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Chapter Text

Bahrain 2019

The hotel wasn’t too far from the Bahrain International Circuit, but the car ride dragged on with all the traffic. Charles looked out the window as cars passed. They came in a variety of colors, shapes, and sizes, all carrying people with their own little lives and problems. He was lucky to have the life he does, but sometimes Charles got a little jealous at the simplicity of others’.

“Stop that.”

Charles tore his gaze away from the window to look toward the chiding voice. Sebastian was staring down at Charles’ hand with a frown, where he’d been tapping the seat.

“You are nervous?” Sebastian asked.

He shrugged, looking back toward the window. Charles was still not sure how to act around his new teammate. Things were… awkward. For many years Sebastian had been someone that Charles admired and now they were peers. It changed things.

“No, just thinking.”

They did well today. Sure, it was only Friday Free Practice, but they secured a 1-2 in both, with Charles on top in FP1 and Sebastian on top in FP2. They collected a lot of good data and were looking at a strong weekend ahead of them. There was nothing to be nervous about. Nerves create doubts and doubts create mistakes, and Charles can’t afford mistakes. He still needed to prove that signing him so early was the right thing for Ferrari. Too many people were already doubting their decision, and Charles finishing over a second behind his teammate in the first race of the season hadn’t helped.

It was silent for a while after that. The only noise came from the cars outside and the soft music the driver was playing up front. Charles was left in charge of arranging his own transportation to and from the track back when he drove for Sauber. Now, when he’s in another country without any of his cars, Ferrari handles it. It was one of the many changes that came with the new team. Of course, it sometimes meant sharing a ride with his teammate. Charles was sure Sebastian much preferred doing this with his previous teammate, but he hadn’t complained when Silvia had told them earlier that their ride was waiting for them after the debrief.

The hotel was growing closer in the distance, and Charles was itching to shower and fall right into bed. It was a hot day, and he knew he probably smelled like sweat. When the driver pulled up outside the front entrance, Sebastian spoke up. Charles’ hand was already wrapped around the door handle, but he paused to look back.

“You… did a good job today,” Sebastian said kindly. A warm smile pulled at the corners of his mouth and it looked genuine if a little strained. Charles blinked, taking in the words.

“Thank you,” he said, face flushing slightly. “You too.”

And that was that.

Charles got out of the car, letting Sebastian go through the front doors first. They didn’t exchange any further glances or words, not that Charles was expecting anything else. For Sebastian to treat him with the kindness he did now was already more than enough.

After all, Charles did replace his soulmate.

—---

As if Charles needed any more reminders that life will find a way to fuck you over no matter how hard you try, his goddamn engine decided to remind him again. Today should’ve been a win, it would have been a win if it wasn’t for his engine failing on him in the last few laps. One of his engine cylinders stopped working, allowing Lewis and Valtteri to catch up and take the 1-2 for Mercedes. Charles was just lucky the safety car at the end saved him from being overtaken by anyone else.

He should have been happy. This was his first podium. Yet the only thing he could think about was what it would’ve felt like to win. Maybe that was a good thing. This was the drive that all those race winners and world champions talk about, the desire for more. It didn’t feel like a good thing right then. It felt pretty damn miserable.

“You drove great this weekend, man.”

Charles looked up from where he was unzipping the neck of his suit. Lewis was sitting atop one of the tables in the cooldown room, giving him a smile. It was easy for him to be happy, he just won the race.

“Yeah,” Charles responded, shrugging.

“You really drove fantastic,” Lewis insisted. Not long ago, Charles would have been over the moon to hear this from a five-time World Champion. It still meant a lot, and Charles knew he was going to spiral about this in his hotel room later, but he felt so caught up in the what-ifs that it was almost suffocating.

He wondered if Lewis ever felt this way; like there was this cosmic unfairness that snatched wins from his hands that will never be given back. Is he happy with the dozens of wins under his belt? Or does each loss sting like the first? Charles couldn’t imagine feeling like this for the rest of his career.

Charles watched as Lewis fiddled with the cuff of his race suit. There was a name hidden under there. He wondered if Lewis had to sacrifice that for the chance of winning too. Did he find that it was worth it?

“Until the problem…” Charles tried smiling, but it came out more like a grimace. He fiddled with the 3rd place cap until it was the right size for his head, wishing it had a different number on it.

“Hey, man, you got a long, long future ahead of you, so-”

“I hope so.”

Wouldn’t it be ironic if not? Everything Charles gave up to be here, only for a few short years of failure and an entirely unremarkable legacy. He would forever be known as the rookie that Ferrari made a mistake by taking a chance on. To himself, he’ll be known as the guy who gave up on his soulmate for nothing.

Perhaps it was a little pessimistic to think this way.

It was only his second race, and not only did he beat his teammate for pole position, but Charles finished above him and on the podium as well. He had time to improve, time to win. Focusing on the what-ifs wouldn’t help him. Charles needed a moment to be miserable, but ultimately he knew he had to move on from this.

Next race. Next race, his engine won’t fail and he’ll win and he’ll show them just why Ferrari wanted him here.

The podium was fun. They weren’t allowed champagne in Bahrain and had to use sparkling rose water, but the sticky feeling on his skin was the same. Charles tried to savor the feeling. He knew he’d be back, he would make sure of it, but this was his first time on these steps as a Formula 1 driver. This was his first time as a Ferrari driver. This meant something, even if it should’ve been a win.

Andrea passed him a small towel as he walked Charles back from the podium.

“Next time, yeah?”

Charles hummed in agreement as he rubbed the towel over his wet hair.

“If my engine does not fail on me again,” he snorted. Charles was careful to keep his voice down. There were still plenty of people milling about the pitlane even after the race. He could not risk a video of him critiquing the car reaching the internet.

Andrea sighed. “Yes, well…”

“Next time,” Charles parroted back to him after a second. Andrea smiled and nodded.

A hint of navy blue out the corner of his eye reminded Charles who might be on that podium with him. The Red Bull garage was on the way to the Ferrari garage, and passing by it brings the sight of a man that Charles would much rather forget.

Max Verstappen stood near the entrance, talking to his race engineer. His back was partly turned away from Charles, but he would recognize Max anywhere. If it weren’t for their years of shared history, it would be because Charles can’t close his eyes to sleep at night without seeing the other’s face.

He wondered if Max suffers from the same affliction, or if Charles was just another casualty on his way to the championship. Not that he could claim to be much of a victim, they had both agreed to the terms. It may have been Max’s idea, but Charles hadn’t fought him.

“You alright?”

Charles’ eyes snapped away from the figure in blue to Andrea.

“Yes, sorry. I just, uh-”

“Zoned out?” Andrea suggested, giving Charles an out. He had been Charles’ trainer since he first joined the Ferrari Driver Academy, so of course he’s seen Charles’ wrist. He never asked and Charles didn’t tell him, but he knew it was a sensitive topic.

“Yeah,” Charles said softly. His eyes flicked away from the navy blue, staring hard at the ground as he tried to purge the thoughts of blue eyes and blonde hair from his head.

There was no use obsessing over the past.

Germany 2015

Charles always hoped that he was the younger one of his soulmate pairing. That meant he’d have to wait less time to find out who they were. He always remembered his brother’s theatrics during the months after his 18th birthday when his soulmark wasn’t immediately revealed. In the end, he didn’t have to wait long, but it was agonizing to watch.

Soulmarks never revealed themselves until both members of a soul match have turned 18. Depending on the age gap, it could be weeks to years before the elder of the two found out their destined match. Charles hoped he wouldn’t have to wait that long. He’d always been kind of impatient, something his mother chided him about in the past.

She told him that the wait was worth it, and Charles could see that. He saw the easy love his parents shared, the way they finished each other’s sentences, and how their hands always found the other’s. Charles remembered the late summer nights after dinner had been cleaned up and he and his brothers had been put to bed for the night. Quiet music would drift from the kitchen into his and Arthur’s bedroom and if Charles was bold enough to get out of bed, he’d find his parents dancing in the kitchen together, laughing softly.

Charles tried to imagine something like that for himself.

He had imagined a future where he drove that fast, red car and won races and championships for Ferrari, just like he’d always wanted. Then he imagined standing on the podium, searching for that one face in the crowd that makes his heart skip a beat and his face flush. Would they return home and skip the celebrations just to dance in the kitchen in the quiet hours of the night?

He sure hoped so.

In school, all of the kids would gather around the table during lunch, gazing at their barren wrists. They would talk about the soulmates they wanted, describing their perfect person in great detail. Charles was never sure what to say when it was his turn. He could never decide on the hair-color, or height, or anything like that. He knew they would love racing because, of course, they would. He knew they would make him laugh, and more importantly, he knew that they’d make him happy. Maman said that is what matters the most.

The days leading up to his 18th birthday passed like molasses. He was in Germany preparing for Race 11 in the Formula 3 European Championship. It was the final race weekend of the season, and they were competing at the Hockenheimring. He was receiving nervous looks all around, from his teammates, his bosses, and his friends. Everyone knew what an 18th birthday meant, and there was a 50/50 chance that Charles’ soulmark could be revealed on the Friday of the race weekend.

Charles already had the Rookie’s Championship in the bag, with roughly 100 points on runner-up George Russell, but he still wanted to maximize his overall championship standing. The fight for P3 with Dennis was still up for grabs, especially with a maximum of 75 points available this weekend. To add to everything else, he was still in negotiations with various GP3 and Formula 2 teams for a contract next year. Sure, he always had the option to resign with Van Amersfoort for next year, but he hadn’t wanted to stall his career any longer than needed.

Needless to say, he was stressed. The championship fight, contract negotiations, and an impending soulmark were more than one person could handle, but he tried to not let it get to him.

The most likely scenario is that he’d get a name he doesn’t even know and will have to wait until the weekend is over anyway to do anything about it. There was no need to stress himself out over something he had no control over. There was also the chance he wouldn’t get a mark at all. That would be disappointing, of course, but maybe for the best. That gave him more time to focus on racing.

Not that a soulmate would get in the way of that. Charles knew they’d be supportive of his career, just like he’d be with theirs. They’d surely want to come to his races, and he’d get to show off his lovely, amazing soulmate to all the jealous guys who’ve yet to get their marks.

It would be perfect, regardless of what happens.

The moon was high in the sky and Charles still couldn’t sleep. He should be sleeping, he had two Free Practice sessions and Quali 1 and 2 to look forward to tomorrow. If he had any hope of keeping his P3, he would be asleep, not staring out the window of his hotel room.

The sweeping forests around the Hockenheimring were daunting in the moonlight. They seemed almost limitless. He wondered if his soulmate was awake right now too, if they were staring at the same moon. They wouldn’t know the importance of this date now, nor the anxiety coursing through Charles’ skin, but that didn’t matter to him.

He’d like to think they were just as excited too.

Charles sat up in bed, eyes still glued to the scenery outside. He tried to think of what he’d say to them, and his mind drew a blank. He’d had 18 years to think of the perfect words, and yet he had got zilch. Nothing felt good enough to be the first interaction between him and the person he’d spend the rest of his life with. A part of him wanted to go knock on the door of Lorenzo’s room, as his older brother was the one put in charge of shepherding him to this race. He’d gone through this all before, he would know what it’s like. Lorenzo could tell him what to say.

However, he couldn’t move his feet, frozen in place. A finger pressed on the blank space on his right wrist where the name would appear, but Charles couldn’t find it within himself to look down.

It wasn’t midnight yet, it wouldn’t have appeared, but knowing that didn’t settle his nerves.

The bright red numbers of the clock counted down in his peripheral vision. It was like a New Year's Eve countdown but the only person counting was Charles. Each second stretched into minutes and minutes stretched into hours.

11:49

He tried to pass the time by imagining all the places he’d take his soulmate. He would show them all the fun hidden spots in Monaco, from that little bakery with the mind-blowing chocolate croissants to his mother’s hair salon.

11:52

Of course, he would introduce them to his parents and his parents would love his soulmate. Charles just knew they would get along great. They would be invited over for family dinner all the time, just like Lorenzo’s soulmate, and Charles would do his best to impress his soulmate’s family in return.

11:55

He wondered if they’re in university, and what they would study. Charles always thought he’d become an architect if he stopped racing, maybe they wanted to pursue the same thing. Perhaps they did something entirely differently, like a Biology or Political Science degree. Whatever it was , Charles knew they’d be passionate about it and he could spend hours listening to them tell him about it.

11:58

Would they want kids? Charles did. Surely the universe would pair him up with someone else who did too. He wanted three kids, which may be a lot while he’s driving but they could wait until he’s brought the championship back to Ferrari. He could see it now, 10-20 years down the line, where he and his soulmate would be dancing in the kitchen and one of their little ones peaking around the corner and thinking of their future soulmate.

11:59

Charles thought about getting up to turn a lamp on but quickly dismissed the idea. The moonlight was enough to see, and he couldn’t bear the thought of moving now. His foot tapped a fast rhythm into the carpet, and he hoped it isn’t loud enough to wake the people downstairs.

12:00

He took a shaky breath in.

Slowly, he lifted his hand in front of him, moving his other to uncover his right wrist.

There’s a dark smudge there, and Charles’ heart skips a beat. After a moment or two, it developed into bold letters. It took him two seconds to read the name on his wrist and another five to make it to the bathroom to lose the contents of his dinner into the toilet.

Chapter Text

Monaco 2015

It’s not that Charles hates Max Verstappen. It’s just that, well, actually, yes, he does hate Max Verstappen.

The guy was an asshole. He was a constant thorn in Charles’ side all throughout karting, and Charles would be lying if he said it didn’t fill him with jealousy that Max was already in Formula 1 while he was still struggling up the feeder series.

It had been two years since they last competed against one another. Some of Charles’ ill feelings had faded since then, only flaring up again when he put on a Formula 1 race and it was Max’s car on screen. However, they felt brand new now that he was face to face with the guy again.

There was a two-week break between the Russian Grand Prix and the United States Grand Prix, and it coincidently fell right on Charles’ birthday. That gave Max enough time to reach out and ask Charles to meet up in Monaco.

Charles will be the first to admit he hadn’t expected Max to reach out, but he shouldn’t have been surprised. Max was always very straightforward, and the kind of avoidance tactics Charles was fond of wasn’t really his style.

He still wasn’t sure how to handle the entire situation.

After his unfortunate acquaintance with the hotel room toilet, Charles had practically kicked Lorenzo’s door down. His older brother, still half asleep, had clearly been unprepared for Charles to throw himself into his arms, half-delirious and sobbing, at almost 1 in the morning. He was grateful to have such a loving family though, because Lorenzo sat with him until the early morning and let Charles cry all his frustrations out.

As guilty as he felt about doing it, he had needed that.

When Charles imagined his soulmate, he’d never imagined it to be the one person who filled him with such pointless frustration and envy. Charles always imagined it to be someone who could lift him up, not bring out the worst in him, yet that seems to be all Max is capable of.

Maybe things have changed in the two years since they last saw each other. Perhaps Charles was being too harsh to a soulmate that he hadn’t yet given a chance.

He tried to fit Max into his dreams and fantasies, and he found it to be such an odd fit, but he could still be wrong. People can grow and change, and for all Charles knows, Max might’ve turned into the perfect gentleman in the years he’s been gone.

Still, there was no point in getting himself worked up over nothing. Max had messaged him the morning of his birthday (over Instagram, as neither of them had the other’s phone number) and asked Charles to meet for dinner at Max’s place in Monaco. Charles had confirmed the meetup and they haven’t spoken since.

His weekend was a long and torturous one. He couldn’t help but imagine all the millions of ways this conversation would go wrong, and it showed in his race results. Charles scored 5 points the entire weekend. Needless to say, he lost P3.

By the time he arrived back in Monaco, he was tired and cranky and just wanted to go home and see his parents and Arthur. However, he had an appointment.

Lorenzo dropped him off on their way back from the airport, promising to come pick him up as soon as Charles texts. He left with a wink and a reminder to ‘use protection’, to which Charles turned bright red and shouted loud French expletives at the car as it pulled away.

That left him here, sitting awkwardly at Max’s dining room table across from the man himself. Oh, and Max’s father. For some reason.

Charles was surprised to see the older man when he arrived, and even more surprised when he made it clear he was staying for dinner. This didn’t seem like the type of conversation a parent should be sitting through.

However, not much conversation had happened yet. Max had asked him whether he liked pasta or not, avoiding Charles’ eyes, and that had been it. Now, the room was filled with the sound of clinking utensils and a palpable tension.

Charles was the first to clear his throat.

“Sorry about your race. You had shit luck at the start,” he said, before wincing. Why did he think it was a good idea to bring that up now? Wasn’t he trying to get Max to like him? Reminding him of getting taken out in lap 1 and getting a puncture wasn’t a good way to go about doing that.

Max shrugs, though the action is tense and clearly uncomfortable. He still doesn’t look Charles in the eye, instead, he stabs another piece of penne on his plate. “It happens,” he says monotone.

“Right,” Charles responds after a second, throat dry. He tries taking a sip of his water, but it doesn’t help much.

Max’s father sits at the head of the table, his food untouched. Charles can’t decide whether he too is uncomfortable to be here or just a generally unhappy person. Either way, his face is pinched in a sort of constipated way. 

Charles shovels another bite of pasta into his mouth and tries to keep his leg from bouncing under the table. This was not how he expected things to go. Charles always thought that being around his soulmate was supposed to be easy. That is how his parents always made it seem. However, he’d never felt more out of place than he does right now. 

He wasn’t sure if it was a byproduct of Jos Verstappen’s presence or a sign that the universe truly did fuck up by matching him and Max. Charles didn’t know which one he wished it was.

“It looks like I’ll be racing in GP3 next year,” Charles offered weakly, trying to come up with anything to break the awkward silence. He hasn’t signed the contract yet, but ART Grand Prix had reached out throughout the weekend and they’d seemed very interested. Some other teams had extended offers as well, but ART had secured both the Constructors and Drivers Championships this past year and would be a good team to compete with.

“Oh, um, congrats,” Max offered. His voice was strained. Jos gave him an assessing look at that but didn’t say anything further. Surely he wasn’t impressed with a GP3 seat, not when his son skipped straight from F3 to the big leagues, but Charles didn’t have that option.

“Thanks.”

Silence. Again.

Charles was about to come out with it himself and ask what the hell they were going to do, as he couldn’t take this silent tension any longer. However, Jos beat him to the punch.

“We should discuss the… elephant in the room,” he said, taking a sip of his beer. He hadn’t offered one to Charles when he arrived, and Charles certainly wasn’t going to ask.

Charles focused on Max, taking in the other boy even if Max’s eyes were still trained on his plate. His blonde hair was cropped short, and his face was roughly the same, even if he’d started to lose some of his baby fat. He had to wonder what Max would look like 5, 10, even 40 years from now. Would he keep his hair the same way even when they’re old and graying? Charles supposes he has a lifetime to find out.

“We are…”

“Soulmates,” Max finishes, saying out loud what neither of them had been brave enough to say so far.

Charles let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It was both refreshing and terrifying to hear it from someone else. It made things more real.

“What happens now?” Charles asks, giving up on his meal entirely. This conversation was too important to divide his focus.

He’d been asking Max, but Jos was the one to speak up.

“Max and I think it is best if we put this soulmate business on hold.”

It was silent for a second, then two, then-

“Excuse me?” Charles scoffed, his eyebrows raised as he stared at Jos. The older man just looked at Charles with an unreadable expression, not even flinching. “I wasn’t aware you were a part of our soulmate bond. Stay out of it. If Max doesn’t-”

“Charles.”

Max’s voice was quiet, almost apologetic. Charles’ eyes snapped to Max, wide and confused. His palms felt sweaty all of a sudden, and Charles fought the urge to wipe them on his pants.

“I know we did not always get along, but…” Charles struggled to find the words. His heart was racing at a million miles an hour. Sure, he hadn’t expected this conversation to go perfectly, but he hadn’t expected this.

He hadn’t expected rejection.

“It’s not about that,” Max said, his eyes still trained on his plate. “It’s about-”

Max paused for a second before looking up. His brow was furrowed, and he was visibly uncomfortable, but Charles wasn’t about to make this easy for him by offering him an out. He stared at Max until the other boy forced the words out.

“I- I just don’t have the time to focus on a soulmate right now,” He started out, quiet. Max waved his fork around as he talked as if his body needed something else to do while he talked. “You do not either. It is just… easier if we focus on our own careers.”

“Our own careers,” Charles parroted back quietly. He could feel his heartbeat in his ears, and the pasta he already ate was threatening to come back up.

He isn’t sure how to feel about this. On one hand, Charles’ racing career is important. It is what he’s worked for his entire life, and what his family has sacrificed greatly for. These next few years are make or break, and he can’t afford to have any distractions in his way.

However… a soulmate wasn’t supposed to be a distraction. Charles always imagined they’d make him better, that they’d give him something more to fight for. Racing was going to be something he shared with them.

Could Max be that for him? Or is he right; would Max just be an obstacle in Charles’ way? They’ve never been on the best of terms, but Max always enjoyed dissecting races with Charles after the fact. He had a keen eye for Charles’ mistakes, and while Charles would never admit it, he’d learned a lot from the other boy.

That doesn’t mean the same would happen now. They don’t race together, and the GP3 schedule doesn’t always follow the F1 schedule anymore. It would be a lot of extra time and effort to work on a budding relationship, and that’s time that neither of them has a lot to spare. Not to mention the problems it would cause if Charles actually made it to the big leagues.

He’s never had an issue racing Max before, but now that they’re soulmates, would that change? Even if it doesn’t, their relationship would get torn apart by the media. Soulmates within Formula 1 are rare, but not unheard of. When the news broke earlier this year that Vettel and Raikkonen were matched, everyone had an opinion and not many were positive. If the rumors were to be believed, Vettel almost lost his seat at Ferrari despite only driving for a few races. Soulmates were only an advantage if they were there to support their partner, not race against them.

Charles was struck with the sudden fear that his and Max’s connection could damage his chances of getting a seat.

Forget anything related to time constraints and relationship problems, this could impact Charles’ chances of being signed. If a team got a whiff of his connection to Max and decided it was a weakness they couldn’t afford, Charles would never have the chance to race against the other in the first place. After all, Max already had his seat. He had been fast-tracked through the feeder series and Red Bull has invested plenty into him. Max has a year or so to establish his name in Formula 1 before Charles even gets to Formula 2. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out which one of them would get the short end of the stick if it came down to it.

He feels sick at the thought. This entire time, Charles has been wrapped up in worries about how their relationship would work when he should’ve considered that the very existence of it would threaten his career. It was stupid and naive, and he wanted to chide himself for not considering it before.

“Are you going to tell anyone?” Charles asks quietly.

Max hesitated, his eyes flicking to his father.

“Nobody outside of this room knows,” Jos states after a moment, before narrowing his eyes at Charles. “Unless you’ve told anyone else?”

Charles wants to be shocked at the thought that Max hadn’t even told his own mother and sister about this, but he never really remembered them being at their karting races often. Perhaps they weren’t close like Charles was with his brothers? Regardless, it’s none of his business, so he doesn’t ask.

“I told my brother, and he’s probably told the rest of my family, but no one else knows,” Charles admits.

Jos’ face goes pinched, but he doesn’t say anything else.

“Charles, I am sorry. I know you expected-” Max starts, but Charles raises his hand and cuts him off.

“No, it’s fine,” he says, voice empty as he stares straight ahead. “It’s for our careers, right?”

The words are monotone, and Charles almost chokes on them, but it is the truth. No one can know, and they can’t act on this, regardless of how much Charles wishes he could. He won’t have his entire career be for nothing just because he had the unfortunate fate of being paired with Max Verstappen.

“Yes… our careers.”

If Charles was any more deluded, he’d say that Max almost sounds disappointed.

Monaco 2019

Normally, Charles quite loves yacht parties. He doesn’t frequent the clubs often, with the atmosphere being stuffy and overwhelming at times, but the open air of a yacht is a lot more enticing. Of course, he’s not quite at the level of success to own a yacht of his own, but Ferrari is more than willing to rent one out to celebrate the team’s podium finish.

Not Charles’ though.

No, he didn’t finish the race at all. After a Q1 elimination, a lap 8 incident, and problems with his floorboard, he was finally put out of his misery when Xavi called in the order to retire the car on lap 16. He almost wanted to laugh at the irony of it.

So he ended up watching from the garage as his teammate podiumed at Charles’ home race.

He should be happy for the team–happy for Sebastian–but Charles has never been a gracious loser.

He also wasn’t very good at hiding it either. Ferrari could demand his presence at their after-party, but they couldn’t make Charles any less miserable. Considering the wide berth most of the sponsors and celebrities were giving him, he’d say his misery was written on his face. Even the bartender was giving him a pitying look as she poured him an extra shot “on the house”, even though the bar bill was being covered by Ferrari anyway.

Charles sat on a barstool at the end of the bar, watching the masses writhe across the ship. Only Andrea would occasionally pop by to make sure he wasn’t going overboard on the drinks. A bitter part of his brain hissed that “indulgences are only made for winners” but Charles was quick to ignore it. Andrea was not the subject of his ire.

It didn’t take long for his eyes to fall on Sebastian. The older man was the center of attention tonight. Sure, he hadn’t won, and if Charles knew the man at all from the months they’d been teammates, Sebastian would be dissecting each and every missed opportunity in his mind until there was nothing left to think about. Rarely are people like them satisfied with second place. However, a podium in Monaco is still something to celebrate, especially if it also comes with the bonus of outscoring your teammate.

Sebastian was standing at the center of a larger group of people, their attention all on him as he spoke. Charles couldn’t make out what he was saying at this distance, but he could make out the man standing to Sebastian’s left.

It isn’t uncommon for drivers to show up at other teams’ parties. Even if it were, Sebastian and Kimi were often attached at the hip, so Charles was not surprised to see the older man there as well. Despite the dark of the night, Charles could see a hand curled around Sebastian’s waist, holding him close to Kimi’s side. The Alfa Romeo driver was looking down at Sebastian with a look that could only be described as tender, with a soft smile pulling at the usual stony face.

Something in Charles’ chest burned at the sight. He downed the rest of his drink and turned away.

He watched the minutes tick away on his watch, waiting until it was acceptable for him to ditch the party and head back to his own apartment. When Charles was in a good mood, the nights flew, but right now each second was stretching into hours.

“Hard luck today.”

Charles’ head snapped to the side. While he’d been distracted, someone had slid into the seat next to him.

He didn’t recognize her, but she clearly knew him. Her long blonde hair was artfully styled, and her smile was sympathetic. The pity grated against his skin.

“Yes, well,” he said, grimacing. Her eyes flicked down for a second, likely noting the band covering the letters on his wrist. He didn’t see one on her blank wrist, but that didn’t mean anything. Bands were the most common way to hide a soulmark, but there were other makeup products and such that you could use as well. It wasn’t a terribly popular industry considering most wear their marks proudly, but there were still options.

“What are you drinking?” she asks, leaning closer to Charles. His glass was almost empty, but he tips it toward her as if to show it off.

“Peroni,” he said, snorting. “It is the only beer Ferrari can serve at these events.”

She laughs, even though his joke wasn’t incredibly funny.

“Didn’t want anything stronger than beer?” She swirls a drink of her own as she asks, tilting her head to the side. Her eyes are blueish, although it is hard to tell in this lighting. Her accent sounded German, perhaps Dutch? However, he quickly diverts his thoughts away from that speculation.

He shakes his head with a huff but doesn’t bother trying to explain the anxious performance coach who comes to check on his alcohol intake every 20 minutes.

“What about you?” he asks, pointing to her drink. It looks bright and fruity, and if it was another night, Charles might have asked for a taste.

“Sex on the Beach,” she answers, winking. He snorts. “Buy me another?”

It's an innocent ask, paired with wide blue eyes. He almost wants to say yes. She’s pretty, into him, and is offering a way to release some of the tension of the night. They both know where this will lead if he says yes. However, his eyes catch onto the pair of Sebastian and Kimi further down the bar, leaning against each other as they order, and it’s like the little amount of good cheer he’d accumulated vanished.

His chest ached at the sight, and he knew that taking this girl home wouldn’t help the feeling.

Instead, he gives her a polite smile and stands from his seat.

“Not tonight,” he says. “Maybe another time.”

He’ll likely never see her again, but he’s polite enough to not reject her outright. She frowns, but the expression quickly disappears from her face as she schools her expression once more. He hopes she finds what she’s looking for tonight.

God knows he won’t.

Chapter Text

Austria 2019

The sound of the Dutch anthem grated on his ears. Charles stared straight ahead, holding himself deathly still lest he start shaking with rage on the podium.

The object of his anger was standing just to his left. It took everything in him to not take his trophy and walk right off the podium. Just like Bahrain, the win was snatched from his grasp at the very end of the race. However, this time it wasn’t due to engine issues or team strategy. No, it was a reckless illegal move made on him with less than three laps left in the race.

And Charles doesn’t care what the stewards said, that move was illegal. It was unfair and aggressive and the fact that Max got away with it ate at him. It should’ve been Charles’ win, something to show Ferrari that he was a good investment, that he could win the races. Instead, the bastard to his left decided to push him wide in turn 2.

Normally Charles liked going wheel to wheel with Max. Out of everyone on track, he knows how to push Charles to his limits and Charles knows how to push back. This felt different. This felt like just another thing Max has taken from him and Charles doesn’t know how to deal with that.

The worst part is Max didn’t even seem to care. He was all smiles and laughter like he hadn’t done anything wrong. Charles wanted to throttle him.

As soon as he was allowed to, Charles split. He took his trophy and scampered off the podium as fast as possible so he wouldn’t have to talk to either Max or Valtteri. It's not that Valtteri has done anything wrong, but Charles doesn’t want to lose it and snap at the wrong person.

He only made it a few hallways into the FIA building before a hand was wrapping around his bicep. Charles sighed, turning to promise Andrea that he wouldn’t be late for the post-race briefing, he just needed a minute. However, when he looked around, it wasn’t his performance coach holding him back, rather it was Max Verstappen himself.

Charles stiffened in place, multiple different emotions flittering across his face before he narrowed his eyes and said: “What?”

Max, who looked much happier than Charles felt, was still soaked in champagne. His short hair was plastered to his forehead and a droplet ran down his neck. Charles himself had avoided most of the spray by stepping back from the chaos to drink from his own bottle, not wanting to partake in a celebration of Max’s dirty racing. 

It seemed like Max did not pick up on Charles’ foul mood because that stupid grin was still plastered on his dumb face.

“Ah, mate, that race was so- the fighting at the end? It was…” Max started, waving his hands in the air as he recounted their fight for position as if Charles hadn’t been there to experience it himself.

Charles stood there, gobsmacked. The absolute nerve of the bastard to come up to Charles now to talk about this… it was infuriating.

Of course, Charles had been familiar with Max’s love of post-race debriefs. They’d done it often enough as kids, and while they have largely ignored each other since… well, they do have to talk at some point, usually in a group setting with no other option. However, Max seems too enthused by the race to remember this. He was off on a tangent that had faded into the background as the ringing in Charles’ ears increased. He clenched his fists by his side, trying to hold himself still so he didn’t do anything stupid.

After a few moments, Charles regained his bearings. He interrupted Max’s monologue with a sharp: “Seriously?”

Max paused, blinking. He tilted his head to the side just slightly, enough to make him look like a dumb dog. Charles’ eye twitched.

“You are upset,” Max said like it was an observation and not a question.

“You pushed me off the track.” If Charles was any less mature, he would’ve stomped his foot on the ground to make the point.

Max’s brow furrowed.

“It was hard racing, Charles,” he said, all of the previous warmth leaking out of his voice. Max smoothed out his posture, standing rigid in front of Charles. There was less than an inch between their heights, but Max used all of that difference to look down on Charles.

“It was dirty,” Charles scoffed. “And you know it.”

“No, I don’t know it. The stewards said it was legal, you’re being dramatic.”

Charles narrowed his eyes. The dismissive tone in Max’s voice put him on edge. Charles was right, he knew he was right. This was his win, and Max took it from him. Just because the stewards were either blind or biased doesn’t mean it wasn’t dirty.

Before Charles had the chance to respond, Max continued.

“If you can’t handle it, then maybe you should go home.”

It took everything in Charles to not swing on him. Still, he took a sharp breath in as the force of the words hit him in the chest.

“Screw you, Max,” he snapped. “Just because I am not a filthy cheater does not mean I do not deserve to be here.”

He took a step closer, getting into Max’s space.

“You of all people know what I have sacrificed to be here.” The mark underneath his band almost burned with the words. Charles fought the urge to take off the band and shove the letters into Max’s face. “I cannot believe you would do that to me.”

“You seriously cannot believe that I would do to you what I do to everyone else? That I wouldn’t race you as hard because of the marks on our wrists?” Max asks, his voice almost a hiss. “Do you think you’re owed special treatment just because we’re soulmates?”

The silence grew between them after that. Charles didn’t realize just how hard he was breathing until now, and he was sure his face was turning an unattractive shade of red. Max’s eyes narrowed and his nostrils flared as he spoke.

Charles faltered at the accusation. That was the first time since 2015 that either of them had acknowledged this thing between them out loud. And rather than a declaration of regret for what had happened, it was used as a knife to carve between Charles’ ribs.

Charles never wanted Max to treat him differently on track. He never asked for that. Does he think Max was out of line today? Of course. But that has nothing to do with their soulmarks, right? Charles is upset and angry that he got a win stolen from him, nothing more.

And if there was more, then could you really blame him? Maybe Max doesn’t owe him preferential treatment on the track, but he does owe Charles. His name is carved into Charles’ wrist, and that doesn’t mean nothing. Even if Charles agrees to not foster their relationship, that doesn’t mean Max can throw it in Charles’ face when he is rightfully upset.

“Oh, so now you want to be soulmates?” Charles scoffed.

“Don’t do that, that is not fair. We both agreed it was for the best, you do not get to turn it on me when you want to be childish.”

‘Dramatic’, ‘childish’; these words grated at Charles. He’s heard them before, along with ‘arrogant’, ‘spoiled’, and ‘selfish’. They aren’t true, he knows they aren’t true. The people who know him do not say these things. It is the media and people who are entirely unfamiliar with his character. Maybe it should hurt more that his own soulmate knows him as well as the average pundit, but he’s come to expect disappointment from this entire situation.

It is not like Charles can claim to be any better. He could pinpoint exactly when Max will break going into each corner, and how he’ll approach the start of a race, but he couldn’t begin to guess Max’s favorite color.

“It is not fair for you to push me off the track like that,” Charles snaps back, ignoring the second half of Max’s statement entirely. “That should’ve been my win.”

Max rolls his eyes.

“Well, it wasn’t. Deal with it.”

And with that, Max stomps away. He shoulder-checks Charles on his way out. It doesn’t hurt, but it’s enough to cause him to stumble a little and more than enough for Charles to want to put his head through a wall. Nevertheless, he doesn’t say anything else, watching Max leave with narrowed eyes.

Fine.

Charles will get his win regardless.

Summer Break 2019

Charles knew the logical reasons behind the summer and winter breaks. He knew all the drivers and team members needed a break, and that they had families to return to. However, at times like these, he kinda hated the idea.

Some days it felt like he was going to vibrate out of his skin, Charles was so desperate to get back into the car. Maybe it got better with age and experience, but for now, it was like torture. Sure, he enjoyed spending time with his mom and brothers, but he could only watch Lorenzo and Arthur get cozy with their soulmates for so long before he lost his mind.

Usually, when that happened he either called it a night early and went home, or retreated to the kitchen with his mother and offered to do any chores she needed just so he would have something else to think about. It was moments like those, when she looked at him just a little sad like she knew exactly what was going on in his head, that made him desperate for the season to start again.

When they got back, Charles had a lot to work on. He was behind Sebastian in the Drivers’ and had performed poorly at the last two races; spinning out in Germany and getting shafted with the lesser tire strategy in Hungary and finishing behind Sebastian. His podium in Silverstone seemed to be the only highlight from the last few weeks.

Still, those 24 points between him and Sebastian weighed on him. It was not an insurmountable gap, but it sure felt like it.

He tried to distract himself with boat rides and beach days, but not even that helped. Two weeks into break Charles was starting to believe he’ll never be able to truly relax until he’s back behind the wheel.

Likely sensing Charles’ growing nerves, Joris had needled him until Charles agreed to come out with him and the rest of their friend group. Typically he wasn’t a big club-goer. He enjoys it from time to time, especially after a good race, but it wasn’t really his scene. Charles much prefers staying out on the water.

Still, he figured that he might as well try it out. At the very least it’ll get Joris off his back.

So now they were holed up in a nightclub Charles had only been to twice before, and he’d already lost his friends. Some of them migrated to the dance floor, and a few went to get drinks half an hour ago and Charles hasn’t seen them since.

He finished his drink 10 minutes ago and has been scrolling on his phone since. Occasionally someone will come up to him and ask for a picture, but he’s largely been left alone at the booth his friends had taken over. Charles liked a picture or two on Instagram, mindlessly flipping between that and Twitter.

Charles knows he should probably make some kind of effort to get up and enjoy the night, but it feels like there is this film between him and the rest of the world. Like he’s disconnected from them all and operating on a different wavelength. When Charles is in the car, he never feels like that. Everything is perfectly in tune and grounded. 

“You look terrible.”

Charles’ head snaps away from the dance floor.

He gets a sudden sense of deja vu as a blonde slides into the seat next to him to interrupt his brooding. This time, however, it is a blonde he recognizes.

“Nico?” He says, his voice lifting in question. That was kind of stupid considering he knows what Nico Rosberg looks like. Charles just never expected to run into him like this. They’ve only ever spoken a few times, and Charles can’t think of a single time he’s ever run into the former driver around town, despite the fact that they live blocks from one another.

“Charles?” Nico asks in a somewhat mocking tone. Charles scowls. “None of that, come on. What has got you so upset?”

He wonders what alternate dimension he’s entered where Nico Rosberg offers to give him therapy sessions in the middle of a Monaco nightclub. Charles pinches himself under the table just in case.

“I’m not upset,” Charles says, acutely aware of Nico’s position as a Sky Sports pundit and his propensity for honesty while On Air. Even if he wasn’t cautious of all that, Charles isn’t sure he really is upset.

He wishes to be back in the car but hates to be in the paddock where the navy-wrapped reminder of his biggest problem is always around the corner. He is stressed over his position within the team and whether or not he’ll get a contract for next season. He feels disconnected from the world around him sometimes because none of them understand what it’s like to be in a car speeding 300 kilometers per hour and still be in perfect control. All of that feels too complex to just be labeled as ‘upset’.

“No? Then why do you look so bad?”

Charles’ scowl deepened. He looked perfectly fine, thank you. He had picked out his nicest linen shirt and spent a solid 20 minutes on his hair for tonight. Charles may not have a 70-step routine to maintain his looks, but he’s no slouch.

“I’m fine,” he responds.

Nico is silent for a few seconds, his eyes narrowed, assessing. Charles doesn’t particularly like being under his microscope.

“You’ve been fiddling with that for 30 minutes.” Nico points to Charles’ wrist, where that innocuous band that covers his soulmark sits. Charles is quick to let go of the accessory, his face flushing as he hadn’t even noticed he was doing it.

In an effort to deflect, Charles says: “You’ve been watching me for 30 minutes?”

Nico laughs at that, even though Charles wasn’t trying to make a joke.

“You are a very interesting person, Charles,” Nico says, and Charles isn’t entirely sure it is meant to be a compliment. “Trouble in paradise, mm?”

Charles sighs, realizing he is not getting out of this conversation anytime soon. He cards his hand through his hair as he thinks of a response.

“There is not really a paradise for trouble to be in,” Charles responds after a second. He’ll probably end up regretting this later when Nico interrupts a race broadcast to theorize that Charles’ recent lacking performances is due to a rocky relationship status, but Charles doesn’t have a lot of people to talk to about this and he’s just tipsy enough to be swayed by that fact. The only other people who know are his family, Andrea, and Pierre. Both of the last two were found out at different points by accident. And it isn’t like Charles really brings it up around them. He loves them, sure, but it just feels like they’re pitying him every time his soulmark is brought up.

“Ah,” Nico says after a moment. He sits back in the booth, staring out at the crowd rather than turning to stare at Charles.

Charles doesn’t know why he opens his mouth again, but as soon as he does he can’t stop.

“It is not- I mean, I know who they are. They know who I am. We both know that we are…” Charles can’t force the word out. “But they do not want me. At first, I understood. Things would be too difficult for it to work, but that does not mean I am not…”

“Lonely?” Nico offers.

“Yes. Lonely.”

Charles sighs, picking at the edge of his bracelet.

“I did not fight them when they did not want to pursue this,” He blurts out, not wanting Nico to think any badly of Max, even though Nico does not know they are talking about Max, and Nico already doesn’t like Max, and Charles himself is not sure he likes Max either. Still, it felt important.

“But it hurts that you would have had to fight at all?” Nico asks, but it doesn’t sound like he is looking for an answer. It sounds like he knows the answer already.

“Yes.”

It is silent for a while after that. They look out at the club together, and Charles doesn’t feel like he’s being pitied for once. He is surprised at how freeing it feels.

“It was supposed to be easy,” Charles said after a new song had already come and gone. He thinks about all those dreams he had as a kid of his soulmate and their life together. Had he really been so naive back then? Or was that the reality for everyone and Charles just happened to pull the short straw?

“Things that are worth it never are,” Nico responded.

Charles tore his eyes away from the dance floor to look at the man next to him. Nico stared down at his own wrist, softly smiling at his own band. He didn't have that constipated look on his face that Charles gets whenever he looks down at his own mark.

“Was it worth it for you?” Charles asked. If it were anyone else, it would feel invasive, but Charles did just bare more of his soul to Nico Rosberg than he has to anyone else in his life since he was 18 years old.

“Yes. To me, at least. We were… we were good.” His voice was quiet, almost impossible to hear over the music. “It did not last, but it was better than having nothing at all.”

Charles frowned at that. How could he be content with failing? If he and his soulmate hadn’t worked out, then why did the idea of them bring a smile to Nico’s face. It did not make any sense to Charles.

“Even if they hurt you?” Charles asked, thinking of Max’s barbed words that crawled into his ribs and made themselves at home.

Nico shakes his head.

“We hurt each other,” he corrected Charles. “And yes, despite the hurt, it was worth it.”

“Oh.”

He sees Joris in the distance, heading to their table with a round of shots in his hands. Nico must follow his line of sight because he moves to stand up. However, halfway through the movement, he pauses and stares back down at Charles. It feels like he is looking straight through Charles’ skin to his very core.

“If I could change anything, I would’ve fought harder for us. Maybe… maybe things would be different.”

The look Nico gives him makes Charles think that Nico is trying to tell him something, but Charles isn’t exactly sure what. All he can really think about is the fact that Nico Rosberg has everything Charles wants–the trophies, the championships, the respect–and he’s still just as lonely as Charles is. Something about that fact makes Charles’ chest hurt.

Chapter Text

Abu Dhabi 2019

The end of the season came with a sigh of relief. Charles had a new contract, a solid 24 points on his teammate, and two race wins under his belt. The rush of winning in Monza is something that still lives with him to this day. It carried him through the undercut in Singapore and the few awkward podiums he’s had to share with Max.

Yet again he finds himself standing on the podium steps with the Red Bull driver. Lewis had taken the win to match his world title, but Max and Charles were posted up on either side of him. Charles was grateful for that one thing, if he couldn’t win, he was glad Max didn’t either. If not for any reason other than the fact that he doesn’t have to deal with all the confusing feelings that Max’s hand on his waist creates.

Charles’ placement behind Max in the race solidified his fourth-place finish in the WDC. He was disappointed, but not surprised. With 11 points between them before the start of the race, Charles was unlikely to put enough places between them to make up that gap. Still, he raced hard and he always has next season. In fact, he had until 2024 with his new contract, a fact that almost makes his head spin.

This was a good result for his first season with Ferrari. Charles had to remind himself of that every time he saw a flash of blue in his peripheries.

He’d achieved what he set out to do. Charles got past the hard part, the part where he could’ve been jeopardized due to his relationship with Max. He had the contract and the statistics to back it up. No one can say now that he doesn’t deserve his seat, or that the words on his wrist make him any weaker than the rest of the grid.

While he would consider that a good thing, Charles had to wonder where this leaves him with Max.

He was no longer at any real risk of losing his seat over his soulmark, and neither was Max. They’re lined up to the exact same schedules and spend 80% of the year together anyway. So why has nothing changed? Even without all that in the way, does he want to explore things with Max further? The logistical problems have been removed but that doesn’t automatically make Max a desirable partner for Charles.

He’s still infuriating and Charles still knows next to nothing about him.

After the podium, they were released to their media duties. Charles stood at the back of the pen waiting for his turn with Sky Italia, when Sebastian came to stand with him.

Things with Sebastian were complicated, though not as antagonistic as the media made it out to be. Charles hopes they don’t stay that way. He genuinely enjoyed his time with Seb and looks up to the man.

“Kimi and I are hosting an end-of-year get-together if you would like to come,” Sebastian started, picking at the label of his water bottle. Charles snorted, before taking a sip of his own.

“You mean you are hosting an end-of-year get-together and Kimi will be there?” Charles joked.

Sebastian shrugged, smiling. Not for the first time Charles was jealous of their seemingly uncomplicated relationship.

“Same thing, no?”

Lewis walked in front of them, and Charles watched as he approached the Sky Germany broadcast. He almost looked back to Sebastian, but recognized the reporter in front of Lewis. It’s been a few months since his chat with Nico Rosberg, and nothing has changed. Charles still doesn’t see him around Monaco and Nico treats him like every other driver he never raced against. He was kind enough to not mention Charles’ troubles on television as well, which he appreciated.

“Charles?” Sebastian prompted him after a few moments of silence.

Something about Nico’s face captivated Charles. The expression was one that he almost recognizes, but can’t quite place. Lewis’ back was to Charles, but he could tell that the older driver was answering a question by the way his hands were moving. Nico was razor-focused on Lewis, just like every reporter was when talking to a driver, but there was something different about it this time.

Charles thinks and thinks about it until it hits him. That night in the club, when Nico was looking down at his banded wrist. The soft expression that contrasted so sharply with the sorrowful story Nico was telling, was the same one he was wearing now.

It clicked in Charles’ head, just what name was written on Nico’s wrist. The fighting and the tragedy of it all, yet it was still worth every second in Nico’s mind despite the way it ended. How Nico said he would have fought harder a second time around, and the way that Nico retired from Formula 1 the day after winning his title.

“Oh,” Charles said, softly.

“What?” Seb asked. “Are you coming then?”

Charles tore his eyes away from the scene in front of him, as it suddenly felt all too intimate to be watching. He refocused on Sebastian, ignoring the way the world seemed to tilt underneath him.

“Hm? Oh- yes,” Charles answered. His mind was elsewhere, and Sebastian could clearly tell based on the look he was giving Charles.

“Good, I’ll send you the details.”

Charles just nodded, his eyes flickering back over to the pair of soulmates. Lewis was already headed to his next interview. He walked away without a second glance, but Nico’s eyes followed him until he was physically called away for his next interviewee.

Charles hated the way it felt familiar.

Monaco 2020

“You are joking with me.”

The officer in front of him rubbed her neck awkwardly, struggling to make eye contact. In any other situation, Charles would be making much more of an effort to make her feel comfortable.

“I am sorry, Mr. Leclerc, it is the law,” she said sheepishly.

Charles wanted to respond with ‘fuck the law’ but he didn’t imagine that would be very helpful. Instead, he pinched the bridge of his nose and stared at the ground. Anything was better than looking at the burnt husk of his apartment building.

It hadn’t even been his fault, the downstairs neighbor had left a candle unattended next to some drapes. Yet, his apartment had received the brunt of the damage. His fire alarms had gone off in time for him to escape with his phone and his two race-win trophies, but everything else had been burnt to a crisp inside.

“You need to put this on, sir.” Another police officer approached; this time holding out a face mask. Charles gave him a deadpan look but took the piece of cloth. Pandemic restrictions didn’t care much for situational awareness.

As he put the mask on, Charles watched the various firefighters and emergency personnel rush about the scene. Ironically, his downstairs neighbor hadn’t even been home at the time of the fire, instead, he was visiting some friends. So in addition to covering the damages for both his and Charles’ apartment, he would have to pay the hefty fee for violating pandemic law. He wanted to laugh at the karmic justice of it all, but Charles wasn’t exactly coming out of this scot-free.

He wonders how many puppies he killed in a past life to receive this kind of punishment, especially considering where he’d have to find alternative accommodation.

“Do you want me to give you some space so you can contact your soulmate? I can go send you the forms you two will need to fill out,” the first officer offered. Charles can tell she is trying to be polite. It is not her fault that he is stuck in a complicated relationship situation with his soulmate.

Charles’ first response would usually be to call up his mother. However, she still lived in their childhood home and there was only a certain number of bedrooms there. Lorenzo and his soulmate had moved in at the request of his mother, and Arthur still lived there with his own soulmate. Unless Charles wanted to third wheel one of his brothers at night or sleep on the couch, there was no way to move back home.

That left Charles with one option.

Max.

For once, he thought he would escape his infamous Monaco curse purely based on the fact that the race was canceled due to the pandemic. However, he underestimated his luck considering his apartment burned down on the weekend it was originally due to take place. Charles almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all.

“Yes, thank you. I can call him.”

The officer gave him a short nod before pulling her partner away to give him space. Charles sighed. He stared up at the sky for a moment before he gathered the courage to pull his phone out of the pocket of his pajama pants. He wasn’t even awake enough at the time of the fire to pull on anything other than his pajamas, so now he’s stuck without a shirt and just a pair of flannel pants.

Charles thinks it says something about him that he remembered to grab his trophies but not a shirt.

Thankfully, it wasn’t cold in Monaco in the middle of May. He just hoped there wasn’t anyone taking pictures of him in just his pajama pants out in the middle of the streets of Monaco.

He stared at his lock screen for a solid minute before unlocking his phone. Even then, his finger hovered above Max’s contact. Charles only has his number as a result of the GPDA group chat and has not once contacted Max in the two years he’s possessed it.

He tapped his foot against the ground, the concrete making his bare feet cold.

‘Might as well get this over with,’ he thought as he pressed the call button. It was only after the first ring that Charles realized it was almost 2 in the morning and there was no way Max was awake. He scrambled to cut the call off, but before he could, the call went through.

“Charles?” Max’s voice came through his phone speakers. It was quiet, and Charles realized he hadn’t put it on speakerphone. He pressed the device up to his ear and struggled to think of what to say. “Hello?”

“Max-” he managed to choke out after a second. Charles was surprised the other driver hadn’t already hung up the phone.

“Why are you calling me?” Max sounded confused, but not disoriented. Charles doesn’t think he woke the other man up, but he’s not quite sure what Max would be doing awake at this time.

Charles picked at the edge of his wristband.

“I need your help,” he said, the words almost painful to say. “My apartment… there was a fire and I cannot live there anymore.”

The line was silent for a second. Charles started to think Max might’ve hung up, even if he never heard the dial tone.

“Ok? Thank you for telling me?” Max sounded bewildered, and it irked Charles. Was he so incapable of critical thinking that he couldn’t realize what Charles was trying to say? Or did he understand what was going on and did not care?

Charles huffed, carding a hand through his hair.

“I cannot stay with my family,” Charles said slowly, hoping that would make it easier for Max to understand. “The police say that legally my only other option is you.”

“Oh…” Max’s voice was so quiet the phone almost didn’t pick it up. “You don’t have any friends that-?”

“No,” Charles cut him off. “Since I am not related to them or a legal tenant in their buildings, it would violate pandemic protocol.”

Charles thinks of the way his heart dropped when the officer told him that. The realization that he was well and truly trapped.

“And you wouldn’t be allowed to race if you were found violating protocol,” Max added, speaking Charles’ thoughts out loud. Charles nodded before he realized that Max could not see him.

“Yes.”

It irked him how he had to rely on Max like this. If Max decided there was a greater benefit to forcing Charles to violate protocol so there would be less competition on the grid this year, then Charles couldn’t do anything about it. He was quite literally at Max’s mercy here.

“You know that means we have to register as soulmates?” Max said. His voice was strained. Charles closed his eyes, wincing. He’d already thought about it, and while it wasn’t an ideal scenario, he was past the stage of his career where it would have been a massive blow. As much as he didn’t want to, he could afford the risk at this point. Max could too. The question was whether Charles was worth the inconvenience to him.

“It is what we are, no?” Charles asked, his voice empty of any humor. As if he needed another reminder that he was tied for life to a man who wanted nothing to do with him.

Max sighed through the other line but didn’t dignify Charles with a response. Instead, he said: “I have a guest bedroom. It’s normally where I keep my sim, but I can move some things around.”

Charles felt the tension in his shoulders leave in an instant.

“Thank you, Max,” he said, and for once, Charles truly meant it.

Chapter Text

Monaco 2020

The look Max gave him when Charles showed up at his door shirtless with two trophies carried in his arms was not one that Charles would forget anytime soon. He was quick to bring Charles a change of clothes and show him the shower so Charles could get the smell of smoke out of his skin.

Charles let out a full-body sigh when he saw the 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner bottle and the complete lack of body wash, and added another few items to his mental shopping list. He’d have to replace a lot of his clothes and his laptop first, but there were a lot of things Charles couldn’t get back from his apartment. Photos, sentimental items, collectibles, the list goes on. He tries not to think about it lest he starts to spiral over it.

The clothes Max had lent him for the night were comfortable. A simple pair of sweatpants and a hoodie that fit Charles fine. They were roughly the same height, so the pants fit best, but Max was broader than him, meaning the hoodie hung a little loose on Charles’ frame. He’d never admit it, but the smell of Max’s laundry detergent was also quite nice.

After watching Max show up to every media day in a Red Bull shirt, Charles should just be grateful Max had something plain for him to put on.

When Charles came out of the shower, Max was still in the guest bedroom, messing around on the sim. He was doing laps around Suzuka. Charles came to stand behind the chair, watching as Max went around and around the track. He supposes this is why Max was still awake when Charles called.

“Just let me finish this lap and I’ll be out of your space,” Max said after a minute, not looking away from the screen. Charles glanced at his profile, watching as Max stayed laser-focused on the virtual track ahead of him.

“It’s your house, Max,” Charles rebutted.

Still, Max stayed true to his word and logged out after he crossed the finish line. Charles watched as he turned off all the various systems and monitors. It was silent, but not tense. Likely in part due to Charles’ exhaustion. He leaned against the bed as Max got up. The other man turned to look at him but didn’t move any closer.

“Let me know if you need anything,” Max said, one hand rubbing the back of his neck. Charles nodded, twisting the bedsheets between his fingers. They were soft, certainly not cheap.

“I will, thank you.”

And with that, Max gave him a stiff nod and closed the door behind him. Charles stood alone in the room, staring at the ceiling, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do now.

He fell back on the bed, his hair fluffed out around his head. Chewing his lip, Charles thought about all the things he’d have to handle, from registering their paperwork as soulmates to buying replacement items for all his stuff to looking for a new apartment. Not to mention the headache-inducing meeting that was waiting for him in Maranello.

“Ughhh.” He dragged his hands across his face.

The sudden movement reminded him of the band wrapped around his wrist. Charles paused for a second, just looking at it. Then, carefully, he moved to undo the latch and pull it off. He doesn’t do this often, not even for showers or sleeping, as it’s designed to stay on. There’s a noticeable tan line that comes from living in a Mediterranean country and wearing permanent jewelry.

He dragged his thumb across the bold black lettering, stark against the pale skin of his wrist.

Max Verstappen.

Charles wonders how often Max looks at his wrist. He wears a band of his own, a dark navy as opposed to the dark brown leather of Charles’ band. Does he flinch at the sight of it or does he look at it with the same reverence that Nico does to his own mark? Charles can’t imagine it’s the second one, but it still hurts to imagine that it is the first.

Glancing at the clock on the bedside table, Charles slides the band back on. It’s well past 3 in the morning, and he doesn’t want to throw his sleep schedule off too bad. He needs all the normalcy he can get after today. He stands up to turn off the lights and check on his trophies one last time. They’re currently sitting atop a shelf that was previously home to a set of books. Based on the dust they were coated with when Max took them down, Charles figures that it’s a pretty safe guess that Max wasn’t a big reader.

With the light of the moon coming through the window, Charles situates himself in bed. It’s a queen-sized bed, with nice sheets and good support. There is nothing objectively wrong with it, but it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like home. It feels cold and empty.

Charles stares at the ceiling, thinking about everything that is waiting for him the next day and doesn’t notice it when sleep finally claims him.

—---

“Do you really need this many?”

Charles glared at Max over their cart. He’d found his usual shampoo, conditioner, body wash, and after-shower hair products then threw in a separate set of items that he thought would work better for Max’s hair type. They were sitting atop all the extra groceries they would need for two people.

“My hair does not look this good by using 2-in-1 shampoo-conditioners, Max,” Charles scoffed. He tossed in a facial moisturizer as they moved down the aisle. Max muttered under his breath, but Charles did not catch what he was saying. “It wouldn’t hurt you to at least try using separate products.”

“My hair looks perfectly fine, thank you very much.”

Charles stared at Max and his godawful crew cut.

“Sure it is,” he said, making sure to inject as much sarcasm as possible into his voice. Max scowled at him but didn’t retort. It was for the best, Charles grew up with a hairdresser for a mother, and he knows how to recognize a bad cut. He told Max as such.

“She was?” he asked, curious. Charles couldn’t see his expression as he was perusing the selection of razors the store offered, but Max sounded genuine enough.

Charles hummed a yes.

“She worked just a few blocks from here before the pandemic.”

He tossed his choice into the kart along with a few extra razor heads. Max made a considering sound.

“I didn’t know that,” he said as he trailed behind Charles into the next aisle. They’d taken Max’s car here, one of his subtler ones. Not because Charles didn’t have his own, thankfully all his cars survived the fire including his brand new 488 Pista Spider. He doesn’t know what he would’ve done if he lost those as well. Probably something drastic.

No, they drove here today in Max’s car because Max needed to pick up some things for himself and insisted on driving. Charles would’ve protested any other time but found he didn’t have the energy to do so after his hectic night.

“She cuts DC’s hair, Mark Webber’s too,” Charles adds. “Mine as well.”

Max snorts. “Sounds like she has a corner on the F1 drivers’ market. Maybe I should go to her next time I need a cut if you think my hair is so bad.”

“Not such a bad idea,” Charles agrees. He looks over his shoulder at Max and finds the other man is giving him a funny look. It takes Charles a moment to recognize it because it’s never been pointed at him before, but he realizes its fondness.

Charles’ heart skips a beat and he turns back toward their cart.

“Come on, I need to grab some more proteins or Andrea will have my head.”

—---

There wasn’t a lot of trunk space in Max’s car, so a lot of their groceries were packed into the back seat as well. Charles sat curled up in the passenger’s seat as he thumbed through his emails. The officer had called him this morning to confirm the email where she was going to send all the files they needed to fill out. He had a few unopened emails from Ferrari, but nothing urgent or regarding his housing. He’d yet to tell them of the situation, but he knew he needed to soon.

Charles does not look forward to Mattia’s reaction. The man has always been very old school. He was part of the reason why Seb almost lost his seat when the news of his connection to Kimi broke. Charles knows it won’t go as far with him, especially because Max is not his teammate, but he can’t imagine it’ll be a fun experience. The team principal will not be happy to find out that both of his drivers have a potential ‘weakness’ on the grid.

“How are you feeling?” Max asked a few minutes into their car ride. Charles looked up from his phone to glance at the other man.

“I’m fine,” Charles answered automatically. He fiddled with the edge of his shirt, another one he borrowed from Max. This one, annoyingly enough, had the word ‘Pool Boy’ written on the chest, but Max had refused to give him another one with a shit-eating grin. Charles just hopes no one caught a picture of it.

“You sure? I know this might be a lot,” Max added cautiously. Charles bristled at that. Of course, he’s not fine, but it’s not like he going to pour his heart out to Max Verstappen. Maybe he should be more forgiving. After all, Max did open his house to Charles and hasn’t asked for anything in return. But it’s hard to forget their history.

Charles sighed. “You don’t need to do this, Max. I appreciate you letting me crash, I don’t expect you to…”

“To care?” Max said, his voice suddenly a lot more tense.

Charles nodded. “Yeah.”

Max’s face went stony, a stark difference from the open look he’d carried just moments before. Charles isn’t quite sure why he’s having such a reaction to this. He’s being nice by letting Max know he doesn’t need to go the extra mile for a soulmate he clearly doesn’t want. Shouldn’t Max be grateful?

His hands adjusted on the wheel, gripping hard enough to hard white. Charles’ brow furrowed at the reaction.

“Fine,” Max said after a moment.

Neither of them spoke again for the rest of the ride.

—---

They settled into a routine over the next few days. Max often stayed up late the night before, which meant he wasn’t awake until close to noon. Charles had a few hours of peace to himself that he used to get his daily exercises done and then watch some trash reality TV that he didn’t want Max to know he enjoyed.

When Max would wake up, he would stumble into the kitchen in search of coffee, which Charles insisted that he prepare because ‘he just did it better’. He’d picked up a trick or two about making expresso while living in Italy, so the watery garbage Max made was revolting to his tastebuds.

After that, Max would make his own breakfast and stumble right back into his bedroom where he would spend most of his day. Charles felt a little guilty about forcing Max into the confines of that one room, but when he tried to stick to the guest bedroom for a full day, Max hadn’t come out, so Charles assumed that was just part of his routine. He heard Max go through the motions of his own exercises, then hours of sim racing. Max had been quick to move the sim into his own room so he could use it at all hours. Charles found himself a little disappointed by this, as he’d actually quite enjoyed watching Max race.

It was so different from when he was behind the wheel himself. Charles didn’t necessarily think Max was any better than him or something, but it was easier to enjoy the art behind it when you aren’t focused on binning it at 300 kilometers an hour.

Max would emerge at some point for dinner, and Charles, being the gracious house guest he was, was usually the one to prepare it. Max had protested at the start but stopped complaining once Charles made it clear he wanted to contribute around the house while he was here. Even so, it wasn’t like Charles was the best chef. He was limited to a few dishes that he knew fit both his and Max’s meal plan. The options were slimmer than expected, considering Andrea was always trying to get Charles to bulk to meet the weight requirements and Max had the opposite problem.

Dinner was usually a silent affair. After that first grocery shop, Max had gone a lot quieter on him. Not that he was particularly talkative with Charles before, but those few hours where he was engaged in the conversation were surprisingly nice. And it is not like they were an exception from Max’s norm. He would overhear him chatting with the guys on his streaming team almost every day. Charles could only think of one reason why Max was so quiet - him.

He didn’t expect Max to suddenly start wanting him or anything. He was well aware of Max’s position on the matter, even if his own had shifted. It’s just… a little company would be nice. He felt just as lonely here as he did in his own apartment, if not more so because Charles no longer has a console or sim to stream with his own friends.

George, Alex, and Lando had given him hell when they found out about his apartment. To them, it was the funniest thing in the world. Charles was glad he didn’t tell them where he was staying in the interim, they would tear him to pieces with their jokes. The only people who know now are his family, his team, and whoever Max had told. Charles couldn’t imagine it’s a lot of people considering how few people he informed when they first found out about their connection.

Speaking of their connection, it had not been brought up once since they signed and returned all the necessary paperwork. In the limited conversation that went on in this apartment, the S-word hadn’t been spoken once. Truthfully, it had put Charles on edge. Not knowing where Max stood on all of this, was almost as bad as the fact that Charles didn’t know where he himself stood.

Everything about it was very confusing and it left him staring at the ceiling of the guest bedroom until the early hours of the morning sometimes.

On the sixth day of his visit, Charles found himself two seasons deep into Below Deck when Max stumbled out of his room.

He honestly wasn’t expecting Max to be awake for another hour and stared at the blonde man while the blonde stared at the TV screen.

“What are you watching?” He asked after a moment. The scene was paused on Captain Lee laying into one of his crew members for getting rude to the boat guests. Charles had been very invested up until the creak of Max’s bedroom door interrupted the show.

Charles cleared his throat.

“It is just a stupid TV show, I do not know. It was on when I turned the TV on,” Charles lied. He’d gone straight to Bravo to turn this on, and he was far too invested in this trash to turn it off at this point.

Max hesitated for a moment before he moved to the couch. Charles watched with raised eyebrows as he took the seat on the far end.

“Can I watch?” Max asked, not looking at Charles.

“Uh- sure, yeah,” Charles said, scrambling for the remote to press play. The scene resumed and Charles found his attention dragged back to the screen. His posture was a little stiffer than before, and he very carefully did not look back over at Max, but overall it wasn’t bad. After a while of Max’s little interjections, Charles started to laugh.

It wasn’t until the show was over and Max had retreated back into his bedroom that Charles realized that was the most they’d spoken all week.

—---

Charles is halfway through his lunch preparations when he gets the call.

“Buongiorno,” he greets, cautiously. Charles puts down the knife, leaning his hip against the counter as he puts the phone to his ear. This is not a conversation where he can risk a distraction.

“When were you going to tell us?” Mattia said after a moment, not even bothering with the small talk. Charles grips the phone tighter.

“You got my email?” He’d sent it a few hours ago, detailing the situation. The paperwork had been filed with the principality so that he could legally stay with Max. It was only a matter of time before the Scuderia’s lawyers caught wind of it, so Charles decided to get ahead of the situation and let them know in advance.

“It is interesting I get it now instead of two years ago, hm?” The question is rhetorical, that much Charles can tell. “Why did you think it was appropriate to hide this from us?”

Charles clenched his jaw.

“It’s common practice to not disclose-”

“Cut the bullshit, you know damn well that you should have told us,” Mattia interrupted him sharply. Charles imagined him pacing around his office like an agitated dog. Though, Mattia is likely not in Maranello. He is probably in some ridiculous-looking silk pajamas, looking out his bedroom window, as he imagines all the ways he’d like to wring Charles’ neck.

“It does not impact how I race, I do not see why I need to say this,” Charles argued back. He tugged a hand through his hair, looking up at the ceiling.

“If you are sleeping with the competitor, it is absolutely our business.”

Charles pursed his lips at that, the accusation stinging. It is not that he was personally offended by the idea of it, even though he knew he should be. It was the fact that Charles wanted it to be true while it wasn’t that stung.

“Well, you will be pleased to learn that I am not, even though it is absolutely none of your business. My loyalty is to the team, you know this.” Charles had spent the last four years solely dedicated to the Scuderia. He was the last person who would turn around and sell out the team’s secrets and opportunities to someone, regardless of what they offered in return.

The line was silent for a second, then two. Charles pushed off the counter, pacing the kitchen until Mattia finally spoke.

“If whatever is going on with you and Verstappen starts to impact results…”

Charles got the hint. He’s as good as gone.

“It won’t.”

Mattia sighs, before muttering a curse under his breath.

“If you are to be staying with him, you should be careful,” Mattia acquiesced after a moment. He sounded frustrated, but Charles was not surprised. His views on soulmates on the grid were made quite clear with the Vettel-Raikkonen situation. Charles was also aware that Mattia could not get rid of him easily, not with his success in the past year and his win in Monza. The fans and sponsors would eat him alive, and they both knew it. “Don’t leave your computer out or-”

“I don’t,” Charles said. “And Max would not go through my things like this.”

Mattia made a disgruntled noise over the phone, clearly believing otherwise, but Charles did not comment on it.

“Is this all?” he asked after a moment. Charles’ voice sounded confident, but that was only because Mattia couldn’t see his shaking hands through the phone. 

Mattia huffed. “Silvia and a representative from legal will be in contact, this won’t stay quiet for long.”

Charles looked toward the ground, scuffing his socked foot against the floor. He’d figured as such, though he wasn’t looking forward to it. The general public could be so cruel when it came to their private lives, and Charles didn’t want to know what kind of assumptions they would make about him and Max.

“I understand.” Silvia could be a hard ass sometimes, but she was 10 times more empathetic than Mattia ever will be, so hopefully she’ll figure out a way to handle the situation that doesn’t make Charles want to claw his eyes out. Charles wondered if they would have to work with Red Bull. He wasn’t sure what Max had told them about the situation, or if he’d told them anything at all.

“Arrivederci, Charles.”

He did not have the chance to say goodbye in return when Mattia ended the call. The line beeped in his ear until Charles put his phone down on the counter. He leaned forward resting his weight on the marble countertop as he took a few deep breaths.

Mattia hadn’t fired him. Charles was a Formula 1 driver. He drove for Scuderia Ferrari. None of that had changed.

“Merde,” Charles cursed, letting a shaky breath out.

“Are you alright?”

Charles whirled around. Max was standing in the doorway to the kitchen. His eyebrows were furrowed and a frown tugged at his lips. He was wearing some of the shortest athletic shorts Charles had ever seen, and an old Toro Rosso t-shirt.

“Charles?” Max asked again after Charles didn’t respond the first time.

“I- uh,” he started. Charles reached behind him to pick up his phone and wave it in the air. “Mattia called.”

Max’s eyebrows raised.

“Did you tell him about…?” He asked, shuffling into the kitchen. He leaned back against one of the counters, looking at Charles with an expression he couldn’t quite parse.

“Yes, I had to,” Charles sighed. “Have you told your team yet?”

Max shrugged. “Christian knows, I don’t know who else he told. He said he would handle it if it ever became a problem. Though I suppose I should tell him about the paperwork thing.”

Charles raised an eyebrow. “Did you not tell him when you told him we were soulmates?”

Max did not have enough time to respond before Charles fully processed what Max said.

“He knew already?” he asked, though he had a feeling he already knew the answer.

“He found out a few years ago,” Max answered. His hand was wrapped around his wrist, fidgeting with his band.

Charles took pause at this.

“Why did you not tell me?” He asked, brow furrowing.

It is not like he and Max tell each other everything, but Charles would have told Max if Mattia had found out years ago. It’s relevant to both of them, regardless of how much they don’t like talking about it. Charles got that Max didn’t want Charles to be his soulmate, but to ignore the issue so much that he neglected to let Charles in on this? If Christian had told anyone, his chance at a career in Formula 1 would’ve been over.

“Was I supposed to?” Max was a smart man, which is why it boiled Charles’ blood when he played dumb like this.

“Yes!” He scoffed. “The whole reason why we did what we did was to stop it from getting out. The fact that someone knew about us-”

“Christian was not going to tell anyone,” Max interrupted him. He crossed his arms over his chest.

Charles opened his mouth to argue back but quickly turned away. He braced his hands on the countertop and took a steadying breath. There was no point arguing with Max over past sins. As much as it made Charles sick to think about just how precarious his future used to be, he knew now that Christian had kept his mouth shut. Stressing over this when he had a million other things to stress over was counterproductive.

Caught up in calming down, Charles didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching until a hand was laid on his shoulder. Max’s hand was broad and warm through Charles’ shirt. It was comforting.

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you,” Max said. His voice was quieter than before, and Charles felt his shoulders relax at the sound.

“No, it is okay. I am just being…” he waved a hand around to try and get his point across. Charles turned to face Max again. They were a lot closer now, less than a foot between them. Max’s hand had moved to Charles’ upper bicep at this point. Each swipe of his thumb against the hem of Charles’ shirt sent a trail of goosebumps down his skin.

“You’re being fine, you’ve had a lot of shit recently. It is understandable.”

Charles tilted his head slightly, one corner of his lips curling up. “Well, thank you for being understanding.”

Max’s eyes really were blue. Charles knew this as a fact, but this close-up was almost distracting. He wondered if Max thought about Charles’ eyes. Probably not, but it was still a nice thought to have. Especially when Charles’ heart is speeding up and Max’s hand is still on his skin and those damn blue eyes are looking at him like there was something worth looking at.

“Of course, you are technically my soulmate after all.”

Charles’ smile slid off his face.

Technically.

Things had been good for a moment, and then Max had to go and remind Charles of exactly everything he couldn’t have. Charles should be grateful that Max is even acknowledging them as such, but it feels like a knife is being twisted in his gut.

He knew that Max didn’t want him as a soulmate. He knew that Max was only letting him stay here out of obligation. He knew he couldn’t have his soulmate in the way he truly wanted. He knew this.

Max didn’t need to throw it in his face for the sake of a joke.

He shrugged Max’s hand off his shoulder, the comforting warmth having turned burning.

“Right, I, um-” Charles started, avoiding Max’s eyes, which had narrowed. “I forgot something for lunch-”

“Charles?”

“I should go to the store.” Charles slid out from between Max and the counter, his face flushing. His heart was beating fast but for an entirely different reason.

“Charles?” Max’s hand landed on his shoulder again, but this time Charles did not turn around. “Are you okay?”

Charles considered for just a second telling the truth. The humiliation of being rejected a second time, because the first time wasn’t enough apparently, quickly stopped him.

“Yes, I just- I have to go.” And with that, Charles snatched his keys from the counter and made his way from the door without a glance behind him.