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Chapter Text

Looking at himself in the mirror on the bathroom wall, Charles felt despair slowly creeping through his body like poison. His hands grabbed the sides of the sink and clutched it convulsively. It was the last race of the triple-header and perhaps the worst, if you didn't count the DNF in Canada. Another race without points or a podium. Another fucked up race because of a shitty strategy. He could feel all hope of winning this year's championship slowly leaving him. After Monaco, he thought he was on top of the world. Nothing could beat him. He finally won his home race. He stood on the top step of the podium with his teammate and enjoyed that long-awaited anthem of his home country. He had finally beaten the bad luck that had followed him every single Monaco race. He thought nothing could stop him after that for once. And now? It looked like bad luck was laughing in his face.

When Jules was in hospital, he had promised him that their shared dream of driving for Ferrari, for the iconic historic team, would come true for both of them. He promised himself he would win the championship with them. He promised to do it for him, for his dad and for Anthoine. For everyone who helped him get to where he is now. But sometimes it's so fucking hard. One step forward and two steps back. But he's so fucking close. Giving up now, he wouldn't be sure Jules is proud of him.

Charles began to breathe faster. He grunted in frustration. He turned on the tap and turned it so that cold water was flowing. He bent down and began to wash his face, which was red from his anger. He still had media pen interviews to do and he definitely couldn't come between them in the condition he was currently in. He needed to calm down. Bury the frustration and anger deep inside himself and calm down. Clear his mind.

He gave himself a few minutes of breathing, like Andrea had taught him, before he finally calmed down enough to face the whole media circus. Breathing in through his nose for four periods, holding his breath for four, and breathing out through his mouth for four. After a few repetitions, his ragged breathing stabilized. He could feel the accumulated stress leaving with each exhale. He took one last look in the mirror. He looked like a mess, but definitely better than when he came in. He quickly ran a hand through his hair, then bent down and picked up the cap he'd thrown in the corner when he'd arrived. Puts it on. He took one last deep breath and exhaled before opening the door and going to face the world outside.

***

The media behaved as expected. They kept asking him the same questions and he kept answering them the same way. That he believes in the team and that they needs to look at it to understand what's going on. The last three weeks have been like a stuck record. What does he have to say? That the car isn't working, that the strategy sucked, or that he's losing faith that this team will ever be able to get themselves together and build a competitive car that won't struggle for at least a year?

„Charles, can you tell us how you feel after a string of such bad races, especially after winning your home race?" Another question he'd rather not answer. 

Charles didn't understand one thing. How could they ask him such a question? Anyone with eyes could see that he was not okay with it. As if he could possibly feel anything other than miserable. Especially after seeing that only he had such problems. Carlos is also not doing so well, but P5 is definitely better than P14. Especially this race he could have finished much better. After all, he overtook a few cars at the start, and after a while he caught Carlos. If not a podium, at least it could have been valuable points today. He had it coming. But then that stupid tyre thing happened and all the hard work at the start was gone. And what choice did he have but to pit when they told him they were expecting heavy rain. 

„Honestly? Not very well. It's been a lot. It's been too many races now... I don't even know what to say when I come here."  he smiled tiredly at the interviewer who shared a sympathetic smile with him. He thanked him for the interview and he was finally dismissed. Now he had one last thing to do before he could get on a plane, fly back to Monaco, and ideally try to forget everything that happened in the past few races for a week.

***

Post-race briefing. Classic bullshit that valuable data has been collected and we can now work on the problem. Great. Really great. The only interesting thing was that when they were going through the race footage, he could hear Carlos' radio, which was recorded just as Brian was telling him about the expected rain. Carlos was told there was just a chance of rain. Just a chance! Why didn't he get the same information? It really didn't make sense.

„Charles, are we boring you?" I was interrupted by a voice that belonged to Fred. "I know you haven't had the best race, but you could at least pay attention to what we're talking about. It'll help you and maybe you won't make such a big mistake." His voice was as calm and steady as ever.

„Big mistakes? I don't know where I went wrong." I said, confused.

He knew he had made a few small mistakes, but who wouldn't? But nothing that would have compromised the race and the scoting of points for the team.

„They decided to go into the pits and change tyres on the stage, even though the track was dry. That's a pretty big mistake. He looked at me. I didn't know if he was joking or not.

„Yes, it was my decision because you told me on the radio that it was going to rain on the next lap."

„And it was a bad decision. We can't afford to make mistakes like that. You are on the track and you know the conditions. Take a lesson from Carlos, he decided to stay on the track."

„But because you told him there was only a chance of rain. If you had told me that, I definitely wouldn't have come into the pits. Because there's a big difference between saying you expect heavy rain and saying there's a chance of rain". I finally raised my voice. I could feel every pair of eyes in the room on me. My frustration was growing by the second.

„Stop raising your voice to me. We lost valuable constructors' points because of your mistake. Without Carlos, McLaren would have overtaken us long ago with what you've been doing in the last few races. It was your fault and you're not going to blame anyone else in the team. You should learn to take responsibility for your own actions.“

Charles stared at Fred with his mouth open. He felt tears welling up in his eyes. He blinked quickly to chase them away. Looking around the room, he could see the team staring at him with blank faces. Most of them sympathised with Fred's words. His eyes turned to Carlos, hoping for some silent support, but Carlos just sat there, avoiding any eye contact. Charles shook his head in disbelief, then turned and practically ran out of the room.

...your fault...your fault...your fault...your fault...

Charles ran, not paying attention to where he was going. The tears he had held back in the room were now rolling down his cheeks. He didn't care if anyone saw him. He just had to get away. He couldn't understand why Fred was acting this way. It wasn't his fault, was it? Or was it? Oh, God. Fred was absolutely right. He was right. He's the driver and there's nobody else in the car.  He decided to change the tyres. Nobody else. But if they had told him, he wouldn't have...

He began to have difficulty breathing. His legs got slower and slower until the running became a shaky walk.

...your fault... your fault... your fault...

He wedged himself between the two nearest walls and slid along one to the ground. His hands gripped the grass, trying to breathe. Unfortunately, what happened was just the last straw needed for all his carefully gathered and glued together confidence to collapse like a house of cards. Once again. His breathing became ragged and intermittent. His tears flowed with no sign of stopping. He couldn't breathe. He's alone. He was always alone. Fred's words echoed in his head. 

...your fault... your fault... your fault... your fault...

He squeezed his eyelids shut. He tried to clear his mind of the voice, but he couldn't. The more he tried to breathe, the more his lungs choked. He made a choking sound. It felt like a cement block was crushing his chest. The noise around him was slowly fading. It was as if someone was trying to drown him. He stopped feeling everything. The colours blended into an unrecognisable whole. There was only the voice in his head, repeating two words over and over.

***

„...rles...Charles! Can you hear me, Charles? Are you with me?" he felt two hands grab his shoulders and pull him up. He still couldn't breathe and his vision was blurred. The world around him was one big mix of colours and dark spots. He could feel himself being led, but he didn't know where. All he could feel was a strong grip on his shoulders, grounding and supporting him. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he could feel the solid ground beneath him again. Hands gripped his shoulders again, holding him tight. His breath caught in his throat. He heard someone talking. He felt a hand on his cheek but couldn't bring himself to look up. Suddenly he felt a person take his hand and press his palm against his chest. He felt a heartbeat. Slow and steady. He concentrated on that. He was only aware of his hand being covered by another. After a moment he felt the clenched chest loosen and his breathing become easier. His hearing started to clear and he could hear the stranger speaking to him in a soothing voice.

„Breathe with me. Slowly and deeply. Copy my breathing. It will be good. Just breathe. Just breathe."

He tried to do what the voice told him. He breathed. It was hard at first, but then he felt it getting easier. The voice was clearer and soothing. Slowly he opened his eyes to see Christian Horner kneeling before him, talking to him. He twitched. Immediately he felt the hands pull away. His eyes quickly scanned the area. He was in the garage. He recognised that. But he still felt dazed and disoriented. There was a circle of mechanics around him and Christian, blocking the view of uninvited guests and stray cameras. He started to panic.

„Hey, calm down, calm down. You're safe. It's all right now." Christian held his hands where he could see them. „You had a pretty bad panic attack. I found you and brought you here. You're in the Red Bull garage. It was the closest I could get to you in your condition. It's all right now. Just breathe, okay? Are you with me? How are you feeling?" His voice was all I could concentrate on. The tears started to flow again. I lowered my head. I hadn't been asked that question in a long time. I immediately noticed the hands on my cheeks.

„Charles. Look at me." He lifted my head and looked into my eyes. I saw his worried face. „You're safe. Everything is going to be fine. Everything will be fine. You just need to breathe, OK?" That's when I finally started to cry. Christian didn't wait for anything and wrapped me in a bone-crushing hug. I couldn't bring myself to lift my arms and hold on to him, so I buried my head in his neck.

„It's my fault. It's all my fault. These last races... If I'd been better... I could have... I could have... I..." my voice broke.

I could feel my tears soaking his shoulder, but I couldn't think about that right now. His hand went into my hair, running through it soothingly. He said nothing, asked no questions. He just held me, and that was all I needed. All I could feel until the darkness came over me.

*** Christian´s POV ***

For Christian it seemed that today couldn't get any worse. As if it wasn't bad enough that Checo had finished at the back of the grid in the last couple of races and failed to qualify in Q1. Today just confirmed that they don't have the pace they're used to. He already knew that. But that's not the reason for these results. He doesn't like to compare other riders to Max, but you can see how Checo has struggled compared to Max in the last couple of races. He's not delivering. In the constructors' championship the other teams are catching up. They have a lead, but it's getting smaller race by race and Max just can't do it alone. It's got to be two drivers for the constructors. Checo must start performing immediately or he's out of the team. It's tough, he hates it, but that's the way it is. It's a ruthless sport. But who would replace him?

With his head full of thoughts, he went back to the garage. He wanted to look at the data and discuss possible solutions to the problem before packing everything up. There was no time to waste.

He turned between the caravans to shorten his trip. He figured nothing could surprise him today, but then again, he had no way of knowing what would happen. In the tight space, a man in a red racing suit was sitting on the ground. He was shaking and making strange noises. All his thoughts were pushed aside and with a few quick steps he got close enough to the person he recognised as the Ferrari driver. He quickly knelt down beside him.

„Charles?" he tried to speak to him, „Charles, can you hear me?" He didn't answer. He looked terrible. He was shaking all over, his face was red and wet with tears that wouldn't stop. He was breathing heavily. He wasn't aware. He knew what was happening. He was having a panic attack.

God, what should I do? Keep your head. You have to help him.

He tried to speak to him again.

„Charles... Charles! Can you hear me, Charles? Are you with me?" But there was no answer. He didn't wait for anything and touched Charles gently. He grabbed hold of his shoulders and slowly pulled him to his feet. He had to get him away. Somewhere quiet. Holding him up, he led them as quickly as he could to the only place that was close enough and without cameras. It frightened him how apathetic Charles was. His body was shaking and it was obvious how hard he was fighting with every breath.

He didn't pay any attention to the looks he got once they were in the garage.

The mechanics had stopped working on the car and all activity had ceased. Everyone in the room stared in shock at the scene before them. The team boss was half carrying the Ferrari driver, who was clearly unresponsive.

Christian walked to the nearest wall and slowly sat Charles down. He knelt in front of him. He put his hands on his shoulders and squeezed them gently.

„Charles? Charles, can you hear me? You're safe now. It's just you and me. It's all right."  He slowly raised his hand and placed it on Charles' cheek. Charles made another choking sound as he tried to breathe. He couldn't. Then it dawned on him. He needed help to breathe. He quickly took his hand and put it to his chest.

„Breathe with me. Nice and slow and deep. Copy my breathing. It will be good. Just breathe. Breathe in and out." I tried to make my voice sound confident and calm.

He didn't know how much time had passed, but after a while his breathing became easier. He was panting less and less. And he seemed to listen. Christian kept repeating the words. He held on to them like a lifeline.

Suddenly Charles slowly raised his head and blinked. He slowly opened his eyes, which registered me. Almost immediately he flinched. I instantly pulled my hands back and held them where he could see them. His eyes darted across the room. I looked behind me to see what he was looking at and saw the entire team standing around us like a barrier. I blinked quickly to wipe away tears of pride and turned back to Charles. He was starting to panic again.

„Hey, calm down, calm down. You're safe. It's all right now." I kept my hands where he could see them. „You had a pretty bad panic attack. I found you and brought you here. You're in the Red Bull garage. It was the closest I could get to you in your condition. It's all right now. Just breathe, okay? Are you with me? How are you feeling?"

He watched me for a while, trying to take it all in. I could see more tears starting to fall.

„Charles. Look at me." I lifted his head and his eyes met mine. „You're safe. It's going to be all right. Everything's going to be fine. You just need to breathe, OK? Can you do it for..." Before I could finish the sentence, Charles was crying. I quickly hugged him. I felt his head bury itself in my shoulder.

„It's my fault. It's all my fault. These last races... If I'd been better... I could have... I could have... I..." his voice failed him.

What the hell did he mean? What was his fault? None of it made any sense.

My eyes slid to the team. Sadness and regret were written all over their faces. It was obvious that they were as shocked as I was by what'd happened. What could have brought Charles to such a state? He looks so... broken. And fragile. I've never seen him like this. Always smiling and hopeful. Quite the opposite of what I'm seeing now. Something in me wants to wrap him up in bubble wrap and never let go.

His hand went into Charles' hair of its own accord, moving slowly back and forth in a soothing rhythm as he shivered in his arms. Suddenly he felt something wet running down his cheeks. He realised that they were tears.

How long they stayed on the floor like that, Christian didn't know. All he knew was that it was long enough for the sobs to turn into sleep.

Chapter Text

Max Verstappen's driver's room wasn't very big, nor was it very well equipped. In fact, there was only a not-large wardrobe for clothes, a small table and a plush couch that seemed to invite everyone to take a breather. Charles Leclerc lay on the couch, his breathing finally steadying after the panic attack that had struck him like a tidal wave in the Red Bull garage. Exhausted, he had fallen into a deep, restless sleep, his mind a battlefield of frustrations and fears.

Christian Horner sat nearby, watching over him with a mixture of concern and contemplation. He had seen many drivers struggle with the immense pressures of Formula One, but witnessing Charles's vulnerability had struck a chord. It's like a repeat of 2022 when he lost the championship because Ferrari couldn't do their job. It was hard for him then. The young Ferrari driver was immensely talented, yet the weight of expectations and recent strategic blunders had pushed him to the brink.

A soft knock on the door interrupted Christian's thoughts. Max entered quietly, his usually confident demeanor replaced by a worried look. He glanced at Charles, then back at Christian.

„Christian, what's going on?" Max asked in a hushed tone. „I heard from the mechanics that Charles had a panic attack. Is he okay?"

Christian stood up and gently guided Max out of the room, closing the door behind them. „He's okay now, Max. He just needed some time to calm down and rest. It’s been a tough few races for him, and it all caught up with him today."

Max nodded, his concern evident. „I get it. The pressure can be insane, especially when things don't go your way and it's not even your fault.. Is there anything I can do?"

Christian placed a reassuring hand on Max's shoulder. „You've done enough by letting us use your room. I'll talk to him when he wakes up. For now, let's give him some space to recover."

Max hesitated for a moment, then nodded. „Alright. But let him know I'm here if he needs anything."

Christian watched as Max walked away, then returned to the room. Charles was still asleep, his breathing even and calm. Christian sat back down, reflecting on the challenges that came with being in such a high-stakes environment. The pressure to perform, the relentless scrutiny, the constant battle against not only opponents but also one's own demons.

Half an hour passed in silence, the room a cocoon of tranquility. Eventually, Charles stirred, his eyelids fluttering open. For a moment, he looked disoriented, then his eyes focused on Christian, and he remembered where he was.

„Christian... I'm sorry," Charles said, his voice hoarse. „I didn't mean to cause all this trouble."

Christian shook his head. „There's no need to apologize, Charles. You needed help, and I'm glad I could be there for you. How are you feeling?"

Charles sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. „Exhausted, but better. I just... I don’t know what happened. One moment I was in the debriefing room, and the next... it felt like the world was closing in on me."

Christian leaned forward, his expression serious yet compassionate. „It's okay to feel overwhelmed. You've been under a lot of pressure, especially with the way things have been going at Ferrari lately. Panic attacks can happen to anyone, Charles. It doesn't make you weak."

Charles looked down, his fingers tracing patterns on the couch. „I feel like I'm letting everyone down. The team, the fans, my dad... Jules. I promised I'd win with Ferrari, and now it feels like that dream is slipping away. The championship is getting further away from me with every race. Again."

Christian's eyes softened at the mention of Jules Bianchi, Charles's godfather and inspiration. „Jules would be proud of you, no matter what. He knew how tough this sport is. He would understand the struggles you're facing."

Charles's eyes filled with tears. „I just want to do him proud. I want to win the championship with Ferrari, but... sometimes it feels like it's not worth it. The strategies, the mistakes... it’s so frustrating."

Christian sighed, understanding the turmoil within Charles. „Ferrari is a legendary team, but they're not infallible. You've given them everything you have, and that’s all anyone can ask for. But you need to take care of yourself too. You can't drive your best if you're constantly on the edge."

Charles wiped his eyes, his resolve hardening. „I know. I just don't want to walk away. I feel like I owe it to Jules to see this through. Even if it seems impossible."

Christian nodded. "Your loyalty and determination are admirable, Charles. But remember, it’s not just about honoring Jules’s memory by winning. It’s about being the best driver and person you can be, no matter where you are."

Charles took a deep breath, the weight of Christian’s words sinking in. „You're right. But it's hard to see that sometimes when things keep going wrong."

Christian leaned back, giving Charles a moment to collect his thoughts. „It’s important to have perspective. And to know that there are always options. You’re a phenomenal driver, Charles, and you have the talent to succeed anywhere."

Charles looked at Christian, a flicker of curiosity in his eyes. „Are you saying...?"

Christian smiled gently. „I’m saying that the offer I gave you two years ago still stands. We believe in your potential, and we would be honored to have you with us. But the decision is yours, and yours alone. Whatever you choose, know that you have support."

Charles sat in silence, contemplating the weight of the offer. He had always dreamed of winning with Ferrari, but the allure of a team that consistently fought at the front was hard to ignore. Yet, his loyalty to Ferrari and his promise to Jules pulled him in the other direction.

„Thank you, Christian. That means a lot," Charles finally said. „I need to think about it, but for now, I think I need to focus on getting my head straight and finishing this season strong."

Christian nodded in understanding. „Take all the time you need. We’re here if you ever need to talk or need support in any way. Just remember, you’re not alone in this."

Charles managed a small smile, feeling a sense of relief he hadn't felt in weeks. „Thanks, Christian. I really appreciate it. And please thank Max for me too, for letting me use his room."

Christian stood up and extended his hand. „Will do. Take care of yourself, Charles. We'll get through this together."

Charles shook Christian’s hand, feeling a renewed sense of hope. As Christian left the room, Charles leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes for a moment. The road ahead was still uncertain, but he knew he wasn't facing it alone.

As he drifted off into a much-needed rest, the thought of Jules watching over him brought a small, peaceful smile to his lips. No matter what the future held, he would continue to fight, both for his dreams and in honor of those who had inspired him.

Charles resting in Max’s room, feeling a sense of support and solidarity that he hadn't felt in a long time. The future held many possibilities, but for now, he could breathe easily.

***

As Christian exited the room, he found Max waiting in the corridor, leaning against the wall with a pensive expression. The young driver straightened up as Christian approached, concern etched on his face.

Max and Charles shared a unique bond on the starting grid, a blend of fierce rivalry and genuine camaraderie that set them apart from their peers. Though not the closest of friends, they had an unspoken understanding and respect, forged through years of battling wheel-to-wheel. Max had always been the one closest to Charles, both literally and metaphorically, offering a nod of encouragement before races and a shoulder of support during tough times. Their relationship was a testament to the duality of Formula 1 – competitors on the track, yet allies in the shared journey

„How is he?" Max asked.

Christian gave a reassuring nod. „He’s better. He needed some rest, and he's thinking things through. It’s been a rough time for him."

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. „I can imagine. Ferrari’s been all over the place with their strategies. I’d be frustrated too."

Christian placed a hand on Max's shoulder, their relationship evident in the casual but supportive gesture. „You know, Max, this sport can be incredibly taxing, not just physically but mentally. You've had your fair share of tough times, and you've always pulled through. I’m proud of how you've handled everything."

Max gave a small smile, appreciating the fatherly tone in Christian’s voice. „Thanks, Christian. It means a lot coming from you. And I get what Charles is going through. I’ve been there. If he needs to talk or anything, I’m here."

Christian nodded, grateful for Max’s maturity and understanding. „I know you are, Max. And that’s why you’re not just a great driver, but a great teammate. We’ll give Charles the space he needs, but it’s good to know he has people like you in his corner."

Max looked down the corridor, deep in thought. „Do you think he’ll join us?"

Christian shrugged, a smile playing on his lips. „That’s up to him. But whether he does or doesn’t, what’s important is that he need to find his balance again. This sport is as much about mental strength as it is about driving fast."

Max nodded, absorbing Christian’s words. Their relationship had always been built on mutual respect and trust, with Christian guiding Max through the highs and lows of his career, much like a father would.

„Well," Max said, breaking the silence, „I’m heading to the hotel. Let me know if there’s any change."

Christian watched as Max walked away, feeling a sense of pride. Max had grown so much, not just as a driver but also as a person. The father-son dynamic they shared had only strengthened over the years, making their partnership in the high-pressure world of Formula 1 all the more resilient.

Returning to his office, Christian couldn't help but reflect on the complexities of their world. The glamour and excitement often overshadowed the immense pressure these young men faced. But in moments like these, the humanity of the sport shone through. 

Chapter Text

The hotel lobby was eerily quiet as Charles Leclerc walked through the revolving doors, the soft hum of ambient music doing little to ease the turmoil in his mind. The receptionist gave him a polite nod, which he barely registered as he made his way to the elevator. Each step felt heavy, laden with the weight of the day’s events and the conversations that had unfolded.

The ride up to his floor was a blur. The elevator’s mirrored walls reflected his tired, contemplative face back at him. As the doors opened with a soft chime, he stepped out into the dimly lit hallway, the plush carpet muffling his footsteps.

Entering his room, Charles let out a long, weary sigh. He tossed his bag onto a chair and collapsed onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. The events of the day replayed in his mind, a relentless loop of frustration and self-doubt.

He thought back to the garage, the panic attack, and Christian's comforting presence. Christian had been so understanding, so supportive. It was a stark contrast to the conversation he’d had with Fred Vasseur after the Silverstone race.

***

It had been a disastrous race, marked by a strategic blunder that had left Charles struggling on the track.

“It was your fault, and you need to take responsibility for your actions”

Those words had stung, cutting deeper than any physical injury. Charles had always prided himself on his instincts, his ability to read the race and make quick decisions. But now, those very instincts were being questioned.

He remembered the details vividly. The pit wall had informed him of incoming heavy rain, urging him to pit for intermediates. Doubt gnawed at him even then; the skies didn’t look that threatening. Yet, he trusted his team. As he rejoined the track, struggling for grip on a dry surface, the rain never came, leaving him to fend off competitors on inappropriate tires. Meanwhile, Carlos had been told there was only a chance of rain and was kept out longer on the right tires, gaining crucial positions.

***

As he lay in the dark, Charles couldn’t help but feel a pang of bitterness. It wasn’t just the mistakes; it was the way the team seemed to favor Carlos Sainz with strategy decisions. Time and again, it felt like Carlos got the better end of the deal, while Charles was left to fend for himself.

He turned onto his side, staring at the digital clock on the nightstand. The glowing numbers ticked away the minutes, each one a reminder of the pressure that never seemed to relent. He had given everything to Ferrari, poured his heart and soul into every race, yet it never seemed to be enough.

The thought of Jules Bianchi crossed his mind, a bittersweet reminder of his promise. Jules had been more than a mentor; he had been a guiding light, inspiring Charles to chase his dreams. But now, those dreams seemed so far out of reach.

Charles closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise in his head. He replayed Christian’s words, the offer to join Red Bull. It was tempting, undeniably so. A fresh start with a team that believed in him, that saw his potential. But could he walk away from Ferrari? From the legacy he had vowed to uphold?

The sound of his phone vibrating on the nightstand broke through his thoughts. He picked it up, seeing a message from Max.

Max: "Hey mate, just wanted to check in. Hope you're feeling better. If you need to talk, I’m here."

A small smile tugged at Charles’s lips. Max had always been there, a supportive friend in the relentless world of Formula One. Their bond was unique, a mix of rivalry and camaraderie that few others could understand.

Charles: "Thanks, Max. I appreciate it. Just a lot on my mind right now. Let’s catch up tomorrow?"

Max: "Absolutely. Get some rest, Charles. We’ve got this."

Charles set his phone down, the brief exchange bringing a sense of comfort. He knew he wasn’t alone in this. Max, Christian, they were all in his corner, ready to support him no matter what.

***

As the night wore on, Charles found his thoughts drifting back to the track, to the passion that had driven him since he was a child. He had faced countless challenges, endured heartache and triumph, and through it all, he had never given up.

He couldn’t give up now. Not when there was so much at stake.

With a renewed sense of determination, Charles made a silent promise to himself. He would prove his worth, not just to Ferrari, but to himself. He would find a way to balance his loyalty to the team with his own aspirations. And no matter how tough the road ahead might be, he would keep pushing forward, one race at a time.

As he finally drifted off to sleep, the shadows of doubt began to fade, replaced by a flicker of hope and a resolve to rise above the challenges. The path was still uncertain, but for now, he would take things one step at a time, knowing he had the strength to overcome whatever lay ahead.

***

Morning sunlight streamed through the hotel curtains, casting a warm glow on the room. Charles stirred awake, his body still heavy with exhaustion but his mind a bit clearer. He got out of bed, stretching to shake off the remnants of the previous night’s turmoil.

In the bathroom, he splashed cold water on his face, staring at his reflection in the mirror. He saw the lines of stress and the shadows of doubt, but also a glimmer of resilience. He reminded himself of the promise he made the night before—to keep fighting, no matter what.

Dressing quickly, Charles grabbed his phone and saw another message from Max.

Max: "Breakfast in the hotel restaurant? 8 AM? Let’s catch up."

Charles glanced at the clock. It was 7:30 AM. He had just enough time to gather his thoughts and head down. He texted back a quick confirmation and left his room, feeling a mix of apprehension and determination.

The hotel restaurant was bustling with the usual morning activity. He spotted Max at a corner table, sipping coffee and scrolling through his phone. Max looked up as Charles approached, a welcoming smile spreading across his face.

“Morning, mate. How are you feeling?” Max asked, gesturing for Charles to take a seat.

Charles sat down, grateful for the familiarity of Max’s company. “Better, I think. Still trying to process everything.”

Max nodded understandingly. “I get it. Yesterday was rough. But you’ve got to remember, we all have days like that. It doesn’t define who you are as a driver.”

Charles took a deep breath. “I know, but it’s hard not to let it get to me. Especially with everything going on at Ferrari. Sometimes it feels like I’m fighting a losing battle.”

Max leaned forward, his eyes serious. “Charles, you’re one of the best drivers out there. Don’t let anyone make you doubt that. Teams have ups and downs, and right now, Ferrari’s going through a rough patch. But that doesn’t mean you’re not good enough.”

Charles looked at Max, appreciating his unwavering support. “Thanks, Max. It means a lot to hear that. It’s just… sometimes it feels like they favor Carlos with the strategies. I know I shouldn’t think that way, but it’s hard not to when things keep going wrong.”

Max sighed, understanding the complexities of team dynamics all too well. “Team politics can be a nightmare. But you must focus on what you can control. Keep doing your best on track and let the rest fall into place. And remember, you’ve got options. Christian’s offer still stands.”

Charles nodded, the thought of Red Bull’s interest lingering in his mind. “I know. And it’s tempting, but I don’t want to walk away from Ferrari just yet. I made a promise to Jules, and I want to see it through.”

Max smiled, a mix of admiration and concern in his eyes. “That’s why I respect you, Charles. You’re loyal and determined. Just don’t let it break you. Promise me you’ll take care of yourself too.”

Charles chuckled softly. “I promise, Max. Thanks for always being there.”

They finished their breakfast, the conversation shifting to lighter topics as they both enjoyed the rare moment of normalcy. Afterward, they parted ways, Max heading to a airport and Charles deciding to take a walk to clear his mind.

***

The city was just waking up, the streets gradually filling with the hum of activity. Charles wandered aimlessly, his thoughts a jumble of emotions and reflections. The conversation with Max had helped, but the doubts still lingered.

He found himself in a quiet park, the early morning sun casting long shadows on the grass. Sitting on a bench, he allowed himself to be still, to breathe in the calmness around him. The tranquility of the park was a stark contrast to the chaos in his mind.

He replayed Fred’s accusations, the frustration in his voice as he blamed Charles for the tire change. It had felt like a personal attack, a dismissal of his instincts and experience.

"You decided to pit for inters even though the track was dry. That's a big mistake," he said, looking at me. I couldn't tell if he was joking or not.

"It was my decision because you told me it was going to rain on the next lap," I explained.

"And it was a bad decision. We can't afford mistakes like that. You're on the track and know the conditions. Take a lesson from Carlos; he stayed out."

"But you told him there was only a chance of rain. If you had told me that, I wouldn't have pitted. There's a big difference between expecting heavy rain and a chance of rain," I said, raising my voice as frustration grew.

"Stop raising your voice to me. We lost valuable points because of your mistake. Without Carlos, McLaren would have overtaken us long ago. It was your fault, and you need to take responsibility for your actions,"

The words had cut deep, hitting Charles harder than any physical impact. He had always prided himself on his instincts, on his ability to read the race and make quick decisions. But now, those very instincts were being questioned.

As he sat in the park, Charles felt the sting of those accusations anew. He had trusted his team, had believed the information they gave him. But in the end, it had been the wrong call, and he was left to bear the brunt of the blame.

***

A jogger passed by, giving him a brief nod of acknowledgment, pulling Charles out of his thoughts. He looked around, taking in the peaceful surroundings. The park was a haven, a place where he could momentarily escape the pressures and expectations that weighed so heavily on him.

His mind drifted to the strategies that always seemed to favor Carlos. It wasn’t just Silverstone; there had been numerous occasions where Carlos had benefited from better decisions, leaving Charles to wonder if there was a bias at play. He didn’t want to believe it, but the patterns were hard to ignore.

He remembered a particular race where Carlos had been given the optimal pit window, while Charles had been left out longer on degrading tires. By the time he pitted, he had lost several positions, positions he couldn’t regain despite his best efforts. It felt like he was constantly playing catch-up, never given the same opportunities to succeed.

The frustration and sense of betrayal gnawed at him. He had always given his all for Ferrari, had sacrificed so much to be where he was. Yet, it felt like he was always on the back foot, always having to prove himself while Carlos was given the upper hand.

***

Charles’s thoughts turned darker as he sat on the bench, the weight of his doubts pressing down on him. Was he not good enough? Had he misjudged his own abilities, his own potential? The thought was suffocating, a heavy cloud that threatened to consume him.

He thought of Christian again, the offer to join Red Bull. Christian had been so understanding, so supportive. It was a lifeline, a way out of the relentless pressure and frustration. But it was also a step into the unknown, a departure from the dream he had held for so long.

He closed his eyes, trying to block out the noise in his head. He needed to find clarity, to make sense of his emotions. He needed to remember why he loved racing, why he had pursued this dream in the first place.

***

The sound of children playing nearby brought him back to the present. He watched them chase each other, their laughter ringing through the air. It was a reminder of the joy and simplicity of life, a stark contrast to the complexities he faced every day.

Charles stood up, taking a deep breath. He needed to talk to someone, to get these thoughts out of his head. He pulled out his phone and dialed Christian’s number, his fingers trembling slightly.

Charles,” Christian answered, his voice warm and reassuring. “How are you feeling?”

Charles took a moment, gathering his thoughts. „I… I'm sorry to bother you. I didn't know who else to call. I just..." he paused for a moment. „I can’t stop thinking about everything that happened, everything that’s been going wrong.”

Christian’s tone was understanding. “I get it, Charles. It’s been a tough time. But you need to remember, you’re an incredible driver. Don’t let these setbacks define you.”

Charles sighed, the weight of his doubts pressing down on him. “It’s not just the setbacks. It’s the feeling that I’m not good enough, that I’m always fighting an uphill battle.”

Christian’s voice was firm. “You are good enough, Charles. You’ve proven that time and time again. And you have options. You don’t have to stay in a situation that’s not working for you.”

Charles felt a surge of gratitude for Christian’s support. “Thank you, Christian I just don’t know what to do. I don’t want to walk away from Ferrari. “

Christian’s tone was gentle. “Take your time, Charles. Think about what’s best for you. And remember, we’re here for you, whatever you decide.”

Charles nodded, feeling a sense of relief. “Thank you, Christian. I needed to hear that. I’ll think about it.”

They ended the call, and Charles felt a little lighter.

***

As he walked back to the hotel, the sun had fully risen, casting a warm glow over the city. Charles felt a renewed sense of determination. He would face these challenges head-on, with the same courage and resilience that had brought him this far.

Chapter Text

Charles returned to his hotel room feeling a mix of determination and unease. The clarity he had found in the tranquil park and during his conversation with Max had provided some solace, but the underlying issues with Ferrari still weighed heavily on his mind. He felt an urgency to escape the relentless pressures of the racing world, if only for a short while.

The moment he entered his hotel room, Charles began packing his belongings. The room was silent except for the faint hum of the air conditioner, a stark contrast to the chaotic thoughts swirling in his mind. He methodically folded his clothes and placed them into his suitcase, trying to focus on the simple task at hand. Packing provided a semblance of control, something he desperately needed amidst the turmoil.

He moved around the room with purpose, checking every drawer and corner to ensure he hadn't left anything behind. Each item he packed seemed to carry the weight of his recent struggles.

As he zipped up his suitcase and gave the room a final glance, a knock at the door broke the silence. It was Andrea, his friend and coach, standing in the hallway with a concerned expression.

“Ready to go?” Andrea asked, his voice gentle but probing.

Charles nodded, forcing a smile. “Yeah, let's head out.”

Andrea didn't press for details, sensing that Charles needed some space. They made their way to the elevator in silence, the soft ding of the elevator doors closing marking the beginning of their journey to the airport.

***

The drive to the airport was quiet. Charles sat in the backseat, staring out of the window as they drove through the bustling streets. The city outside was alive with movement, but inside the car, a heavy silence lingered. Andrea occasionally glanced over, noticing Charles's withdrawn demeanor but knowing better than to push him for a conversation he wasn’t ready to have.

Charles’s thoughts drifted back to the race, to the sharp criticism from Fred, and the underlying feeling of being misunderstood and undervalued. He replayed the conversations in his head, each word adding to the heavy burden he carried. Despite the outward calm he tried to maintain, a storm of frustration and doubt raged within him.

At the airport, they moved through the security checks and formalities with practiced ease. The private terminal offered a respite from the bustling crowds, providing a quiet corner where Charles could momentarily relax. He watched the planes take off and land, a symbol of the constant motion in his life, yet he felt stationary, stuck in a cycle of frustration and self-doubt.

***

Once on the plane, Charles settled into his seat, staring out of the window as the aircraft ascended into the sky. Andrea, seated next to him, broke the silence after a while.

"You drove well yesterday, Charles. You know that, right?”

Charles nodded absently, stirring his coffee. "But it wasn't enough, was it? We're still behind in the championship."

Andrea leaned forward, his voice low and earnest. "The season is far from over, Charles. There's still time to close the gap. But I'm more concerned about you right now. You seem... distant. Is there something you want to talk about?"

Charles hesitated, the weight of his thoughts pressing on his chest. But he wasn't ready to voice them, not yet. "It's nothing, really. Just the usual post-race comedown, I guess. I'll be fine once we get back home."

Andrea studied him for a moment longer before sighing. "Alright. But remember, I'm here if you need to talk. About anything."

The rest of the flight was uneventful, with Charles trying to distract himself with music and a book he had brought along. As the plane began its descent into Monaco, he felt a slight sense of relief. Home was a place where he could find solace and rejuvenate his spirit.

As the plane began its descent into Monaco, the familiar coastline coming into view, Charles felt a mix of relief and trepidation. Home meant comfort, but it also meant facing the expectations of those closest to him – expectations he wasn't sure he could meet in his current state of mind.

The next few days in Monaco passed in a blur of routine and quiet introspection. Charles spent much of his time at home, finding solace in the familiar surroundings of his apartment. He dedicated hours to playing his piano, losing himself in the melodies that flowed from his fingers. A new composition began to take shape, one that seemed to capture the tumultuous emotions swirling within him – a piece that started somber and conflicted but gradually built to a more hopeful, resolute conclusion.

Every day, Charles found comfort in the company of his puppy, Leo. The young little dachshund´s boundless energy and affection provided a welcome distraction from his brooding thoughts. As he played with Leo in the living room, tossing a small toy for the excited pup to fetch, Charles found himself smiling genuinely for the first time in days.

"You don't care about lap times or championship points, do you, boy?" Charles murmured, scratching behind Leo's ears. "Maybe you've got the right idea."

***

Midweek, Charles joined his family for dinner – a tradition that had become even more precious since his father's passing in 2017. As he entered his mother's home, the familiar scents of Monégasque cuisine filled the air, bringing a sense of comfort and nostalgia. Leo trotted beside him, his tiny paws clicking on the floor, earning smiles from everyone.

His mother, Pascale, greeted him with a warm embrace. "Charles, my darling. It's so good to have you home."

His brothers, Arthur and Lorenzo, were already seated at the table, their faces lighting up as Charles entered the dining room with Leo in tow.

"Look who finally decided to join us," Arthur teased good-naturedly. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten how to find your way home."

Charles managed a small smile as he took his seat. "Very funny. You know I can't stay away from maman's cooking for too long."

As they began to eat, the conversation flowed easily, touching on various topics – Arthur's progress in his own racing career, Lorenzo's studies, and the latest family news. Yet, Charles could feel his mother's gaze lingering on him, her intuition picking up on the subtle signs of his internal struggle.

During a lull in the conversation, Pascale reached out and placed her hand on Charles'. "Charles, darling, is everything alright? You seem... preoccupied."

Charles plastered on a smile, hoping it looked more convincing than it felt. "I'm fine, maman. Just a bit tired from the race weekend, that's all."

Pascale nodded, but the look in her eyes told Charles she wasn't entirely convinced. "You know you can always talk to us if something's bothering you, right? We're here for you, no matter what."

"I know, maman. Thank you," Charles replied, feeling a pang of guilt for not opening up fully. But how could he explain the complex emotions he was grappling with when he barely understood them himself?

Arthur chimed in; his tone more serious than before. "She's right, you know. We've all seen the pressure you're under. It's okay to admit when things are tough."

Lorenzo nodded in agreement. "Yeah, bro. You don't have to be the strong one all the time. That's what family is for."

Charles felt a lump forming in his throat, touched by his family's concern and support. "I appreciate that, really. It's just... complicated. The season, the expectations, everything. But being here with you all helps more than you know."

The conversation gradually shifted to lighter topics, but Charles could feel the undercurrent of concern from his family throughout the evening. As he left later that night, his mother pulled him into another tight embrace.

"Remember, my love," she whispered, "your father would be so proud of you, no matter what happens on the track. We all are."

Charles nodded, blinking back the sudden moisture in his eyes. "Thank you, Maman. I love you all."

***

As the week progressed, Charles found himself gradually emerging from his introspective shell. The familiar routines of home life and training helped to restore some sense of normalcy. He spent mornings in the gym with Andrea, pushing his body to its limits, finding clarity in the physical exertion. Afternoons were often spent sim racing

In the evenings, Charles found solace in playing the piano. The keys felt cool under his fingers as he composed a new song, the music flowing from his soul and providing an outlet for his emotions. The notes filled his apartment, a melodic expression of his inner turmoil and hope. Leo sat by his side, occasionally nuzzling his leg as if sensing his need for comfort. Charles smiled down at his puppy, grateful for the unconditional love Leo offered.

Yet, in the quiet moments – during his evening runs along the coastline or as he lay awake at night – Charles' thoughts inevitably drifted back to Canada and races after, to the intense battles with his own car on track, to every decision to the weight of expectations he carried. He found himself analysing every decision, every move, wondering if he could have done more, pushed harder, found that extra tenth of a second that could have changed the outcome.

It was during one of these contemplative moments, as Charles sat at his piano, fingers idly tracing a melancholic melody, that his phone buzzed with a call from Maranello.

The team needed him and Carlos to test a new floor design on the simulator that would solve bouncing issues in high-speed corners.

The prospect of doing something to help make the car less horrible and harder to control brought Charles relief. There was something tangible, something he could focus on and potentially control. As he packed for Italy, he felt a new sense of purpose and was grateful for the opportunity to devote his energy to something productive.

***

When he arrived at the apartment, he had in Maranello, he methodically began unpacking his belongings, folding his clothes in his closet, and organizing his personal belongings with the efficiency of a man accustomed to life on the road. It was more like a hotel room than an apartment. He didn't even have stuff in there, not counting team T-shirts (sort of a last-ditch effort). As he zipped up his suitcase to put it in place, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

"One moment," Charles called, quickly putting the suitcase in its place. He looked at his watch. He must have been at the factory in half an hour.

When he opened the door, he was surprised to find Carlos standing there, looking a little uncomfortable.

"Carlos? I thought you had already left for the factory," Charles said, curiosity evident in his voice.

Carlos shifted his weight, his discomfort apparent. "I was about to, but... I needed to talk to you first. Can I come in for a minute?"

Charles nodded, stepping aside to let his teammate enter. As Carlos walked in, he took a deep breath, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"Charles, I... I owe you an apology," Carlos began, his voice tinged with regret. "My behaviour lately, especially after Silverstone... it wasn't right. The competition between us, it got to me, and I let it affect how I treated you. I'm sorry."

Charles was taken aback by the unexpected apology. He could see the sincerity in Carlos' eyes, the way his teammate's usual confident demeanor had given way to genuine remorse.

"Carlos, I..." Charles started, then paused, collecting his thoughts. "I appreciate you saying this. It's been a tough few weeks for all of us, hasn't it?"

Carlos exhaled, relief visible on his face. "It has. But that's no excuse. We're teammates, we should be supporting each other, not... well, you know."

Charles felt a weight he hadn't even realized he'd been carrying lift from his shoulders. "Thank you, Carlos. It means a lot to hear you say that. And for what it's worth, I understand. The pressure we're under, it can bring out the worst in us sometimes."

The two teammates shared a moment of understanding, the tension that had been building between them over the past few races finally beginning to dissipate.

"So," Carlos said, a hint of his usual smile returning, "are we good?"

Charles nodded, extending his hand. "We're good."

Carlos squeezed his hand and pulled him into a hug. Charles shook his head with a smile on his face and hugged Carlos back. They felt a renewed sense of camaraderie. They knew the rivalry between them would continue - such is the nature of their sport - but this moment of honesty restored the foundations of mutual respect and understanding.

***

The drive to the Ferrari factory in Maranello was filled with a quiet determination. As they arrived, the familiar sight of the red-brick buildings and the prancing horse emblem brought a surge of pride and a reminder of the legacy they were a part of. However, the atmosphere in Maranello was tense and slightly cold. It wasn’t overt hostility, but there was a palpable sense of dissatisfaction among the team, an unspoken disapproval of recent performances.

As the day progressed, Charles worked closely with the team, providing feedback and discussing strategies for the upcoming races. The atmosphere was collaborative, everyone united in their goal to bring Ferrari back to the front of the grid. However, he couldn’t shake the feeling of being under scrutiny, every interaction tinged with a hint of skepticism.

In a quiet moment, Fred approached him. "Charles, I need to talk to you," he said, his tone neutral but firm.

Charles nodded, following Fred to a more private area. "What’s on your mind, Fred?"

Fred sighed, looking Charles in the eyes. "Look, I know things have been tough lately. But we need you to step up. The team is counting on you to deliver, and we can’t afford any more mistakes."

Charles felt a pang of frustration. "I’m doing my best, Fred. I’m giving it everything I have."

Fred shook his head slightly. "Your best needs to be better. We’re losing ground, and the pressure is mounting. We need you to make better decisions on the track."

The conversation left Charles feeling more isolated. He understood the stakes, but the constant criticism was wearing him down. And what if he's not good enough?

Chapter Text

The sun was setting over Maranello as Charles and Carlos exited the Ferrari factory, both feeling a mix of exhaustion and excitement. They had spent the past few days rigorously testing the new floor design, pushing themselves and the car to the limits in the simulator and on the track.

"Well, that was intense," Carlos said, stretching his arms above his head. "But I think we've made some real progress."

Charles nodded in agreement. "Definitely. The new floor feels much more stable. I can't wait to try it out in Hungary."

As they walked towards their waiting car, Charles felt a surge of optimism. The past few weeks had been a rollercoaster of emotions, from the disappointment at Silverstone to the renewed sense of purpose he'd found in Maranello. Now, with a promising upgrade and a cleared air between him and Carlos, he felt ready to take on the challenges ahead.

The next morning, Charles and Carlos boarded a private jet bound for Budapest. As they settled into their seats, Charles pulled out his notebook, intent on reviewing his notes from the previous race at the Hungaroring.

"Always studying, eh?" Carlos teased, though his tone was friendly.

Charles grinned. "You know me. I can't help it."

As the plane took off, the two teammates fell into an easy conversation about the upcoming race weekend. They discussed the unique challenges of the Hungaroring, with its tight and twisty layout that put a premium on downforce and mechanical grip.

"With the new floor, we should be able to carry more speed through the corners," Charles mused. "Especially in that middle sector."

Carlos nodded. "True, but we'll need to be careful not to overwork the tires. It's going to be hot this weekend."

The flight passed quickly, filled with strategy discussions and light-hearted banter. By the time they landed in Budapest, both drivers felt prepared and energized for the race ahead.

Thursday was a blur of media commitments and team briefings. Charles found himself repeatedly fielding questions about Ferrari's recent struggles and their chances for the weekend.

"We've been working hard back at the factory," he told one journalist. "We've brought new floor this weekend that we're excited about. But of course, we'll have to wait and see how they perform on track."

Friday morning dawned bright and clear, with the promise of scorching temperatures later in the day. As Charles walked into the garage for FP1, he felt a familiar mix of nervousness and excitement coursing through him.

The first practice session went smoothly. Charles and Carlos both put in solid laps, getting a feel for the new floor and how it interacted with the challenging Hungaroring circuit. By the end of FP1, Charles was cautiously optimistic. He had finished the session in P5, with Carlos just behind in P6.

"The car feels good," he told his race engineer over the radio as he pulled into the pits. "We've definitely made a step forward with the floor."

As the team prepared for FP2, the paddock was abuzz with speculation about Ferrari's apparent improvement. Charles tried to tune out the noise, focusing instead on his preparation for the afternoon session.

FP2 started well. Charles was pushing hard, feeling more and more confident with each lap. He was on a flying lap, pushing the limits of the car and himself, when it happened.

Coming into Turn 4, a tricky right-hander that tightened on exit, Charles carried a touch too much speed. The rear of the car stepped out, and despite his best efforts to catch it, the Ferrari spun and made heavy contact with the barriers.

The impact was jarring, and for a moment, Charles sat stunned in the cockpit. Then, the reality of what had just happened hit him.

"I'm okay," he radioed to the team, his voice tight with frustration. "I'm so sorry, guys."

As he climbed out of the wrecked car, Charles felt a wave of disappointment and anger wash over him. He had crashed like an amateur, throwing away valuable practice time and potentially compromising the team's weekend.

***

Back in the garage, the atmosphere was tense. Charles sat in the medical centre for a mandatory check-up, his thoughts racing. He replayed the crash in his mind, feeling a growing sense of frustration.

"I crashed like an amateur," he muttered to himself. "How could I let that happen?"

The medical team cleared him to race, but the mental toll of the crash lingered. He returned to the garage, where the team had already begun repairing the car. Fred approached him, his expression distant and cold.

"Charles," Fred began without any preamble, "we can't afford mistakes like that. Don't let it happen again."

Charles felt a pang of hurt. He had hoped for some words of support or concern, but Fred’s tone was purely business, devoid of any empathy. "I understand," Charles replied, trying to keep his emotions in check.

 He barely noticed when Carlos approached, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Hey, it happens to all of us," Carlos said softly. "Don't beat yourself up too much."

Charles looked up, grateful for his teammate's support but still feeling the sting of his mistake. "I should have known better. I was pushing too hard, too soon."

"Maybe," Carlos conceded. "But that's what practice is for. We learn, we adapt, we improve. The important thing is you're okay."

Charles nodded, taking a deep breath to centre himself. He knew Carlos was right, but it didn't make the disappointment any easier to swallow.

The rest of Friday was a blur of debriefs and repairs. The Ferrari mechanics worked tirelessly through the night to rebuild Charles' car, and by Saturday morning, it was ready for FP3.

As Charles climbed into the cockpit for the final practice session, he felt a renewed determination. He was determined to make up for his mistake and prove to himself and the team that he could bounce back.

FP3 went without incident, with Charles gradually building up his confidence again. By the end of the session, he had managed to put in a respectable time, finishing P7.

Qualifying was a tense affair. Charles pushed hard, extracting every ounce of performance from the car. In the end, he managed to secure P6 on the grid, with Carlos in P4.

"P6 is not bad," his race engineer told him over the radio. "We've got a good chance from there tomorrow."

Charles nodded, his jaw set with determination. "We'll give it everything we've got."

That night, as he lay in bed trying to sleep, Charles found his mind racing. He visualized every corner of the Hungaroring, mentally rehearsing his race start and potential overtaking opportunities. Despite his best efforts to relax, he felt the weight of expectation pressing down on him.

***

Sunday morning arrived with a mix of excitement and nerves. As Charles went through his pre-race routine, he tried to focus on the positives. The car felt good, they had a decent starting position, and the team's strategy looked solid.

As he stood on the grid, the Hungarian national anthem playing in the background, Charles took a moment to calm down. He thought back to the conversations he'd had with Andrea about mental preparation, drawing on those techniques to calm his nerves and sharpen his focus.

The formation lap went smoothly, and before he knew it, Charles was lined up in his grid slot, eyes fixed on the starting lights. As the lights went out, he made a good getaway and ganing one positions into Turn 1.

The opening laps were intense, with Charles having to defend hard against the cars behind while trying to stay in touch with the leaders. The new floor was performing well.

As the race progressed, Charles found himself in a tight battle for third place. He was pushing hard, trying to find a way past the car ahead while also keeping an eye on his mirrors for any threats from behind.

The team's strategy was working well. Until the second pit stop. He had been running in a strong position, with a real chance of challenging for a podium. However, as he came in for his final stop with 28 laps to go, a critical decision was made that would change the course of his race.

"Box now, Charles. We're going for mediums," his race engineer's voice crackled over the radio.

Charles felt a moment of doubt. "Are you sure? There are still 28 laps left. Shouldn't we go for hards?"

"Negative, we're sticking with mediums. It's the best strategy according to our calculations."

As Charles rejoined the track on the medium compound tires, he immediately sensed that this might not have been the right call. The tires felt good initially, but he knew they wouldn't last the distance, especially if he needed to push hard to overtake.

Ahead of him was Lewis Hamilton, running a long stint on the hard tires. Charles realized that overtaking the experienced Mercedes driver would be a significant challenge on these faster-wearing medium tires.

As the laps ticked by, Charles found himself struggling more and more with tire degradation. The initial pace advantage of the mediums quickly disappeared, and he was left defending his position rather than attacking those ahead.

"How are the tires, Charles?" his engineer asked.

"Struggling," Charles replied, frustration evident in his voice. "The rears are going off quickly. We should have gone for the hards." He didn't miss a biting remark.

In the final laps, Charles was forced to nurse his worn tires to the finish line, watching helplessly as the chance of a better result slipped away. He crossed the line in fourth place, a result that felt disappointing given the potential they had shown earlier in the race.

As he pulled into parc fermé, Charles couldn't help but feel a mix of frustration and disappointment. The strategic error had cost them valuable points and a potential podium finish.

In the room, as Charles gulped down water and caught his breath, he found himself reflecting on the weekend. The crash in FP2 still stung, but he had managed to bounce back and deliver a solid result for the team.

The post-race interviews were a whirlwind of questions about the team's improved performance and their prospects for the rest of the season. Charles answered each question thoughtfully, careful to balance optimism with realism.

"We've made a good step forward this weekend," he told one journalist. "The new floor has definitely improved our performance. But we'll see how the car feels in Spa. We know our competitors won't stand still. We need to keep pushing, keep developing, if we want to fight at the front consistently."

***

As the sun began to set over the Hungaroring, Charles found a quiet moment to himself in the Ferrari motorhome. He sat down, closing his eyes and taking a few deep breaths. The weekend had been a rollercoaster of emotions – from the excitement of testing the new floor in Maranello, to the disappointment of his crash, to the satisfaction of a hard-fought fourth place finish.

He thought back to his conversation with Max before going to Maranello, and the apology from Carlos. The world of Formula 1 was intensely competitive, but moments like those reminded him of the bonds that existed between drivers, the shared understanding of the pressures and challenges they all faced.

Charles opened his eyes, reaching for his phone. He had a few messages from family and friends congratulating him on the result, but one in particular caught his eye. It was from Jules Bianchi's father, a simple message of support that brought a lump to Charles' throat.

As he read the message, Charles felt a renewed sense of purpose. He was racing not just for himself or for Ferrari, but for all those who had supported him on his journey – his family, his mentors, and those who were no longer with them.

With a deep breath, Charles stood up, ready to join the team for their post-race debrief. There was still much work to be done, improvements to be made, but he felt ready for the challenges ahead. The crash in FP2 had been a harsh reminder of how quickly things could go wrong in this sport, but it had also reinforced his determination to keep pushing, keep improving.

As he walked through the paddock towards the Ferrari garage, Charles caught sight of the championship standings displayed on a nearby screen. He was still a fair way off the lead, but the gap had closed slightly with today's result. It was a long shot, but with half the season still to go, anything was possible.

Charles allowed himself a small smile. The road ahead was long and uncertain, but he was exactly where he wanted to be – fighting at the sharp end of Formula 1, pushing himself and his car to the limit, chasing that ultimate goal of becoming World Champion.

As he entered the garage, he was greeted by the smiles and congratulations of his team. They had all worked incredibly hard for this result, especially the mechanics who had rebuilt his car after the crash.

As the debrief began, Charles felt a renewed sense of energy. Yes, there was still a gap to the front-runners. Yes, there were still areas where they needed to improve. But they were moving in the right direction, and he was determined to keep that momentum going.

Chapter Text

Unfortunately, the Belgian Grand Prix was a cold shower.

The sun was shining over the Spa-Francorchamps circuit. Charles sat in his Ferrari, the engine silent and smoke still rising from the rear of the car. The Belgian Grand Prix had ended in disaster for the Monegasque driver, a DNF a cruel blow after a promising performance in Hungary.

Charles got out of the car, his movements mechanical and lacking his usual grace. He barely acknowledged the sympathetic pats on the back from the marshals and medical team as he made his way back to the paddock. His mind was a whirlwind of emotions - anger, frustration and an overwhelming sense of despair.

As the marshals took his stricken car off the track, Charles felt the weight of disappointment crush him. This was not just another retirement; this was a devastating setback to his championship aspirations. The gap to the leading drivers, which he had worked so hard to close, would now widen again.

Once Charles arrived at the Ferrari motorhome, which he quickly ran through, he headed straight for his caravan. He needed to be alone, away from sympathetic looks and well-meaning words of comfort. The door closed behind him with a click and he locked the deadbolt, shutting himself off from the world.

Only then, in the privacy of his room, did Charles allow his composure to crumble. He sank to the floor, his back against the door, and buried his face in his hands. The tears came unbidden, hot and angry, streaming down his face.

"Why?" he whispered to the empty room, his voice cracking. "Why now?"

***

Time seemed to lose all meaning as Charles sat there, lost in his despair. He wasn't sure how long he'd been alone when a gentle knock on the door startled him out of his thoughts.

"Charles?" It was Andrea, his physiotherapist and one of his closest friends. "Are you in there?"

Charles didn't respond, hoping he might think he wasn't there and leave him be. But Andrea was persistent.

"Charles, I know you're in there. I´m coming."

Still no answer. Worried, Andrea tried the door handle, but it was locked. He pressed his ear to the door and heard the muffled sounds of Charles crying. His heart ached for him.

"Charles, please open the door. It’s Andrea. I just want to help."

His voice was soft, filled with concern, and it broke through Charles' defenses. With a shaky breath, he reached up and unlocked the door.

As soon as the lock clicked, Andrea slowly pushed the door open. The sight that greeted his broke his heart. Charles, usually so composed and strong, looked utterly broken. His eyes were red and puffy, tear tracks visible on his cheeks.

Without a word, Andrea stepped into the room and closed the door. Charles looked up at him, his lower lip trembling as he fought to hold back a fresh wave of tears. In that moment, all pretense of strength fell away, and he practically fell into his arms.

Andrea held him tightly, one hand gently stroking his back as Charles buried his face in his shoulder. His body shook with silent sobs, years of pent-up frustration and disappointment pouring out.

"It's okay, Charles," Andrea murmured soothingly. "Let it out. I'm here."

***

For several minutes, they stayed like that, Andrea providing a safe haven for Charles to release his emotions. Gradually, his sobs subsided, replaced by deep, shuddering breaths as he fought to regain his composure.

When Charles finally pulled away, Andrea kept a comforting hand on his shoulder. "Do you want to talk about it?" asked gently.

Charles shook his head, then paused and nodded. "I just... I thought we were making progress," he said, his voice hoarse. "After Hungary, I really believed I could still fight for the championship. And now..." He trailed off, gesturing helplessly.

Andrea squeezed his shoulder. "I know it feels like a massive setback right now. But there's still a long way to go in the season."

"But every point counts," Charles argued, a hint of his usual fire returning to his eyes. "This DNF could be the difference between winning the championship and..." He couldn't bring himself to finish the sentence.

"You're right, every point does count," Andrea agreed. "But so does every race from here on out. You can't change what happened today, but you can use it as motivation for the next race, and the one after that."

Charles nodded slowly, absorbing her words. He knew he was right, but the pain of the DNF was still too fresh, too raw.

"I just wish..." he began, then shook his head. "Never mind. It doesn't matter now."

Andrea gave him a sympathetic smile. "It does matter, Charles. Your feelings matter. But right now, you need to face the media. Are you up for it?"

Charles took a deep breath, steeling himself. He knew he couldn't avoid the post-race interviews, no matter how much he wanted to. "Yeah, I can do it."

Andrea stood up, offering his hand to help Charles to his feet. "Remember, you're stronger than you think. You've bounced back from setbacks before, and you'll do it again."

With a weak smile, Charles accepted his hand and stood up. He took a moment to splash some cold water on his face, erasing the visible signs of his breakdown. As he looked at himself in the mirror, he tried to summon the mask of professionalism he wore for the cameras.

"Thank you, Andrea," he said softly as they prepared to leave the room. "For everything."

Andrea simply nodded, giving his arm a reassuring squeeze before they stepped out into the bustling paddock.

***

The media pen was a cacophony of voices and flashing cameras. Charles steeled himself as he approached, reminding himself to stay calm and composed. The first few questions were predictable – what happened, how he felt about the DNF, what it meant for his championship hopes.

"It was just bad luck," Charles said, his voice steady despite the turmoil he felt inside. "These things happen in racing. Of course, it's disappointing, especially after our strong showing at the beginning of the season, but we'll analyze what went wrong and come back stronger in the next race."

He fielded question after question with practiced ease, never letting on how devastated he truly felt. To the outside world, he appeared disappointed but resilient, already looking ahead to the next challenge.

As the interviews wound down, Charles felt a growing need to speak with Fred Vasseur, the team principal. He needed to discuss the car's reliability issues, the team's strategy, anything that might help prevent another disaster like today.

***

He found Fred in the Ferrari garage, deep in conversation with the engineers. Charles waited impatiently for a break in the discussion before approaching.

"Fred, can we talk?" he asked, trying to keep the urgency out of his voice.

Fred glanced at him, then back at the engineers. "Can it wait, Charles? We're in the middle of something important here."

Charles felt a flare of frustration. "It's about the car. I think we need to—"

"Not now, Charles," Fred cut him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We'll discuss it in the debrief in Maranello."

The dismissal stung, igniting the anger that had been simmering beneath Charles' carefully maintained composure. "In Maranello? We need to discuss this now, before—"

"I said not now!" Fred's voice rose, drawing the attention of everyone in the garage. "We have a process, Charles. You don't get to demand my attention whenever you feel like it."

Charles recoiled as if he'd been slapped. The garage fell silent, the tension palpable. For a moment, Charles stood there, shocked by the harshness of Fred's words. Then, his own anger boiled over.

"A process? Is that what you call it when our car fails us race after race? When our strategies cost us positions? When we're falling further behind in the championship every weekend?" Charles' voice rose with each question, months of frustration pouring out. "If this is your process, maybe it's time for a new one!"

Fred's face darkened with anger. "That's enough, Charles. You're upset about the DNF, I get it. But this behavior is unacceptable. Go cool off. We'll discuss this in Maranello when you've calmed down."

Charles opened his mouth to argue further, but the look in Fred's eyes told him it would be futile. With a final glare, he turned on his heel and stormed out of the garage, ignoring the stunned looks from the mechanics and engineers.

***

The rest of the day passed in a blur. Charles had no clear memory of how he got back to the hotel, his mind a swirling mess of anger, frustration, and regret. He vaguely recalled snippets of conversation – his trainer reminding him about dinner – but he had brushed them all off.

Now, alone in his hotel room, Charles felt the full weight of the day crashing down on him. The DNF, the argument with Fred, the realization that his championship dreams were slipping away again – it was all too much.

His gaze fell on the minibar, and a reckless idea took hold. Charles rarely drank, especially during the season, but right now, the prospect of numbing his emotions was too tempting to resist.

He grabbed a bottle of vodka, not bothering with a glass as he took a long swig. The alcohol burned his throat, but he welcomed the sensation. It was a physical discomfort he could focus on, something to distract him from the emotional pain.

As he drank, Charles found himself pacing the room, his mind replaying the events of the day. The moment the car failed, the pitying looks from the team, Fred's angry dismissal – each memory was like a fresh wound.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," he muttered to himself, taking another drink. He wasn't sure if he was referring to the car, the team, or himself.

The alcohol began to take effect, dulling the sharp edges of his thoughts. Charles welcomed the fuzzy feeling, the way it made everything seem less important, less painful. He knew he would regret this in the morning, but right now, he didn't care.

He collapsed onto the bed, the room spinning slightly. The bottle was half empty now, and Charles could feel tears pricking at his eyes again. But this time, they weren't tears of frustration or anger. They were tears of release, of letting go of the tight control he always maintained.

As he lay there, Charles' thoughts drifted to his father, to Jules, to all the people who had believed in him, supported him on his journey to Formula 1. What would they think if they could see him now? The thought sent a pang of guilt through him, but it was quickly washed away by another swig from the bottle.

His phone buzzed on the nightstand, but Charles ignored it. He didn't want to talk to anyone, didn't want to put on a brave face or pretend he was okay. For once, he just wanted to feel – to experience the full depth of his disappointment and frustration without having to be strong for everyone else.

The room grew darker as night fell, but Charles made no move to turn on the lights. He lay in the growing darkness, the bottle his only companion, letting the alcohol numb his senses and quiet his racing thoughts.

For tonight, Charles allowed himself to be vulnerable, to feel the full weight of his disappointment. Tomorrow, he would pick himself up, put on his game face, and face the world again. But tonight, in the solitude of his hotel room, he let himself fall apart.

As the alcohol finally lulled him towards sleep, Charles' last coherent thought was despair. He would bounce back from this, he had to. But in that moment, with the taste of vodka on his lips and tears drying on his cheeks, the road ahead seemed longer and more daunting than ever before.

***  Max´s POV ***

Max Verstappen paced his hotel room, phone in hand, a growing sense of unease gnawing at him. He had tried calling Charles multiple times since the race ended, but each attempt went straight to voicemail. It wasn't like Charles to go completely off the grid, especially after a tough race.

The race had been a disaster for Ferrari, with Charles suffering yet another DNF. Max had seen the disappointment etched on Charles' face as he climbed out of his stricken car, and something about his friend's demeanor had set off alarm bells in Max's head.

He tried calling once more, listening to the phone ring endlessly before Charles' voicemail message played. Max hung up without leaving a message, frustration building inside him.

"Come on, Charles," he muttered to himself, "where are you?"

As the night wore on and his concern deepened, Max decided to take a different approach. He scrolled through his contacts and found Christian Horner's number. It was a long shot, but maybe his team principal had heard something or could shed some light on the situation.

Christian picked up on the third ring. "Max? Is everything alright?"

"Christian, sorry to bother you this late," Max began, trying to keep his voice calm. "I was wondering if you've heard anything about Charles? I can't reach him, and I'm getting worried."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "I haven't heard anything specific, but I'm concerned too," Christian admitted. "I saw something in the garage after the race that troubled me."

Max's heart rate quickened. "What did you see?"

Christian sighed. "There was quite a heated argument between Charles and Fred Vasseur. I couldn't hear everything, but Charles seemed very upset, and Fred... well, he wasn't exactly handling it well. It got pretty intense before Fred walked away. After that, I didn't see Charles again."

Max felt a chill run down his spine. He had known things were tense at Ferrari, but hearing about a public argument between Charles and his team principal was alarming.

"That doesn't sound good," Max said, his worry evident in his voice. "And you haven't seen or heard from him since?"

"No, I haven't," Christian replied, his tone reflecting his own concern. "I've been keeping an ear out, but there's been nothing. Max, I know you and Charles are friends. This level of radio silence isn't like him, is it?"

Max shook his head, forgetting for a moment that Christian couldn't see him. "No, it's not. Even after bad races, he usually responds to messages, even if it's just to say he needs some time."

There was a moment of silence as both men contemplated the situation. Finally, Christian spoke up, "Maybe try reaching out to someone on his team? His trainer or manager might know where he is."

"Yeah, I'll try that," Max agreed. "Thanks, Christian. And sorry again for calling so late."

"Don't apologize, Max. Let me know if you hear anything, alright? And... take care of yourself too. I know you're worried about Charles, but don't forget to look after yourself as well."

After hanging up, Max sat on the edge of his bed, his mind racing. The image of Charles arguing with Fred, followed by his complete disappearance, painted a troubling picture. Max knew how much pressure Charles was under, how deeply he felt each setback. This latest DNF, coupled with a public confrontation with his team principal, could have pushed him to a breaking point.

Max realized he needed a new approach. He scrolled through his contacts and called Carlos, Charles' teammate.

"Carlos, it's Max. I need Andrea's number. Can you help me out?"

Carlos, sensing the urgency in Max's voice, quickly provided the number.

With Andrea's contact information in hand, Max made another call.

"Andrea? It's Max Verstappen. I'm sorry to bother you, but I'm really worried about Charles. I can't reach him. Do you know which room he's in?"

Andrea hesitated before responding, "Max, I appreciate your concern, but Charles wants to be alone. He's... not in a great place right now."

"Please, Andrea," Max pleaded. "I just want to make sure he's okay. Can you at least tell me his room number? I promise I won't push if he doesn't want to talk."

There was a long pause before Andrea finally relented. "He's in room 512. But Max, please be gentle. He's taking this hard."

"Thank you, Andrea. I will," Max assured her before ending the call.

With Charles' room number in hand, Max took a deep breath, steeling himself for what might come next. He knew his friend was hurting, and he was determined to be there for him, even if Charles wasn't ready to let him in just yet.

Chapter Text

Max stood outside room 512, his heart pounding in his chest. He raised his hand to knock, hesitating for a moment before rapping his knuckles gently against the door. To his surprise, the door swung open slightly at his touch.

"Charles?" Max called out softly, pushing the door open further. The room was dark, and an unsettling silence hung in the air. A pungent smell of alcohol wafted out, causing Max to wrinkle his nose.

Anxiety gripped him as he stepped inside, fumbling for the light switch. As the room illuminated, Max's eyes widened, taking in the scene before him. Clothes were strewn across the floor, an minibar stood open.

"Charles?" he called again, his voice barely above a whisper. No response came.

Max made his way deeper into the room, his concern growing with each step. He approached the bedroom area, the door slightly ajar. Taking a deep breath, he pushed it open.

The sight that greeted him made his heart sink. Charles lay sprawled across the bed, still fully clothed in his race suit. His face was turned towards Max, and even in the dim light, Max could see the puffiness around his eyes and the tear tracks staining his cheeks. An almost empty bottle of vodka sat on the nightstand, a stark testament to the night's events.

"Oh, Charlie" Max breathed, his voice breaking.

Max felt his heart constrict painfully. He'd never seen Charles like this – so vulnerable, so broken. The fierce competitor he knew on the track seemed a world away from the shattered young man before him.

Moving quietly, Max approached the bed. He gently removed Charles' shoes and pulled a blanket over him, his movements careful not to disturb his friend's fitful sleep. As he tucked the blanket around Charles' shoulders, Max noticed the tear tracks on his cheeks glistening in the low light. The sight made his own eyes sting with unshed tears.

Max gently brushed a strand of hair from Charles' forehead, his touch feather-light. He'd never seen his friend like this before, so vulnerable and broken. The pressure of the season, the constant setbacks, and now the argument with Fred – it had all become too much.

For a moment, Max sat there, unsure of what to do. He knew he couldn't leave Charles like this, but he also didn't want to invade his privacy more than he already had. Finally, he decided to call Christian. His team principal had been worried too, and Max needed guidance.

With trembling hands, he dialed Christian's number, stepping out of the bedroom to avoid disturbing Charles.

"Max? What's going on?" Christian's voice came through, laced with concern.

Max tried to keep his voice steady, but the emotions of the night caught up with him. "Christian, I... I found Charles. He's... he's not good."

"What do you mean? Where is he?"

"In his hotel room. The door was open when I got here. He's passed out drunk, Christian. I've never seen him like this before. He looks... broken." Max's voice cracked, and he felt tears welling up in his eyes.

There was a pause on the other end of the line. When Christian spoke again, his voice was gentle. "Take a deep breath, Max. You did the right thing by checking on him. Is he safe now?"

Max nodded, then remembered Christian couldn't see him. "Yeah, he's asleep. I've made sure he's comfortable, but... I'm worried, Christian. Really worried."

"I understand," Christian said softly. "This isn't an easy situation. How are you holding up?"

The question caught Max off guard, and he felt his composure start to crumble. "I... I don't know," he admitted, his voice wavering. "Seeing him like this, it's... it's killing me, Christian."

Max felt the first tear slip down his cheek, followed quickly by another. Before he knew it, he was crying quietly into the phone, overwhelmed by the emotions of the night.

"It's okay, Max," Christian soothed. "Let it out. This is a lot to handle, especially after the day you've had."

For several minutes, Christian just listened as Max cried, offering words of comfort and support. When Max finally regained his composure, Christian spoke again.

"What do you need, Max? How can I help?"

Max took a deep, shuddering breath. "I can't leave him like this, Christian. I can't fly back tomorrow. He needs someone here when he wakes up."

“Listen, here's what we're going to do. You stay with him tonight, make sure he's safe. I'll handle things on this end, don't worry about your flight tomorrow. We dont need you at the factory, so you can fly straight to Monaco.""

Max felt a wave of relief wash over him. "Thank you, Christian. I don't know what I'd do without your support."

"That's what I'm here for, Max," Christian replied warmly. "And I'm proud of you for being there for Charles. This sport can be brutal, and it's easy to forget we're all human underneath the helmets and race suits."

They talked for a while longer, Christian offering advice on how to handle the situation when Charles woke up and assuring Max that he'd have whatever support he needed. By the time they ended the call, Max felt more centered, though the weight of the situation still pressed heavily on him.

He went to the bathroom, splashing some cold water on his face. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he saw the worry etched in his own features. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the night ahead.

Returning to the main room, Max rummaged through his bag, finding some aspirin. He filled a glass with water and placed both on Charles' nightstand, knowing his friend would need them in the morning.

Exhaustion suddenly hit Max like a wave. The emotional toll of the night, combined with the physical demands of the race earlier, left him feeling drained. He made his way back to the living room, collapsing onto the couch with a heavy sigh.

As he lay there in the dim light, Max's mind raced with thoughts and emotions. Concern for Charles was foremost – worry about how he'd be when he woke up, fear of what might have happened if Max hadn't checked on him. But there was also a deep sadness, a ache in his chest at seeing his friend in such pain.

Max had always admired Charles, both as a competitor and as a person. They'd known each other since their karting days, had grown up in the spotlight together. To see someone so strong, so talented, brought so low... it shook Max to his core.

There was anger too – at the pressure Charles was under, at the team for pushing him so hard, at the cruel nature of their sport that could build someone up only to tear them down. Max felt a fierce protectiveness surge through him. He vowed to himself that he'd do whatever it took to help Charles through this, to be the friend he needed right now.

Max made a silent promise to himself and to Charles. He would be there for his friend, not just tonight, but in the days and weeks to come. They might be rivals on the track, but off it, they were friends, and right now, Charles needed a friend more than ever.

With these thoughts swirling in his head, Max eventually drifted off into an uneasy sleep, the sounds of Charles' steady breathing from the other room providing a small comfort in the stillness of the night.

***

The first light of dawn was just beginning to filter through the curtains when Max stirred. For a moment, he was disoriented, the unfamiliar surroundings confusing him. Then, the events of the previous night came rushing back, and he sat up quickly, his eyes darting to the bedroom door.

He rose quietly, padding over to check on Charles. His friend was still asleep, having barely moved from the position Max had left him in. The bottle on the nightstand remained untouched, as did the water and aspirin.

Max retreated to the main room, not wanting to wake Charles. He knew the coming conversation would be difficult, and Charles needed all the rest he could get. Max busied himself tidying up the room, gathering the empty bottles and discarded clothes. He ordered a light breakfast from room service, knowing neither of them would have much appetite, but recognizing the importance of having something in their stomachs.

***

The morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over the room. Charles stirred, his head pounding, his mouth dry. He groaned, sitting up slowly and blinking against the light. He felt disoriented, the events of the previous night hazy in his mind.

As he looked around, he saw the glass of water and aspirin on the bedside table. He took the aspirin, grateful for the small relief it provided. Then he noticed in the mirror that he was still in his racing suit, and memories of the night before came back to him.

Charles felt a wave of shame and regret. He had let his emotions get the better of him. He sat on the edge of the bed, burying his face in his hands, trying to gather the strength to face the day.

***

The next morning, Max awoke to the sound of movement in the bedroom. He sat up quickly, disoriented for a moment before remembering where he was and why. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood and made his way to the bedroom door, knocking softly.

"Charles?" he called out. "It's Max. Can I come in?"

There was a pause, then a hoarse voice replied, "Max? What... what are you doing here?"

Max pushed the door open slowly. Charles was sitting on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. He looked up as Max entered, his eyes bloodshot and confused.

"Hey," Max said gently, approaching the bed. "How are you feeling?"

Charles ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly. "Like I've been hit by a truck. Why are you here? Did I... did I call you?"

"No," Max replied, guiding Charles to sit on the couch. "I couldn't reach you, so I came to check on you. The door was open."

Max sat down next to Charles, close enough to offer support but not so close as to crowd him. "I came to check on you last night. Found you... well, in pretty rough shape. I couldn't leave you alone like that."

Realization dawned on Charles' face, followed quickly by shame. He looked away, unable to meet Max's gaze. "God, Max, I'm so sorry. You shouldn't have had to deal with that."

"Hey, no," Max said firmly, placing a hand on Charles' shoulder. "Don't apologize. I'm glad I was here. You scared me, Charles."

Charles' shoulders began to shake, and Max realized he was crying. Without hesitation, Max wrapped an arm around him, pulling him close. Charles didn't resist, instead leaning into Max's embrace as sobs wracked his body.

"It's okay," Max murmured, rubbing Charles' back soothingly. "Let it out. I'm here."

They sat like that for a long time, Charles crying while Max held him, offering silent support. Eventually, Charles' sobs subsided, and he pulled away slightly, wiping at his eyes.

"I'm a mess," he said with a weak laugh.

Max smiled gently. "Yeah, but you're allowed to be. We all are sometimes."

Charles took a deep, shuddering breath. "I don't know what to do, Max. Everything feels like it's falling apart. The car, the team... I feel like I'm letting everyone down."

"You're not," Max said firmly. "Charles, look at me." He waited until Charles met his gaze. "You are one of the most talented drivers I've ever known. But more than that, you're one of the strongest people I know. This... this is just a moment. It doesn't define you."

Charles nodded slowly, though doubt still clouded his eyes. "How do I come back from this? How do I face everyone?"

"One step at a time," Max replied. "And you don't have to do it alone. I'm here, and so are others who care about you. We'll get through this together."

A ghost of a mile touched Charles' lips. "Together, huh? Aren't we supposed to be rivals?"

Max grinned back. "On the track, sure. But right now, you're my friend, and that's what matters."

A knock at the door interrupted them – the room service Max had ordered earlier. As Max went to answer it, Charles headed to the bathroom, mumbling something about needing a shower.

While Charles freshened up, Max set out the breakfast and made a few quick calls. He touched base with Christian, assuring him that the situation was under control. He also reached out to Andrea, Charles' trainer, letting her know that Charles was safe and that they would be staying an extra day.

When Charles emerged from the bathroom, looking slightly more human, Max had everything prepared. They ate in companionable silence, the weight of the previous night hanging between them.

Finally, Charles spoke. "What happens now?"

Max met his gaze steadily. "Now, we take it one step at a time. We're staying here today, giving you time to recover.”

***

As the day progressed, they talked – really talked. About the pressures they faced, the toll it took on their mental health, the expectations that sometimes felt impossible to meet. Charles opened up about his frustrations with Ferrari, the constant setbacks, and the fear of letting everyone down.

Max listened, offering support and sharing his own experiences. He reminded Charles of his accomplishments, of the talent that had brought him this far. They laughed about old karting days, reminisced about their journey through the ranks, and slowly, Max saw the spark return to Charles' eyes.

As evening approached, they ordered lunch to the room, neither feeling quite ready to face the outside world yet. Over pasta and salad, their conversation turned to the future.

"I don't know if I can keep doing this, Max," Charles admitted softly. "The pressure, the disappointments... it's killing me."

Max leaned forward; his expression serious. "Charles, listen to me. You are one of the most talented drivers I've ever known. The stuff you can do in a car... it's incredible. But more than that, you're a good person. That's rare in this world."

Charles looked down, fidgeting with his fork. "But what if it's not enough? What if I never live up to the expectations?"

"Then you redefine those expectations," Max said firmly. "You race for yourself, Charles. For the love of the sport. The rest will follow."

Charles looked at him then, a glimmer of his old self shining through. "When did you get so wise, Verstappen?"

Max grinned, feeling some of the tension in the room dissipate. "I have my moments.”

As they ate, Max filled Charles in on his conversation with Christian the night before.

"He understands that we're staying an extra day," Max explained. "And he said to let him know if we need anything."

Charles nodded, looking grateful. "I should probably call Andrea. He must be worried."

"Later," Max said firmly. "But just for info, I already called him. I told him I'd stay here with you so he wouldn't worry. He's already flown to Monaco. Right now, you need to rest and recover. Everything else can wait."

After lunch, they settled on the couch, neither quite sure what to do next. Max, determined to lift Charles' spirits, spotted a PlayStation in the corner of the room.

"Fancy a game of FIFA?" he asked, already moving to set it up.

Charles smiled, the first genuine smile Max had seen from him since arriving. "Prepare to get your ass kicked, Verstappen."

As they played, laughing and trash-talking each other, Max felt some of the worry from the previous night begin to ease. This was the Charles he knew – competitive, quick-witted, and full of life. He was still in there, beneath the pain and pressure.

They spent the rest of the day in the hotel room, alternating between gaming, watching movies, and talking.

***

The next morning, as they prepared to leave the hotel and return to Monaco for the summer break, there was a newfound strength in Charles' demeanor. The haunted look in his eyes had been replaced by determination.

As they stood at the door, bags packed, Charles turned to Max. "Thank you," he said simply, his voice thick with emotion. "For being here, for understanding. I don't know what I would have done if you hadn't shown up."

Max pulled him into a hug, surprising both of them. "That's what friends are for Charles. And I'll always be here, okay? No matter what."

They made their way to the airport, both lost in thought about the events of the past two days. As they settled into their seats on the plane, Charles turned to Max.

"You know," he said, a small smile playing on his lips, "I think I'm actually looking forward to getting back to work after the break."

Max grinned, feeling a surge of pride for his friend. "That's the spirit.”

As the plane took off, carrying them towards Monaco and the respite of the summer break, Max felt a sense of optimism he hadn't expected. They had weathered a storm together and come out stronger for it. Whatever the future held, he knew they would face it head-on, not as rivals, but as friends.

The coastline of Monaco came into view, its familiar landscape a welcome sight after the emotional rollercoaster of the past few days. As they began their descent, Max turned to Charles.

"So, what's the first thing you're going to do when we land?" he asked.

Charles thought for a moment. "Honestly? I don´t know.”

Max nodded with a serious face. "That sounds like a great idea."

They both laughed.

***

They parted ways at the airport exit, but not before making plans to meet up later in the week. As Max watched Charles walk away, he felt a mixture of emotions – relief that his friend was doing better, pride in the strength Charles had shown, and a renewed determination to be there for him in the future.

The summer sun was warm on Max's face as he stepped out of the airport. He took a deep breath, feeling the tension of the past few days begin to melt away. The road ahead wouldn't be easy, for either of them. There would be more tough races, more disappointments, more pressure. But they also knew that they weren't alone in this journey.

As Max climbed into the waiting car that would take him home, he made a silent vow to himself. He would continue to push himself to be the best driver he could be, to fight for victories and championships. But he would also remember the lessons of the past few days – the importance of friendship, of vulnerability, of reaching out when things got tough.

The car pulled away from the curb, carrying Max towards home and the next chapter of his journey. As he watched the familiar streets of Monaco blur past the window, he felt a sense of peace settle over him. They were ready for whatever came next, ready to take on the world – together.

In the high-stakes world of Formula 1, they had found something more valuable than any trophy or championship – they had found a true ally, someone who understood the unique pressures they faced. And that, Max realized, was worth more than any victory on the track.

As Monaco's iconic harbour came into view, Max smiled to himself. The summer break stretched out before him, a time for rest, reflection, and renewal. But more than that, it was a chance to strengthen the bonds of friendship that had been forged in the crucible of competition.

Max's phone buzzed with a message from Charles.

Charles: "Thanks again for everything. Dinner next week?"

Max typed out a quick reply.

Max: "Absolutely. You're buying though – I did save your ass, after all."

Charles' response came moments later.

Charles: "Fair enough. See you then, friend."

Friend. The word resonated with Max in a way it never had before. As rivals, they had pushed each other to new heights on the track. But as friends, they would lift each other up off it, providing the support and understanding that only someone who had walked in their shoes could offer.

The car pulled up to Max's building, and he stepped out into the warm Monaco air.

Chapter Text

The Monaco sun danced on the crystal-clear waters of the Mediterranean as Charles stepped out onto his balcony, breathing in the salty sea air. It had been a few days since he and Max had returned from Belgium, and the summer break was in full swing. Despite the disappointing DNF at Spa, Charles felt a sense of calm that had eluded him for months. He owed much of that to Max's unexpected support and friendship.

His phone buzzed with a message from Max.

Max: "Still on for dinner tonight? I'm starving!"

Charles: "Absolutely. 8 PM at La Marée?"

Max: "Perfect. See you there!"

As evening approached, Charles found himself looking forward to dinner more than he had anticipated. He dressed casually in a light blue shirt and white shorts, perfect for the warm Monaco evening.

La Marée was bustling when Charles arrived, the terrace overlooking the port filled with diners enjoying the balmy night air. He spotted Max already seated at a corner table, looking relaxed in a black t-shirt and jeans.

"Hey," Charles greeted, sliding into his seat. "Hope you haven't been waiting long."

Max grinned, shaking his head. "Nah, just got here. This place is great, by the way. Good choice."

They fell into easy conversation as they perused the menu, discussing everything from their favorite dishes to their plans for the rest of the break. As they waited for their food, Charles found himself marveling at how comfortable he felt in Max's presence.

"So, how have you been feeling?" Max asked, his tone casual but his eyes betraying a hint of concern.

Charles smiled, appreciating the care behind the question. "Better, actually. Much better. I've been spending time with family, catching up on sleep. It's been... nice."

Max nodded, looking pleased. "Good. You deserved a break."

Their food arrived – a seafood platter for Charles and a steak for Max – and they dug in, the conversation flowing as easily as the wine. They swapped stories from their early racing days, laughed about shared experiences, and discussed their hopes for the rest of the season.

As the evening wore on, Charles found himself leaning in closer, drawn to Max's warmth and easy laughter. At one point, as they both reached for the bread basket, their hands brushed. Instead of pulling away, Charles found himself lingering, his fingers intertwining with Max's for just a moment.

Their eyes met, and Charles felt a jolt of... something. Electricity? Connection? He couldn't quite name it, but it sent a pleasant shiver down his spine. Max's gaze was intense, full of an emotion Charles couldn't quite decipher. The moment stretched, neither of them speaking, until the waiter arrived with dessert, breaking the spell.

They didn't discuss the moment, but Charles felt a shift in the air between them, a new awareness that hadn't been there before. As they finished their meal and paid the bill (Charles insisted on payment as promised), Charles found himself reluctant for the evening to end.

"Fancy a walk?" he suggested as they left the restaurant. "It's such a beautiful night."

Max agreed readily, and they set off along the harbor, their shoulders brushing occasionally as they walked. They talked about everything and nothing – their favorite movies, childhood memories, dreams for the future beyond racing.

As they neared Charles' building, Max suddenly said, "You know, I've been thinking of starting a morning jog routine. Care to join me?"

Charles raised an eyebrow, a smile playing on his lips. "You? Jogging? I thought you hated cardio."

Max laughed, nudging Charles' shoulder playfully. "Hey, I'm trying to be healthier here. Plus, it might be fun if we do it together."

"Alright, alright," Charles conceded, feeling a warmth spread through his chest at the idea of seeing Max every morning. "You're on. But don't blame me if I leave you in the dust."

They made plans to meet the next morning, and as Charles watched Max walk away, he felt a sense of anticipation he hadn't experienced in a long time.

***

True to his word, Max showed up at Charles' door at 7 AM sharp the next morning, looking far too chipper for someone about to engage in voluntary exercise. Charles, still rubbing sleep from his eyes, couldn't help but smile at Max's enthusiasm.

"Ready to eat my dust, Verstappen?" he teased as they set off at an easy pace.

Max just grinned, keeping pace easily. "In your dreams, Leclerc."

***

Their morning jogs quickly became a highlight of Charles' day. They'd run along the coast, the rising sun painting the sky in brilliant hues of pink and gold. Sometimes they'd chat as they ran, other times they'd fall into a comfortable silence, simply enjoying each other's company and the beauty of their surroundings.

One morning, about a week into their new routine, Charles decided to bring along a special guest.

"Max, meet Leo," he said, holding up an adorable golden puppy. "Leo, this is Max."

Leo began to wiggle excitedly in Charles' arms.  Max's face lit up, immediately crouching down to pet the excitable pup. "Hey there, little guy! Aren't you just the cutest?"

Charles watched, amused, as Max fawned over Leo. "I thought you were more of a cat person?"

"I am," Max admitted, still scratching behind Leo's ears. "But I might make an exception for this little fella."

He couldn't take it anymore, and as gently as he could, he put Leo down. The puppy immediately began running around Max with tremendous enthusiasm. Max bent down to scratch him, but Leo was so excited he didn't stop. He was weaving between his legs at an incredible speed. They both watched him with amused grins on their faces. Finally, he stopped in front of Max and thrust into his hand. Max didn't hesitate and started to grope him all over with both hands. Charles felt like he might dislocate his tail as he wiggled him quickly.

Their jog that morning was slower than usual, with frequent stops for Leo to investigate interesting smells or for Max to shower the puppy with more attention. Charles found he didn't mind one bit, his heart warming at the sight of Max's genuine joy around Leo.

A few days later, it was Max's turn to introduce Charles to some special friends. "Want to come over to my place after our run?" he asked as they cooled down. "I think it's time you met Jimmy and Sassy."

Charles agreed eagerly, curious to see Max's home and meet the cats he'd heard so much about. After a quick shower and change, he found himself standing in Max's sleek, modern apartment.

"Jimmy! Sassy!" Max called out, and soon two beautiful Bengal cats appeared. “You have to be careful. They don't like new people, often scratch.”

To Charles' surprise (and Max's apparent shock), both cats immediately approached him, rubbing against his legs and purring loudly.

"Well, I'll be damned," Max muttered, watching as Charles crouched down to pet the cats. "They usually hiss at everyone. Even me, sometimes!"

Charles laughed, delighted by the cats' affection. "What can I say? I have a way with animals."

They spent the rest of the morning playing with Jimmy and Sassy, Max shaking his head in disbelief as the usually aloof cats curled up in Charles' lap, purring contentedly.

As the days passed, Charles found himself settling into a rhythm of relaxation and rejuvenation. His morning jogs with Max, followed by leisurely breakfasts or playtime with Leo or the cats, set a positive tone for each day.

He still maintained his training regimen, meeting with Andrea every afternoon to stay in top form for the upcoming races. But even these sessions felt less like work and more like a natural part of his day, energizing rather than draining him.

***

One evening, as Charles was having dinner with his family, an idea struck him. "Hey," he said to his brothers, Lorenzo and Arthur, "how about a game of padel tomorrow? I'll bring the fourth player."

His brothers agreed enthusiastically, and Charles sent a quick text to Max.

Charles:  "Want to play padel tomorrow?"

Max's response came quickly.

Max: " Count me in!"

The next day, Charles picked Max up and drove them to the padel courts. Lorenzo and Arthur were already there, warming up.

"Max, meet my brothers," Charles said, making the introductions. "Lorenzo, Arthur, this is Max."

If his brothers were surprised by Charles bringing Max Verstappen to their family padel game, they didn't show it. Instead, they welcomed Max warmly, quickly explaining the rules of the game.

What followed was two hours of intense but incredibly fun play. Max's competitive spirit matched Charles's determination, while Arthur and Lorenzo displayed impressive agility and skill. The game was a perfect distraction, and for a few hours, they enjoyed the simple pleasures of camaraderie and friendly competition.

By the end, they were all sweaty and exhausted, but grinning from ear to ear. "We should do this again," Lorenzo suggested, and everyone agreed enthusiastically.

As they drove back, Max turned to Charles, a soft smile on his face. "Thanks for inviting me," he said. "That was really fun."

Charles felt a warmth spread through his chest. "Anytime," he replied, meaning it wholeheartedly.

***

The days continued to pass in a blur of morning jogs, training sessions, and relaxed evenings with friends and family. Charles found himself feeling more centered and at peace than he had in years.

One afternoon, as he was finishing up a session with Andrea, his phone rang. To his surprise, it was Christian Horner.

"Charles," Christian greeted warmly. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything. I just wanted to check in, see how you're doing."

Charles was touched by the gesture. "I'm doing well, thank you, Christian. The break has been... really good for me."

They chatted for a while. As he hung up, Charles felt a renewed sense of purpose and determination. He was ready to face whatever challenges the rest of the season might bring.

***

As the summer break neared its end, Charles found himself both excited to return to racing and reluctant to leave behind the peace he'd found in Monaco. On his last evening before leaving for the Netherlands Grand Prix, he and Max met for one final jog.

They ran in comfortable silence, both lost in thoughts of the upcoming race. As they cooled down near Charles' building, Max turned to him, his expression serious.

"Charles," he said softly, "I just want you to know... I'm here for you, okay? Whatever happens this weekend, or for the rest of the season. You can always count on me."

Charles felt a lump form in his throat, overwhelmed by the sincerity in Max's voice. "Thank you," he managed, his voice thick with emotion. "That means more than you know."

They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with unspoken feelings. Then, moving almost in sync, they stepped forward and embraced. It was a hug filled with understanding, support, and something else – something neither of them was quite ready to name yet.

As they pulled apart, Charles found himself lost in Max's intense gaze. For a moment, he thought Max might lean in, might close the small distance between them. His heart raced at the possibility.

But then Max stepped back, a soft smile on his face. "Get some rest," he said. "I'll see you in Zandvoort."

Charles nodded, returning the smile. "See you there. And Max? Thank you. For everything."

As he watched Max walk away, Charles felt a mix of emotions swirling in his chest – gratitude, affection, and a hint of something that felt a lot like longing. But overriding it all was a sense of calm and readiness. Whatever the upcoming race – and the rest of the season – might bring, he knew he could handle it.

He turned and entered his building, ready to pack for the Netherlands. As he did, he couldn't help but smile, thinking of the unexpected friendship that had blossomed over the summer break. Whatever happened on the track, he knew he had gained something far more valuable than any trophy – a true friend, a confidant, and maybe, just maybe, something more.

With that thought warming his heart, Charles began to prepare for the next chapter of his journey, feeling more centered and confident than he had in months. The Netherlands Grand Prix awaited, and with it, new challenges and opportunities. But for now, he allowed himself one last moment to bask in the peace and joy of the summer break, grateful for the unexpected turns life sometimes took.

As he zipped up his suitcase, Charles cast one last look around his apartment. His gaze fell on a photo taken just a few days ago – him and Max, arms around each other's shoulders, grinning widely after a particularly competitive game of padel with his brothers. The sight brought a smile to his face and a warmth to his chest.

He picked up the photo, tracing Max's smiling face with his finger. There was so much ahead of them – the pressures of the upcoming race, the intensity of the championship battle, the complications of their evolving relationship. But in that moment, looking at their carefree smiles, Charles felt nothing but optimism.

Whatever came next, he knew he was ready. And more importantly, he knew he wasn't facing it alone.

With a deep breath, Charles carefully put the photograph back in place. Then, with a spring in his step and a smile on his face, he headed out the door, ready to take on whatever challenges awaited him in Zandvoort.

The summer break had been a time of healing, of friendship, and of unexpected joy. Now, it was time to return to the track, to the roar of engines and the thrill of competition. But this time, Charles carried with him not just his skills and determination, but also the strength of a newfound support system and the warmth of a blossoming connection.

As he stepped into the warm Monaco evening, on his way to the airport, Charles felt a sense of excitement building in his chest. The Netherlands Grand Prix was calling, and he was more than ready to answer.

Chapter Text

The summer break was over, and the Formula 1 circus had returned to the Netherlands for Max Verstappen's home race. The orange-clad fans flooded the circuit, their excitement palpable in the crisp morning air.

For Charles Leclerc, the weekend had started surprisingly well. Despite Ferrari's struggles throughout the season, he had managed to squeeze every ounce of performance from his car during qualifying, securing an unexpected pole position. As he climbed out of his car in parc fermé, the look of genuine shock and joy on his face was evident.

Max, having qualified second, couldn't hide his disappointment entirely. It was his home race, after all, and starting from pole would have been the dream scenario. However, he maintained his composure as he faced the media.

"Of course, I would have loved to be on pole for my home race," Max admitted to the press. "But Charles did an amazing job today. We're still in a good position for tomorrow, and I'm looking forward to giving these amazing fans a great show."

The post-qualifying press conference took an unexpected turn when a journalist brought up some social media posts from the summer break.

"We've seen some pictures of you two running together during the break," the journalist said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Care to comment on your newfound training partnership?"

Charles and Max exchanged a glance, both breaking into grins.

"Well," Charles began, his eyes twinkling with mischief, "I figured if I can't beat Max on the track, maybe I could outrun him on foot."

Max laughed, shaking his head. "I hate to break it to you, Charles, but I was clearly letting you win. Didn't want to damage your fragile ego before the season resumed."

Their banter continued, much to the delight of the assembled media. It was a reminder that despite their fierce rivalry on track, there was a genuine friendship between the two young drivers.

***

Race day arrived with a palpable tension in the air. Charles lined up on pole, with Max beside him, both drivers focused on the task ahead. The stands were packed with orange-clad fans, all eager to see their local hero take the win.  As the lights went out, Charles got a perfect start, maintaining his lead into the first corner. Max, however, was right on his tail.

For the next twenty laps, they engaged in a breathtaking display of skill and determination, trading the lead back and forth with every passing lap. Charles would dive to the inside of a tight hairpin, only for Max to counter with a bold move around the outside of the following sweeper. They pushed each other to the absolute limit, their cars dancing on the edge of adhesion, separated by mere centimeters as they thundered down the straights. The crowd was on its feet, watching in awe as these two young drivers of Formula 1 showcased the very best of wheel-to-wheel racing. Neither driver was willing to give an inch, yet both showed immense respect, leaving just enough space to avoid contact. It was a masterclass in aggressive yet fair racing, a reminder of why they were considered two of the finest drivers of their generation. Pure racing instinct taking over as they pushed each other to the limit.

"This is brilliant racing between Leclerc and Verstappen!" the commentators exclaimed. "They're giving us a show for the ages here at Zandvoort!"

The crowd was on their feet, orange smoke billowing from the grandstands as they cheered on their home hero. But even the Dutch fans couldn't help but appreciate the skill on display from both drivers.

However, the tide turned during the pit stop phase. Charles executed a flawless stop, but Max encountered a problem with the rear left wheel nut. The extra seconds lost proved costly, as he emerged from the pits behind not only Charles but also Lando Norris.

Determined to make up lost ground, Max immediately went on the attack. As he battled with Lando for position, disaster struck. The two cars made contact in a high-speed corner, sending both spinning into the gravel trap.

"And there's contact between Verstappen and Norris!" the commentators shouted. "Both cars are in the gravel... and it looks like they're both out of the race! Heartbreak for Max Verstappen at his home grand prix!"

It was deemed a racing incident, but that was little consolation for Max, whose home race had ended prematurely.

As the safety car was deployed, Charles found himself in the lead, but with a new threat looming in his mirrors. Lewis Hamilton, in the faster Mercedes, was now right behind him.

When racing resumed, Charles drove the race of his life. Lap after lap, he defended against Lewis, using every trick in his arsenal to keep the seven-time world champion at bay. The Ferrari pit wall was on edge, willing their driver to hold on for just a few more laps. But as they entered the final lap, Lewis made his move. With DRS open, he swept around the outside of Charles at the last corner, crossing the line just ahead of the Ferrari.

Charles slammed his hand against the steering wheel in frustration as he crossed the line in second place. So close, yet so far. The disappointment was crushing.

In the cool-down room, Lewis approached Charles, genuine admiration in his eyes. "Fantastic drive, mate," he said, patting Charles on the back. "You made me work for that one."

But the words of praise only seemed to twist the knife further for Charles. He managed a weak smile and a nod, but inside, he was devastated.

On the podium, Charles went through the motions, spraying champagne and waving to the crowd. But his heart wasn't in it. As soon as the ceremony was over, he made his way back to the Ferrari garage, seeking solitude to process his emotions.

However, solitude was not to be found. As he entered the garage, he was immediately confronted by Fred Vasseur, the Ferrari team principal. Fred's face was a mask of frustration and disappointment.

"Charles, what happened out there?" Fred demanded. "We had the win in our grasp. You should have been able to hold off Hamilton."

Charles felt his heart sink even further. "I'm sorry, Fred," he said quietly. "I did my best, but Lewis was just too quick in the end. My tires were gone."

Fred shook his head. "That's not good enough, Charles. We expect more from you. You need to be able to manage your tires better and defend your position. This is a result we can't afford to throw away."

Charles nodded silently, accepting the criticism without argument. In his mind, he agreed with Fred. He should have done more, should have found a way to keep Lewis behind. The fact that he had driven one of the best races of his career seemed irrelevant in the face of the final result.

As he made his way through the required post-race interviews, Charles maintained a stoic facade. He answered questions politely but briefly, not wanting to dwell on the disappointment of the race. Inside, however, he was beating himself up, replaying every moment of the final laps and wondering what he could have done differently.

***

As evening fell, Charles made his way back to the hotel, his mind still replaying every moment of the race. Lost in thought, he almost collided with Max in the lobby.

"Whoa, watch where you're going, Leclerc," Max said, reaching out to steady his friend. "You look like you're a million miles away."

Charles managed a weak smile. "Sorry, Max. Just... thinking about the race, I guess. I’m sorry about your race."

Max's expression softened. "Yeah, it was a tough one for both of us. Want to come up to my room and talk about it?"

Charles hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He followed Max to the elevator and up to his room, grateful for the company of someone who understood the unique pressures of their profession.

Once inside, Max flopped onto the couch, gesturing for Charles to join him. "So, want to tell me what's really going on in that head of yours?"

Charles sighed, sinking into the cushions beside Max. "I just... I feel like I let down. I was so close to winning, and I couldn't hold on."

Max raised an eyebrow. "Are you kidding me? Charles, you drove an incredible race. You held off Lewis Hamilton for most of the race in a car that clearly wasn't as fast. That's no small feat."

"But it wasn't enough," Charles said quietly, careful not to mention Fred's harsh words.

Max shook his head. "Sometimes, the other guy just has a faster car. You can't beat yourself up over that. Besides, that battle we had in the first half of the race? That was some of the best racing I've had all season."

A small smile tugged at Charles's lips. "Yeah, that was pretty fun. Reminded me of our karting days."

"Exactly!" Max exclaimed. "That's what racing is all about. Sure, we all want to win, but those wheel-to-wheel battles, pushing each other to the limit? That's what makes it all worthwhile."

Charles nodded, feeling some of the tension start to leave his body. "You're right. It's just... hard to see the positives sometimes, you know?"

"Trust me, I know," Max said, his tone growing more serious. "Crashing out of my home race wasn't exactly how I planned to spend my Sunday. But you can't dwell on the disappointments. You have to take the lessons, the good moments, and use them to push yourself forward."

They fell into a comfortable silence, each lost in their own thoughts. As the night wore on, they found themselves reminiscing about their karting days, sharing funny stories and reliving old rivalries.

"Remember that time in Italy when we both spun out trying to outdrag each other to the finish line?" Charles laughed.

Max grinned. "How could I forget? Our dads were so mad at us for throwing away the race like that. But man, it was worth it just for the thrill."

"We were so competitive back then," Charles mused. "Always trying to one-up each other."

"Were?" Max raised an eyebrow. "I'd say we still are. But that's what makes us better, you know? We push each other to improve, to find those extra tenths of a second."

Charles nodded, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "You're right. I wouldn't be the driver I am today without you constantly nipping at my heels."

"Nipping at your heels?" Max scoffed playfully. "I think you mean leaving you in my dust."

Their banter continued late into the night, the disappointments of the day slowly fading into the background. As the hours ticked by, their conversation became more sporadic, punctuated by long pauses and sleepy responses.

Before they knew it, it was well past midnight. Charles yawned, the emotional and physical toll of the day finally catching up with him.

"I should probably head back to my room," he said, making no move to get up from the couch.

Max, equally exhausted, simply mumbled in agreement. Neither driver seemed inclined to move, the comfort of the couch and the companionship too inviting to leave.

As the minutes ticked by, their conversation dwindled to a comfortable silence. Eventually, without either of them really noticing, they drifted off to sleep, still sitting side by side on the couch.

In the quiet of the hotel room, with the disappointments and triumphs of the day fading into dreams, Charles and Max found a moment of peace. Their rivalry on the track was fierce and uncompromising, but off the track, their friendship provided a sanctuary from the pressures of their high-stakes world.

As dawn broke over Zandvoort, casting a soft light through the hotel room window, the two drivers slept on, oblivious to the world outside. In a few hours, they would wake up, probably with stiff necks from their awkward sleeping positions, and face the reality of their results from the Dutch Grand Prix. There would be team debriefs to attend, strategies to analyze, and preparations to make for the next race.

But for now, in this quiet moment, they were just two friends who had found comfort in each other's company after a challenging day. The world of Formula 1, with all its glory and heartbreak, could wait just a little longer.

As the first rays of sunlight crept across the room, Charles stirred slightly in his sleep, unconsciously leaning a little more towards Max. In response, Max shifted position, his head lolling to rest against Charles's shoulder. It was a picture of friendship and trust, a reminder that beneath the helmets and race suits, they were still the same kids who had raced go-karts together all those years ago.

Chapter Text

The Italian Grand Prix at Monza, Ferrari's home race, was always a special event on the Formula 1 calendar. But for Charles Leclerc, this year's race carried an extra weight of expectation. As he arrived at the circuit on Thursday, he could feel the pressure mounting with each step he took.

The sea of red-clad tifosi, their faces beaming with hope and excitement, lined the entrance to the paddock. Banners bearing his name and the iconic Prancing Horse logo fluttered in the warm Italian breeze. Charles tried to smile and wave, but inside, his stomach was churning with anxiety.

"You've got this, Charles," Andrea, his performance coach, said quietly as they made their way to the Ferrari hospitality area. "Remember, it's just another race."

But it wasn't just another race, and they both knew it. This was Monza, the Temple of Speed, Ferrari's hallowed ground. And Charles desperately needed a win, not just for the team or the fans, but for himself.

As he settled into his routine over the next two days, Charles couldn't shake the nagging doubt that kept creeping into his mind. What if something went wrong? What if he made a mistake? The weight of expectation felt suffocating at times.

Joris noticed the tension in Charles's shoulders during their strategy meetings. "Charles, you need to relax," he said, placing a reassuring hand on the young driver's arm. "You're one of the best out there. Trust in your abilities."

Charles nodded, trying to internalize Joris's words, but the doubt persisted. He wanted this win so badly, needed to prove to himself that he could still deliver when it mattered most.

However, as the weekend progressed, things started looking up. The new upgrades Ferrari had brought to Monza were working exceptionally well. In free practice, both Charles and his teammate Carlos Sainz were consistently setting fast lap times.

By the time qualifying rolled around on Saturday, Charles was feeling more confident. The car felt great under him, responsive and quick. As he pushed it to the limit in Q3, he could feel that he was on the verge of something special.

When he crossed the line to take pole position, with Carlos right behind him in second, the relief and joy that washed over Charles was palpable. As he climbed out of the car in parc fermé, the roar of the crowd was deafening. For a moment, all the pressure and doubt melted away, replaced by pure elation.

In the post-qualifying press conference, Charles couldn't stop smiling. "The car felt amazing today," he said, his eyes shining with excitement. "To be on pole here at Monza, for Ferrari, it's just incredible. I can't wait for tomorrow's race."

Even Max Verstappen, who had finished fifth behind Oscar Piastri and Lando Norris, came over to congratulate him. "Great job, mate," Max said, giving Charles a friendly pat on the back. "That was some lap."

As Charles went to bed that night, he felt a glimmer of hope. Maybe, just maybe, tomorrow would be the day he'd been waiting for.

***

But Formula 1 can be cruel, and fate had other plans for Charles Leclerc.

On Sunday, as he lined up on pole position for the formation lap, Charles felt a surge of adrenaline. This was it. His chance to win at Monza, to stand on the top step of the podium and hear the Italian national anthem play for Ferrari.

The lights went out, and Charles began to move... but something was wrong. The car felt sluggish, unresponsive. As he tried to accelerate, he realized with growing horror that he was losing power. The gearbox, which had been flawless all weekend, was failing him at the worst possible moment.

"No, no, no," Charles muttered, frantically trying to cycle through different settings on his steering wheel. But it was no use. As the rest of the field streamed past him, Charles was forced to pull over to the side of the track, his race over before it had even begun.

The disappointment and frustration hit him like a physical blow. As he climbed out of the car, he kept his helmet on, not wanting anyone to see the tears that were already forming in his eyes.

Ignoring the concerned looks from his team and the sympathetic pats on the back from the marshals, Charles walked briskly towards the paddock. He didn't stop to talk to anyone, didn't acknowledge the calls of his name. All he wanted was to be alone.

He made his way to the driver's room, slipped inside, and locked the door behind him. Only then did he remove his helmet, letting it drop to the floor with a dull thud.

The tears came freely now, hot and angry. Charles slumped against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the floor, his head in his hands. Why? Why did this have to happen? Why couldn't anything go right for him?

Outside, he could hear Andrea and Joris knocking on the door, their voices muffled but clearly concerned. "Charles? Charles, please open the door. We just want to make sure you're okay."

But Charles couldn't bring himself to respond. He was lost in a spiral of negative thoughts, replaying every mistake, every setback of the season in his mind. The pressure he'd been feeling all weekend crashed down on him like a tidal wave.

The panic attack hit like a rogue wave. He felt choked, like his lungs were filled with water. His chest constricted, making it impossible to breathe. He tried to take deep breaths, to slow his heart, but the air felt thin, like he was struggling to breathe underwater. Every breath was a painful, laborious effort.

Fear pulsed through him, a raw, untamed beast, tearing at his resolve. The world around him seemed to blur and distort, colors swirling, edges melting. He was caught in a whirlpool of sensation, overwhelmed by the physical and emotional storm raging within.

His vision narrowed, the room shrinking as his world contracted to the small, suffocating space he was trapped in. He tried to fight back, to regain control, but it was impossible. The panic was a raging inferno, consuming him with its searing heat.

His breathing became rapid and shallow, his heart pounding in his chest. The room seemed to spin around him as the panic attack took hold. Charles tried to fight it, tried to regain control, but it was too much. The last thing he was aware of was a rushing sound in his ears before everything went black.

***

When Charles came to, he was disoriented for a moment. He was still on the floor of the driver's room, his back against the wall. How long had he been out? As his senses slowly returned, he became aware of the muffled sound of engines in the distance.

The race. It was still going on.

With shaky legs, Charles stood up and made his way to the small TV mounted on the wall. As the picture came into focus, his heart sank even further. There, leading the race, was his teammate Carlos Sainz.

A fresh wave of pain washed over Charles. Why was he the only one still struggling? Why did it seem like everything was going wrong for him while others succeeded?

He stumbled to the small bathroom attached to the driver's room, splashing cold water on his face. As he looked at his reflection in the mirror, he barely recognized the pale, tear-stained face staring back at him.

"Pull yourself together," he muttered to his reflection. "You can't let them see you like this."

Taking a deep breath, Charles did his best to compose himself. He ran his fingers through his hair, straightened his race suit, and tried to school his features into a neutral expression.

When he finally opened the door, he found Andrea and Joris sitting on the floor opposite, their faces etched with worry. They scrambled to their feet as soon as they saw him.

"Charles! Are you okay?" Andrea asked, his eyes scanning Charles's face for any sign of distress.

Charles managed a small smile and a nod. "I'm fine," he lied, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. "Just needed a moment to myself."

Joris and Andrea exchanged a look, clearly not convinced. "Are you sure?" Joris pressed. "We can postpone the media interviews if you're not up for it."

"No," Charles said quickly, perhaps too quickly. "No, I'm okay. Let's get it over with."

As they made their way to the media pen, Charles could feel Andrea and Joris watching him closely. He knew they didn't believe him, but he couldn't bring himself to open up about what had happened in the driver's room. The shame and embarrassment were too raw, too fresh.

The media pen was a whirlwind of flashing cameras and shouted questions. Charles did his best to maintain his composure, giving short, measured responses about the gearbox failure and his disappointment at not being able to race in front of the tifosi.

"Of course, it's incredibly frustrating," he said, his voice carefully controlled. "We had such a strong qualifying, and I really thought we had a chance for a great result today. But these things happen in racing. We'll analyze what went wrong and come back stronger."

As he moved from one interview to the next, Charles felt like he was on autopilot. The words came out, but he felt disconnected from them, as if someone else was speaking through him.

Throughout it all, Andrea and Joris hovered nearby, ready to step in if needed. Charles could see the concern in their eyes, but he pushed on, determined to get through this ordeal without breaking down again.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the last interview was done. Charles let out a long breath as they walked away from the media pen, his shoulders sagging with exhaustion.

"You did well," Andrea said softly, giving Charles's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "Why don't we head back to the motorhome? You should rest."

Charles nodded, too drained to argue. As they made their way through the paddock, he could hear the roar of the crowd as the race neared its conclusion. He tried not to think about what might have been, about the victory that had slipped through his fingers before he'd even had a chance to fight for it.

Back in the relative quiet of the Ferrari motorhome, Charles sank onto a couch, closing his eyes for a moment. The adrenaline that had carried him through the media interviews was fading, leaving him feeling hollow and exhausted.

"Charles," Joris said gently, sitting down next to him. "I know today was incredibly tough. But I want you to know that we're here for you. Whatever you need, whenever you need it."

Charles opened his eyes, looking at Joris and then at Andrea, who nodded in agreement. He felt a lump forming in his throat, the emotions he'd been trying so hard to suppress threatening to spill over again.

"I just..." he started, his voice cracking slightly. "I wanted it so badly. To win here, for the team, for the fans. For myself. And to not even get the chance to try... it hurts."

Andrea sat down on Charles's other side. "Of course it hurts," he said. "It's okay to feel disappointed, angry even. But Charles, you can't let this define you. You're an incredible driver, and one bad day doesn't change that."

Charles nodded, trying to take in Andrea's words. "I know," he said softly. "It's just... sometimes it feels like no matter what I do, something goes wrong. Like I'm cursed or something."

Joris shook his head firmly. "You're not cursed, Charles. You've had some bad luck, yes, but that's part of racing. What matters is how you bounce back from it."

As they sat there, offering words of encouragement and support, Charles felt some of the weight lifting from his shoulders. He wasn't okay, not yet, but he wasn't alone either.

Suddenly, a cheer erupted from outside. Charles tensed, knowing what it meant. The race was over, and judging by the reaction, Ferrari had won.

A few moments later, the door burst open, and a jubilant Carlos Sainz entered, still wearing his race suit and clutching his winner's trophy. He stopped short when he saw Charles, his smile faltering slightly.

"Charles," Carlos said, his voice a mix of excitement and concern. "I... are you okay?"

For a moment, Charles felt a flicker of resentment. But as he looked at his teammate's face, saw the genuine worry there alongside the joy, he pushed it aside.

"Congratulations, Carlos," he said, standing up and managing a small but sincere smile. "You did it. You won at Monza for Ferrari."

Carlos hesitated for a second, then stepped forward and pulled Charles into a hug. "I'm sorry about what happened," he said quietly. "It should have been both of us up there."

As they embraced, Charles felt a complex mix of emotions. He was happy for Carlos, for the team, but the pain of his own disappointment was still raw.

"It's all right. It just happens sometimes." Charles forced a smile. Carlos looked at him incredulously. He knew how painful a DNF could be, especially when it wasn't the driver's fault. He didn't want Charles to wallow in self-pity.

"We're going out with the team tonight to celebrate. Come out with us so you don't have to think about it. We'll have a good time." Carlos tried to sound convincing, even though he knew it was useless to try and persuade Charles.  He wanted to be alone after races like this and rarely spent his evenings with anyone after a bad result. Not even those closest to him.

"Sorry, no. Of course I'd like to celebrate your victory, but I'm afraid I wouldn't be very good company tonight."

"That's nonsense, Charlita, and you know it. You're always the best company." Charles snorted with a small smile.

"Not really tonight, sorry. I think I'll go to bed. I'm pretty tired. But enjoy it. You deserve it. And again, sorry..."

"You don't have to apologise. I understand you're not in the mood. Get some rest." Carlos put his hand on Charles' shoulder and squeezed it gently. He smiled softly. At the door he turned again.

"But if you change your mind and want to join in, just send me a text and I'll come over." With a wink, he turned and was gone.

***

Charles locked the door. Determined to put on a brave face, he turned toward the hotel room’s window, staring out at the glittering landscape of indulgence and oblivion that lay beyond. In that world, he was simply Charles—a winner, a competitor, a bright star among the fierce constellations of his rivals. Here, he allowed himself to fester in darkness.

The bottle before him beckoned, its promise of forgetfulness twisted in his mind. He poured a glass, then another, feeling the burn ignite across his throat, a welcome distraction from the tempest within. The racing season had been brutal, and now that they were far from the roars of engines and the thrill of the circuit, the silence pressed against him. His heart raced for all the wrong reasons, memories thrumming like a base thud—a cacophony urging him to confront a bitter truth he was unwilling to face.

Another knock at the door broke through the fog of his inebriation.

“Charles?” It was Max. “You alright in there, buddy?”

He hesitated, his hard-won composure cracking at the edges. “I’m fine!” he called, voice slurred and defiant, masking the tangle of anger, confusion, and despair that melded in his chest.

“Let me in,” Max replied firmly. “I just want to check on you.”

The door creaked open, and Max stepped inside, his face shifting from concern to alarm as he took in the scene—a room dimmed by the weight of neglect and Charles fumbling with another glass.

“What are you doing?” Max's voice wavered with disbelief.

“Celebrating?” Charles laughed bitterly, raising his drink in a mock toast. “You should try it—feels really good to drown your sorrows in overpriced whiskey.”

“Charles, that’s enough.” Max stepped closer, his brow furrowed with unconcealed worry. “This isn’t the way. This is not the solution.”

"Why do you care? This is none of your business. Go away. I don't want you here. Go celebrate your stage and leave me alone." Charles said, pouring himself another drink.

The words crashed between them like a wave, shattering the fragile space of camaraderie they’d built. Max stared at him, stunned. “I know it’s hard. But pushing everyone away isn’t the answer!”

Charles scoffed, the sound lost in the thick fog of his emotions, the alcohol already working its magic. He lifted the glass, the amber liquid reflecting the flickering light of the bedside lamp. "Why?" he slurred, his voice raspy, "Why do you care? Why do you fucking care? You're winning, aren't you? You're leading the championship. I’m your rival, for fuck’s sake! I'm the one you should be taking down, not feeling sorry for! You should be happy."

Max’s face fell, sunlight filtering through the window catching the edges of hurt etched in his features. “I care because you’re my friend. And I can’t stand to see you like this, Charles.”

The plea hung in the air, but Charles’s anger flared anew, fueled by indignation and pain. “Friend? Is that a joke? You don’t get to decide that. You don’t get to act like you understand!”

“Maybe I don’t! But I also don’t want to see you spiral when you could have people around who care!”

In that moment, he threw the glass against the wall, watching it shatter into a thousand pieces, an extension of his own turmoil, an explosion of all he couldn’t express. Max flinched, stepping back.

“Look at you! You’re better than this!” Max implored, raising his hands in a placating gesture.

But Charles was spiraling, his breaths sharp with anger and embarrassment. “Better? You don’t know how it feels to fight for every shred of success, to still fall short! You have no idea!”

The words hung like confetti in the aftermath of a celebration, devoid of meaning. He saw Max step back, startled but resolute, his expression a blend of pain and sympathy. “You don’t really believe that, Charles. You’re feeling overwhelmed right now. Just let it go.”

Charles stumbled to his feet, the alcohol making his legs unsteady. He swayed slightly, his eyes burning with unshed tears.

“Let it go?” Charles seethed once more, the walls closing around him. “You think it’s that easy? Just let it go? You don’t know what it’s like!”

"Look, Charles, I -"

"Don't you dare start with the 'I understand' talk," Charles interrupted, his voice laced with bitterness. "You don't understand. You don't know what it's like to feel like this, to have your world crumble around you in an instant, to taste the bitter sting of defeat when you thought you were so close to victory."

"You're on top, Max. You're the one everyone is looking at, the one everyone is expecting to win. You don't know what it’s like to be the underdog, to fight tooth and nail, to finally reach the top, only to be thrown back down again. You don't know what it's like to feel like your whole life’s work has been destroyed in a single moment."

"Charles, it’s not like that -"

"No, you don't get it!" Charles yelled, his voice cracking with emotion. "You're winning, Max. You're supposed to be winning. But I, I was supposed to win today. I was supposed to be the one celebrating, the one at the top. But instead, all I feel is… emptiness. Look at you. You have three championships and you're a world champion. What am I? Nothing. Failure. Ferrari would be better off without me."

His anger was a torrent, fueled by alcohol and frustration. He turned his back on Max, his shoulders slumped, his body trembling.

“Charles, that's not true. You don't belie –“

"Go away, Max. Just go away. I don't want to see you, I don't want to hear your voice, I don’t want to see your smug face anymore. Go celebrate your podium, go enjoy your championship lead, go bask in the glory while I drown in my misery."

Max stood there, silent, his heart aching. He understood Charles' pain, the frustration, the despair. He had felt it himself, countless times, the burden of expectations, the crushing weight of failure. He wanted to offer solace, to ease his rival's pain, but Charles' words, laced with bitterness and resentment, echoed in the room.

He knew he couldn't reason with Charles, couldn't push him to see the bigger picture, couldn't remind him that there were races to come, that the championship was far from over. He knew he had to do something, anything, to break through the wall Charles had built around himself.

Charles expected Max to leave, to abandon him to this pit of despair he had made so comfortably his own.

Instead, Max stepped forward, enveloping him in a fierce embrace. “You’re not alone, Charles. You’re not.”

“Get off me!” Charles yelled, pushing against Max’s chest, yet somehow finding comfort in the warmth and strength of their connection. But those pushbacks became weaker as he succumbed to the sensation of being held. The chaos inside him began to dissolve—his rigid resolve shifting to razor-thin vulnerability.

“I’m not leaving you like this,” Max said calmly, refusing to let go despite Charles’s attempts to wriggle free. He heard the tremor of pain in his own voice unravel as he leaned against Max’s shoulder, anger morphing slowly into something more profound—hysteria bubbling beneath the surface.

“Just… let me be,” he choked out, feeling defeated, feeling small, as the dam finally broke. Hysterical sobs thundered through his chest, shaking him apart piece by piece until he was a ragged mess in Max’s arms.

"It´s okay, Charles," Max began softly, "I know this is… hard. I know it hurts. Let it out. You can't bottle it up inside."

And in that vulnerable moment, in the silence between his cries, Max whispered soothing words—reassurance, consolation, a promise that he was there. He stroked Charles’s hair with gentle fingers, cradling him on the floor where they fell, anchoring him against the storm within. Their tears mingled, two rivals brought together in the rubble of emotions, the weight of expectations, and an unshakable bond forged in the fire of their shared struggles.

Charles's shoulders shook violently as he let out a mix of sobs and gasps, an outpouring of grief and pain that had been locked away for far too long. Max held him closer, whispering soft reassurances, though words felt inadequate for the weight of their shared sorrow. Tears streamed down their cheeks, mingling together as they clung to each other, the warmth of their embrace providing solace amid the chaos. Gradually, the storm within them began to fade; the rawness of their tears eased into a gentle silence. Charles's breaths became shallower, and he eventually succumbed to the exhaustion of releasing his burdens. His head fell against Max’s shoulder as he drifted into a fragile sleep, the tension of the world around them melting away. Max watched him, feeling the heaviness of his own heart lighten slightly. Soon, lulled by the rhythm of Charles's soft breathing and the overwhelming weariness that enveloped him, Max leaned against the wall, surrendering to the soft pull of sleep as well. Their bodies still intertwined.

Chapter Text

The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the hotel room. Max stirred, his eyes fluttering open as consciousness slowly returned. Max stirred awake, blinking against the brightness. It took him a moment to register where he was, but the comforting weight of Charles’s body nestled against his side brought everything rushing back.

He turned his head slightly to behold Charles's sleeping face and was struck by how serene he looked. The lines of worry were smoothened in slumber, the tension of last night’s drama replaced by an almost ethereal peace. There was a vulnerability to him that Max rarely saw when Charles was awake.

For a long moment, Max simply sat there, cradling Charles in his arms, letting the quiet of the morning wash over him. He studied Charles’ face, noting every detail—the slight furrow between his brows, the curve of his lips, the faint hint of stubble along his jawline. Charles looked so peaceful, so unlike the man who had hurled accusations at him just hours ago. Max’s heart ached at the thought, but he pushed it aside, focusing on the way Charles’ breath whispered against his neck, the way his hand had unconsciously curled into the fabric of Max’s shirt.

Slowly, Max began to move, shifting Charles in his arms as he stood up. He was careful, making sure to support Charles’ head as he lifted him, holding him close as he carried him toward the bed. Charles murmured something unintelligible in his sleep, his head lolling slightly against Max’s shoulder, but he didn’t wake.

He was surprised at how light the Monégasque felt, how easily he fit against Max's chest. Charles stirred slightly but didn't wake, instead nuzzling closer to Max's warmth. He carried him like a sleeping child, feeling as if he was safeguarding something precious, and cradled him gently until reaching the bed. He laying him down carefully and pulling the covers over him. Smoothing Charles's hair away from his forehead and planted a lingering kiss there. For a moment, he stood there, watching Charles sleep. The events of the previous night came flooding back – Charles's drunken outburst, the harsh words, the broken emotions. Max knew, rationally, that Charles hadn't meant what he'd said. The alcohol and frustration had gotten the better of him. But still, the words stung, leaving an ache in Max's chest that he couldn't quite shake.

Max straightened up, pulling himself away from the bed with a quiet sigh. He glanced around the room, the events of the previous night still weighing heavily on his mind. The ache in his chest had dulled somewhat, but it was still there, a lingering reminder of the hurtful words exchanged in the heat of the moment. Max knew Charles hadn’t meant what he said—at least, not entirely. The alcohol had loosened his tongue, brought old wounds to the surface. But knowing that didn’t make the words any less painful.

He ran a hand through his hair, trying to pull himself together. He had to focus on the present, on taking care of Charles. Whatever had been said last night could be dealt with later, when they were both in a better state of mind. For now, Max needed to ensure that Charles was alright, that he had everything he needed when he woke up.

Max moved to the phone on the bedside table, dialing the number for room service. His voice was quiet as he placed an order for breakfast—something simple, easy on the stomach. He requested coffee for himself, along with fresh fruit, toast, and a selection of pastries. He asked for extra water and juice as well, knowing Charles would need to hydrate after the amount of alcohol he had consumed.

As he hung up the phone, Max let out a slow breath, trying to shake off the remnants of last night. He glanced back at the bed, where Charles was still sleeping soundly, his face relaxed and peaceful. Max felt an odd mixture of emotions swell within him—relief that Charles was safe and unharmed, but also a deep-seated worry about what would happen when he woke up. Would Charles remember the things he had said? Would he regret them? Or would he bury them, pretending nothing had happened, as he so often did?

Max didn’t know, and that uncertainty gnawed at him. He turned away from the bed, moving to the window instead. He pushed the curtains aside, letting more light into the room, and gazed out at the city beyond. The sun was still low in the sky, casting long shadows across the streets below. The world was waking up, but it felt distant, detached from the quiet bubble of the hotel room.

Max leaned against the window frame, his thoughts drifting. Last night had been a turning point, a moment of raw honesty that neither of them had been prepared for. Max had seen glimpses of the pain Charles carried with him, the insecurities he tried so hard to hide. But he had also seen the anger, the bitterness that had boiled over, directed at him in a way that left him reeling.

Max couldn’t deny that it had hurt, hearing Charles accuse him of things he hadn’t done, of intentions he didn’t have. But he also couldn’t ignore the fact that there was some truth buried in those accusations—truths that Charles had been too afraid to voice until the alcohol had stripped away his inhibitions. Max knew they needed to talk about it, to address the underlying issues that had led to last night’s outburst. But that conversation could wait. Right now, all that mattered was making sure Charles was okay.

Glanced around the room, his eyes landing on the remnants of the previous night’s chaos. The memory of it all was like a bitter taste in his mouth. Bottles had been knocked over, and the glass from one of them had shattered, scattering shards across the floor. The sight of the mess made his chest tighten—a physical reminder of the turmoil that had erupted between them. He wanted to clear it away, to erase the evidence of the pain and confusion that had hung in the air just hours before.

Max quietly stood and moved to the corner of the room where the glass lay. He didn’t want Charles to wake up and see the mess, to be reminded of the things he’d said in the heat of the moment. Max could see the guilt already etched on his face; he didn’t want to add to it. The least he could do was tidy up before breakfast arrived, before they had to face each other in the daylight and deal with whatever it was that had erupted between them.

He knelt down, carefully picking up the larger pieces first, his focus entirely on the task at hand. But as he reached for a particularly sharp shard, his hand slipped. Pain lanced through his palm as the glass sliced into his skin. Max hissed through his teeth, jerking his hand back and dropping the shard to the floor.

"Fuck!" Max hissed as the shard sliced into his palm. Blood welled up immediately, and he instinctively clenched his fist, trying to stem the flow.

The sound of Max's curse roused Charles from his slumber. He blinked awake, disoriented and groggy. His head was pounding, and for a moment, he couldn't remember where he was or how he'd gotten there. Then he heard Max's voice again, muttering under his breath, and everything came rushing back.

Despite the throbbing in his head, Charles scrambled out of bed. He saw Max kneeling on the floor, clutching his hand, and his heart leapt into his throat. In an instant, he was at Max's side, kneeling beside him.

"Max! What happened? Let me see," Charles insisted, struggling between the dizziness brought on by his hangover and the urgency in his voice.

Max tried to wave him off. "It's nothing, just a small cut. I was cleaning up and-"

But Charles was already reaching for Max's hand, gently prying his fingers open to assess the damage. The cut was deeper than Max had let on, blood still flowing freely from the wound.

"Oh God, Max," Charles breathed, his eyes wide with worry. He pressed his own hand against the cut, trying to apply pressure. "We need to stop the bleeding. We should go to the hospital."

Max shook his head. "It's not that bad, Charles. We don't need to go to the hospital. There's probably a first aid kit around here somewhere."

But Charles wasn't listening. He was already on his feet, pulling Max up with him. "Come on, let's at least clean it properly. To the bathroom."

Max allowed himself to be led to the bathroom, more to humor Charles than out of any real concern for his hand. Once there, Charles guided Max's hand under the cold running water of the sink.

"There should be a first aid kit under the sink," Charles said, and rummaged through the cabinet.

Charles's hands were shaking as he searched, his movements frantic. "We really should go to the hospital, Max. What if it needs stitches? What if it gets infected? Oh God, this is all my fault."

"It's not that serious, Charles.” Max said, trying to sound patient. "It's not the end of the world."

Charles didn't respond, his silence speaking volumes. He kept muttering about the hospital, his voice barely audible. Max sighed, deciding to take matters into his own hands.

Max could see Charles spiraling, his anxiety mounting with each passing second. "Charles," he said firmly, "look at me."

But Charles couldn't meet his eyes. He kept his gaze fixed on Max's hand, his own hands trembling as he finally found some bandages and antiseptic.

"Charles," Max repeated, more insistently this time. "Look at me."

Slowly, reluctantly, Charles raised his eyes to meet Max's. Max could see the guilt and shame swirling in those green depths, threatening to overwhelm him.

"It's okay," Max said softly. "It was an accident. These things happen. It's not your fault."

Charles shook his head vehemently. "But it is! If I hadn't gotten drunk last night, if I hadn't smashed a glass against the wall, you wouldn't have had to clean up after me. You wouldn't have cut yourself.”

Tears were welling up in Charles's eyes now, and Max's heart ached at the sight. He reached out with his uninjured hand, cupping Charles's cheek gently.

"Listen to me," Max said, his voice soft but firm. "Last night... it wasn't great. But I understand. You were hurting, you were frustrated. I know you didn't mean what you said."

Charles leaned into Max's touch, a tear escaping and rolling down his cheek. "But I still said it. I hurt you. And now you're physically hurt because of me too."

Max shook his head. "This," he said, gesturing to his injured hand, "is just a cut. It'll heal. And what you said last night... yeah, it hurt. But I know that wasn't really you talking. It was the alcohol and the frustration."

Charles sniffled, finally meeting Max's gaze properly. "How can you be so understanding? After everything I said... I don't deserve this."

Max shrugged, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Because I know you, Charles. I know your heart. And I know that the Charles I know would never intentionally hurt me like that. You deserve the world."

Charles was quiet for a moment, processing Max's words. Then, with trembling hands, he began to clean and bandage Max's cut. His touch was gentle, almost reverent, as if he was trying to make amends through this simple act of care.

"I'm so sorry, Max," Charles said softly as he worked. "For everything. For getting drunk, for lashing out at you, for... for being such a mess."

Max watched Charles work, touched by the care and attention he was showing. "You don't have to apologize, Charles. We all have our moments. God knows I've had my fair share of meltdowns."

Charles finished bandaging Max's hand and looked up at him, his eyes still shimmering with unshed tears. "But you're always so strong. You don't care what people think or say about you. You never let anything get to you like this."

Max couldn't help but chuckle at that. "Trust me, I'm not as strong as you think. I just... I've learned to hide it better, I guess. But that doesn't mean I don't feel it."

Charles nodded slowly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "I guess we're both pretty good at putting on a brave face, huh?"

"It comes with the job," Max agreed. "But maybe... maybe we don't always have to be so strong around each other."

Charles's lips quirked into a small smile. "Yeah, maybe not."

They stood there for a moment, the air between them charged with unspoken emotions. Then, without warning, Charles surged forward, wrapping his arms around Max in a tight hug.

Max was taken aback for a second before he returned the embrace, careful not to put pressure on his injured hand. He could feel Charles trembling against him, could hear the soft sniffles muffled against his shoulder.

"I'm sorry," Charles mumbled into Max's shirt. "I'm so, so sorry."

Max rubbed soothing circles on Charles's back. "I know. It's okay," he murmured. "We're okay."

They stayed like that for a long moment, finding comfort in each other's presence until they heard a knock on the door. When they finally pulled apart, Charles's eyes were red-rimmed but clearer, the storm of emotions having passed.

"How about we go have some breakfast?" Max suggested, gesturing towards the main room with his bandaged hand. "I ordered room service earlier. It's probably here by now."

Charles nodded, wiping at his eyes. "Yeah, that sounds good. I could use some coffee."

As they made their way back to the main room, Max couldn't help but feel a sense of relief. The air had been cleared between them; the tension dissipated. There was still a lot to process, a lot to talk about, but for now, this was enough.

They settled at the small table where the room service cart had been left. Max poured coffee for both of them while Charles distributed the food. For a while, they ate in comfortable silence, both lost in their own thoughts.

"Max?" Charles said eventually, breaking the quiet.

Max looked up from his plate. "Hm?"

Charles hesitated for a moment before continuing. "Thank you. For last night, for this morning... for everything, really. I don't know what I'd do without you."

Max felt a warmth bloom in his chest at Charles's words. "That's what friends are for, right? We look out for each other."

Charles nodded, a genuine smile spreading across his face. "Yeah, we do."

Charles hesitated. "Max... about last night. The things I said..."

Max held up a hand, stopping him. "Charles, we've been over this. It's okay. I know you didn't mean it."

"I know, but..." Charles took a deep breath. "I still want to explain. When I get like that... when everything feels like it's falling apart... I lash out. I say things I don't mean. And you're always there, always so strong and successful. Sometimes it feels like... like I'm always chasing you, always coming up short."

Max listened intently, his heart aching at the pain in Charles's voice. When Charles finished, Max reached across the table, taking Charles's hand in his own.

"Charles, listen to me," he said, his voice soft but firm. "You are not coming up short. You are one of the most talented drivers I've ever known. The fact that we push each other so hard, that we're always neck and neck... that's because we're both at the top of our game."

Charles looked down at their joined hands, then back up at Max. "But you always seem so... unaffected. Like nothing can touch you."

Max couldn't help but laugh at that. "Trust me, I'm affected. I just... I've learned to internalize it more. But every time you beat me, every time I see you on that top step of the podium... it drives me crazy. In a good way, mostly. It pushes me to be better."

A small smile tugged at Charles's lips. "Really?"

"Really," Max confirmed. "We make each other better, Charles. That's why we're such good friends, even though we're rivals. We understand each other in a way no one else can."

Charles nodded slowly, his smile growing. "I guess you're right. We do bring out the best in each other, don't we?"

"Exactly," Max said, his voice softening. He reached out and gently squeezed Charles's hand, his thumb brushing lightly over Charles's knuckles. Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to fall away. Max found himself lost in the depths of Charles's green eyes, noticing flecks of gold he'd never seen before. Charles's breath hitched slightly, his gaze flickering briefly to Max's lips before meeting his eyes again.

The air between them felt charged, filled with an unspoken tension that neither of them fully understood. Max leaned in slightly, his heart racing, and Charles unconsciously mirrored the movement. They were mere inches apart, the warmth of their breath mingling in the small space between them.

Suddenly, the shrill ring of a phone shattered the moment. They both jumped, startled by the intrusion. Max reluctantly let go of Charles's hand, clearing his throat as he reached for his phone on the nightstand.

"Uhm, that´s Christian. I should... I should get that," Max mumbled, his cheeks flushed. Not waiting to hear what Charles has to say, he gets up and walks to the other side of the room.

Charles nodded, looking equally flustered. "Yeah, of course," he replied, running a hand through his hair as he tried to compose himself.

As Max answered the phone, Charles couldn't help but wonder about what had just transpired between them, and what it might mean for their friendship moving forward.

***

Max fumbled with the phone, still feeling a bit dazed from the moment he'd just shared with Charles. "Hello?" he answered, trying to sound composed.

"Max, where are you?" Christian's voice came through, sounding concerned and slightly impatient. "The jet is leaving soon, and you're not at the airport."

"Airport?" Max repeated, confusion evident in his voice. He glanced at Charles, who was watching him with a mix of curiosity and concern.

"Yes, the airport," Christian replied, his tone growing more worried. "Are you alright, Max? You snuck out of yesterday's party early too. What's going on?"

Max hesitated, his eyes meeting Charles's again. He debated whether to tell Christian about the events of the previous night and this morning. "I... uh... I'm fine, Christian. Just lost track of time," he finally said, deciding to keep the details to himself for now.

Max hesitated, not ready to divulge what had happened with Charles. "I, uh... I'm going to have to take a later flight, Christian. I won't make this one."

"Max, is everything alright?" Christian pressed.

Taking a deep breath, Max made a decision. "Actually, Christian, I was wondering if you could fly to Monaco to see me this week. I need to talk to you about something... in person."

There was a pause on the other end of the line. "Monaco? I am scheduled to go there, but Max, what's this about?"

"It's important," Max insisted. "I really need to speak with you face-to-face."

Christian chuckled, his tone lightening. "Well, we could always talk at the airport before I leave for England. How about that?" he teased.

Max couldn't help but smile at Christian's attempt to lighten the mood. "I appreciate that, Christian, but I think this conversation needs more time and... privacy."

"Alright, Max," Christian conceded, his voice becoming serious again. "I'll make time to see you in Monaco. But I expect a full explanation when we meet."

"Thank you, Christian," Max said, relief evident in his voice. "I promise I'll explain everything."

Max hung up the phone and took a deep breath, turning back to Charles who was watching him with curiosity.

Charles raised an eyebrow. "Was it something important?"

Max's face was serious as he replied, "No, just missed my flight."

A moment of silence passed before they both broke into grins, the tension dissolving as they fell into their usual pattern of teasing each other.

"Well, well," Charles said, a mischievous glint in his eye. "The great Max Verstappen, always so punctual, missing a flight? I never thought I'd see the day."

Max rolled his eyes but couldn't suppress a smile. "Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. I guess I got a bit... distracted this morning."

Charles's grin widened. "Oh? I wonder what could have possibly distracted you."

Max playfully shoved Charles's shoulder. "As if you don't know."

Charles's expression softened. "Listen, why don't you come with me on the jet? It'll just be Joris and Andrea with us."

Max hesitated. "I don't want to interrupt. I can just buy a ticket-"

"Don't be ridiculous," Charles interrupted. "We're both going to Monaco anyway. It makes sense to travel together."

Max considered for a moment, looking into Charles's earnest eyes. Finally, he nodded. "Alright, if you're sure it's not a problem."

Charles beamed. "Of course it's not. Come on, let's get ready. We've got a flight to catch... together."

Chapter Text

As Max left Charles's hotel room to pack his things, a mix of emotions swirled within him. The events of the past night had been unexpected, to say the least, and he was still trying to process everything. He quickly gathered his belongings, his mind racing with thoughts of what this new development might mean for his relationship with Charles, both on and off the track.

Meanwhile, Charles busied himself with his own packing, occasionally glancing at his phone to check the time. He felt a strange combination of nervousness and excitement at the prospect of traveling back to Monaco with Max. It was a new dynamic, one that he was eager to explore further.

Half an hour later, as agreed, Charles and Max met in the hotel lobby. They exchanged a slightly awkward smile, both acutely aware of the shift in their relationship but unsure how to navigate it in public.

"Ready to go?" Charles asked, breaking the silence.

Max hefting his bag onto his shoulder. "Yeah, let's head out."

With a nod, they headed toward the waiting taxi that would take them to the airport. The rhythmic hum of the taxi's engine was almost soothing as it glided through the streets of the city. Max stole side glances at Charles, who looked out the window, lost in thought, the contours of his jaw defined in the dim light.

As they made their way to the airport, they chatted casually about the race weekend, carefully avoiding any mention of the previous night. The conversation felt slightly forced at times, but there was an underlying current of comfort that hadn't been there before.

Upon arriving at the airport, they spotted Joris and Andrea waiting near the private terminal. The two men looked up as Charles and Max approached, their expressions a mixture of surprise and confusion at seeing the Dutch driver.

As they approached, Max caught sight of the skeptical expression on Andrea's face. He turned slightly towards Joris, raising an eyebrow in question. “What’s he doing here?” he mouthed, his eyes narrowing in disbelief directed right at Max. He could almost feel the scrutiny washing over him—a palpable wave of judgment mixed with curiosity. Joris just shrugged his shoulders.

"Charles," Andrea greeted, his eyes darting between the two racers. "And... Max Verstappen? What's going on?"

Charles stepped forward, offering a casual smile. "Hey guys. I ran into Max earlier, and it turns out he missed his flight. I offered him a ride back to Monaco since we're heading that way anyway."

Joris raised an eyebrow, looking at Max skeptically. "You missed your flight? That doesn't sound like you."

Max shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant. "It happens. I got caught up in some post-race stuff and lost track of time."

Andrea and Joris exchanged a look of disbelief. Andrea, in particular, seemed wary. He knew that Max had helped Charles once before, but the rivalry between the two drivers was well-known, and he couldn't help but feel protective of his charge.

"Charles," Andrea said quietly, pulling him aside. "Are you sure about this? It's... unusual."

Charles nodded; his expression sincere. "It's fine, Andrea. Max and I... we've been talking more lately. It's not a big deal."

Andrea studied Charles's face for a moment before sighing. "If you're sure. But if anything feels off..."

"I know, I know," Charles said with a small laugh. "I'll let you know. But really, it's okay."

Seeing that Charles seemed comfortable with the situation, Andrea and Joris decided to go along with it, though they remained vigilant as the group boarded the plane.

Joris whispered to Andrea, "What do you make of this?"

Andrea shrugged, his eyes following Max and Charles as they settled into their seats. "I'm not sure. It's... unexpected."

"You can say that again," Joris replied. "Do you think something's going on between them?"

Andrea considered this for a moment. "It's hard to say. Charles has always been private about his personal life. But there's definitely a different energy between them today."

Andrea and Joris exchanged skeptical glances. Andrea, in particular, seemed wary. He had witnessed Max's kindness towards Charles in the past, but old rivalries die hard in the world of Formula 1. However, seeing Charles at ease with Max, they decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.

As they settled into their seats for the two-hour flight to Monaco, Charles and Max found themselves sitting across from each other, while Andrea and Joris took seats further back in the cabin.

As the plane took off, Max and Charles fell into easy conversation, their voices low and intimate. They discussed their plans for the upcoming week, carefully avoiding any mention of their newfound closeness in front of Andrea and Joris.

Meanwhile, Andrea and Joris continued their hushed discussion.

"You know," Joris said, "I never thought I'd see the day when Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc would be friendly, let alone traveling together."

Andrea nodded. "It's certainly a surprise. But maybe it's a good thing. Charles could use more allies in the paddock."

"True," Joris agreed. "And Max has shown he can be supportive when it counts. Remember how he defended Charles after that incident in Brazil last year?"

Andrea's expression softened slightly. "You're right. Maybe we shouldn't be so quick to judge. If Charles trusts him, perhaps we should give Max a chance."

As the two-hour flight progressed, the atmosphere on the plane gradually relaxed. By the time they touched down in Monaco, even Andrea seemed less tense about Max's presence.

As they landed in Monaco, the group made their way through the private terminal. Max turned to Charles, a hint of awkwardness in his posture.

"So, uh, thanks for the ride," Max said. "I appreciate it."

Charles smiled. "No problem. I'll... I'll text you later?"

Max nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Yeah, sounds good. See you around, Charles."

With a final nod to Andrea and Joris, Max headed off, leaving the others to make their way to Charles's house.

"Alright," Charles said, turning to his companions. "We need to make a quick stop before heading home. I need to pick up Leo.”

Andrea and Joris accompanied Charles as they made their way to his mother's house to pick up Leo, Charles's beloved puppy. As they pulled up to the house, Charles's excitement was palpable. He practically bounded out of the car and up to the front door, knocking eagerly.

The door opened to reveal Charles's mother, Pascal, holding a squirming bundle of fur. "Charles! Welcome home, darling."

"Maman!" Charles exclaimed, embracing his mother before turning his attention to the excited puppy in her arms. "And there's my little champion!"

Leo wriggled out of Pascal's arms and into Charles's, yipping happily and covering his face with enthusiastic licks. Charles laughed, cradling the puppy close and scratching behind his ears.

"Oh, I missed you too, buddy," Charles cooed, his face split in a wide grin. "Have you been a good boy for Maman?"

Pascal chuckled, watching the reunion with fond amusement. "He's been an absolute angel. Though I think he missed his papa. He's been waiting for you all day."

Charles looked up at his mother, still beaming. "Thanks for watching him, Maman. I really appreciate it."

Pascale stroked Leo's head affectionately. "Of course, darling. It's always a pleasure. This little one is such a joy to have around." Pascal said, reaching out to ruffle Charles's hair affectionately.

Charles set Leo down, and the puppy immediately began exploring, sniffing at Andrea and Joris's feet and wagging his tail in greeting.

"Would you all like to stay for dinner?" Pascale asked, looking at Andrea and Joris.

The two men exchanged glances before Joris spoke up. "Thank you for the offer, but we should be getting home. It's been a long day."

Andrea nodded in agreement. "Yes, but thank you.”

Charles turned to his mother. "I'll stay for a bit if that's okay?"

Pascale's face lit up. "Of course, darling. Your brothers are out, so it'll just be us and Leo."

After bidding farewell to Andrea and Joris, Charles settled in the kitchen with his mother as she prepared dinner. Leo curled up at Charles's feet, content to be close to his human once again.

As they sat down to eat, Pascale's expression grew serious. "Charles, how are you really doing after what happened in Monza? That must have been heartbreaking."

Charles sighed, absently pushing his food around his plate. "It was tough, Maman. To have the car fail before the race even started... it's frustrating. But," he added, his tone brightening slightly, "the car is great overall. The new upgrades are working well. It was just bad luck this time."

Pascale reached across the table to squeeze her son's hand. "I'm proud of you, Charles. You always manage to find the positive, even in difficult situations."

Charles smiled, grateful for his mother's unwavering support. They continued their meal, chatting about family matters and upcoming events. As the evening wore on, Leo curled up in Charles's lap, occasionally letting out contented little snores.

As Charles prepared to leave, Pascale looked at him with concern. "It's getting late, darling. Are you sure you don't want to stay the night?"

Charles hugged his mother tightly. "Thanks, Maman, but I think I'll head home. I've got some things to sort out before the next race."

"Leo!" he called to the puppy, "come here!"

Leo had joined them with his ever-hungry expression, Charles’s mother hugged him tightly again. “You visit when you can, son. I want to know how you’re truly doing.”

“I will, Mom.”

With that, Charles knew that it was time to head back. As he moved to the door, Leo yipped happily, pulling on Charles's pant leg. “Yes, yes, I know you want to go too,” Charles laughed, managing to sweep Leo into his arms as they both headed out into the cool evening air.

Leo’s little tail wagged as the puppy nestled in Charles’s lap during the ride home.

When they arrived at the front of the house, Charles carefully took Leo in his arms because he had fallen asleep. It's been a long day for him. He smiled at the furball in his arms. Once inside, he laid Leo on the bed. Leo stirred in his sleep and put his snout between his paws.

Charles got ready for bed, Leo curling up at his feet.

***

The first light of dawn crept through the curtains, casting a soft glow across the room. Charles lay sprawled across his bed, the weight of sleep heavy on him. His dreams had been restless, filled with fragmented memories and fleeting shadows of faces he barely recognized. Just as he began to drift back into a deeper sleep, a sudden burst of excitement jolted him awake.

"Leo! Not again!" Charles groaned as he felt his dog's warm tongue slather across his cheek in a playful assault. He pushed the enthusiastic golden ball away, rolling over in hopes of reclaiming a few more precious minutes of sleep. But Leo had other ideas. The dog bouncily circled the bed, his tail wagging enough to send loose items on the nightstand toppling over. Someone knocked on the door.

“Alright, alright!” Charles finally relented; his voice gravelly from sleep. "I'm coming." He tossed the covers off and swung his legs over the side of the bed. Leo yipped, practically vibrating with excitement as he positioned himself by the door, his golden coat as radiant as the morning sun breaking through the window.

Charles took a moment to collect himself, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His room was still dim, the dawn light threading through the fabric of the curtains, bathing everything in a pinkish hue. Reluctantly, Charles dragged himself out of bed, running a hand through his tousled hair as he shuffled towards the door. He hadn't bothered to put on a shirt, clad only in a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants that rode low on his hips. As he reached for the doorknob, he stifled a yawn, still not fully awake. Leo danced around his feet, impatiently wagging his tail. The door swung open to reveal Max, standing there in his running gear, looking far more alert and put-together than Charles felt.

For a moment, Max simply stared at Charles, his eyes inadvertently drawn to the exposed planes of his friend's chest and abdomen. The low-slung sweatpants left little to the imagination, and Max found himself momentarily speechless. The awkward silence was broken by Leo, who, unable to contain his excitement any longer, darted forward to greet Max enthusiastically. The dog's tail wagged so hard his entire body seemed to vibrate, and he showered Max with affectionate licks and nudges.

Chuckling, Max knelt down to give Leo a proper scratch behind the ears, using the distraction to compose himself. He scooped Leo into his arms. “Well, look who’s excited to see me!” he exclaimed, showering Leo with affection. Looking up at Charles with a mischievous glint in his eye, he teased, "Don't tell me you forgot about our morning run? Or did you plan on going like that?" He gestured to Charles' state of undress with a grin.

“I was just waiting for you to arrive, was I not?” Charles playfully shot back.

“Right, sure you were!” Max rolled his eyes with a laugh, and Leo, sensing the excitement in the air, squirmed happily in Max's embrace.

"And Leo thinks you forgot too," Max said, chuckling as he ruffled Leo's ears.

“Emergencies happen,” Charles half-heartedly defended, still feeling the remnants of sleep clinging to him. He stretched, feeling every bone and muscle groan in protest. “You know, some of us can’t be up with the birds.”

“Is that what you call it? Emergencies? I thought maybe you were just hibernating through your alarm.” Max stood up straight, arms crossed, and raised an eyebrow at Charles, testing the resolve of his morning companion.

“Very funny,” Charles rolled his eyes good-naturedly, fighting back a smile. "Give me five minutes," he said, disappearing back into the apartment to change. True to his word, he emerged shortly after, properly attired for their run. The crisp morning air helped to chase away the last vestiges of sleep as they set off, Leo trotting happily alongside them. They ran side by side, the rhythm of their footfalls contrasting against the soft sound of waves crashing nearby. Max pushed ahead occasionally, a playful competitor, while Charles settled into his pace, enjoying the slight burn in his legs.

"How was your night?" Max asked between breaths, always the one to strike up a conversation during exertion.

“Pretty quiet. I had a dinner with my mum.” Charles replied, trying to mask the slight embarrassment of admitting his couch-potato tendencies.

“Nice. I went out for a while with some friends. You should join us next time,” Max suggested, glancing sideways to gauge Charles’s reaction.

“I’ll think about it,” Charles replied noncommittally, refusing to fully engage. Socializing felt like an uphill battle in this post-sleep daze, and he wasn’t quite ready for the vulnerability of that setting.

They rounded a corner, and the smell of fresh coffee wafted temptingly through the air. Max was the first to catch the scent and pointed toward a quaint coffee shop on the corner of the street. “Let’s stop here. I could do with a caffeine boost, and maybe a croissant or two.”

Charles nodded, mentally abandoning resistance to the enticing smells as they headed inside, Leo sitting patiently by the door, his energy momentarily subdued.

After placing their orders — a large black coffee for Max and an espresso for Charles, along with croissants that flaked under the gentle pressure of their hands — they found a small bench overlooking the sea. The waves lapped gently against the shore, and a pleasant chill lingered in the air, the ocean breeze brushing against their skin.

They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, Charles taking in the view while Max gave Leo a scratch behind the ears. It was moments like this that brought a strange quietness to the usually chaotic world in Charles's head.

“You should really take Leo with you on your longer runs,” Max suggested, pulling a piece of croissant off and feeding it to the eager dog still perched on his lap. “He could use the extra exercise to burn off some of that energy.”

“Assuming he doesn’t drag me around like a rag doll,” Charles retorted, a small grin finally breaking through despite his earlier grumpiness. “He thinks I’m here for his personal entertainment.”

Max laughed, and for a moment, the sound felt like a soft escape. Leo laid his head against Max’s thigh, clearly satisfied to be in the company of both his favorite humans.

The waves sparkled under the sunlight, tossing foam gently onto the sand. Charles couldn't deny the beauty of the moment — the cool air, the warmth of camaraderie, and the endless horizon that awaited.

“Alright, I’m convinced,” Max said as he finished the last bite of his croissant, licking his fingers clean. “Next time, we can double the distance and bring Leo. He’ll thank us for it.”

Charles chuckled. “Let’s hope he doesn’t thank us too enthusiastically, or I might end up in the ocean."

Max rolled his eyes playfully. “If you can survive Leo dragging you to the coffee shop, you can survive anything.”

As they finished their coffee, the sun began to rise higher. Charles could feel the warmth creeping back into his own spirit, and maybe — just maybe — this morning routine was becoming something worth waking up for.

Chapter Text

The cool sea breeze tousled their hair as they exchanged a brief hug, the camaraderie between them growing stronger with each passing day. Max couldn't help but feel a twinge of regret as he watched Charles jog away, his lean figure disappearing around a corner. With a deep sigh, he turned and made his way back to his apartment, his mind already shifting gears to the day ahead.

The moment Max stepped through his front door, the weight of his responsibilities settled heavily on his shoulders. He glanced at his watch, realizing he had just enough time to shower and grab a quick bite before his first online meeting with the PR department. As much as he despised these meetings, he understood their necessity in the high-stakes world of Formula 1.

Freshly showered and dressed in a crisp Red Bull team shirt, Max settled into his home office chair, his laptop humming to life before him. The familiar faces of the PR team popped up on his screen, their voices a cacophony of greetings and pleasantries. Max plastered on his media-ready smile, pushing thoughts of his morning run with Charles to the back of his mind.

The meeting dragged on, covering everything from upcoming sponsor events to social media strategies. Max found his attention wandering, his mind drifting to the post-race debrief scheduled for later that day. He silently hoped it would be a short affair; after all, he hadn't crashed into anything, and the car had remained intact throughout the race. Still, in the world of F1, even the smallest details could make a significant difference.

As the PR team droned on about hashtag campaigns and fan engagement initiatives, Max's phone buzzed with an incoming text. Glancing down, he saw Christian Horner's name flash across the screen. The message was brief but significant.

 Christian: Flying to Monaco tomorrow. We'll talk then.

Max's heart rate quickened. He had asked Christian to come, knowing he needed to have a serious conversation with his team principal. The weight of what he was about to share had been pressing on him all day, growing heavier with each passing hour. He quickly typed out a reply, asking Christian to let him know when he landed so Max could pick him up.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of meetings and debriefs. As predicted, the post-race discussion was mercifully short, focusing mainly on minor adjustments and strategy for the upcoming race. Throughout it all, Max's mind kept circling back to the impending conversation with Christian. What exactly would he say? How much should he reveal? The promise he had made to Charles – to keep the events of that night after the Monza race a secret – weighed heavily on his conscience.

As night fell over Monaco, Max found himself pacing his apartment, rehearsing various ways to broach the subject with Christian. He knew he was treading a fine line between loyalty to a fellow driver and concern for Charles' well-being. Sleep eluded him that night, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting emotions and half-formed explanations.

***

The next morning dawned bright and clear, but Max's mood was far from sunny. He sent a quick text to Charles, explaining that he couldn't make their usual morning run. Charles' reply came swiftly, a playful jab at Max's apparent laziness, mirroring Max's own teasing when Charles had overslept yesterdy. Despite the gravity of the situation, Max couldn't help but smile at the easy banter between them.

As the morning wore on, Max's anxiety grew. He attempted to eat breakfast, but his stomach churned rebelliously at the mere thought of food. In the end, he settled for a strong cup of coffee, the bitter liquid doing little to settle his nerves. When Christian's text came through, announcing their imminent landing, Max felt a mixture of relief and dread wash over him.

The drive to Nice airport was a blur, the familiar coastal road passing by in a haze of anticipation. As Max pulled into the private aviation area, he spotted Christian's imposing figure waiting near the terminal. The Red Bull team principal looked as composed as ever in his crisp shirt and team jacket, a stark contrast to Max's own jittery state.

"Max," Christian greeted him with a firm handshake and a questioning look. "Good to see you. Shall we?"

The drive back to Monaco was filled with a suffocating silence. Max could feel Christian's eyes on him occasionally, no doubt wondering about the urgency of this impromptu meeting. For his part, Max kept his eyes firmly on the road, his knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel.

As they entered Max's apartment, the tension between them was palpable. Christian settled onto the couch, his posture relaxed but his eyes sharp and attentive. Max, in contrast, was a bundle of nervous energy, pacing the room before finally perching on the edge of an armchair.

"Can I get you something to drink?" Max offered, grasping at any excuse to delay the inevitable conversation.

Christian shook his head, his gaze never leaving Max's face. "I think it's best if we get straight to the point, Max. What's on your mind? What was so urgent that you needed me to fly out here?"

Max took a deep breath, feeling the weight of his promise to Charles pressing down on him. But as he looked at Christian, he knew he had to speak up. This was about more than just keeping a secret; it was about potentially saving a fellow driver from a dangerous spiral.

"It's about Charles," Max began, his voice barely above a whisper.

Christian's eyebrows rose slightly, but he remained silent, allowing Max to continue at his own pace.

"I... I've noticed some things lately. Things that worry me," Max continued, his words coming slowly at first, but gaining momentum as he spoke. "Charles, he... he's not in a good place, Christian. He's hiding a lot of pain, and I'm afraid it's starting to affect him both on and off the track."

Max paused, gathering his thoughts before plunging ahead. "He thinks he's letting everyone down. Ferrari, his family...”

The words poured out slowly at first, as if each one was an ember ignited from the smoldering coals of his turmoil. “He hides his pain, you know? Like a mask that he wears… One moment, he’s charming and full of life, smiling and the next, he’s just… lost.”

As he spoke, the floodgates opened wider, revealing the turbulent emotions that had been battling within him. He recounted the aftermath of that fateful race in Monza, the chaos, the primal need for release that led Charles into a drunken spiral. “He lost it after the race. He blamed himself for everything—every decision, every twist of fate. He’s hurting, Christian, more than anyone realizes. I’ve seen it in his eyes.”

Christian remained silent, his expression contemplative as Max’s words began to fill the space between them. Each revelation unfolded with increasing clarity as if Max were peeling back layers of grief that had taken root in Charles's heart. “It’s like he’s carrying this heavy burden all on his own, thinking he can’t show us his weakness. And it’s killing him. It’s like our sport is what defines him, but what if it’s too much?”

Max’s voice cracked ever so slightly, a tremor of vulnerability rippling through his composure. “I’m just so concerned about the Ferrari, about how it’s affecting him. I can’t understand why he won’t let anyone in. I want to help but… it feels insurmountable.”

Christian’s eyes softened with understanding, weaving together the threads of Max’s concerns with his own. “You’re not alone in your worry, Max. I care about Charles too. How do you know all this?"

Max swallowed hard, knowing he was about to break his promise to Charles. But he couldn't stop now. "After the last race, I found him. He was... he was drunk, more drunk than I've ever seen him. He had this outburst, saying all these things about himself. It was like all the pressure, all the expectations, just came pouring out of him. He finally fell asleep in my arms from exhaustion. He cried so much, Christian. "

As Max spoke, the memories of that night came flooding back. Charles' tear-stained face, the despair in his voice, the way he had clung to Max as if he was drowning. "He blames himself for everything, Christian. Every mistake, every bad result. It's eating him up inside."

Christian listened intently, his face a mask of concern. "And the Ferrari team? Have they noticed anything?"

Max shook his head. "I don't think so. Charles is good at hiding it. But I'm worried about what it's doing to him, mentally and physically. And... I'm concerned about the car too. If Charles is pushing himself this hard, taking unnecessary risks..."

He trailed off, leaving the implication hanging in the air. In Formula 1, a driver's mental state could have dire consequences on the track.

Christian was quiet for a long moment, processing everything Max had told him. Finally, he spoke, his voice gentle but firm. "Max, I appreciate you telling me this. It can't have been easy, especially given your rivalry with Charles on the track. But I have to ask – what do you want me to do with this information?"

Max ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in his voice. "I don't know, Christian. I just... I couldn't keep it to myself anymore. I'm worried about him, genuinely worried. But I also know I can't force him to get help if he doesn't want it."

Christian nodded, understanding in his eyes. "You're right. We can't do anything until Charles himself is ready to acknowledge the problem and seek help. I want to help him, Max. I offered him a spot on the team. Several times over the years. He's an incredible driver, just like you. And I want both of you on the team. I think it would be good for you, too. But he doesn´t want to. He wants to stay with Ferrari. What we can do, however, is keep an eye on the situation. Make things a little easier for him where we can, without drawing attention to it."

Christian's words hung in the air, a mix of understanding and helplessness that Max felt all too keenly. The Red Bull team principal leaned back, his eyes distant as he processed the weight of what he'd just heard.

"You know," Christian began, his voice low and thoughtful, "in all my years in this sport, I've seen drivers push themselves to the limit. It's part of what makes them great. But there's a fine line between dedication and self-destruction."

Max nodded, feeling a lump form in his throat. "That's what scares me, Christian. Charles is teetering on that line, and I'm afraid he's going to fall."

Christian's gaze sharpened, focusing intently on Max. "You care about him, don't you? More than just as a friend."

Max felt heat rise to his cheeks, but he didn't look away. "I do. He's... he's become important to me. More than I ever expected."

A small smile tugged at the corner of Christian's mouth. "I can see that. It takes a lot to make you this worried, Max. You've always been focused, driven. But this... this is different."

Max ran a hand through his hair, frustration evident in every line of his body. "I just wish I could do more. I feel like I'm watching him drown, and all I can do is throw him a life preserver and hope he grabs it."

Christian leaned forward, placing a reassuring hand on Max's knee. "Sometimes, Max, that's all we can do. But don't underestimate the power of just being there. You've already done more than most would by recognizing the problem and seeking help."

Max felt a surge of gratitude towards his team principal. Christian had always been more than just a boss; he was a mentor, a friend. Father. And now, he was an ally in this silent battle to help Charles.

"What do we do now?" Max asked, his voice small but determined.

Christian stood, pacing the room as he often did when deep in thought. "We keep an eye on him, discreetly. We can't intervene directly, but we can create opportunities for Charles to seek help if he wants it. I have some contacts in sports psychology; I can make sure they're available if needed."

Max nodded, feeling a glimmer of hope. "And on track?"

Christian's expression turned grave. "That's trickier. We can't be seen to be giving preferential treatment to a rival driver. But we can ensure our team behaves with the utmost professionalism. No unnecessary aggression, no mind games. We race hard, but fair."

Max felt a weight lift from his shoulders. It wasn't a solution, not by a long shot, but it was a start. "Thank you, Christian. For listening, for understanding. I know this isn't exactly within your job description, but…"

Christian held up a hand, stopping Max mid-sentence. "Max, in this sport, we're all responsible for each other's safety. Rival teams or not, we're all part of the same community. You did the right thing by speaking up. My job is to look after my drivers. And right now, you need support just as much as Charles does. Don't forget to take care of yourself in all this."

"One more thing, Max. Be careful. Your heart is in the right place, but this is a delicate situation.

As the conversation wound down, Max felt a mix of relief and lingering concern. He had broken his promise to Charles, but he hoped that in doing so, he had taken the first step towards getting his friend the help he needed.

Christian placing a reassuring hand on Max's shoulder. "I'll keep this information confidential, Max. But I want you to keep me updated if you notice anything else. And if you ever feel overwhelmed or need to talk, my door is always open."

Christian stood, preparing to leave. Max quickly interjected, "Wait, Christian. I thought... well, I got your room ready. I was hoping we could have lunch together."

Christian's expression softened. "I appreciate that, Max, but I've got some more errands to run. I'll sleep at the hotel tonight and head home to my family early tomorrow morning."

"Oh," Max replied, his disappointment evident. "I'm sorry for dragging you away from your family like this. I didn't mean to—"

"Don't worry about it," Christian reassured him. "This was important."

Max nodded, reluctantly accepting the situation. "Alright, I understand. Have a good night at the hotel then."

"Thanks, Max. And remember what we talked about. Take care of yourself too, okay?"

"I will," Max promised.

They exchanged a brief hug before Christian headed for the door. "Goodbye, Max. I'll see you soon."

"Goodbye, Christian," Max replied, watching as his team principal left, the weight of their conversation still hanging in the air.

As the door closed behind Christian, Max sank back onto the couch, feeling drained but oddly lighter. He pulled out his phone, staring at Charles' name in his contacts. After a moment's hesitation, he typed out a message:

To Charles:

"Hey, missed you this morning. Dinner tonight? My treat. No talk of racing, just good food and better company."

Chapter Text

The morning sun crept through the curtains of Charle's Monaco apartment, casting a warm glow across the polished wooden floors.

Charles woke up early, stretching as he reached for his phone. There was a text from Max.

Max: "Sorry, can't make the run this morning. Something came up.”

Charles sighed, a mix of disappointment and understanding washing over him. He looked over at Leo, who was already awake and wagging his tail expectantly.

"So Leo, it looks like we're going alone today," Charles said, scratching behind the dog's ears. Leo tilted his head, as if understanding the change of plans.

The dog's excitement was palpable as Charles changed into a simple t-shirt and sweatpants. He clipped on Leo's leash, and together they made their way out of the apartment and into the crisp morning air of Monaco. The streets were relatively quiet at this hour, with only a few early risers and dedicated joggers out and about.

He focusing on the gentle tug of Leo's leash and the rhythmic click of the dog's nails on the pavement.

As they walked, Charles allowed his mind to wander. The cool breeze off the Mediterranean Sea tousled his hair, carrying with it the faint scent of salt and distant shores. He found himself reflecting on the race weekend, the blur of events that had led to this moment of quiet solitude.

It wasn't until they reached the small park near his apartment that Charles realized he'd missed the post-race meeting. A wave of anxiety washed over him as he considered the implications. He'd never missed a meeting before, always priding himself on his professionalism and dedication to the team.

Settling onto a bench, Charles pulled out his phone while Leo sniffed around the nearby bushes. His fingers hovered over the screen for a moment before he opened his messaging app and composed a text to Carlos.

"Hey, Carlos. I just realized I missed the after-race meeting. Could you fill me in on what I missed?"

He hit send and waited, absently scratching behind Leo's ears as the dog returned to sit by his feet. The response came quicker than he expected.

"No worries, cabron. You didn't miss much, to be honest. Just the usual debrief and some talk about the next race. Nothing major. Everything okay with you?"

Charles stared at the message, a mix of relief and unease settling in his stomach. He was grateful for Carlos's casual response, but the concern in his teammate's question was evident. His thumbs moved across the screen, crafting a reply that he hoped would put Carlos at ease without revealing too much.

"Yeah, I'm fine. Just lost track of time. Thanks for letting me know. See you."

He hit send and pocketed his phone, not waiting for a response. The lie tasted bitter on his tongue, but he couldn't bring himself to burden Carlos with the truth. Not when he could barely face it himself.

As they made their way back to the apartment, Charles found himself lost in thought once again. The streets were beginning to come alive with the bustle of the day, but he felt oddly detached from it all, as if observing the world through a veil.

Back in the comfort of his home, Charles went through the motions of his morning routine. He fed Leo, made himself a cup of coffee, and stood by the large windows overlooking the city, sipping the hot liquid slowly. The familiar aroma usually brought him comfort, but today it did little to ease the restlessness that had taken root in his chest.

His eyes fell on the grand piano in the corner of the living room. It had been a while since he'd played, the demands of his racing career often leaving little time for other pursuits. But today, with no pressing engagements and a desperate need for distraction, Charles found himself drawn to the instrument.

He settled onto the bench, his fingers hovering over the keys. For a moment, he hesitated, unsure of what to play. Then, almost of their own accord, his hands began to move. The melancholic melody filled the room, each note resonating with the tumult of emotions he'd been trying to suppress. As he played, Charles lost himself in the music. His fingers danced across the keys, pouring out his frustrations, his fears, and his longing for peace into the haunting melody. Time seemed to stand still, the world outside fading away until there was nothing but the music and the catharsis it brought.

It wasn't until the final notes faded away that Charles realized how much time had passed. The sun was high in the sky now, casting long shadows across the room. He flexed his fingers, feeling the familiar ache that came from playing for extended periods. Despite the physical discomfort, he felt lighter somehow, as if some of the weight he'd been carrying had been lifted, even if only temporarily.

Glancing at the clock, Charles realized it was nearly lunchtime. He stood from the piano bench, stretching out the kinks in his back and shoulders. Just as he was about to head to the kitchen to prepare something to eat, his phone buzzed with an incoming message.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw Max's name on the screen. With slightly trembling fingers, he opened the message.

Max: "Hey, missed you this morning. Dinner tonight? My treat. No talk of racing, just good food and better company."

Charles stared at the words, a whirlwind of emotions coursing through him. Part of him wanted nothing more than to see Max, to bask in the comfort of his friend's presence. But another part, the part that had grown used to hiding his pain, just wanted to stay home, alone, away from everyone.

He typed out several responses, deleting each one before he could send it. "I'm not feeling well," he wrote, then erased it. "Sorry, I have plans," he tried next, but that too felt wrong. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, he settled on a simple reply.

Charles: "Sure, what time?"

The response came almost immediately.

Max: "How about 7? I'll pick you up."

Charles took a deep breath, trying to calm the sudden rush of nerves.

Charles: "Okay, see you then"

Replied and then set his phone down on the coffee table.

As the hour drew near, Charles found himself standing in front of his closet, agonizing over what to wear. He settled on a simple but elegant outfit: dark jeans and a crisp white shirt. As he dressed, he caught sight of himself in the mirror. The man staring back at him looked composed on the surface, but Charles could see the uncertainty lurking in his own eyes.

At precisely 7 PM, there was a knock at the door. Charles took a deep breath, straightened his blazer, and went to answer it. As he opened the door, he found Max standing there, looking casual yet handsome in a black shirt and jeans.

"Hey," Max greeted him with a warm smile. "Ready to go?"

Charles nodded, managing a small smile of his own. "Yeah, let's go."

The restaurant Max had chosen was a small, intimate place tucked away in one of Monaco's quieter neighborhoods. As they settled into their seats, Charles felt some of his nervousness begin to ebb away, replaced by a sense of comfort in Max's familiar presence.

Their conversation flowed easily, touching on various topics but carefully skirting around anything related to racing. It was a welcome respite for Charles, who had been consumed by thoughts of the sport and his struggles within it for what felt like an eternity.

As their main courses arrived, Max's face lit up with a broad smile. "Oh, I forgot to tell you," he said, his eyes twinkling with excitement. "My sister's boys are coming to visit next week."

Charles leaned in, intrigued by the sudden change in Max's demeanor. "Your nephews? That's great. How old are they now?"

"Four and six," Max replied, his voice filled with pride. "They're growing up so fast. The little one, Liam, he's starting to show an interest in karting. Can you believe it?"

As Max continued to talk about his nephews, Charles found himself captivated. It wasn't just the words, but the way Max's entire being seemed to light up when he spoke about family. His eyes sparkled, his gestures became more animated, and his smile grew impossibly wider.

Charles watched, fascinated by this side of Max he rarely got to see. In that moment, illuminated by the soft glow of the restaurant's lighting and the warmth of his own joy, Max looked... beautiful. The thought caught Charles off guard, but he couldn't deny the flutter in his chest as he gazed at his friend.

Their moment was interrupted by the waiter arriving to clear their plates, jolting Charles back to reality. He blinked, realizing he had been staring, and quickly averted his gaze, hoping Max hadn't noticed.

As they finished their meal and paid the bill, Charles found himself reluctant for the evening to end. On an impulse, he turned to Max as they stepped out into the cool night air.

"Hey, do you want to come back to my place for a bit? Leo missed you this morning, and I'm sure he'd love to see you."

Max's face broke into a grin. "Sure, why not? I could use some Leo cuddles."

The moment they stepped into Charles's apartment, Leo bounded towards them, his tail wagging furiously. He made a beeline for Max, who laughed and scooped the excited dog into his arms.

"Hey there, buddy," Max cooed, scratching behind Leo's ears. "Did you miss me?"

Charles watched the scene with a warmth spreading through his chest. "Make yourself comfortable," he said, gesturing to the couch. "I'll grab us some drinks."

When he returned from the kitchen, he found Max settled on the couch with Leo curled up contentedly in his lap. The sight made Charles pause for a moment, struck by how right it felt to have Max here, in his space, looking so at home.

They agreed on a movie, some action flick that neither of them was particularly invested in. As the night wore on, Charles noticed Max's eyes starting to droop. Leo had long since fallen asleep, lulled by Max's constant petting.

Before long, Max too had succumbed to sleep, his head lolling to the side and a soft snore escaping his lips. Charles couldn't help but smile at the sight. Carefully, he lifted Leo from Max's lap and carried the sleeping dog to his bed.

Returning to the living room, Charles found Max had slumped down further, his long legs awkwardly bent. With gentle movements, Charles lifted Max's legs onto the couch and covered him with a throw blanket. He allowed himself a moment to simply watch Max sleep, taking in the peaceful expression on his face, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath.

With a soft sigh, Charles retreated to his own bedroom, his mind swirling with thoughts of the evening and the man sleeping on his couch.

***

The next morning, Charles woke with a smile on his face, feeling more rested than he had in weeks. The events of the previous night came flooding back, and he felt a surge of warmth at the thought of Max still being in his apartment.

Quietly, he made his way to the living room, pausing to check on his guest. Max was still fast asleep, one arm dangling off the couch, his hair adorably mussed. Charles's fingers itched to smooth it down, but he resisted the urge.

Instead, he made his way to the piano. Settling onto the bench, he began to play, soft melodies filling the air. He lost himself in the music, letting his fingers dance across the keys, pouring his emotions into each note.

Unbeknownst to Charles, Max had stirred at the sound of the piano. He kept his eyes closed, not wanting to interrupt the beautiful music. The melody washed over him, and he found himself drifting back to sleep, lulled by the soothing sounds.

His peaceful slumber was abruptly interrupted by a furry missile landing on his chest. Leo, excited to see Max awake, began enthusiastically licking his face. Max sputtered and flailed, trying to escape the onslaught of doggy affection.

"Leo! No! Down, boy!" Max spluttered; his words muffled by dog fur.

The commotion drew Charles's attention. He stopped playing and came to investigate, only to burst into laughter at the sight of Max wrestling with an overexcited Leo. Max twisted and turned, fumbling as he tried to evade the affectionate licks, the dog determined to deliver his own wake-up call that didn’t involve any form of gentility.

“Leo! Stop it!” Max shouted animatedly, his laughter bright and ringing, blending with Charles’s own as they both watched the unfolding chaos.

"A little help here?" Max pleaded; his voice filled with mock desperation.

Still chuckling, Charles moved to rescue his friend. "Come on, Leo. Let Max breathe."

In his haste to escape, Max got tangled in the blanket. He stumbled, reaching out blindly and grabbing onto Charles for support. The sudden movement caught Charles off guard, and before either of them could react, they were both tumbling to the floor. Max managed to twist at the last second, taking the brunt of the fall. Charles landed on top of him, their faces mere inches apart. For a moment, they just stared at each other, both too stunned to move.

Then, almost in unison, they burst into laughter. The absurdity of the situation, the tangle of limbs and blanket, and Leo's confused expression as he looked down at them from the couch – it was all too much.

Charles couldn’t help himself—he laughed wildly, the sound echoing through the cozy space as their gazes locked. Suddenly, it was just the two of them, the world narrowing down to that tight moment enveloped in an intimacy he had previously dawdled around. Max's face bathed in morning light, their breath mingling just inches apart, and for a heartbeat, time hung suspended.

“Hey, uh…” Max began, his words hanging unsteady, a sliver of uncertainty lacing through his voice. But before he could finish, they were interrupted—the sound of snuffling interrupted the stillness between them as Leo thrust himself between their faces, a golden ruff of fur demanding attention. Leo, not wanting to be left out, had decided to join the cuddle pile on the floor.

The spell broken, Charles and Max jerked apart, both flushing red. Leo, oblivious to the moment he had interrupted, happily licked both their faces in turn.

Charles chuckled again, the moment shifting as Max rolled his eyes and swatted at the puppy affectionately. The chemistry lingered in the air, warm and infectious, but Leo’s antics demanded to be noticed, pulling their gaze away from each other.

As they disentangled themselves, helped each other up, and tried to regain their composure, both men were acutely aware of the shift that had occurred. The almost-kiss hung in the air between them, unspoken.

Charles cleared his throat, running a hand through his hair nervously. "So, uh... breakfast?"

Max nodded, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Breakfast sounds great."