

“Please Charles, call me Christian.”

“Listen, Mr. Horner, I know why you’re calling and while I appreciate –“

“Charles, let me stop you there. Checo has decided to retire, and while we have a few great drivers that could take his seat, we really believe that you, Charles, would be the best option.”

Charles hesitated.

Checo was retiring?

“I have a contract for another year though.”

“We would buy you out.”

“Can I think on it?”

“You have until Japan.” The phone clicked and Charles set the phone down with shaking, panicky hands.

He couldn’t do it right? Switch to the enemy? Give up the red car that had always been the dream?

The bathroom door swung open, and outstepped Max Verstappen, fresh from a shower. He was humming to himself and rubbing a tired hand through his hair. Charles watched, always mesmerized by the other driver, even if he was fresh off a win that Charles especially envied: Monza, the Ferrari dream, home.

“Who was on the phone?” Max asked, flopping carelessly down onto the bed. It had been a long day for them both, and Charles was eager to fly back to Monaco to enjoy a couple of days at home before Karting for Jules and then Singapore. Is now the right time to tell Max? Or had Christian already told him? Was Max the right person to consult on such life changes when they weren’t really dating and there was still a small part of Charles that considered him his emotional support rival (could they even be considered rivals with the type of season that 2023 had presented?)?

“Christian Horner and Helmut Marko.”

Max choked. So he hadn’t known, Charles thinks to himself. Interesting.

“Are you sure you didn’t pick up my phone by accident?” Max chuckles, his eyes carefully perusing Charles, trying to find a hint of emotion betrayed in Charles’ eyes, or the way his lips quirked but Max found none, so he pulled himself to a sitting position, drawing himself closer to his not really boyfriend, but sort of more than emotional support rival. “Charlie baby, what did Christian have to say?”

“Checo is retiring.”

“Yes, at the end of this season to spend more time with his family and to help his wife when the baby comes. But why are Christian Horner and Helmut Marko calling to tell you these things?”

“They want me Max. They want me to leave Ferrari.”

Max blinks, stunned. He tries to process the information, but it seems as if his brain stopped being able to comprehend anything.

“Did you know Max?”

“Know what?”

“That they were going to offer me a contract?”

Max hesitates, wanting to choose his words carefully. Had he known? Only sort of. He knew many of the Redbull staff thought Charles had more potential that had never been tapped at Ferrari, and with some of the recent conflicts with the car and with the Sainz camp had piqued Christian’s interest. But a contract? Max didn’t think that would actually ever come to the table.

“I thought Redbull wanted to prioritize Danny and Liam, but the past few weeks have changed that.” Max lands on a semi neutral statement.

“What do you mean?”

“Well with Danny breaking his hand, a lot of the board are worried that he just won’t have what it takes for a full time seat and Liam still has enough ties to Superformula that they worried he won’t be totally prepared for a fulltime F1 seat, so I knew they wanted to look for a third option.”

“And the third option is me?”

“I guess the third option is you.” Max pauses, trying to catch Charles eye or hand or anything that will reassure him of his mental state at this moment, “What are you thinking?”

“The dream has always been Ferrari Max.”

“I know.”

“But”

“But?”

“I have always loved Ferrari, but it seems as if Ferrari cannot love me anymore. Maybe I need to look at achieve the championship as the dream, instead of the championship in a red car. Or I go to Redbull for a few years and then come back to Ferrari, no? Fernando has had a long career, and so could I.” Charles rambles, his face heating up and his hands shaking once more. He moves, off the bed and begins to pace around the room, whispering to himself and evaluating his options. Max watches feeling helpless, torn between letting him ramble on and figure it out for himself or interjecting himself.

“I really like you Max.” Charles is stopped in the middle of the room, his back to where Max sits on the bed. “Could we do this? If I switched, could we still go on pretending that this isn’t…” He trailed off.

“Isn’t what Charles?” Charles whipped around at the sound of his name.

“What are we max? Fuckbuddies? Emotional support rivals? Dating?”

“We’ve never defined this.”

“But if I join Redbull, could we still do this? Could we stop pretending?”

“Charles, I think since the Val d’Argenton inchident, I’ve been waiting for you to say those words.”

“I have until Japan to decide.”

Max tries not to be hurt that Charles glossed right over his semi-love confession. But the poor man was in distress so Max will only let it keep him up at night for the next week or so (or possibly until Charles decides to love him back).

“So see how Singapore goes, and decide then.”

Chapter Text

Thursday
Charles woke in the hotel room. Max wasn’t here, and he found himself disappointed, even though it was their typical prerace routine to not spend the night unless it was Sunday. But more often Charles found himself wishing for Max every night. His warm presence had been a source of comfort amidst this year’s not so great season.

But it was Thursday. Not Sunday. Which means Charles had to get up to start media for the day, and he wouldn’t see Max in his bed for at least three days. Or maybe it would be the rare weekend where he could victoriously end up in Max’s bed (the winner always came to the loser (he doubts anyone could break Max’s streak at this point)).

He got to the track earlier than he normal would, struggling with the mighty contact hanging above his head. It was hot, and Charles was already sweating (he knew he shouldn’t have worn jeans with his designated Ferrari polo). He had on vans today, his old favorites because if anything, he was a man of consistency (and superstition – but you will not catch him admitting that to the cameras). Joris and Antoine wouldn’t be at the track until later in the day and would probably be a little upset with Charles for sneaking out of the hotel without letting them know, but he had hoped to go over the data from Monza one more time before the paddock and the garage got too busy.

The garage was bustling by the time he made his way to it. The engineers and pit crew were already hard at work ensuring the cars would run for the weekend. If only these checks guaranteed that the engine wouldn’t explode, or his car suddenly wouldn’t stop working after two successful free practice sessions. He made his way through to one of the data rooms, logging in and pulling up Max’s onboard from Monza. He put it side by side with his to try and figure out where Max was getting those few extra seconds every single track. He knows he should be studying Carlos’ but there was still a small seed of anger that he couldn’t achieve that podium in the same way his teammate could. Which means no Carlos onboards, at least for a little while.

He wasn’t sure how long he had been trudging through the data when Mia, his social media/PR person stuck her head through the door.

“There you are!”

“Hi, sorry Mia. Was just trying to get through some of this data.”

“Charles sweetie, we need to go! You’re due in the Media pen in the next five minutes!”

He grimaces but stands and closes the laptop he was using. He stretches out a kink in his neck and glances at his watch for the first time all morning.

“Oh fuck we are really late, I am so sorry.” As much as he hated doing media sometimes, he did not like being a trouble to his team. “I was just so focused.”

“Not to worry, here we go.” She put a hand on his back to usher him quicker through the hallways of the Ferrari garages. “Now, we’ve done some analysis of the post-Monza online content and noticed that some aren’t happy with the fight between you and Carlos, so just tread carefully with those questions as obviously we do not need to continue the issue.”

Charles rolled his eyes; he had seen some of the comments on twitter before logging out and throwing his phone at the wall. All the people calling him reckless and stupid for wanting to fight on track had clearly never been in a racecar. The team said he could fight, so why not fight!

“Got it, anything else?”

“People still want to know if you’ve signed a renewal yet, which we all know you have but I think Fred is hoping for a podium outcome in order to announce it.”

“I haven’t signed anything.”

“Oh of course, I just meant hypothetically, you know? Obviously, Ferrari wants you back and…” She trails off remembering where they were and at the look on Charles’ face. “We need to keep moving.”

“So, no contract talk, smile and act pretty, and I love Carlos?”

“That’s the gist.”

“I can do that.”

“I know you can.” She pushes him forward and immediately a few of the cameras turn towards him. He walks to the first open slot and plasters a smile to his face.

“Charles, we understand that Monza wasn’t exactly the race you were looking for. Can you tell us more about fighting with Carlos and the aftermath?”

“I had a lot of fun on track! Carlos is a great racer, and it feels good that we had a car last weekend that could handle that. It reminded me of my karting days battling Max – and made me remember why I love racing.”

“Was the Ferrari team unhappy with the risks you were taking?”

“As I’ve already said, it was good racing, no one got hurt. We ended up on the podium and only the Bulls prevented us from taking the rest of the podium. So, it was a good weekend.”

“Moving on, Charles how are you feeling about contract extension possibilities with Ferrari?”

“Well that hasn’t exactly been our focus seeing as both Carlos and I have one more year left on our contracts.”

“So can we expect you to re-sign?”

“I am happy with my current place at Ferrari, if Fred and the rest of the team are also happy, then contract negotiations can begin. Until that time, I am focused on the current season ahead, and hopefully more fights on the track with the likes of Max or Lewis.” Charles fought the urge to roll his eyes into the back of his head. He knew these reporters were just looking for a story they could use, but couldn’t they at least listen to his answers closer?

He felt a hand on his back and at first did not turn around, assuming it was just Mia giving him a small warning to not lose his temper.

“Hey Mate how’s it going?” His heart sped up at the sound of the Dutch accent.

“Hey Max.” He smiled turning around to do a sort of bro hug moment that the ‘lestappen’ twitter girlies would go wild for.

“Excited to battle on the track this weekend?”

“Always, especially once I beat you.”

“Keep dreaming bud.” Max Chuckled, patted him on the shoulder. “I’ll catch you later.”

“Of course.” Charles winked. He knew he shouldn’t, he shouldn’t be so obvious about this weird little relationship he has with Max, but he couldn’t help but take every opportunity he could to tease Max a little (and he now hoped that Max’s ‘I’ll catch you later’ meant he was showing up at Charles room tonight).

“Where were we?” Charles turned back to the cameras in a much better mood.

Friday
Charles woke today, half crushed by the weight of one Max Verstappen. They had broken their rule, but after the teasing moment in the media pen yesterday, it was inevitable.

Just like Max Verstappen.

Charles glanced at the clock, it read 05:00. He shook Max.

“Max, baby, you need to get up.”
He mumbled and rolled over. Charles chuckled to himself. Max was stubborn in all things he did, especially his need for more sleep than one human could possibly need. Charles shook him again, “Max.”

The other man picked up his head, his face scrunched and looking blurrily at Charles. “What time is it?”

“Five.”

“Five??”

“Five.”

“Charles it’s too early to be having this conversation.” He made to roll over away from Charles.

“You have to sneak back to your own hotel room.”

“No, I don’t.” He puts a pillow over his head.

“Yes Max, you cannot show up to the paddock in the clothes you wore yesterday. You need to go back and get ready for practice.”

“I’ll just wear your clothes.”

“Oh sure you’re going to show up to the track in Ferrari clothes?”

“It would be a good way of telling everyone we are together. We could go for subtle.”

“Subtle? You showing up to the track in Ferrari red is anything but subtle.”

“Maybe people would think I’m jumping ship. Or fucking Carlos, no wait that’s not believable everyone knows he has a thing for Lando…” He trailed off, a small smirk forming. “Or ooo maybe I’m having an illicit affair with Fred.”

Charles shoved Max, hard. Hard enough that Max rolled halfway off the bed, the other half of his body still tanged in the sheets. A halfhearted grumble was aimed Charles’ way, but Max was too infatuated with him to truly be angry at Charles. He was right of course, if Max didn’t leave soon than it was going to be obvious where he was coming from and probably who he was with. And neither Max nor Charles needed the extra drama of a secret rendezvous floating around the media today.

He finally untangled him from the sheet disaster and made his way back over to where Charles still lay, facing the ceiling. He straddled him, coming face to face with the other man.

“I’ll see you later?”

“Yeah.” Charles sighed. Max kissed him, and off he went.

Free Practice One:
Charles Leclerc: P1
Max Verstappen: P3

Charles jumped out of the car, ecstatic. The feeling of being on top (even just for Practice was enough to excite him). Further down the pitlane, Max stepped carefully out of his RedBull. P3: Not bad, not good; nowhere near enough to panic just yet. But he knew that a whisper was already travelling around the track: had the mighty bulls finally fallen? Was Singapore the curse that would follow Max his whole career?

Free Practice Two:
Charles Leclerc: P2
Max Verstappen: P8

Charles parked his car and took a deep breath. P2. Good. On top, bested by only his teammate. Carlos will be happy. Fred will be happy. Charles was… Was Charles happy? It was only Free Practice, nothing effecting the race right now, but Charles was struggling to find the confidence he had already fought for during the short course of his current career. He had faced enough grief, fought enough battles that he wondered to himself if maybe this had all been a mistake?

No. He shook himself, P2. Front Row. Free Practice.

Just Free Practice.

Max Verstappen stepped out of the car. He shakes, even if he doesn’t want to. He knew Singapore was predicted to be the Bulls toughest track, but this? P8 and even that was a struggle to reach? He moves to take off his helmet, before pausing, afraid to show his face to the rest of the world first. He needed to take a deep breath, remind himself that free practice means nothing in terms of Sunday’s whole affair.

So P8? P8 means good data to look at, and adjustments that will come out of that data. P8 today, means back to P1 tomorrow. The world will hear the Dutch Anthem again this weekend.

Christian appears in his line of sight, a grimace plastered across his face.

“Looks like we’ve got some work to do.”

“Looks like it will be a long night Christian.”
Saturday

Charles woke up alone today. He had hoped Max would come to his room last night, and they could debrief practice, but he also knew that Max had a shitty day yesterday. Or, at least a shitty day in terms of Max’s season because P3 and P8 would feel pretty good in the red tractor Charles had been driving most of the year.

He had texted Max, a simple “Hey.” and had really expected an elaborate response because they aren’t actually dating (right?) but he had hoped for a small response, an acknowledgment.

But today was a new day.

And he had a pair of red quali pants to put on.

At the track, Charles plasters a smile to his face. The car was fast this week, the Redbulls were not so he knew he had a good chance at taking another pole here.

Free Practice Three:
Charles Leclerc: P5
Max Verstappen: P4

Charles felt like he had a boulder weighing him down as he stepped out of the car. P5 wasn’t bad most days, but it was bad when Carlos was P1, and now even Max was in front of him in P4. Free Practice Charles, he repeated to himself as he made his way carefully to his drivers room to sit for a moment before prepping for quali starts.

He nearly screamed when he opened his door.

Max Verstappen was sitting on the massage table that was set up in the corner. His drivers suit was half unzipped and sat messily around him. He was gloriously sweaty still, flushed just enough.

“Max what the fuck are you doing here?” Charles checked the hallway behind him

“I needed to see you.”

“How did you even get in here?”

“I’m Max Verstappen.”

“Yes, Redbull. The Enemy. A prime example of someone Ferrari doesn’t really want wandering around our hospitality areas.”

“You’re not happy to see me?” He crossed his arms and fake pouting. “Guess I’ll just go then.” He moved to stand up, and Charles frantically stuck his arms out to stop him.

“No. No, I –“ He smiled, “I’m glad you’re here.”

“I wanted to come see you last night.”

“Yesterday was a tough day.”

“Yes, poor Charles only got P1 and P2 in practice. How ever did you live?”

Charles made a face at him, trying to come up with the right words to respond. Didn’t Max get it? Practice meant nothing in the grand scheme of things when car and engines seemed to enjoy blowing up in Charles face. Practice didn’t mean he was a good driver by any means if he couldn’t match practice with quali and then the race. He struggled to take a deep breath, attempting to center himself before he could say something hurtful and ruin both of their days like he was currently mentally ruining him.

“Oh Schat.” Max reached forward to grab him, watching as the other man’s face crumbled. “Come here.”

Max pulled him up onto the table with him, cradling the other man close. They sat like this for a moment, breathing each other in and embracing the silence. Race weeks were hard, but at least they had each other to make them a little easier.

Charles reached up and wiped at his face.

“I’m sorry, I know you’ve had a tough weekend so far too.”

“That’s ok, the race is where it matters.”

“You’re right.”

“I’m always right.”

“Ok Mr. Right, should I sign with Redbull for next season?”

“How do I answer-“

The door to the drivers room swung open suddenly, and Andrea popped his head in.

“Charles you uh…” He trailed off and took in the sight before him. “You know what? I didn’t see anything. Charles, you need to be in the garage for data in five minutes. Your friend needs to make his way back to his area of the paddock before someone else comes looking, okay?”
“Thanks Andrea.” The door swung shut and Charles pushed away from Max.

“You think you can sneak out without getting caught?”

“Maybe I’ll just stay here. Become a permanent fixture of your driver’s room.”

“You need to race.”

“Who says? I have two championships already; do I really need another?”

“We both know you would be far too bored without racing. And besides, who would be my lifelong rival?”

“Ok fine.” He jumped up and zipped his suit back up. “See you on the track.”

Qualification
Charles Leclerc: P3
Max Verstappen: P11

Charles jumped out of the car and wanted to start screaming. He wanted to rip the helmet from his head and throw it in the direction of a number of individuals. No Charles, P3 is good. P3 means he could get the jump on George at the start of the race tomorrow.

But P3 or even P2 behind a P1 Carlos means that Carlos will automatically get the winning strategy. And after the tense situation in Monza last week, he knew he wouldn’t be allowed to fight Carlos, especially if he was able to maintain the P1 advantage.

Redbull would let you fight, a voice whispered in the back of his head. He tried to ignore it, but with the secret contract hanging over his head, the reasons to leave Ferrari were becoming much more prominent than the reasons to hang in there and hope he would be listened to in 2024.

He went through the motions of the rest of Saturday in a blind rage, trying hard to not focus on the contract and instead focus on the rest of the weekend. He did his media obligations and smiled pretty for the cameras with George and Carlos before being allowed to finally escape back to the hotel room.

But as he was about to leave for the day, a firm hand clapped his shoulder and pulled him backwards. Pierre’s grimace met his, and he realized selfishly that he was so caught up in the disappointment of his own quali that he forgot to even check where Pierre had placed.

“What a day huh?”

“Hello Pear.”

“Down with the bulls, huh?”

“Yeah haha.” Charles chuckled, could he tell Pierre about the impending contract over his head? Could he tell Pierre, that actually no. Not down with the bulls because surprise! I could be one of them. No, he couldn’t tell his best friend, not until after the ink had dried. “Down with Redbull.”

“Want to get a drink after the race tomorrow? When do you leave for Japan?”

“I leave on Tuesday, so yes lots of alcohol no matter the outcome of the race.”

“See you later mate!” Pierre skipped off, presumable in the direction of Yuki Tsunoda, who would probably also be fuming about his quali position at the moment.

Later that evening, Charles lay staring up at the ceiling of his hotel room. Max snored softly next to him, another evening in a row where their unspoken rule had been broken. Charles didn’t want to get used to always having the other man show up. He thinks about the contract Christian had finally emailed over. The blank spots where he was free to add a few of his own stipulations, the freedom that Redbull seemed to be offering him. He thinks about the sinking pit in his stomach, one that had only grown race after race this season, and was probably now the size of a boulder.

“I have a bad feeling about tomorrow.” He says this aloud just in case Max was actually awake.

He only continues snoring.

Sunday

Charles wakes, the dread from last night has only spread.

He makes his way to breakfast, to the paddock, to his car. The bad feeling continues like the steady tick of a clock.

He kisses Max goodbye; it feels too final.

He ends P4.

He feels thankful that he doesn’t have to do podium procedure and can instead wallow in a cold shower.
He will later hear George’s “They’re going to sacrifice Charles.” Radio played over and over on twitter. He feels grateful to George in some weird way that at least someone recognizes the stupidity in that moment.

He gets very very drunk

Chapter Text

Sunday Night, approximately 2 hours after the end of the Singapore Grand Prix.

Charles ditched the Ferrari camp as soon as he possibly good. Sometimes he enjoys the atmosphere after a race, as the paddock begins to come down, there’s a certain level of serenity that comes with a quiet racetrack. But not tonight.

Tonight, Charles had no desire to stick around to watch Carlos and his side of the garage jump around joyously. He was happy for Carlos, really, he was. The first win on the season not won by a Redbull? That was something to celebrate. But it wasn’t Charles’ win to celebrate, which means heading off to whichever club/bar Pierre has pre scouted out to have a drink or two.

So here they are. Charles, Pierre, Yuki, George, and Alex all scrunched around a table in a smokey bar. Logan was here somewhere too; he had disappeared over 20 minutes ago with the promise of buying a round of shots. Poor guy, Charles thinks, Williams has yet to renew his contract and the more weekends that pass, the more Logan has got to be feeling the pressure.

Charles was starting to feel loose. The mixed drink he had already had had slowly been settling in, and Charles was trying to focus on the conversation the other boys were having but in reality, he could only think about the contract. And Max.

“I’m going to get another drink.” He stands suddenly, spooking both himself and the other boys at the table. Pierre looks taken aback – he probably should be. Charles never drinks like this, especially during the season and especially not after a decent race finish such as p4.

“I’ll go with you.” Pierre stands too, “Does anybody else want anything?”

“Could you keep any eye out for Logan? He’s been gone awhile.” Alex speaks up, that’s odd, Charles thinks, he didn’t think the two teammates were close like that. He makes a mental note to ask Alex about the American later.

“Of course.” Pierre answers and gives Charles a gentle shove to get him moving towards the bar.

“What is up with you?”

“Shots first I think?”

“Shots Charles? Really?”

“C’mon Pierre.”

“Fine. But for every shot, you have to answer a question.”

Charles held up his hand for the bartender and order six shots of tequila. He hoped it was the cheap kind, the kind that would burn all the way down. He was sure the club they were at was way to high end for that, but a boy could dream.

Pierre held up two and they downed them.

“When did you and Max start dating?”

Charles choked. He hadn’t realized that anyone noticed.

“We aren’t dating.”

“Fucking, hanging, anything beyond rivals on the grid.”

“Last year. Austria 2022.”

“I knew that podium was too pornographic to be innocent.”

Charles grimaced and held up the next two shots. They downed them. The burn wasn’t enough.

“Is Max worth it?”

“Worth what?”

“The career, the dream?”

“Don’t be a dick Pierre.”

“What are you doing to yourself Charles? Look at you. Drunk after a decent race? Moping over some guy?”

“That’s what you call a decent race? They sacrificed me, Pierre. They threw me to the fucking wolves to make Papa Sainz happy. I was supposed to be the number one driver and instead they gave me this stupid fucking sandbox on wheels that won’t turn half the time and I’m still what? .07 off from Carlos? Its pathetic and it has nothing to do with Max or my extracurricular activities with him.”

Charles downed the last two shots sitting in front of them and motioned to the bartender for more. He was over Pierre’s stupid game now and quite frankly he was just not quite drunk enough.

“I just don’t want you to destroy yourself.”

“You don’t even know the half of it Pierre.”

“Then tell me.”

“Redbull offered me a contract.” He watched his friend’s face carefully, trying to assess his emotions before the other man could speak.

“For 2025?”

“Next year.”

“But-“

“No Checo.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I think I’m going to take it.” He hesitates. “I haven’t told anyone that.”

The bartender had returned with more shots, and Charles downed one more. He pushes another towards Pierre, but he shakes his head.

“I’m here whatever you decide Charles.”

That was very classic Pierre, involved but not too much. He was a tried and true gossip, but also good at holding back what he was actually thinking. Charles knew that it was probably a lot for the other man, it was probably crazy that Charles was even considering moving to the team that chewed up and spit out his best friend without a care. But this wasn’t about Pierre, this was about Charles. And Charles will no longer be playing the sacrificial lamb.

Could he do it? Become the Tifiosi’s Hated One instead of their Predestined? The Bull’s had a good following, but no one came close to the red sea that flooded Italy.

The two men move back over to the table where the others were still sitting. None of them were particularly drunk, save for Charles who had now consumed an uncountable number of shots. Logan had returned too, looking even more glum.

They sit, they chat and Charles continues drinking. He tries to get Logan to do with shots with him, partially because he feels bad for the guy and partially because he feels weird being the only one that was beyond drunk.

“Pierre,” He thinks he whispers, “Pierre do you know where my phone is?”

“Here mate. We took it away from you, but I guess as long as you’re supervised, we can give it back.” George slides the device across the table and Charles frowns at the screen.

“How does one make a call?”

“Who are you trying to call? A late night booty call perhaps?” Alex nudges him in the side, giggling with George.

“I don’t think Max would appreciate being called a booty call.” Charles mumbles still frowning at his phone. How do you spell Max again? M-A- was there some letter before the X?

“I’m sorry. Who are you calling?”

Charles looks up, realizing that the whole table had frozen. Did he spill something? He looks down, peering around the table to makes sure his glass hadn’t fallen over without him noticing. It hasn’t, but it was now empty. Damn, when did he finish his drink? Max would’ve made sure that his glass was never empty. Max was thoughtful like that. Where was Max? He should call Max.

“Does anyone have Max’s number? I think my phone is broken.”

George leans over and plucks the phone from his hands. He presses the side button and the screen lights up without an issue.

“No I don’t think its broken. Why are you trying to call Max?”

“I thin k he will be annoyed that I haven’t come to his room yet tonight. It wasn’t his best race either.” Charles hiccups, proud of himself that he could form such a complex sentence.

The rest of the table looks stunned. They must be proud of him too.

“Alex, Pierre you guys used to be his teammates? Can I call him on your phones?”

“Um sure Charles.” Alex dials the number and hands him the phone. Alex has a weird smile on his face, and Charles can’t figure out what he’s thinking.

“Alex?” Max’s sleepy voice whispers across the line.

“Hi baby.”

Charles sees George mouth ‘baby?’ to Alex, Pierre stares, frozen and wide eyed.

“Charles?”

“I miss you.”

“Where’s your phone, Schat?”

“George took it away from me. I wish you were here.”

“And where is here?”

“The club.”

“Which club?”

“Mon coeur, Je veux tes cuisses.” (My heart, I want your thighs) He switched easily into French, the alcohol guiding his thoughts back into his native language. Pierre choked in the background.

“Charles.” Pierre said, holding a hand out for the phone.

“What did he just say? What did he just say?” Alex leans forward against the table.

“I uh I don’t think I should say.”

“Oh, it was dirty? I told you! I told you they were fucking!” Alex slaps Logan, the other man lifts a hand to fight back but can’t fight off his eager teammate.

“Schat, can you give the phone to someone else at the table?”

“Of course, baby, I can be good for you.” Charles moves the phone away from his ear and held it out, hoping someone would take it. George does, and Charles feels good. He did what he was supposed to and now Max would come and get him. He hears George talking to Max, and the other boys continue staring at Charles. George hangs up the phone.

“Uh I think we should probably go back to the hotel now.” George says, standing and motioning for everyone to start moving.

“But Max is coming.”

“Max is in your room Charles.”

“That’s so nice of him.”

Pierre manages to get Charles back to the hotel without too much trouble. The club he had selected was luckily within walking distances of the Ferrari/Alpine hotel of the week so all they had to do was stumble a couple of blocks through the city. Max meets them in the lobby. He was clearly sleep rumpled and worried, but Pierre felt his heart skip a beat when Charles fell into Max’s arms without hesitation and Max softly nuzzled the top of the others head. The three of them made it into the elevator without consequence and eventually, Pierre made his move to get off on his floor. Charles arm shot out to stop him,

“Thanks Pear.”

“I meant what I said earlier. Goodnight Charles.”

And then there were two.

“I missed you.” Charles whispers, even though they seemed to be the only two still awake in the whole hotel.

“Did you have a good night?” They get out on their floor.

“I should’ve just come to bed.”

“Well, I certainly would’ve preferred that.”

“I really like you Max.”

“I like you too Charles.”

“I’m taking the Redbull contract Max.”

“I never doubted that.”

“Can we do this Max?”

“Lets go to bed Schat.”

Charles wakes the next morning flat on his back with a pounding headache. Max isn’t there and Charles feels his heart drop out of his chest. What the hell happened last night?

He remembers some of the shots, he remembers bothering George to get his phone back…

His phone! Where Is his phone? Charles rolls over searching for the missing object but coming up empty. Fuck. He slams his fist down on the bed and makes his first attempt to sit up.

The bathroom door opens and out strides Max, freshly showered and carrying a bottle of pills and a glass of water.

“My savior.” Charles groans.

“Who says these are for you?” Max teases, sitting down across from him, holding them out. Charles downs the pills and about half of the bottle of water. His stomach rumbles uncomfortably, and he finds himself craving anything Andrea would not approve of. Max watches him carefully. He sits just out of Charles reach with his arms crossed and his brow furrowed. It was obvious that things were about to get a little uncomfortable. “We need to talk about last night.”

“No” Charles groans, scootching back down the bed to curl into a ball. “I would rather forget whatever happened last night.”

“Charles.” Max’s voice was stern. Charles peaked up at him, the other man didn’t look angry, just disappointed?

“What happened last night?”

“Well, you told a lot of people we are dating. Pierre did not go into full details, but it seems like you were pretty explicit.”

“Oh god this isn’t happening.”

“And we need to address the Redbull contract.”

Charles sits up, shit, did he tell people about the Redbull contract too? Had he tried to call Christian? Yesterday after the disasterclass strategy from Ferrari, Charles had made up his mind about the contract. There was no way he could turn it down at this point, not when his hopes of a WDC were slipping farther and farther away from him. He had thought a lot about the greats of F1 this past week. He thought about what they would do: Schumi, Lewis, Seb and came to the decision that anyone of them would probably switch if things got this bad. Hell, Seb did switch out of Ferrari for similar reasons Charles is facing now.

“I want to take the contract Max.”

“I know, and I support you on that, but –“ Max hesitates.

“But?”

“I think we need to discuss who we are to each other first. Figure out the types of boundaries that need to be set if we are going to be teammates, emotional support rivals and occasional bed partners all at once.”

“Bed partners? Are you 100?”

“That is not the point Charles.” He huffs out frustrated.

“First off Max, I’ve thought a lot this week about who I need to be to be successful in this sport, but I also thought a lot about you Max. And if me being your teammate means we can’t be together than maybe I shouldn’t make the move. I could hold on to Ferrari until the end of my contract and put out feelers for other teams or look at doing Le Mans or Indy- no, no I can’t switch to Indy. Not right now.” Charles rambles on, trying to work out the tangle of thoughts in his head. “But the point Is you’re important.”

“So what are we?”

“Well apparently I told like half of the grid that we were dating, and Alex is a little bit of a gossip so I have a feeling that most of the grid already knows? So uh, I- we are boyfriends.”

“Boyfriends.” Max smiles, and he leans forward to give Charles a little kiss. “I think we could be teammates too.”

“Teammates.” Charles nods.

“Before you sign anything, I would like to set up a meeting with you, me and Christian to discuss how a partnership between us would work. I just want the extra reassurance that Christian believes in both of us.”

“Anything you want.”

Chapter Text

Later that day, Charles can’t stop scrolling through twitter. Max had a meeting, ahead of leaving for Japan which gave Charles all the time in the world to linger on apps he knows he should turn off. It is making him seethe with anger, seeing all the shit journalists will make up for attention, but he’s stuck in a doom scroll cycle reading all about how one P4 placement in Singapore makes him a bad driver. He scrolls some more and now people are comparing Carlos to Schumacher?

He loves Carlos, he’s been a good mate. But Schumacher? Two wins doesn’t make you Schumacher. Enzo Ferrari himself is rolling in his grave at that comparison. And Redbull was off this weekend, anyone can see that. Its not like Carlos was having to go wheel to wheel with Max. Charles was the one to do that! Not Carlos!

But no. No acknowledgment of his sacrifice. No comment on his P4 which isn’t even a bad result in the tractor that Ferrari had built this year. Hell, Ferrari had tweeted their love for Lando before they had for him, maybe Lando should drive for the red car if they love him so much.

He keeps scrolling and reads the next headline: “Charles ‘Pretty Boy’ Leclerc loses his edge over the new Ferrari King.”

“Fuck.” He screams and throws his phone at the wall, hoping it cracks.

It rings instead.

He ignores it.

It rings some more.

He curls into a ball in the middle of the bed, pulling a pillow over his head. He wants to block out the sound of his ringing phone, the overwhelming number of horrible tweets and comments flooding in. His heart rate picks up. He can’t breathe.

He tries to breathe; tries to remember the years of therapy he’s had and all the coping methods he’s learned. He used to get panic attacks when he was younger, back during karting days when the desire to win and impress overpowered a youthful naivety that couldn’t yet understand that racing wasn’t everything. But he hadn’t had a panic attack in years, probably since before entering Formula One.

What are you doing Charles?

You stupid fucking idiot. Can’t win races, can’t win a WDC for Ferrari, can’t fulfill the destiny. The legacy.

What gives you the right to take a Redbull contract from another capable driver? What gives you the right to go on and screw up yet another team?

He continues to wallow, drifting in and out of an unsteady sleep, simultaneously hoping someone would check on him, and hoping that everyone would just leave him alone.

He isn’t sure what time it is when hotel door opening wakes him. It is darker in the room than when he last remembers being awake, but the day has passed in such a blur that he isn’t unconvinced that it is now the day after. A hand on his lower back startles him and he blinks sleepily up at Max.

“Hey.” Charles voice is scratchy with misuse and sleep.

“Have you eaten?”

“What time is it?”

“Almost nine.”

“Then no, I have not eaten all day.”

“Then lets get you some food. Go, shower. I’ll be here when you get out.”

So he does. He showers and lets the steam clear his head a little. He returns to Max who has ordered room service and was already tucking into his own meal.

“I ordered only foods our trainers wouldn’t agree to.” Max giggles, holding up a fry in Charles direction. Charles grimaces: what was it Sky Italy was saying about him? Oh, yeah, they said it looked like he was too snug in his seat since the summer break. That it was obvious that he overindulged. Max catches the grimace, and frowns. He sets down his burger and motions for Charles to come sit with him.

“What happened Charles? You seemed ok this morning when I left.”

“I don’t want to bother you with it, its stupid. How was your meeting?” Charles tries desperately to distract Max but he only shakes his head.

“Try again.”

“Have you seen the things they’re saying?”

“What things?”

“That I’m washed, and mid, and need to resign myself to a permanent 2nd driver position. Or that I need to, at the very least, bow down to King Carlos Sainz who is apparently going to start coming for your seat. Oh, and also apparently, I look snug in my seat.”

“And that explains why your phone was shattered on the ground. Now sit down, eat. Lets discuss this.”

“I can’t Max.”

“Charles, I am one of the heavier drivers on the grid. I have seen every single comment about how I look, and what I look like and all the zoomed in photos of me flailing in the ocean like a sea cow. But do you want to know something?”
“You’re not a sea cow?”

“Well, no I’m not. But that’s not the point I’m trying to make. What I am trying to say is that at the end of the day, I am driving the F1 car, and being invited to parties that normal people could only dream of, and I am living in a beautiful Monaco apartment that overlooks the sea. And if I get bored I will drive one of my nice cars to my boat. The point is, is that all those people lingering in your comments are the type of people who have nothing better to do than to comment on social media of people they will never get the opportunity to know.”

“What is a sea cow exactly?”

“Charles.”

“I understand Max, but what if I can’t do it? What if everything they’re saying is true?”

“Its not true.”

“But what if it is? What if I move to Redbull and I flop even harder than I have at Ferrari?”

“First off, Ferrari hasn’t been a flop for you. You have done so incredibly well for the cars that they’ve made, and anyone with eyes can see that.”

“You think?”

“I know.” Max Smiles. “Now, I ordered like six different types of food because I wasn’t sure what you would be in the mood for, so take your pick.”

And maybe Max was right, or maybe he wasn’t. That wasn’t really what mattered. The only thing that mattered in that moment was that the two of them could enjoy eachothers company and be around eachother.

For now.

Chapter Text

They fly out to Japan on Max’s jet, and they don’t talk about what happened on Sunday and Monday. Max and Charles sit across from each other, commenting on the most mundane topics they can find because The Redbull Contract, Charles drunken adventure (including accidentally exposing their relationship to some others), and Max’s ‘failure’ (his fifth place, Charles would count as a decent race, but Max can only see it as a failure to be the best) in Singapore are all a little too much to bear with so little oxygen already present up in the sky.

So, they don’t talk about it.

They breath in each other’s presence, and they point at birds, and eventually Charles climbs into Max’s lap and catches a tiny bit of sleep.

They don’t talk about it, and they land. They board two separate cars to go from the jet to their respective team hotels for the week and give each other fleeting little glances as the cars pull in separate directions.

Charles schedules a meeting with Christian to go over the terms and asks if Max could be invited to “test the chemistry” of their partnership. It’s all bullshit, Charles thinks, as he chuckles politely at Christian’s attempt at a joke, that Max has to be invited through some kind of third party invite. Can’t they all see that they’re sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms every night?

It seems like he can feel Christian’s smirk through the phone because they both know what this phone call means.

He wouldn’t be asking for a meeting if he wasn’t accepting.

Charles can’t help but wonder what was going through Christian’s mind. He knows that everyone, after Singapore, was calling for Ferrari to do better (for Charles) and if they couldn’t, for Charles to leave. But what was Christian thinking? Could he instill faith into Charles, even if Charles was doing better than Max?

Could Charles do better than Max?

They meet in a private room at the back of a local restaurant. It is dark and quiet, the perfect place for a clandestine meeting of life-altering proportions. They order sushi and Charles wishes his manager was here, but he settles for a private discussion between just him Christian and Max. He thinks this is ok, because he wouldn’t be signing any documents or agreeing to terms, it was simply a chemistry meeting. Christian observes the two men; he is seated on one side of the table with his back to the door, across from Charles. He and Max had arrived together, before Charles and had strategically picked the seats that would essentially block Charles into the back room. It feels threatening in a way, but Charles is used to the dramatic and intense nature that Max tended to like living life, and so he settles in and picks his way through a few pieces of his roll before any sort of Redbull talk was able to come up.

“So Charles, I understand that you wanted to test your chemistry with Max.”

“Yes, as obviously Max and I have known each other for years but we’ve never been teammates. I want to know how us being teammates would work.”

“Well, we don’t have a plan to have a number one driver right from the start. If the season is tight and another team closes in on us, then the driver who has more points will be considered number 1, regardless of who that is. We fully believe in your capabilities Charles,” Christian hesitates, glancing at Max, “But we do know Max very well and we won’t sacrifice him or the team unless we need to.”

“Will we be allowed to fight on track?”

“As long as it isn’t taking either of you out of the points, and there is no risk considering your positions, then I don’t see why we can’t allow you guys to fight.”

Charles takes a thoughtful bite of his sushi and looks to where Max sits. The other man has been quiet the entire meeting, a trait that is both surprising and unsurprising. Surprising because he ordinarily can never shut up, and unsurprising as signing Charles could mean a risk to his own career and legacy.

“What are you thinking Max?” Charles asks hesitantly. He hopes he doesn’t give away the comfort he would find in hearing Max’s affirmation.

“I think it would be simply lovely to have you on board Charles. I’ve been dying for some real competition.”

Charles of course already knows this. It was one of the only topics he and Max had discussed since that fateful phone call post Monza, and even farther back in the season as Max struggled to keep the passion for racing alive with no true competition at the front of the pack. It was one of the few topics Max had opened up to Charles about, and he worries that this was only because it was a weak attempt to make Charles feel better about his own season, and not because Max wanted an equal, communicative part in whatever it was they had between them.

Charles has a lot of anxiety. He knows this, and he thinks Max does too, and this is one of the biggest reasons making the switch is so difficult. He is comfortable in the red suit, no matter how much pain it has brought him, it has always been there as a consistent figure and eventually reality. A legacy and a dream that was passed down in a manner more sacred than any religion he had ever borne witness to. He had grown into the pain and suffering because it was presented on a shiny silver (red) platter. It had originally come with Sebastian Vettel, grid dad and biggest supporter. He had stolen all of Sebastian’s techniques, watched him first from a distance, and then slowly got closer in order to observe and ask questions. Seb was the reason he figured out how to keep a level head when Binotto was a dick during debriefs and he was the reason that Charles now carried a notebook everywhere he went, to study and consider the world around him in order to enhance his driving. Would Seb be disappointed in the switch? Or would he see this as an opportunity for Charles to seize the raw talent that was bubbling just below the surface, hindered only by botched strategy and slow cars?

Charles makes a mental note to text Seb for a meeting. He knew the other man would be in town for his bee ceremony and hoped that Seb would be able to make time for him to speak on the matter. His opinion was just as important as anyone elses.

He tunes back into the conversation, and the rest of the dinner goes off without a hitch. While Charles already knew that he and Max got along just fine, he hoped they were able to show Christian that they could do well as potential teammates and ease his mind with Charles’ big switch.

At the end of the night, they all stand and shake hands, and Christian leans in close to Charles,

“I think you would do just fine as teammates. Should I be expecting a call from your manager?”

Max winks (or tries to) over Christian’s shoulder, and Charles nods. This was actually happening.

Charles sneaks over to Max’s hotel once he gets the ‘all clear’ that night. They play fifa on the PS5 Max never travels without and Charles continues to fight the bad thoughts in his head. He had promised Max to stay off of the gossip side of social media for the next couple days after his episode on Monday, but he struggles to do this when it seems like all of F1 media is focused on Charles failures in comparison to Carlos’ success.

And then Pierre posts a photo of him at dinner with Carlos, his team, and Carlos’ new girlfriend and Charles spirals even more. He shoves his phone under Max’s phone, making a distressed little whine.

“huh?” Max drops the gaming controller to take the phone. “What am I looking at?”

“My traitor of a best friend having dinner with the enemy.”

“I didn’t know they were close?”

“Neither did I.”

Max bites his lip, afraid to speak. He knows that sometimes It is better to just let Charles vent his frustrations until he essentially tires himself out but they already have a long week ahead of them with Suzuka, and Charles was already headed down a dark path with the season he had been having.

“Maybe they are just trying to repair the whole ‘pobrecito’ thing.”

“Or maybe Pierre ran straight to Carlos about me switching teams next year and now they both hate me.”

“Pierre wouldn’t do that to you.”

“Who knows what he would do.”

“You do, Charles. Pierre has been your best friend since you both could talk; I am pretty sure he would rather throw himself in front of a bus than hurt you on purpose. This dinner? Its honestly probably PR, or Pierre being the idiot that he is, ok? Call him tomorrow. Talk to him.”

“I hate it when you’re logical. Where is Mad Max?”

“Mad Max only makes an appearance on track now a days. Get the horse team to build you a better car, and maybe then you can witness Mad Max this season.”

“Or maybe next year you won’t even have the chance to show me him, I’ll be so far ahead of you when we are in equal machinery.”

“I have no doubt about that.”

Max picks the control back up, and they resume their positions on the couch. Charles tries to push away the negative thoughts by texting Seb,

“Sebastian! Would you have time for a coffee this week? I understand you are very busy with the bee corner, but I have an issue I want to ask you about?”

He turns off his phone tonight and refocuses on the game Max was currently immersed in.

He reminds himself that he needs to just put energy into the last bit of the season and that everything would have to work itself out. He had to trust that.

Chapter Text

“Look Charles! Even Redbull wants us to get together.” Max rushes into the room waving his phone about.

“What?” He takes the phone and studies what is on screen. He finds a video of him and Max before the Signapore Grand Prix drivers parade walking side by side and giggling. The caption names Charles as one of Max’s prerace essentials and the sound is tagged as “Lecstappen Alert” with two siren emojis. He clicks on the comments:

“Charles to Redbull 2025 confirmed?”

“Charles AND Max? Who allowed this?”

“This pairing would be unstoppable.”

Charles smiles to himself, if only they knew what was coming.

~~~

Charles attends Sebastian’s bee corner ceremony. He plays nice with Carlos, smiling at the camera when needed and making little jokes here or there. He tries not to let his emotions get to him when Carlos makes a jab at his artistic abilities, and he certainly does not get emotional when Seb wraps him in a tight hug and doesn’t let go.

don’t waste it, don’t waste it, don’t waste it, a mantra repeated over and over in his head since the day Seb gave him that helmet. It always comes back to him in moments like this, when Seb was here and holding him and the other man was able to thrive outside of the thing that seemed to make him, him.

Seb pulls away and smiles lightly at him. Charles can’t help but think that retirement looks good on Seb, no matter how much he misses him. He notices that he carries himself with a different sort of glow, than the one that surrounded him during his time with Ferrari or Aston Martin.

“I will see you more this weekend, no?” Seb had answered his text this morning, affirming a time to meet after the race on Sunday. This gave Charles plenty of time to prepare what he wanted to say to Seb in regards to leaving Ferrari and helped him to put it in the back of his head to focus on the upcoming weekend.

“Of course.”

Seb gives him one last grin before moving over to the Mercedes bee house, clapping Lewis on the back. Charles watches from a far as Seb reconnects with the older members of the grid, and doles out advice to the rookies. Sebastian was so many of theirs idol growing into the sport, they all looked up to him a little, or had managed to find some mutual respect as racers but Charles was one of the few lucky ones to call him a true teammate and friend. He hoped that Seb would be able to see where he was coming from with the switch, hoped that Seb could see that he was trying so hard to follow in his footsteps, even if he had to do it a little backwards.

He hoped this weekend was a smooth weekend, with no standout screw ups from Ferrari, and if it wasn’t, he hoped that they would crash and burn so spectacularly that when the announcement was made, there was no question as to why he went to Redbull. He wanted to stand among the ashes, a Championship trophy held high over his head and he was finally coming to the realization that it didn’t matter what color the race suit was as long as the trophy was his.

~~
The rest of Thursday and all of Friday passes without much trouble. Charles drives the car in practice, and it feels the same way it has all season: volatile and dangerous. He holds on to fourth and second in practice and tries to not to get his hopes up for the rest of the weekend, but it does feel good to place high.

He avoids Pierre. Normally, he would seek the other man out at some point during the weekend for grid gossip and hang out but he can’t help feeling confused by his actions. They had had a good time Sunday night, or at least Charles had until he got too drunk, but he figured Pierre understood why those events had gone down. The season was hard (for both of them) and frustrations needed to be taken out over alcohol. But now? Dinner with Carlos, and the following radio silence? How does he even approach Pierre at this point? Their friendship had grown up with them in racing, so normally the competition was not a problem. But Charles wondered if the Redbull contract was something that could dismantle everything, especially when Pierre had failed out of the Redbull lifestyle.

He calls his Pascale, praying that she will not frown at him through the phone. He knew he needed to wait to tell his brothers about the contract, especially Arthur because he was a member of the Ferrari Drivers academy and way too close to the situation to be objective, but their mother was typically someone who just wanted what was best for her boys and she knew the ins and outs of his relationship with Pierre better than he probably did. She picks up after only one ring:

“Bonjour chouchou.”

“Bonjour Maman.” He takes a deep breath, “I was hoping to talk to you about something.”

“Anything Sharl.”

He explains the whole situation, starting with his budding friendship with Max (leaving out the dirty details of course), moving on to the move, and ending with his troubles with Pierre. He doesn’t even realize how much of weight has been lifted off his shoulders by finally telling someone all of the anxieties floating around, but he can feel it suddenly lift and he is able to take a deep breath. His mother is quiet on the other side, and he tries to picture her face as if she was sitting across from him.

“Pierre is your best friend, no?”

“Of course.”

“People are the priority, Charles. Life is nothing if you stomp on everyone in order to meet your accomplishments. I am happy that you seem to find relief in moving to a new team, but this will be hard on everyone, Pierre included. You were his sounding board when he struggled in their camp, and while he may be happier in Alpine, it will always be a difficulty he carries with him. So talk to him, and give him the opportunity to talk too.”

“Yes maman, I will.”

“Good. And Charles?”

“Yes?”

“Treat Max well too, hmm?”

“He is just a friend.”

“He has always been special to you, and heaven knows that boy needs good people on his side, ok?”

“Okay.”

“I love you.”

“Me too.” He hangs up the phone, and he takes another deep breath. He will text Pierre after the race on Sunday, give him a little bit more space before approaching. His mother is right – their friendship is stronger than contract negotiations and could be fixed after a couple of days of space and a little bit of arguing over some beer.

He returns to his hotel, feeling lighter than he has in weeks. He shoots Max a text, hoping to once again break their no sleepovers on race week rule. He figures Max has to be feeling pretty good right about now too, because he topped both practice sessions today.

What he wasn’t expecting when he entered his room was to find a Max shaped lump curled up in the middle of his hotel bed.

“Max?” He says softly. He approaches slowly, kicking off his shoes and dropping his bag by the foot of the bed. Max lifts his head, blinking blearily up at Charles. “What are you doing here?”

“I can go.” Max says, his voice scratchy with sleep and tears.

“No, no I was just surprised to see you.”

“I’m sorry, its just uh Jos. Jos called.” Max shifts, curling into himself more.

“Ah.” Charles sits down on the edge of the bed hesitantly. “Can I touch you?”

Max nods, and Charles reaches out a hand to card his fingers through the others hair. Max whimpers in response.

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I was feeling pretty good after today and then Jos called and he was making a big fuss.”

“What could he be fussing about now?”

“I could’ve taken the corner’s too slow, losing time, all of that.”

“You topped both sessions? Did he not see that?”

“I got fifth last race.”

Charles doesn’t answer. He wants to point out his own disaster of a season. He wants to point out that a fifth place in another car is a pretty good race finish. But he tries to remember the conversation he just had with his mother: that not everything is about him, and sometimes others really just need to talk out loud. That a ‘no problem’ to him is actually a ‘huge problem’ in someone else’s mind.

“Your dad is an ass.” He lands on a semi-safe answer.

“My dad just wants me to be the best.”

“You already are the best, Cherie.” Charles scoots further onto the bed and moves his arms to instead cradle the other man. “You could quit right now, and no one would ever forget your name.”

Max moves too, scooching further up the bed to better settle himself into Charles waiting arms.

“I think the win streak is getting to me.”

“This weekend is a fresh slate. No win streak, no pressure, just focus on the red car that will be in front of you for the next two days.”

“Oh, Carlos is going to have another good weekend?”

Charles squawked indignantly and smacked Max’s chest. “Now that’s just mean.” He pauses a beat. “Have you eaten?” Their unspoken code for ‘how bad is/was the anxiety?’

“I haven’t, so we should probably order room service. Maybe even something our trainers would frown at?” Max chuckles. “But you have to be the one to get up and order it, I am much too sad to do that still.”

“I think you’re just lazy Cherie.” Charles still moves to grab the phone. “And Andrea will frown at the fact that there will still be my premade meals in the fridge tomorrow.”

“Yes, but I don’t deal with Andrea.”

“As long as you’re ok with Brad’s wrath.”

“I’ll take my chances.”

~~
Andrea does frown at Charles the next day because he always seems to know when he hasn’t followed his training plan to a T. Charles gives him a weak smile in response, and Andrea simply adds a set on to his workout next week. He knows better than to push too hard right before a race.

Max texts him later, just “Brad knows.” And it is enough to send Charles into a giggle fit during a meeting that has Fred sending him out of the conference room to “refocus” and Carlos shooting him odd looks on his way out because Charles was never one to interrupt a meeting. He couldn’t find it in himself to care too much about missing the debrief, especially when the second half was a refocus on the social media plan for the next few races. He wonders how much his contract announcement will cause the plan to change and he instantly feels bad about throwing off so many individual jobs.

No, he has to remind himself, focus on your own job. Everything else will fall into place.

It has to fall into place.

The rest of Saturday goes on without a problem, and of course Max takes pole. Charles wants to be furious at missing out on his own chance at pole, but after seeing Max in his emotional state last night, Charles instead finds him and congratulates him in a very camera friendly manner despite the things Max manages to whisper in his ear.
The race itself also has few dramatics. Well, few dramatics involving Charles. He starts fourth, he ends fourth. Nothing to frown at and nothing to celebrate. He’s just happy that he was not one of the many cars Checo managed to take out on his (2) separate stints in the race. He watches podium from the safety of his drivers room and tries not to feel jealous when Lando gets a little too close to Max to be considered ‘friendly.’ Lando had always been a little too close.

He feels himself go red when the camera zooms close to Max’s face to see the trophy kiss. The trophy changes colors in his hands, moving to the Dutch flag and Max looks down proudly at his country’s colors.

Charles longs to be up there with him.

Winning podiums.

Winning kissable trophies.

Winning Max’s eyes on him instead of Lando.

His thoughts travel farther and farther down a rather embarrassing path until his phone pings:

“Dinner? I will meet you at your hotel when you are ready.” It’s from Seb.

Right, dinner with Seb. But first Charles needed to find Pierre and clear the air between them. This was one issue he did not want sitting longer than necessary.

Seb.
Pierre.
Max.

A mental check list and a fresh shirt, and Charles is off for the evening.

Chapter Text

He ends up meeting Seb in the bar in the lobby of his hotel, neither of them wanting to stray too far into the city, especially without knowing Japanese. The other man looks good: relaxed and refreshed. It was clear that his time away from the grid had done some good for him.

They sit down at a corner booth and order drinks, or at least Charles hoped they ordered drinks judging by the confused look on the waiter’s face as both men stumbled awkward through the few Japanese words they knew and resorted to pointing helplessly at the menu. The minutes tick by in an awkward, tense silence as Charles works up the courage to tell Seb about his plan.

“Well Charles, I am doing alright, thank you for asking.” Seb begins, startling Charles out of his anxiety driven stupor, “The wife is good, the kids too, but I am excited to be away for a few days to set up the bee hotel and watch the race. It is nice to come back without all the pressure of doing well in the race.” He pauses, watching Charles carefully, “What else is new? Hm? Let’s see, I have been watching your season, as you know. Not your best but that is mostly the car and will certainly improve when you move teams next year.”

Charles freezes, and then shakes his head, staring at Seb across the booth. He knew?

“You know?”

“Of course I do.”

“Who told you?”

“No one. You carry the same energy as I did when I left Ferrari. I just can’t figure out what team you are going to. Williams seems to be the closest to an open seat, but I just can’t see why you would make that move.”

“It’s uh Checo.”

“He has one more year, no?”

“He has decided to retire at the end of this year. I will be racing for Redbull on a trial run beginning in 2024.”

“I am so happy for you Charles.” Sebastian reaches his hand across the table to take Charles where it was currently white knuckling the edge of the table.

“You are?”

“Ferrari does not suit you anymore. That is ok, things in life sometimes have to change in order to grow.”

“I worry.”

“About what?”

“What if I get to Redbull and the car doesn’t work and suddenly I am a washed driver with nothing but a few wins behind my name? Ferrari has always been the dream, Sebastian. What if I give up the dream for nothing?”

“These are the risks we must take Charles. You cannot predict the future; you cannot predict the car. This is part of being a good racer, no? Being able to take the unpredictable and turn it into results?”

Charles nods, his voice sticking awkwardly in his throat. Sebastian smiles, and the waiter arrives back with two glasses in hand.

“Shall we order dinner?” Sebastian smiles, opening his menu once more and Charles feels a weight fall off of his shoulders.

~~~

After dinner, Charles feels confident enough to call Pierre. He knows the other man had been hoping to spend some time with Yuki in his home country before going back home for a few days, so Charles could only hope that he had stuck to that plan and hadn’t yet boarded a plane to France.

Pierre picks up after two rings, “Ah you’ve finally decided to stop avoiding me?” He chuckles down the line.

So he isn’t mad? Charles thinks, even more weight coming off of his shoulders.

“I am sorry Pear.”

“For what?”

“For avoiding you, of course, and for getting far too drunk.”

Pierre huffs over the line, and Charles can feel his eye roll over the phone.

“I mean It Pear! I was a complete fool on Sunday night, and then I couldn’t even come to you in person to apologize? Who does that? I am sorry. I will find a way to make it up to you.”

“Charles the plan had been to get drunk! You cannot apologize for being the one to stick to the plan! However, you are not allowed to avoid me. This is not ok, but I will accept your apology in time.”

Charles laughs to himself. What was he so worried about? They were best friends, and even though they wouldn’t always understand each other, or what was going on, at least they always could come back to eachother.

There is yelling in the background, and Pierre’s voice yells back, distant, like he set the phone down or pulled his mouth away from the speaker.

“Yuki has finished cooking dinner so I must go, but Charles?”

“Hmm?”

“We are not done speaking about whatever the fuck it is going on between you and Max. or the contract you mysteriously conjured up. Ok?”

Charles groans, he should’ve seen this coming.

“Yes, Pear, of course. Of course. We will speak later. Say hello to Yuki.”

Pierre hangs up the phone and Charles checks another item off the mental checklist.

The next item? Max.

~~~
Charles was supposed to text Max earlier about hitching a ride back to Monaco on the Dutchman's jet, lest he wanted to fly back with the entire Ferrari crew which would absolutely take ages given the amount of bags and equipment they would be hauling back. And besides, flying back on Max’s jet meant getting to cuddle close with Max for the duration and a much better sleeping position on the huge seats available. He was frantically texting the other man on the way up to his room when he ran smack dab into a solid wall of another person.

“Oof.” Charles stumbled backwards attempting to looking up when two solid arms surge forward to keep him upright.

“Just the man I was looking for.” Max’s smiling face looks down at him.

“Oh thank god you didn’t leave yet.”

“I would not leave you behind, we are leaving in the morning. How was dinner?” Max grabs his hand, leading him the rest of the way to his hotel room. It makes Charles feel all warm and fuzzy on the inside in a way that he never thought he would feel towards another person. He had had girlfriends in the past, but they eventually all ended up feeling more like very close friends than significant others and with a job like F1 that was constantly travelling, he did not blame them when they realized they wouldn’t get a proper relationship out of him.
But Max had felt different, even from the start when they were in a weirdly emotional rivals with benefits grey area. Max felt safe and he knew exactly what it felt like to live in a racing world 24/7, a perk that no other past relationship would understand (except for a few awkward kisses shared between him and Pierre when they were both exploring their sexuality before formula one (but no one needed to know that)).

“Hey, I’m glad you are here.” Charles said softly, squeezing Max’s hand. The other man looked at him with a confused sort of smile.

“I’m glad I’m here too.” He returned the squeeze, and Charles felt his heart burst into a million little happy pieces.

~~~
They returned to Monaco the following day, and unfortunately had to split up. Both of them had work meetings, and Charles had a family dinner which he had considered inviting Max to, but in the end did not want to scare the man off so soon by placing him in front of Arthur and Lorenzo who would surely not know how to act with Max Verstappen at the dinner table.

So, they split up, going about their duties and counting down the days when they could see each other again. It was almost a week later when they finally managed to overlap their schedules during their prep for Qatar. Charles decided to show up on Max’s doorstep in the hopes that he would be alone in his apartment, with trainer approved dinner and wine. He raps on the door with the container the chicken was in, crossing his fingers in the hopes that it would be Max who opened the door.

After a few minutes of waiting, Charles begins to turn around and call it a night before the door flings itself open.

“Charles!” Daniel Fucking Ricciardo exclaims looking both confused and excited.

“Oh, uh, hell Daniel. I was just wondering if Max was home?” He feels very much like a little kid in this moment having to ask the neighbor’s kids parents if his friends could come out and play.

“He is home! I was just about to cook us some dinner but it seems as if you already have that one covered.” He ushers Charles through the door and Max appears around the corner.

“Who was at the door Danny?”

“Just our friend Charles Leclerc! Isn’t that peculiar huh? Charles showing up at your door with wine on a Sunday night?”

Max sends Charles and apologetic look,

“No Daniel, it would not be peculiar seeing as Charles is a friend and is welcome at my flat at any time.”

“Well in that case, I think we should crack open that bottle of wine!” Daniel grabs the bottle from Charles hand and marches to the kitchen. The other two exchange looks before proceeding behind in a defeated silence.

They sit at the table eating, Danny chatting away happily and Max sending apologetic looks to Charles from across the table. Charles attempted to make polite conversation with him, but was mostly preoccupied by the fact that he still hasn’t gotten to spend alone time with Max since leaving Japan and in this moment, he genuinely could not care about what Danny had to say. Max was 100% going to kill Daniel for this later.

“So Daniel are you excited to return to the track?”

“Oh yeah, already planning my big entrance at Austin and everything You know Charles, I could get you a horse? If you want to ride into the paddock? It’s a lot of fun.”

“Uh I don’t think I would be very good at riding actually.” He smirks and Max chokes on the sip of his wine.

“It’s not too hard. The cowboy I borrowed the horse from last year was very helpful, you mostly just have to have a thigh grip to properly hold on to the saddle.” Daniel holds out his hands displaying how exactly a pair of legs grip a saddle. It looks obscene, Charles thinks to himself.

“Yeah, I probably don’t have the proper thigh strength to ride something, you know?”

Max chokes again, spilling the glass all over the table and making the three of them jump to their feet. Max had had it with Daniel and his stupid horses and Charles goddamn talk of thighs.

“Daniel, I need you to leave.” Max says, surprising everyone including himself.

“What?”

“Charles and I are dating Danny. This is a date and I need you to stop talking about his thighs and get the fuck out of my apartment. Please.”

Daniel smirks in response, letting out a chuckle and grabbing his jacket.

“Ah I fucking knew it. I was wondering how long it would take one of you to crack!” He chuckles again, giving a small solute and proceeding out the front door.

Max turns back to where Charles stands looking shocked out of his mind.
“Does the whole fucking paddock know?” Charles exclaims, “I did not think we were being that obvious.”

“Oh come here.” Max surges forward, capturing Charles lips with his own. They could worry about the spilled wine and the dishes later, for now, all they needed was a little bit of alone time.

~~~

Later that night, the two of them were sitting in a peaceful quiet on Max’s couch that night. Jimmy was curled up in Charles lap, purring softly as he ran his hands over his fur. Charles was exhausted after being out on his yacht with friends for the day and Max was frowning away at his phone but Charles just figured he had finally bit the bullet and decided to check is email after a few days away.

“What the fuck is this?” Max jams his phone under Charles nose, startling him and Jimmy out of their peace. Charles squints to try and make out what it was. Ah, the video he had reposted on his Instagram of him with Marta’s baby.

“You knew I was going on the yacht today?”

“Charleesss.”

“What is it Max?” Charles looks to him confused. He had invited Max to go out on the water with him and his friends but he had declined because he was streaming. There was no way he could be mad at Charles for following through with his own plans.
“You cannot just post shirtless videos of you and a baby on the internet. The internet is exploding as we speak.” Max waved his hands around in that distinctly Max way; the way he always did when he was maxplaining and passionate.

“It is a good video, no? She is such a cute baby.” Charles passed him the phone back after watching the video once more. He chuckled when he realized Max had seen the video from a fan account, not his own as they still do not follow each other on Instagram.

“No one is looking at the baby.” Max snagged the phone back and clicked around on it.

“Huh?”

“Charles no one is looking at the baby.”

“But she is adorable?”

“But you’re shirtless. And holding a baby.” He gestured wildly to the video that was playing on a steady loop.

“Should I have not posted it then? Max I am very confused.”

Max lets out a strangled sort of sound and surges forward, throwing his phone god knows where. He tackles Charles on the other side of the couch, Jimmy jumping desperately out of the way.

“You. Look. Good. With. A. baby.” Max punctuates each word with a kiss; Charles can only laugh in response.

“Championship first, ok?” Charles pushes his chest lightly to move Max off of him, but gives up when the other collapses to bury his face in Charles neck.

“Fine.”

Chapter Text

Qatar comes faster than Charles would have liked. It always feels good to have a week off here or there, but with the way the season is going, the weeks off are even more appreciated. There was no fixing the tractor Ferrari had built at this point.

It is Thursday, media day and Charles wakes up alone. He and Max knew they had to be careful in a country like Qatar with the secret relationship and the fact that they were both men, but it still made him feel more than he cared to admit that that meant he wouldn’t see Max for a few days.

It passes without fanfare. It passes without Max.

Friday morning Charles gets to the track early. He sneaks into the garage to look at the car, running his hands over its halo, sending up a silent plea to whatever it is in the universe that might bring him luck this week. Practice goes alright, quali is fine but still not good enough.

He feels like he is suffocating.

Saturday, Max wins the Championship.

Charles gets immediately out of his car to congratulate Max. He doesn’t care how odd it looks that he would rush over, he is only caught up in the feel of ecstasy that comes with watching his most beloved succeed. Max looks startled for a second when he approaches, the Dutchman in his own head as he waits to be weighed, but the smile that comes to his face when Charles approaches is enough to make the pain of another lost fight worth it.

Sort of.

Charles looks to Max as they embrace for a brief second. He can feel the bliss radiating off the other man, and a bitter feeling creeps into the back of Charles throat. They have been rivals for so long, equals maybe. Until this year, the fire of the fight was enough to drive both of them like magnets together, but Charles can’t help but wonder what unseen force he has managed to anger, considering he is standing before his supposed equal, three championships between them yet belonging to only one man. There is no equality in this brutal sport, only so much passion that causes a blind fury towards anything other than first place.

And Max?

Max raced as if it was more natural than breathing. The strength and fortitude he took with him into the car every weekend was unmatched. But Charles had begun to feel like he never learned how to breathe for racing in quite the same way Max had. His lungs refused to fill more often than not with red becoming a color of nightmares rather than a color of dreams. The red has always symbolized blood: at first a shared dream between family members but now was the drops slowly leeching out of him from disappointment after disappointment until there was nothing left to leech.

Max had faced enough difficulties in his life that Charles could never doubt that he deserved each and every win he pocketed and each and every trophy he held high above his head. Max, he thinks, no could question that he wasn’t a good driver, that he shouldn’t be in the best type of car. But there was always going to be that doubt in Charles’ head that made him wonder if his own sacrifices were ever going to be enough. He didn’t think he could handle another season of subtle glances between mechanics and engineers and journalists that could only signal them wondering where his fire had gone.

It’s right here, he screams into the void, it has always been right. here.

Max pulls away from their embrace. He knocks his helmet gently against Charles forehead in a risky move considering there was only a small handful of people who knew of their relationship. But Charles appreciated it, nonetheless, because it felt like Max could hear the inner turmoil that rolled in crashing waves against Charles entire frame.

“I am proud of you Cherie.” He says softly, barely above a whisper but Lando’s eyes widen from where he stood next to them. Charles had figured Max has already informed Lando of their relationship considering how close they were as friends, but he guessed wrong. They were going to need to sit down with Lando to go over the basics, make sure he knew it was important to keep it a secret.

Max closes his eyes tight and sighs, taking in the moment before the chaos and Charles strokes one last gentle hand against Max’s arm before turning to return back to his own garage. Xavi would be furious that he abandoned the car without a word. His engineers would mutter behind his back about another semi lousy sprint race (he had gotten 4th, he wanted to scream, 4th place doesn’t make a driver washed), but Charles did not care anymore. He was leaving for greener pastures at the end of the season, something no one in the red garage knew yet.

Sunday, he races. He places 4th (again). He wants to scream, but instead he paints on a smile for the camera. He watches all of the drivers around him collapse from exhaustion.

He breaks down in his hotel room, the suffocating feeling pushing hard on his chest.

Only 6 more races with Ferrari, and then Charles would finally breathe.

Chapter Text

Max liked lists. This started when he was a little boy on the way to Karting tournaments to keep himself entertained and eventually turned into a sort of coping method for the stress and anxiety that came with being raised a prodigy. He would list off as many things as he could in his head from countries of the world and their capitals to how many times the other boys tried to approach him, but his father wouldn’t let him play with them to how many times the French boy would look at him.
Jos made him make lists too. These lists weren’t as entertaining, and often involved long hours of sitting quietly with Jos breathing down his neck. They included everything he was doing wrong in races and all the reasons he did or did not get first in a race. They always had to do with racing.

Max had been keeping a new list lately, one that he was sure he would never be able to share.
It was entitled “Reasons why Charles Leclerc was wasting his talent at Ferrari.”
It had a new entry this Sunday: #67: COTA 2023.

This list scared Max. He had always been a supporter of Charles, but he was afraid that when Charles was ready to flourish, when he was given a car worthy of everything he could be, that Max would become obsolete.

But the show that Ferrari put on this Sunday? Chopping down their pole sitter? Letting his race fade away into a disqualification?

This took away the fear in Max because, even if Charles was beating him, that meant Charles was winning instead of suffering.

~~~~~

Charles plays Padel with Max on Sunday. It brings out their competitive spirits more than any part of the season so far. They are practically at each other’s throats by the end of the tournament, Charles’ brothers watching nervously from the sidelines.

No one knows about their relationship except for the group of drivers Charles accidentally told during his drunken sadness. Its probably time they tell their families, especially when the two of them are playing padel and staring each other down like they are two steps away from slicing each others throats but it was nothing but playful competition in their heads.

A battle of wills that would probably end in Max’s bed later that night.

Charles birthday was the next day, Max wanted to be able to be able to call his brothers and help plan the surprise dinner that was actually not a surprise because Charles was the worst kind of person to surprise. He wanted to buy him nice gifts and not get funny looks when they sit next to each other at the restaurant because sworn rivals do not want to sit next to each other or go to birthday dinners.

He brings it up later that night, after they had had a nice dinner, showers, and another shower after the first one had been nothing more than them grabbing at each other.

“I want to tell people about you.” Max says. He’s flat on his back, too afraid to look over at Charles, too afraid to see the reaction he might get.

“I think people already know about me.” Charles snorts, and turns to his side, he grabs Max’s chin to try and get him to face Charles. “Who are you wanting to tell?” He says gently, his eyes softening as he meets the terrified ocean of Max’s pupils.

“Maybe my sister? She worries I will never find love. I want to tell her I have it.”

“We can tell her, anyone else? I of course will also tell my family because I think my brother would be more mad that they weren’t the first to know than the fact that I am hopelessly in love with Max Verstappen.”

“You’re not mad?”

“Why would I be mad?”

“We were keeping things private.”

“Ah, well, I ruined that in Singapore, no? Most of the grid knows, by the way you need to talk to Lando about not blabbing to the whole world.”

“Lando?”

“He saw us hugging after Qatar and I am pretty sure he picked up on the vibe.”

Max snorts and buries his head in the pillow. “Oh my god, If Lando knows than the whole world already knows. He can’t keep his mouth shut to save his life.”

“So your family first?”

~~~~
Max arrives in Austin. He bookmarks all the photos he can find of the Ferrari gala and tries not to think about Charles in glasses and a suit.

He fails. A lot.

That night, he finds Charles curled in a very small ball in the middle of the bed clutching his face and groaning in pain. He holds him until they both fall asleep.

Friday, Max takes pole and then watches the post qualifying ceremonies from a far after having his lap time deleted. He finds delight in Charles smile, he dreads the incoming phone call from his father.

Saturday he wins like he is supposed to.

Sunday he does too.

Sunday he wants to burn Ferrari to the ground.

He holds Charles tight instead.

Only five more races until Max starts a brand new list.

Chapter Text

Neither of them go home between Austin and Mexico. Max heads down earlier than Charles because he had to do press for Checo’s home race. Charles almost feels bad thinking about how this would be Checo’s last race, how they would announce the retirement during the weekend.

Redbull had already agreed to not publicly announce Charles’ new contract until during the Winter break to give him a chance to go into hiding. Charles knew the Tifiosi would be after him, crying out for their predestined son. Redbull had to tell Ferrari soon though, to give them enough time to prep Robert, or one of the other excited reserve drivers to take his spot.

He would have to tell Carlos, someone who he hadn’t exactly been getting along with all season. Carlos would probably be unhappy with him, he would wonder why Ferrari was suddenly not good enough for Charles. Especially as Carlos had been someone who had turned a blind eye to all of the poor strategy calls and had been the first to throw Charles under the bus.

How is Charles supposed to tell him? Why does he care so much?

They fly together to Mexico, and on the way Charles studies the older man. Carlos is tense. Charles knows that he has been struggling to get contract renewal talks moving with Ferrari, and he knows that it secretly bothered Carlos when Mclaren announced Lando and Oscars contract renewals. His season hasn’t been amazing, even with the win in Singapore and the podium in Monza, but normally there would already be contract talks and a set future.

Carlos won’t even look at him anymore.

How is he going to react?

~~~~~
He gets pole on Saturday after struggling through practice. He tries to not let the boos bother him, especially because every week Max deals with worse.

The boos still bother him.

He watches memes on his phone, scrolling through his burner twitter account. He watches a gif of Max grabbing his waist to take the quali photos. It makes it seem like the whole world knows about their relationship.

Max and him celebrate over trainer approved premade meals that night. Charles thinks that he’s never seen Max so proud to lose out on Pole. (They both know that Max will be leading turn one tomorrow)

He gets third on Sunday. He feels guilty for the crash with Checo, but he knew it wasn’t his fault. Where was he supposed to go? Squeeze Max and possibly make the situation worse for them all? Maybe just maybe Checo should have for once been aware of his surroundings and not just bust his way through everyone else.

He sighs.

He hugs Max out in the open under the guise that they are both happy to be on the podium. Lewis smirks at the two of them from afar before coming to pat them both on the back.

“Congrats guys.” He smiles, Charles worries. They needed to address the grid about their budding relationship before it got out of hand. They shouldn’t have to, but it was pretty unusual for two grid members to be dating.

He gets booed on the podium once more, and it makes it hard to enjoy the fanfare of it all. But Max smiles at him, and the Redbull employees clap for him, and it makes everything a tiny bit easier to take. Later, their fans would compare this podium to the infamous 2022 Austria podium where they sprayed each other with champagne in what was apparently a pornographic ways.

Checo’s press release about his retirement will come out right after the race press conference. They had it all set up, Charles was allowed to know the plan because he was technically part of Redbull now. It makes Charles nervous, even though they will not be announcing him as the replacement for two more months. It feels like those boos will turn into punches, and F1 drivers were not known for being able to take punches. Except Max of course, Max was used to taking punches. And he didn’t deserve any more.

He refreshes his phone sitting in bed later that night, waiting for the announcement. It comes at 7:00pm – later than it was scheduled probably due to the unexpected crash of the day. It is a simple black and white video, similar to Seb’s. The similarities make Charles’ stomach turn.

Checo has a Mexican flag behind him, his son hanging off of his hip. He makes a small speech about family and important things in life. He stands at the end, and the video ends on just that Mexican flag.

The reactions come immediately. People thanking Checo, wishing him the best. Speculation about who would take his seat. Most people thought it would be Liam or Danny, others think Lando will leave Mclaren. He only sees his own name a few times, but most still believe he was being held hostage by Ferrari.

Newer fans beg for Carlos to take the second spot for a “better experience than Ferrari.” Don’t they realize he already tried that? That Redbull didn’t want him, and wouldn’t resign him?

Charles dreads the announcement.

He looks forward to Max coming to his bed for the night. Max was safe, Max was calm.

Max would probably be dealing with Checo related press for the rest of the season.

Charles would have to relearn how to sleep alone for the foreseeable future.

Chapter Text

Brazil was a race Charles wanted to forget, despite a positive start to the weekend. Once again, however, his car and his team failed him and the classic nickname Charles “lecrash” had returned with a vengeance (despite the formation lap being a total accident, and also completely out of his control).

He watches the media response to Checo’s retirement, and he flies back to Monaco to break a few things to his family.

They have dinner the first night he gets back, just his mom and brothers and Max. They have to do this now, because Max has to fly to Milton Keynes for Checo Press Retirement meetings and Charles had planned a short boys trip to LA to relax a little before the end of the season.

He warns his mom that he is bringing a guest to dinner but couldn’t tell her who it was until the night of dinner. He knows she thinks he’s bringing a girl around, especially because it had been a while since he had broken up with Charlotte, but he hopes that she would accept Max’s stoic and quiet demeanor into a typically lively household.

It is tense when the two of them enter his Mother’s apartment, Arthur and Lorenzo staring at each other across the table, Pascale nowhere to be found.

“Charlessss,” Arthur calls out without turning around from his spot at the table, “Lorenzo said I am not allowed to go to Vegas for the race.” Lorenzo breaks eye contact first, and gapes like a fish when he realizes Max Verstappen was standing partially behind Charles with flowers and a bottle of wine in his hand.

“Hey Max, good to see you.” Lorenzo stands and moves to shake Max’s hand.

“Max?” Arthur turns around, and startles. He jumps to his feet too and looks quickly between Charles and Max. “Charles why is Max Verstappen in our Living Room?” Arthur was secretly a huge fan of Max (after Charles, of course) and despite meeting him on numerous occasions, the younger Leclerc still struggled to keep his cool when Max was around.

“He is part of why I wanted to have dinner tonight. Where is Maman?” He takes the wine and flowers from Max’s grip, and sets them on the table. “Thur, Lorenzo is right. You should not be partying in Vegas this close to the end of the F2 season.”

He groaned, “Why do you always take his side? I’m literally 23 years old, I can party in Vegas like the rest of them now.”

“Arthur we have a guest. Now is not the time to argue about this. Maman is in the kitchen double checking the oven.” Lorenzo held up a hand to signal that this conversation was not to be brought up again. “She’ll be out in a moment Charles.”

“Yes she will!” Pascale’s voice calls from the kitchen entrance, and she holds out her arms to Charles. “C’mon Charles, give your mother a hug.”

He proceeds over to her and lets her pat his head and smother him. He always lets her do this, despite being taller than her and old enough, in his opinion, to not need smothering from his mom. She pats his head one more time and looks over his shoulder where Max was standing awkwardly.

“Oh! Max, bonjour, it is nice to see you. Come here.” She holds her arms out to him as well, never one to turn down a chance to care for everyone around her. “What a mighty season you have had, we’ve been rooting for you, but don’t tell Charles.” She embraced him gently, giving him a pat on the back. Max chuckles awkwardly and steps backwards.

“Hello Mrs. Leclerc. Thank you for letting me come tonight.”

“Uh Maman I guess now is a good time to explain why exactly Max is here.” Charles interjects. He grabs Max’s hand and looks up to him nervously, “Max and I are uh we are together. Like dating together. Relationship.” He squeezes Max’s hand, and Max responds with three gently squeezes while they waited for the response.

“Well yes, of course you are. That is great sweetheart.” His mother barely reacted, a soft smile on her face. “I am glad you have finally made things official.”

His brothers jumped up out of their seats.

“Max Verstappen?” Arthur exclaimed.

“Oh Charles, We are so proud of you.” Lorenzo embraced him.

“Oh one more piece of news. I have signed a contract for RedBull starting next season.”

All hell broke loose.

Max found it funny that the Leclerc brothers appeared to care more that Charles was moving away from Ferrari than that he was dating a man who happened to also be his biggest rival. But it also made him feel warm and fuzzy inside in a way that he had never felt.

It had always been clear that the Leclerc’s were a tight knit family, but this was a different type of close than he ever had seen. Certainly, a far cry from the family environment Max had grown up in with Dad.

Now it was just time to prep for Vegas.

~~~~

They decide to tell most of the grid in Las Vegas because it was easy to assume that the drivers neither of them was close to could continue assuming or would find out from someone else. It had been over a year since they started whatever this is, and a few months since they had declared themselves boyfriends, and besides half the grid already knew.

They gather the grid at a secluded restaurant in Vegas for drinks and for the announcement a few days before the race. It all felt a lot more dramatic than it actually was, but that was typically how it went with F1 drivers. Charles knew Max was tense because as much as he liked to put on a brave face, Max was actually a softy and just wanted love and support from his friends, and right now that meant the grid (most of the grid). Charles’ hand crept over to his thigh rubbing gentle circles in a little attempt to comfort the other man.

“We don’t have to do this today.” Charles whispered, and he felt Max tense. Max shot him a panicked look.

“What do you mean? Do you not want to?”

“No, no.” Charles sent him as soothing of a smile as he could manage, “I just mean if you aren’t ready, we don’t have to. I don’t want you to worry all weekend.”

“Let’s uh, no, let’s do this.” Max gave his hand a quick squeeze and then grabbed his glass and stood to call attention to all of the other drivers.

“Hey guys. I uh, as we approach the end of the season, I just wanted to say a few words and also make an announcement.” He could feel his hands shake, and he set down the glass before anyone could see the liquid sloshing around. He had prepared this speech before the race, but now it seemed like there would never be enough preparation.

“I just wanted to first say thank you to Checo for the past few years. You have been one of the best teammates and I am sure I can speak for us all at this table that your presence will be missed on the grid….” Max began, first by saying goodbye to the retiring driver and carried on making a cheesy toast. He had the drivers laughing and rolling their eyes, his intention in order to loosen all of them up before telling them that 1. He’s bi and 2. Charles is bi and 3. They are seriously bisexual together.

“Uh and one last thing. I just wanted to say that I am bisexual.” Max smiled awkwardly, looking at everyone, but it seemed like no one at the table was exactly shocked at that revelation.

Daniel let out a laugh, “Thanks for letting us know Maxy.”

“Oh and one more thing.” Max held out his hand and Charles took it to stand next to him. “Charles and I are together. Like together together.”

“Seriously together.” Charles smiled at him, squeezing his hand.

No one moved at first. The other drivers frozen into place. Charles’ gentle squeeze had turned into a death grip as they waited for any kind of response.

“You guys should totally get married! We are in Vegas after all!” Danny laughed and raised his glass. Luckily this broke the tension, and everyone raised their own glasses in response, giggles passing around the table at Daniels ridiculousness.

~~~
They don’t get married in Vegas. Well, not officially if you don’t count the bootleg Danny Ric Ceremony in the lobby of the Bellagio Casino. It was cute and Charles felt like he was able to relax and have a good timer, even with the stress of the season still hanging over his shoulders.

Vegas was going to be a good race; Charles could feel it deep in his bones in a way that he hadn’t felt in a while. Max hated most of it: the show of Vegas he kept calling it. He took every opportunity he could to make fun of the track, and the people, and the atmosphere that Liberty Meeting was pushing. Charles laughed along with him, but secretly enjoyed the fanfare of it all. It was part of what made the fun outside of the racing itself (he could skip being called Chuck by the Americans though).

The general ridiculousness of Vegas had been made even better by good, hard racing. The overtake on Checo in the last seconds of the race was amazing, better than amazing.

And on Sunday Morning, he stands next to Max on the podium. He sprays champagne in Max’s face and laughs harder than he has in a long time.

Charles remembers why he likes to race, and for once he doesn’t fear what is coming.

Chapter Text

Abu Dhabi, at first, passes without very much drama.

They both drive in practices, and edge each other on in qualifying. Another lestappen front row to end the season?

Charles feels his heart skip a beat as he lines up on the grid, waiting for the green light to start the formation lap. He looks over at Max. Charles studies the side of the RedBull Car, he tries to catch a glimpse of Max’s championship helmet.

This was it. The last race with the sandbox that was the SF-23. The last race in red (for now). He thought this would feel different somehow, sadder or more dramatic but all he feels is a sense of calm. The only nerves still lingering are the normal prerace jitters that always find their way to his head and his heart as he’s waiting for the green light.

He races Max as hard as he can, laughing as he does. Wheel to Wheel with his favorite person was everything he could’ve asked for, as long as they could make this last.

People talk about the famous fights between Nico and Lewis; Childhood friends, turned rivals, turned lovers, turned strangers.

Charles prays he will never call Max a stranger.

They finish the season 1-2. Max stands on the top step with his head held high, the flood lights behind him giving him an ethereal, and untouchable image. HE tilts his head towards Charles and smiles as the Dutch Anthem plays. Charles knows Max was made for championships; Max was made for the top step that he currently stood on. But Charles also knows that he was made for the top step too. They had an invisible string snaking its way through their entire lives, dragging them to the top.

He sprays Max in the face with Champagne, he laughs with George as Max attacks them both with the bottle. He can feel the relief rolling off of his shoulders of a difficult season finally over. A breath fills his lungs deeper than he could feel.

When he first signed the Redbull contract, Charles had thought that Max drove more naturally than he breathed. Charles had doubted that that was something he would ever achieve. But the last few races, despite their difficulties, had reminded him that racing could still love him back, he just needed to learn to breathe with it instead of against it.

That night, in the darkness of their hotel room, Charles holds Max.

The older man cries as he mourns his dominate season. The stress and the tension of being on top rolls off of him in waves in a rare moment of vulnerability.

“What if this is it Charles?” Max sniffles looking up from where his head rest on Charles’ lap, “What if I will never be able to repeat this type of season?”

“You are the greatest driver I have ever witness. It is going to take more than the end of an incredible season to knock you from the top.” Charles tightens his grip around the other man. “The only thing that you need to worry about is me. Because in equal machinery, I will surely be winning.”

Max reaches up and smacks him, “You will look great in second place.”

They take Max’s jet back to Monaco the next morning. Charles follows Max to his apartment. They hadn’t moved in together officially, not yet. But more of Charles’ things are at Max’s apartment than his own at this point and Max has his cats. So it makes sense to go straight back to Max’s and crash after a long season.

~~~
Redbull announced Charles change one week into the winter break. He never ends up warning Carlos beforehand, and he can’t help but wonder if Ferrari had warned Sainz that he would be getting a new teammate next year.

Charles wonders if he will even care. Their personal friendship had ended right around Silverstone 2022, and they had never quite managed to repair what they could’ve had as friends. He knows Max feels bad, seeing as Lando was one of his best friends, and Lando and Carlos were the couple of the grid, but he had appreciated that Max had never pushed him to repair things with CCarlos just for the sake of Lando.

Five minutes before the announcement, Charles turns his phone off and puts it into the bedside table drawer. He decides that he doesn’t want to see the live reaction, maybe even have Max filter through the responses later. Instead, he decides to cook breakfast and make coffee and watch an episode of Gilmore Girls on Netflix.

Max is still asleep, not one to get up early when he doesn’t have to which means during winter and summer break, Charles gets the mornings to himself until Max manages to drag himself from his blankets. Charles has learned how to love these mornings, where he can watch his own shows and stretch out on the couch, instead of hating not being on the same page as Max at all times.

Today was one of the rare days that he wishes Max would be up early enough to see the announcement and to field the phone calls that would follow. He wanted the reassurance that he was doing to right thing. He tries to take a deep breath, to force air back into his lungs but with each breath it becomes harder and harder to take another. Maybe he should just go and grab his phone to check the announcement. Maybe it is better to read about the hate and the negativity now to get over it. He feels simultaneously paralyzed and restless.

The doorbell rings, interrupting his spiraling thoughts. He goes to open the door and discovers a bouquet of flowers and a container of food sitting there with a note on top. It reads:

“We both know I am asleep right now. Stop overthinking, I love you. – Max”

Charles laughed out loud at this. Max, even while sleeping, had put him at ease. He brings the flowers and the pancakes into the apartment and sets them down carefully on the table. He runs into their bedroom and jumps onto it, smothering Max. He groans and wiggles around to accommodate the added weight on top of him.

“Charles?” He whispers sleepily.

“You’re the best, you know that?”

“I guess I am awake now.” Max shifts carefully, to gather Charles against his chest and sit both of them up. “I am assuming you got the delivery?”

“Yes. I just needed you to know I appreciated it.” He pauses, “Do you think they posted it?”

“I think they probably did.” Max says quietly, “Would you like me to check?”

“No. No, today I think will be just for us. No Formula one today.”

“Ok, no formula one for today.”

Chapter Text

They manage not to talk about racing for most of the day.

Charles lets Max sleep for a little while longer and he ends up dozing off himself, tucked close to the other man. Eventually though, they get up and walk to the tiny bakery that Charles had grown up going to with his family every Sunday. They get pastries and hot chocolate and bask in the Monaco sun. It is a quiet morning (afternoon?), the kind they did not get often especially during the race season.

Max prays they don’t get recognized. He had convinced Charles to leave his phone at home and had only brought his own in case of emergencies. And he was nervous that someone trying to take a photo with them, or comment on today’s news would cause him to spiral and he wanted to be able to enjoy the winter break before work started back up again. Starting with today, and today meant keeping Charles fed and happy.

Two things Max thinks he could do quite well.

After finishing at the bakery, they decided to walk near the harbour to stretch their legs and watch the yachts pulling in and out. Max found it fascinating that Charles loved to watch the boats; his keen eye pointing out details about the types and even some of the owners he had met at various events around Monaco. This was especially considering that Charles’ own yacht was parked in this very harbour and he could easily take It out whenever he wanted; he did not need to watch like some of the tourists lingering around them. But this was also something that Max loved about Charles. He still managed to take pleasures in small things despite all of his successes. He liked watching boats and finding the best pain au chocolat in all of Nice. And, despite all of his struggles and his successes, Charles was still one of the kindest and most humble individuals Max had ever met.

Charles squeezes his hand lightly, “Where are you Max?” He says, voice barely above a whisper like he was afraid of bursting the quiet bubble that had lingered around them all day.

“I like watching boats with you Charles.”

“I love you too Max.” He squeezes Max’s hand once more and they share a smile between the two of them. Charles might not understand exactly what Max was thinking, but he knew that in these quiet, private moments he needed to focus on the love and good the both of them shared.

~~~~~

They don’t talk about racing for about half the day, and even manage to make it back to Max’s apartment to settle in and watch a movie, before eventually work does call and Max steps out onto the balcony to take a top secret phone call. Charles was a little bit confused about said phone call because he was officially, and publicly, a RedBull Racing driver as of today and thus, should be included in top secret phone calls.

He picks up his own phone and powers it on for the first time all day. He was glad he had already told his family about the contract, and hoped they wouldn’t be surprised that he hadn’t answered any of their messages today.

He starts with the text messages. There are not that many: a few from his brothers, Joris and Pierre telling him they support him and love him, George and Alex drop hearts into their old Twitch Quartet groupchat. A few other individuals wishing him well.

He moves to the missed phone calls/messages. There is four from his new social media manager at Redbull, and two messages from Andrea reminding him that the winter break doesn’t mean he can start slacking off. He makes a mental note to send Andrea an even nicer Christmas present than the one he had already planned, and another mental note to call back the social media manager before he manages to piss her off. He did not want to start that relationship off on the backfoot. His next move, when first looking at his phone in the mornings, is typically to go on twitter and scroll for a little while but today, he hesitates. The little blue bird icon mocking him from its corner of his phone.

He knew the second he signed that contract that there would be some sort of negative reaction. There always was when a driver left Ferrari, especially for a big rival team. He had seen it when Ferrari had chosen to sign Carlos instead of resigning Sebastian a few years ago. He had watched as the ever so humble Sebastian, one who chose not to engage in social media had buckled under the trickles that managed to reach him.

He clicks the app.

He figures now is a better time than ever to just tackle the beast. When it opens, it is logged in to his burner account, the one that he had set up to be a hater when a race didn’t go his way, and to avoid getting scolded by Silvia when he wanted to like controversial Ferrari tweets. He hopes he will be able to delete this account very soon, given the different working environment that was already present at Redbull.

He starts scrolling and is pleasantly surprised to find that most of the things people are saying are positive? People seem excited to see him in a car that is currently better suited to win championships. Even the Italian fans, the ones he was most worried about causing a disruption, were sad about the move but generally hopeful for his future as a driver. A few even hoped that he would eventually come back to Ferrari to win championships for them to.

There are of course the negative comments: People claiming he was scared of Carlos’ talent or that he was simply a brat for running away from the hard work that makes champions. But despite the build up and the fear, he finds himself breathing easy. He knew these people were wrong, and understood that the generally public would never fully understand what had to have happened for him to leave his childhood dream. He takes the negativity in stride, and files it away to help fuel him for the upcoming season. He tries to ignore the fact that there is no reaction from Ferrari thus far.

Once he reaches the official Redbull post, he switches back to his main account and retweets it with an attached photo of him in his brand new Redbull Racing suit. He then goes to Instagram to make a longer post of his own to send off and get approval from the PR team. It reads:

“Charles here. I am very excited to be making the move to Redbull for the 2024 season. While I am sad to be leaving Ferrari behind (for now), I hope that my story with them is not yet over. To the Ferrari team who believed in me for the past 5 years, I am so incredibly thankful to you all for making the beginning of my career something to be proud of. To the Tifiosi who have supported me from day one, I hope I can still do you proud in Navy. To my family who have always supported me, thank you for making the switch with me. To my partner who has stood by me through this all, I love you.”

He knows it is a risk adding the end piece about a possible partner, especially when the media thought he was single, but there was a part of him that wanted everyone to know about Max, even though he couldn’t be fully public about his identity yet.

Max comes back in from the balcony, having hung up the phone.

“You opened your phone?” Max asks.

“I think I am ok.”

“I know you are.”

Chapter Text

Bahrain Preseason testing, 2024

Every driver, from the second he steps In the car for the first time, knows how the season will go. Charles knew last year. And 2022. It was simple. There was a certain level of connection that you could feel immediately.

Last year, he sat down and did a few laps and suddenly he couldn’t picture a season ahead. He could only picture the end. The thought of being able to never drive this car again. Everyone joke later, on twitter, about the face he made stepping out of the car, standing in the garage and frowning as one of the engineers steps forward to take his helmet from his hands.

But this year? 2024. From the moment Charles grips the steering wheel in his hands, he can picture the entire season ahead of him. The weight of the pressure that had been bearing down the entire Christmas break and the weeks leading up to this very moment suddenly were weightless. There was nothing between him and a championship trophy right now.

Except for Max Verstappen. He was absolutely going to be a problem.

He thinks back to about two weeks ago, when they had media day for the first time as teammates:

They arrived in the same car, not because they’re dating but because they are teammates. Charles likes the feeling of being able to arrive with Max. Rivals turned sorta friends turned teammates in the medias eyes (no one needed to know that they also woke up in the same bed that morning). They were sent off to separate rooms with their race suits to change in order to take the team photos and to film the intro videos for the Official F1 broadcast.

Charles almost cries putting on the blue. It scares him still, he would be a fool to say otherwise, but he still only feeling this small sense of accomplishment for being here and surviving. He zips the blue suit up, all the way to his neck. He smiles at himself in the mirror, and thinks about all the work that led to this.

A knock on the door startles him out of this thoughts. It is Cate, his personal PR person.

“Ok Mr. Leclrec, schedule of the day.” She reads off of the tablet in her hands, “Max will do the photos first, while you go do Grill the Grid challenges. Then you’ll swap, and after time for lunch. Later we will be doing intro videos and then finally ending the day with Redbull specific media. Are you following?” She turns and begins to walk down the corridor before Charles could say anything.

“Uh um yes? One second, one second.” He rushes back into his dressing room and grabs his phone and gives himself one last glance over in the mirror. He looks good. He nods, and Cate lets out an annoyed sigh behind him. He jumps, not knowing that she had come back into the room.

“Mr. Leclerc, we are on a very tight schedule. I promise your hair looks fine.” She gives him a glance up and down, “now lets get moving.”

It isn’t until he is already in front of the Grill the Grid cameras that he realizes he never put shoes on. One of the interns working the camera lets out a giggle, and soon everyone is laughing. He glances down, and lets out his own quiet laugh.

The camera girl pans down to his socked feet.

“Having no shoes helps keep me more in the zone, no? I am here to win.” He giggles again, and Cate smacks her face impatiently. They were going to have some fun this season.

He doesn’t see Max until lunchtime. The dutchman is already sitting in the little breakroom munching on a banana when Charles walks in, and he smiles.

“How’s your day been?” Charles walks over to the mini lunch spread, and he hears Max chuckle behind him.

“Charles where are your shoes?”

“Haven’t you heard? Its my new brand.” He grins, grabbing a croissant and a banana before taking the seat across from Max. “The new PR girl had me in such a rush this morning that I completely forgot my boots.”

“You look good in the blue.”

“I think so too.” The sit in an amicable silence, finishing their snacks and waiting for the next event on the schedule.

~~~~~
Bahrain testing 2024

Charles ends up finishing faster than Max. There was a small issue with Max’s engine, which cost him a few laps on the track, but still. Charles put the fastest time on the board for the whole weekend of testing and the most amount of laps.

He feels victorious. Unstoppable. This is what Formula One racing is supposed to feel like.

He jumps out of the car after his last lap, and beams as the engineers pat him on the back and cheer along with him. The environment is nothing like that of the Ferrari garages, always so tied up in maintaining their public image.
“Fantastic Charles!” Christian slaps him on the shoulder, “It seems like you and the car are getting along nicely.”

“Thank you Christian.” He beams, nothing could wipe the smile off of Charles face right now. “Do you know where Max got off to? I was hoping to speak with him before the debrief.”

“Oh I am sure he’s off licking his wounds somewhere! Debrief is in twenty Charles!” Christian disappears around the corner, and Charles moves to go and find his drivers room.

This would be the first challenge he and Max would face as both teammates and partners. He knows Max gets grumpy when he isn’t the fastest. It was hard to have both a winning mentality and be sensitive to each other when things don’t go one way or the other. But this was just testing, and in the end there were no championship points up for grabs.

He finds his driver room, ready for a hot shower and to get out of the tight Nomex that forms the fireproofs. Instead he finds Max, stretched out on his couch snoring away, a can of redbull in one hand and his phone in the other – still open and playing tik toks despite his sleeping form.

“Max?” Charles calls, but the other man doesn’t move. “Max, Cherie, wake up.” He moves over to the side of the couch, removing the can and phone from the other man’s hands. Max startles, and he shoots up, nearly bonking his head on Charles’.

“Max? What are you doing here?”

“I was waiting for you. After my engine crapped out, I thought I would come and wait for you.”

“Debrief is in like 15 minutes.”

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep. I just didn’t want anyone to find me for a little while.”

“You drove amazing today. This car is fast Max.”

“The car is fast. I can’t wait for all the Redbull 1-2’s this season.”

“Aw you’ll finally get a taste of second place?” Charles grins at him, and Max just shakes his head. “C’mon Max, we have a debrief.”

Chapter Text

Race one: Bahrain 2024
The first race of the season comes far too quickly in Charles opinion. He feels good after testing, but he can’t help but worry for what the 2024 season could become. The Mercedes were looking fast, both George and Lewis could be seen beaming in the paddock with the times they had managed, and the McLaren duo of Lando and Oscar were always a force to recon with.

He tried hard not to look to Ferrari the whole weekend of testing, too afraid to see how the team was faring without him. Max had snickered when their numbers were discussed in the debrief, apparently Carlos nor Robert were happy with the car. Charles could feel his heart squeezing in his chest, he didn’t want the red team to fail. He didn’t want to watch them crumble further, no matter the pain and despair they had caused him because rosso corsa would always feel a little bit like home.

On the Saturday of the first race of the season, he wakes up in Max’s arms. They were officially past their no sleeping together on race weekends ban of last season, and being on the same team had only made this simpler in that it was no surprise that they were seen together in the team hotel or arriving at the track around the same time. So, every weekend Redbull would book two rooms for their drivers, and more likely than not, only one of those rooms would be properly slept in. And besides, Charles slept better next to someone. He always had. Max appeared to as well, which helped ease both of them from winter break atmosphere of spending almost every waking moment together to race season where they could still spend almost every waking moment together but with slightly more caution and a whole lot more cameras trained on them.

So he wakes in Max’s arms, slow and lazy, and taking a few deep breaths before pushing away to shower and begin his quali day prep. Max groans when he stands, and peeks one eye open to look at where Charles was now kneeling at his suitcase.

“What are you doing?”

“Deciding which RedBull shirt will look best for today.”

“They are all navy Charles; it does not matter.”

“It does not matter to you because you would wear the Redbull kit all the time if you had the choice. But me? I care about fashion Max.”

Max snorts at this and rolls to face the ceiling. He rubs his hands over his eyes, trying to wake up. “We used to be a serious sport.”

“Maybe I should call Lewis.” Charles mutters under his breath, holding up two RedBull approved polos.

“You are not calling Lewis. Wear the basic team kit to show your commitment to the team.”
“But then we will match.”

“Charlie…” Max lets out an exasperated sigh, “Are you nervous? You did not have this hard of a time Thursday or yesterday.”

“Of course I am nervous.”

“They call you the King of Quali on twitter Charles, I do not think you have anything to worry about.”

“This is the first real time it will count. The first real time anyone will be able to make a judgement about whether or not I should have switched teams.”

“You excelled yesterday in practice.”

“I was slow.”

“You got second in both sessions.”

“To you! In the same car!” Charles waves the two Redbull shirts around, before balling one up and throwing it in Max’s direction, “You need to get up Max! We must be at the track!”

“Schat,” Max removes the polo from his face, and smiles down at the 16 printed in red letters on the sleeve. “You have every right to be nervous, but now is the time to fuel the nerves into pure unadulterated rage and drive. You have only one person to prove right, and that is yourself.”

“When did you get so smart Cherie?” Charles pulls off the current shirt he has on, to replace it with the one still in his hands, and Max takes a second to admire the others chest.

“The therapist you found for me is doing wonders Charlie.”

~~~
They walked into the paddock next to each other. Max immediately drops back a tiny step as the reporters begin bombarding Charles with questions about the move. They have already bombarded him both Thursday and Friday, but with the actual race inching closer and closer, the media have grown hungrier for a real answer as to why he moved.

So far, Charles had stuck to the story that a change in his career felt right, and when the offer was presented to him, he couldn’t refuse. He had maintained that he had no hard feelings towards Ferrari and wishes the team the best but was excited for the future with RedBull.

Max and Redbull had similar stories: that they wished Checo the best in his retirement and couldn’t wait to see what Charles could do in a different team.

Ferrari had never mentioned him. In January, they put out a video of Robert and Carlos doing a silly challenge video, followed by a formal announcement that Robert would be joining their team as a full time driver and Ollie Bearman would be their reserve driver. It had made Charles smile though, because the comments were filled with anger at a lack of acknowledgment for everything Charles had done for the team with his five years with them.

They dropped Arthur from the FDA not long after that.

The media turned against Charles, blaming him for the downfall of his brother’s career. He hasn’t been on social media since that day. And now, in the paddock, the media was unavoidable. It was not as simple as deleting an app or turning off his phone when cameras were being shoved in his face. He feels a blinding rage as he hears one reporter call out:

“Charles have you spoken to your brother since you ended his chances at an F1 career?”

He turns, ready to express to everyone exactly how he feels, when there is suddenly a gentle hand propelling him forward.

“Just keep walking Charles.” Cate, his PR girl, says in a hushed whisper. Max is similarly being led away from the cameras. He looks as angry as Charles feels, one of the few that knew that Charles was already using every connection he could to help Arthur find a seat in another category.

They make it to hospitality without another incident, but he still wants to start screaming. This is going to be a very long rest of the weekend and perhaps a very long season.

~~~
Charles puts it on pole later that afternoon with Max 0.2 seconds behind him.

He had listened to Max for once, he takes all of the rage and uncertainty he feels and fuels It into his driving for the rest of the weekend.

They have a good debrief, focusing on what they can do as a team for the rest of the weekend to ensure a first place and second place finish, and what they can do to combat the media as they grew more intrusive.

Charles posts a goofy selfie of him and max to his Instagram story. In it, Max fake frowns towards the camera and Charles sticks out his tongue in Max’s direction. He captions it: “Max is still frowning about quali.” He hopes that it is enough to show the world that Max and him can be friends and competitors, that the move to Redbull won’t destroy him.

On Sunday, Charles feels like he cannot breathe. He is sitting in the car, parked on the first grid lines waiting for the green light. The car still feels good after yesterday, and it purrs during the formation lap but Charles finds himself struggling to fill his lungs completely. He tries to find anything to calm himself down, to focus in on the lights above him. He thinks about sailing, and the pure blue waters of Monaco. He thinks about his mother’s smile, his father’s eyes, and all of the sacrifices they gave to get him here. His brothers who were always cheering from the sidelines. He thinks about Max, first thing in the mornings when he is grumpy and soft all the same. He thinks about Ferrari red for the first time in a while. Its color once meant passion and fire, but now only signified drained, splattered blood. He momentarily takes his hand off the wheel to pat the inside of the car. He sends up a plea, and the lights turn green.

There is no more time for panic, only racing.

Later, from the top step of the podium, the same thoughts from before pop into his head. The rush of the crowd hits his ears, but there is still a moment of silence first as his brain rushes to process everything. There has been plenty of grief in his life, and so much struggle to be here on the top step and he promises himself in that moment that there will be no more disappointments. Only top steps and champagne.

He looks down and sees Max, smiling up at him as the Monegasque anthem play. There is nothing but pride in Max’s eyes, but Charles worries. How much pride could Max hold for him? Especially when top steps for Charles, meant lower ones for Max? They hugged after the race, both rushing to jump out of their cars filled with adrenaline. Charles jumps to the nose first, pointing to the sky, a moment to contain his tears and thank everyone that couldn’t be here with him today. To Papa and Jules and Anthoine. And then jumps down into Max’s waiting arms. Then to the engineers.

The champagne on the podium tastes sweeter than it ever has.

The heat in his drivers room after, Max crowding him against the door has never felt better.

The season could not be off to a better start, so why was the pit in his stomach growing with every waking second?

Chapter Text

The Saudi Arabian Grand Prix occurs in a very similar fashion to the Bahrain one, in that, Redbull takes a second 1-2 – this time Max is the one that comes out on top. Charles isn’t satisfied of course, because 2nd is not the reason he Is a racing driver, but he celebrates with Max anyways and pushes down the bad voices in his head trying to cause rage and jealousy.

Charles know that he and Max need to confront a concrete way of handling race wins and defeats because every race one of them will come out in front of the other, and the seething jealousy that was buried deep in Charles would come out eventually. It was already hard not to compare himself to Max because Max was already three championships in, while Charles had only a few race wins to his name. But was there a way to handle this properly? They had always raced against each other and debriefed frequently afterwards. But now, as teammates there was more at stake, and more to hide.

He decides to bring it up after the race that night, as they lay in bed with the remnants of chocolate cake and half a bottle of champagne between them.

“Max?”

“Yes Schat?”

“How do we do this?”

“Hmm?”

“One of us is always going to come out on top. How do we let it not change everything?”

“We separate the racing and the relationship. It is the same thing as you and Pierre, no?”

“I don’t want to resent you for winning.”

“What If we work on agreeing that when we are at the track, we can be competitive and resentful. Racing is racing. But when we leave for the night, it is no longer about racing. We leave the track and we are no longer Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc, formula one drivers and instead we are just Charles and Max.”

“I think I could do that.”

“And if that doesn’t work, then we revisit it.”

“Ok. I really do like you.”

“I like you too.”

~~~~~
They fly to the Australian GP a week early to go see Daniel. The other man had returned home to his farm with Lando in tow, and it was nice to be somewhere where racing did not need to be the focus. Well, F1 racing was not the focus.

Daniel ever the competitive individual brough out the farm tractors and set up a competition between the four of them. Charles thought that the PR team of all of their teams would eat it up, and became the unofficial camera man of the entire event, especially after he had gotten bored of driving the tractors pretty quickly. They didn’t have the speed that came with driving a racecar.

He watches from a far as Max and Daniel jokingly turn into each other, the tractors threatening to tip over. Charles films the whole exchange, trying not to giggle too much behind the camera. He posts the video on his Instagram story, and clicks his phone shut, hoping to be able to stay off it for the rest of the day.

Lando eventually grows bored of watching the other two dick around and comes to sit down next to Charles on the sun chairs Daniel had dragged out for the afternoon.

“How does it feel?” Lando says, flopping over to look at Charles.

“How does what feel?”

“You’re tied for the championship; your car hasn’t crapped out on you.”

“Don’t jinx it Lando.” Charles pauses, studying the younger man. They had always gotten along just fine, even if Lando had a much drier sense of humor than Charles. He knows Lando has been struggling with the car these first two weekends, especially against Oscar who had seemed to click with it immediately. “It will click Lando.”

“No, I know that.”

“Just as long as you’re slower than me.” Charles stretches out a little on the sunchair, enjoying the sun in his face. This was now the third weekend in a row away from the salty air of Monaco, and he has missed being able to lay down for a little while. This was going to be a long season, and Charles needed to remind himself that it was the only the beginning.

“How’s life at RedBull?”

“It’s uh Its different, I guess.”

“Different?”

“Ferrari meant subduing everything for the sake of the brand. RedBull, they’re newer. They’re careful but want that personality of everyone to come through. I used to have to get everything I posted approved, but now? I just can post. Can speak my mind a little. It’s nice, but a little weird.”

Lando nods carefully.

“OI!” Danny calls from somewhere far away, and both Lando and Charles shoot up from the chairs. “Dinners ready dorks!”

~~~

The Australian Grand Prix does not go according to plan.

Max, of course, puts it on pole, and goes on to win it all. He takes a Grand Chelem, which puts a bitter taste in Charles’ mouth. Charles, on the other hand, does well in all three practice sessions and ends up two tenths off of Max’s time in Quali. It is the first lap of the actual race where everything goes wrong. Charles gets off the line cleanly, racing partialy next to Max. They battle it out for first for about half the lap, before Max manages to take the line and find a burst to inch in front of Charles.

Charles focuses forward, trying his best to find whatever it is that Max did to move the car faster. Until, someone crashes behind him. He isn’t even sure who in the moment, but this sets off a catastrophic chain reaction which has George Russel catapulting into the side of his car, spinning and turning until Charles meets barrier (Max of course gets away cleanly).

He sits in his car, blinking dizzily. He thinks he might have blacked out at one point during the journey to the barrier, and he can hear what he thinks is the fuzzy crackle of his engineer over the radio. He tries to move one hand, and then the other. Both working the way they are supposed to with a little bit of effort. He tries his feet next, and finds that one of his feet, his left, doesn’t want to move. He forces air into his lungs and moves his neck side to side. It works the way it is supposed to.

He hears the crackle of the radio again and lets out a punched breath to try and reach the radio button. He thinks he presses the right button and lets out a whimper. It was all he could manage for the moment.

The radio crackles again, “Charles, medical is on the way. Hang tight ok.”

He thinks he says ok back, but he wasn’t quite sure.

The next thing he remembers was the medical tent, an oxygen mask on his face. Pierre is sitting there, for some reason. Charles thinks that Pierre should still be racing, but he also doesn’t know how long he has been in here.

“Pear?” He chokes out, and Pierre shoots up to stand over him.

“Charles!” He shoots up, “You’re awake!”

“I crashed.” He groans.

“No, George fully turned in on you. I am going to go grab the doctor.”

Charles laughs, and then groans. He was pissed, Max and he had been tied in the championship, and now surely Max would be ahead. He tries to sit up and take in his surroundings. He is still in the medical center on the track, which means no injuries that were concerning enough for the hospital. There is a brace around his left ankle and his left wrist which isn’t good news, but also isn’t career ending (he hopes).

The doctor rushes in in a flurry of medical and Redbull personnel.

“Bad news Mr. Leclerc is that you had a pretty bad crash. Good news is that your wrist is just a sprain, and the ankle is at worst a tiny fracture. You are free to go whenever you would like, your trainer and your team has the rehab plan, and we recommend you go and get the ankle x-rayed as soon as possible.” The doctor nods and walks out leaving Charles surrounded by Redbull personnel that he was still trying to get used to.

Andrea rushes in suddenly with Joris in tow, and Charles feels like he can take his first steady breath of the day at the familiar face of his trainer and best friend.

“You stupid idiot.” Andrea says gently, grabbing his hand. He helps him sit all the way up and swing his legs to the side of the bed. “Slowly now, slowly.”

Charles stands and his knees buckle slightly. His ankle throbs, but the pain is a bearable reminder of the day.

The podium ceremony is going on as he exits the medical tent, but it seems like there is still a flurry of media outside trying to catch a glimpse of the drivers involved in today’s crash. Andrea keeps a steady hand on his arm the entire way back to the Redbull garage, and Joris does his best to push the media aside to make a clear path. Charles catches a glimpse of the podium ceremony on their slow journey back, and smiles despite the bitter feeling of Max winning at the site of Max standing tall and proud on the podium.

He later hears Max’s radio from after his crash. It makes Charles tear up, because he knows that panicked feeling well enough when another driver crashes and the moments before it is confirmed that they are ok.

He listens again:
“Who crashed?” Max asks.

“Leclerc.”

“fuck is he ok?” There is no answer, presumably because the engineers were still trying to get an answer from Charles. “GP is he ok?”

“We will update you.”

“No, fuck. What happened? Is he ok?” He could hear Max’s harsh breathing as there was no answer from his engineer for a few moments.

“Red flag Max, red flag.”

“Fuck.”

The radio crackles and goes silently, presumably as Max pulls into the pits and gets out of the car.

Charles makes it back to his drivers room and Andrea and Joris leave him for the time being. He isn’t sure how long he is left alone until Max enters, opening and closing the door as slowly as he could.

“You’re ok?” Max lets out a sigh of relief, coming to kneel near the head of Charles’ couch.

“I’ve been better.”

Chapter Text

They have about two weeks off between Australia and Japan, so Charles flies back to Monaco to hide away in his apartment and metaphorically lick his wounds. After Australia’s crash, Max had not wanted to leave his side, but Redbull wanted at least one of them in Milton Keynes to go over the season’s data up to this point, and Max ends up pulling the short end of the stick. Charles has been given strict orders to rest and not move (something he is not very good at).

His ankle is fucked, the doctor he saw recommended not walking on it for at least a month. The doctor hadn’t said anything about driving, but the glare Andrea gave him from across the room made things clear: he was not going to be driving for the next race.

Stupid George Russell and his stupid inability to control his car. (George had actually texted Charles apologizing for the crash and to check in on him, but Charles was bitter). This was not how Redbull was supposed to go. He was supposed to win a championship and set records not be sidelined in his apartment. This is ultimately what makes up his mind to get on a plane in the middle of the night to fly to Redbull headquarters in England. He calls Christian and lets him know he is going to come, and texts Andrea letting him know he’s leaving (the older man was absolutely not happy with this – claiming that Charles needs to be recovering in the safety of his apartment (Charles ignores this promptly and calls Arthur to drive him to the airport)).

So now, here he is standing outside of Max’s Milton Keynes apartment shivering in the rain because it is 3am and he never bothered to actually try and contact Max to let him know that he was come and also would be staying with Max. He pounds on the front door, cursing at himself, knowing that no amount of pounding on the front door would wake Max because Charles boyfriend was the heaviest sleeper he had ever met.

He tries to call Max one more time, before sliding down to sit against the door and think. His foot was throbbing in its boot, and his wrist, which was only slightly better off than his ankle, was starting to follow suit. He tries to call Christian, who also does not pick up because it is still the middle of the night and Charles was still a complete idiot for thinking he could just show up here.

He slams his hand against the wall in frustrated anger before the door flies open from where he was sitting.

“Schatje?” Max looks down at him sleepily, “Shit Charles what are you doing here?” Max bends down and scoops up Charles into his arms.

“im sorry Max.” Charles says into his shirt, “I just panicked and got on a plane.”

“Can you call me first, next time?”

Charles nods, and Max carries both of them into the bedroom of the small apartment. He sets Charles gently on the edge of the bed, and moves about the room to gather sweats for Charles to change into. He goes outside and grabs Charles backpack where he had set it down while trying to get in.

“Do you need a shower? Bath?” Max comes back into the bedroom and takes the boot gently off of Charles swollen ankle.

“Its been a long day and I woke you up, you can go to bed Max. I’ll take care of myself.”

“Let me take care of you Charles.” Max remains kneeling in front of him, “Now, shower or bath? Hm?”

“I uh I can’t really stand very well by myself long enough to shower.”

“Well we will have to shower together then.”

They sleep in the next morning. Max had pulled his special “basically Christian Horner’s son” strings to ensure that the team principal wouldn’t be angry with them coming in late, and Charles turns off his phone to avoid any and all phone calls. While he listens in on Max on the phone with Christian, he can’t help but wonder about how they would eventually need to break the fact that they were together to Christian. He wonders how the older man would react, would he fire Charles on the spot to protect golden boy Max? Would he force one of them to quit to prevent any major issues?

He worries until Max glances toward him with a soft smile, his eyes tired but they still crinkle at the corners like they always do. He says goodbye to Christian and then hangs up the phone, diving back into bed.

“Christian said he wants me in the factory this afternoon, and that you could join the next day as long as you promise not to pull any crazy stunts like this anymore.” He chuckles lightly, “oh and he is very glad we are getting along enough that you felt you could come to me in the middle of the night. What little he actually knows.” Max laughs, louder this time, and pushes his nose into the crevice of Charles collarbones.

“Could you call Daniel for me tomorrow?”

“Hm?” Max sits up, moving to the edge of the bed to begin getting ready for the day.

“He broke his wrist last season? I want to ask him about his surgeon.”

“Charles, your doctor said you need rest. That it’s not broken.”

“I want a second opinion. Max I’m not that far behind you in the championship, I can’t risk sitting out a race.”

He looks over to where Max is sitting, the other man tense at the edge of the bed. Charles now knows Max well enough to be able to read him, but in this moment he couldn’t.

“I uh sure I’ll give Daniel a call when I’m done with data today.” He stands, refusing to turn around and meet Charles’ eyes.

“Thank you for rescuing me last night.” Charles whispers, praying that Max will turn around and look at him with his kind ocean eyes.

“Of course, Schat, of course.” Max doesn’t pause as he walks out of the door.

He is gone twenty minutes later, and Charles fights a difficult sleep.

Chapter Text

Charles fights a difficult sleep. His ankle throbs, but he worries about taking too many pain meds on an empty stomach and he can’t get his brain turned on enough to get up and eat something.

He thinks through the last few days as he waits for Max to come back. The crash had been a bad one, not necessarily because of the crash itself but because he can’t remember ever having to take a race off because of a crash and it haunts him. Both in sleep and in waking he sees Jules and, surprisingly, Sena standing over him, watching as he struggles to get himself out of the car. He thinks he asks them for help at some point, but the actual logistics of it all are still quite blurry.

He ends up staying in Maxs bed the entire time Max is gone, drifting between a horribly painful sleep and prayers that someone would put him out of his misery.

Max returns eventually, soup in one had and a very angry Andrea in the other. Charles thinks he hallucinates Andrea for a moment, watching the older man approach the bed with a small tsk of the tongue as he takes in Charles rumpled, fragile state. Max must see something written across Charles face because he gingerly sets the soup down and goes to the other side of the bed from Andrea.

“Oh Schat, did you not even move all day?” His voice was soft, and he runs a gentle hand over Charles forehead. “I shouldn’t have left.”

Charles lets out a small pained whimper, sounding more like a wounded animal than a grown man.

“You stupid idiot. You leave Monaco in the middle of the night. You don’t even call Max? Stupid.” Andrea says, also soft, but stern too. His arms slide under Charles to help him into a sitting position. “Have you eaten? Anything?” He tsks again.

Charles knew he was fortunate to have Andrea in his life, basically from the start of his career. But the older man often felt more like a doting mother than a professional fitness trainer and it generally drove Charles up a wall. But in this moment he had never felt more ashamed or more happy to see the man. Ashamed because he knew Andrea had no fear calling him on his bullshit. Happiness because, after all, it seems Andrea did not have qualms about jumping on a plane to come make sure he was ok.

Andrea motions to Max to hand over the abandoned soup and begins ordering Max about the room: grabbing painkillers and a better pillow to prop Charles’ swollen throbbing ankle on, a better spoon because apparently the one sent along with the soup was simply not up to Andrea’s standards (secretly it was actually Andrea translating Charles’ unspoken discomfort at eating with a spoon slightly larger than a regular spoon (he was picky. Sue him)). Max seemed to just go along with.

Was this something he needed to worry about? Charles thinks to himself, that everything had been about him lately, so much so that Max couldn’t even escape to the factory without Charles rolling up in the middle of the night?

He takes a few deep breaths, attempting to store the bad thoughts away in the back of his mind to pick through later. Right now, he needed to focus on his soup and his pain meds and contacting Daniel’s surgeon.

Max soon returns, spoon in hand. A smaller spoon that was closer to a teaspoon. Charles could cry at the thought that Max had noticed this tiny little detail about him.

Later in the evening, Charles and Max lay side by side. Andrea had proceeded to a hotel nearby, even after the insistence that he could go home, that Charles was over his little breakdown and would not be fleeing any countries any time soon. So here they are, laying quietly next to each other - max on his phone, and Charles watching.

“I’m sorry Max.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“I shouldn’t have shown up in the middle of the night.”

“Schat… it’s. I mean I didn’t particularly enjoy being woken up in the middle of the night to pounding on my doors but in a way I’m glad.”

“Glad?”

“Yes, because it means that you felt comfortable enough to show up. Even with no contact or confirmation there is a part of your subconscious that thinks to show up. Find me. And that is enough for me to take comfort in.”

“When did you get so smart max?”

“Oi! I’ve always been smart!”

“Emotionally smart then. We always knew you were book smart.”

“Years and years of therapy Charles.” He levels a very serious gaze, “I called Danny’s surgeon.”

“Oh! And? What did he say?”

“I uh I sent over your X-rays and he said he’d review them. But I don’t want you to get your hopes up. Your doctor already said that it’s not a break and that you just need rest.”

“I know but-“

“No. Racing is not worth your overall quality of life. And if you go back too soon and fuck up your ankle all over again? You’re done. You’re out. And that is going to be a whole lot worse than one or two races Charles.”

Charles is quiet for a moment, mulling over this idea.

“Did you see?”

“See what?”

“All the hate I’m getting on Twitter. Theyre saying I crashed on purpose to avoid the pressures Red Bull brings.” He scoffs, “As if Redbull is more pressure than Ferrari.”

“I think you should take a phone break.”

“Max….”

“Charles…”

“So how was data.?” Charles tries to switch the subject.

“Don’t think you are getting out of the social media conversation.”

“I know but can we just not for right now? One thing at a time max, please?”

Max grumbles a little, but acquiesces. He launches into a full report of the day, and they both realize how nice it is that they can have these conversations without breaching any confidentiality clauses for their teams.

So maybe the season, the move and the inevitable partnership that was Max and Charles would be a good thing in the first place.