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– Max! – Charles was following him, picking up his pace. Sometimes Verstappen can't control how he reacts to failure. Everyone knew his personality: aggressive, never lets anyone take his victory, not in a million years. He'll fight for his victory like a wild animal. But today, he lost the fight.
Was he hurt or angry? Both? Maybe it was regret? Who knew. One’s left to guess while he walks to the team’s box, not even taking off his helmet. Did Max himself know how much someone else worried for him? Not the engineers, not Horner, father or the whole RedBull team? Did he think about anyone… else?
Did he think someone would run after him, feeling like his heart was about to burst from the nerves?
Max disappears behind the walls of the box, while Charles was left outside with a mixture of disappointment and surprise on his face.
And now he’s standing here, before the rival team’s box, watching techs and paparazzi flash around, trying to come up with a plan to walk out of there without starting any unwanted rumours. But there probably already were a bunch of pictures of the Ferrari driver standing there, eyes darting around, looking everywhere, scratching behind his ear, as if ashamed of something.
Charles can only sigh, pull his cap down and walk back to Ferrari’s box, lowering his gaze and feeling his childhood friend’s indifference.
Did Max hear his name being called? Of course. Did he know who was calling him? Obviously. Did he make Charles look awkward? Without a doubt.
It wasn’t the right time to hold a grudge over such little things – fuck knows what Max would do if he decided to stop. But Charles appeared more… sincere? recently. He’s more vulnerable, takes the blame for everything and gets disappointed. The worst is not knowing what’s happening to you.
Or denying the reason.
Only good thing for Leclerc is that he’s used to it. And he hides it well.
He’s gonna play this dangerous game. He’s gonna give interviews with a smile while looking around for the reason for his disappointment. He’s gonna talk to other drivers, turning around “nonchalantly”, eyeing the crowd. He’s gonna do it until that thought burns a hole in his heart and soul.
“Why does he care so much about Max?”
He was only able to climb out of the whirlpool of thoughts when he was on the way to his hotel. To be honest, he wasn’t really keeping track of time: he doesn’t know how much it’s been – must be a lot, especially for this kind of thoughts. He hasn’t been this disoriented in a while, even though his heart’s been hinting at it for a long time now.
The sky was nice: sun’s slowly hiding behind the horizon, going through wispy clouds, painting the sky all shades of red and orange. The ocean stole the pretty colours, trying them on in an attempt to copy the sky. Streetlights flashed before his eyes, preparing to light up the dark roads when the sun gave way to the moon.
But not even the view could calm down the monegasque’s soul.
Because, really, he shouldn’t be worrying so much, even though that’s his friend, not just a rival. It was too much. Even running after Max was too much. No one else did that, right?
He shouldn’t be worrying so much. But he worries.
Charles’ first thought when he returned to his room was that he can finally deal with his thoughts in peace, alone: take the mask of indifference or happiness off, just be himself, while, of course, no one can see.
Leclerc stood in front of the mirror – who even came up with putting a mirror in front of the bed – and looked at himself. There are things that only you can see in yourself – for Charles it was the hint of helplessness in his expression. The helplessness that no one else saw – because this wasn’t about winning or losing, it was way more personal.
He slowly sat down on the bed, lowering his gaze, holding his head up by the hands he stuck on his thighs. Another disappointed sigh. Another wave of dread.
And even worse was picking up his phone and seeing a message from Max. Because he wanted to distract himself, not get another reminder of the havoc wreaked in his heart.
His body was moving on his own – the monegasque stood up abruptly, leaving his phone on the bed and taking a few steps towards the window. His hand was already rubbing his forehead, coming down over his eyes and clutching the bridge of his nose. This is absolutely unbearable – as if life itself was making fun of him. He wanted to scream and cry, but there was still a bit of self-control left in him. Although, he seems to have gone mad…
Obviously, he’s tried ignoring his feelings for a while now. Tried ignoring the intrusive thoughts which he didn’t find unreasonable. He doesn’t hear, doesn’t see, doesn’t exist. He’s crawled back into the whirlpool of thoughts.
He only came to when there was a knock at the door. Raised his head, lowered his hand. Was he really in a nightmare if there was something once again interrupting him from dealing with his feelings in this waking nightmare?
While Charles was clearing the distance between the window and the door, he expertly forced a calm expression, exhaled and swallowed because he knew that after this his voice was definitely raspy – his throat has gone dry.
It was an actual nightmare.
– Not interrupting, am I? – Max flashed a grin as if he wasn’t the one running away from the monegasque in a fit of dumb anger just hours ago.
He wanted to reply “the fuck you aren’t” but, of course, bit his tongue, suppressing the snide remark. He didn’t really have a good enough excuse… So he just had to awkwardly shake his head and say “no”.
– Sorry I ignored you on the paddock today. Did you want anything?
Sometimes Charles thought Max was actually stupid. Yes, I fucking ran after you to say something INCREDIBLY important!
– Umm… Don’t you think that a few hours have passed and it’s not really relevant anymore?
The silence that appeared now was awkward. But this time, Charles was looking at Max like he was a total moron while the latter tried to avoid the monegasque’s gaze, realizing that this was going to shit. Charles decided that the dutchman’s dumbfounded expression was kinda charming. How he shied away – maybe Leclerc was seeing things – how a light blush crept up Verstappen’s face. The realization that that was what Charles liked was still terrifying. He wanted to stay indifferent, but the inexplicable feeling – deep down Charles knew everything – was overpowering.
– Wanna hit the club?
An ingenious solution to not revealing his stupidity. Obviously, “ingenios” is in air quotes. But Charles was definitely not looking forward to going to a club, especially with Max. Because he can’t handle his feelings as is.
– No, thanks for the offer, – Leclerc looked slightly annoyed. Obviously this was a game, and Max caught onto that.
– Okay. Have a nice evening, Charles.
The conversation definitely ended with a sour aftertaste because Max left sans the smile that greeted his friend. And now Leclerc was wondering if playing a bitch was a good decision in order to hide his feelings. The realization made him stand there with the door open for a bit before quietly closing it.
Looks like something weird just happened there.
Why wasn’t the monegasque wondering why Max came here after not getting a reply in 15 minutes?
This evening Charles decided to spend alone: doom scroll, laugh at funny dog videos and text his friends. It was actually helping him deal with the weight of his thoughts – just what he needed. It’s like he already forgot there was a race today. Though, the clock is saying it was yesterday… He should be going to sleep instead of wasting another hour or two glued to his phone. So Charles lazily walked into the bathroom to wash his face and get ready for bed.
But just as he started brushing his teeth, his phone made a dreaded noise and lit up with a message.
Once again, Max. Once again, the seven circles of hell. And another reminder that he still didn’t read the message he got at sunset.
Something broke inside him again. And that something definitely wasn’t something you wanna see before bed. Once again he thinks of things he can’t do or say and will probably never be able to.
Yesterday
“You wanted to talk to me?”
Today, 01:42AM
“Comme gtt me”
Charles spent another minute looking at that while turning off the water and throwing the toothbrush into the sink. Exactly, THAT. Leclerc leaned on the sink and sighed, looking up, not caring about the blinding light. Looks like he’s not getting any peace and quiet any time soon.
Did Max really have nothing better to do than text Charles? Although, looks like this isn't “nothing better to do”, someone is obviously drunk and decided to text the first person on the list. This has to be it, there's no other way because Max has too many people who would be happy to come get him, almost tripping over themselves on the way. But how does one even react to that? That's the most important question. Flip him off? Respectfully flip him off?
01:44AM
“Fuvk u im not joking Carles”
His eyes rolled so far back into his head he wondered how he'd returned them to their rightful place. He really wanted to just throw his phone somewhere and forget about the fucking guy.
Obviously that's why in 10 minutes Leclerc was sat in his car, trying to figure out where the fuck his drunk friend was. Only viable option seemed to be asking to send his location.
Charles was driving to some posh club, nervously clutching the wheel, brows furrowed, trying to calm down the storm of feelings he had inside. The anger towards Max seemed to make it better – after all, this was normal compared to what he felt running after Verstappen on the paddock.
It’s night out. Some calm music is playing – what is this, taxi driver radio? – while the streetlights are flashing over the seats. The city is pretty quiet in the outskirts, but the closer it is to the center, the more loud people and drunk groups he sees, the more music is heard from behind the closed doors of clubs.
Charles can’t really say he’s enjoying this – he'd rather be in bed, sleeping, not going to pick up his drunk rival. Well, it’s kinda rude to say that. Charles definitely doesn’t think of Max as a rival, even though it’s not a really good thing in Formula-1.
Here’s the damned club. It has a pretty big parking zone – obviously made for some rich bastards. And rare pilots, who decided to get drunk on a whim and make an opposing team’s driver get them.
Charles stopped right near the entrance, expecting Max to exit and wait for him there. But no, not a single soul out here.
The monegasque rubbed his face again, already knowing that this isn’t gonna end well. He was already in for a treat – driving the drunk dutchman home, and now he had to get him out of the club. When is this nightmare going to end?
Gathering his strength, Chales got out of the car, slammed the door and went up to the entrance, fixing up his dress shirt – yes, he dressed up for this, sue him. Right as he went in, the music blasted his ears. It could be heard outside as well, but he wasn’t prepared for how loud it would actually be. The interior was pretty posh – purple lights, fresh design, the whole nine yards. Getting through the face-control wasn’t an issue – he was recognized immediately. Besides, who wouldn’t let this handsome guy in?
New goal: find his dumbass. His? No, just a friend. Right?
He has to swerve between elegant women, their companions, important businessmen and, overall, a very diverse crowd. Not really important when you’re looking for someone specific, not a one-night stand.
Charles made his way to the other side of the club with no luck, so he had to go look at the tables. Here, it didn’t take him much time to spot a familiar face. He’d recognize this face anywhere. Except his excitement didn’t last long. Max was standing in front of a couch, and sat on that couch was George Russell. And everything came together in Charles’ head.
Obviously the RedBull driver was in a heated discussion with the brit, waving his hands around and only not screaming because he had a still unlit cigarette in his mouth. Charles had to speed up to end this show ASAP – George was on the verge of hitting the drunk bastard. And Leclerc knew that Max can go a little overboard – both with alcohol and aggression.
Just putting his hand on Max’s shoulder wasn’t enough, Charles had to shove him a little to get his attention, already angry at his – ahem – friend’s antics. Verstappen immediately turned to look at where that unpleasant gesture came from.
Those drunk eyes, furrowed brows, an uneven blush, the cigarette that almost fell out of his mouth and a few undone buttons on his shirt. Leclerc immediately loses all ability to be mad at him and mentally kicks himself for that. And the feelings are stronger again…
Max’s expression becomes a little softer, he makes an unsteady “wait a second” gesture and turns back to George.
– Trust me, I’ll find a way to beat your ass and smash your head into a wall. But sorry, not today. Enjoy your evening, asshole! – the conversation was cut short with an expected gesture and a hand on Charles’ wrist.
Max was dragging the monegasque back to the entrance silently. Charles should be the one doing this, not the other way around…
Maybe it was for the better. Yea, sure, Verstappen is unsteady, almost tripping, but since he has the strength to pull his friend and even look at him occasionally, not running into other people, it was probably not as bad as it could be. Charles could imagine things going way worse – not counting the scene he already witnessed.
Right now, his brain was floating. Loud music, Max’s hand… Oh god, he should’ve stayed in his hotel room instead of listening to the pity towards his friend. As if he didn’t know he’d make himself feel even worse.
The truth was that he’d do anything for Max.
Right as they exited the club, Max inhaled sharply and let his hand go. He raised his head and closed his eyes as if enjoying the freedom. The dutchman was definitely sobering up from the fresh air. The monegasque could only look at him, swallowing nervously and rubbing his wrist.
Only then did he think what this must’ve looked like to George.
– I thought you’d tell me to go fuck myself and leave me here, – Max laughed as he looked at Charles, who frowned and folded his arms, – But I’m glad you made it here.
A quiet clink of a lighter and the cigarette was already smoldering.
– You know there’s a fuck ton of people who could get you and bring you to the hotel? – Leclerc makes the driest expression and slowly goes down the stairs.
Max starts laughing again, almost tripping over himself.
– Do you really think that I would say “let’s go to the hotel” in this state? We’ve known each other for so long and you’re still so naive.
– Max, are you fucking dumb? You know, I’m also human with my own wishes.
Charles opens the car door and stops when he doesn’t hear an answer. This makes him turn around and he sees… a puzzled expression on Max’s face? Verstappen follows him down the stairs, still not saying anything. Passes Charles, sits in the car as if not at all drunk. Looks like Leclerc never noticed his inability to say no to the other driver.
He sits too and looks at the dutchman.
– So, where do you wanna go? – asked the monegasque with a sigh. Yes, he’s giving into his friend’s crazy wishes again. Maybe Max took it for granted already…
– I don’t fucking care, let’s just talk. You have some favorite spots, right? Go there then, stop asking useless questions.
Charles decided not to reply. Wanted to remind him that being polite was free, but that would definitely be for naught. After all, Max probably didn’t mean it, that was just how he was.
They were driving. Max mentioned “just talking”, but both kept silent to the same calm music. Verstappen exhaled smoke through an open window, finishing the cigarette and throwing it out. He decided against closing the window, instead enjoying the fresh air, leaning against the door frame.
The tension between them was palpable. Charles tried not even looking at Max – his feelings were similar to a hurricane. And now, even through the haze of minute anger, he knew what he felt towards the man.
Now he knew why he ran after Max, why worried so much about him, why he came and followed Max’s wishes. The truth was obvious, yet still hard to accept. It was painful. Destructive, even. The final hit was them driving in silence, knowing that this was just dumb childish anger.
Charles gripped the wheel tighter, taking a breath to finally say something.
– You run away and then ask me to get you in the middle of the night to talk… – Charles said this hoping that his drunk friend would either not understand him or forget everything by morning. He was hoping this wouldn’t mean anything to Max – just an angry retort he couldn’t hold back.
And there was, in fact, no answer, so Leclerc allowed himself to look at the dutchman. And regretted it immediately.
Max had been looking at him for all those miserable seconds with half-lidded eyes and relaxed eyebrows. His expression was unreadable, like Max was also trying to hide from Leclerc. And Charles had to tear his gaze away to not go crazy.
The car stopped at a pier after a few minutes. The view was truly beautiful: a crescent moon hanging in the night sky, its reflection playing in the calm water.
And the silence kept up the pressure over them. He should've driven them to the hotel instead of listening to Max…
– I just didn’t want you to worry, Charles. I wanted to keep this to myself.
The words sliced through the air like a knife. Like he couldn’t breathe for a second. Charles lifted his head up to look at Max, who was turning the music down to zero.
A new wave of anger washed over him. Now he definitely knew Max was stupid. It’s like that, huh? Didn’t want him to worry? Charles got an unrecognizable mad expression he didn’t ever expect from himself.
– That’s what “didn’t want you to worry” is to you? Running away?! – Charles was staring at the water, waving his hands around, – Leaving me near the boxes so I “wouldn’t worry”?! Sometimes I’m baffled at your…
He met Max’s gaze again. That’s what didn’t let him finish his thought.
Drunk, ruffled hair, but such a desperate expression he very rarely got.
“There are things that only you can see in yourself – for Charles it was the hint of helplessness in his expression. The helplessness that no one else saw – because this wasn’t about winning or losing, it was way more personal.”
Charles entered the boxes, holding back tears. Another mistake that cost him several places – he’s used to it at this point, but, at the same time, he doesn’t remember when he’s ever felt so sad.
And somewhere outside the boxes everyone is celebrating again – of course, Verstappen came first. Now he’s gonna celebrate, give countless interviews where everyone but prays to him.
While Charles is left to sit here alone, chewing up another loss and swallowing bitterly.
Really, why would anyone give a shit about him? When was the last time he’s won?
– Carlos, I don’t wanna talk right now. Leave me alone, I’m fine… – Charles spit out as soon as he heard footsteps.
He only raised his head when he saw a glimpse of a blue uniform.
—————
Max stood on the podium again, listening to his national anthem. He’s used to it at this point – the victories were fair and deserved.
One thing felt wrong: he could see Carlos among the whole Ferrari team, happily waving and smiling.
So what is it?
Leclerc was nowhere to be seen. Verstappen’s eyes were roaming over the people in red uniforms, but he couldn’t see the all too familiar mop of hair. The one he wanted to see more than anything in the entire world . Sure, those were his victories, but he always wanted to share them. Share them with the green-eyed monegasque who was always happy for him, not caring about the rivalry.
And Max never realised how important that was to him. There was never a time he didn’t see Leclerc.
His eyes flashed with sadness briefly, like the victory was meaningless now.
And it shouldn’t be like that.
It shouldn’t be that Max, all wet from champagne, at the first opportunity to leave, heads to the paddock, and not to his box.
He’s gonna walk and feel his soul being torn apart because he knew why he didn’t see Charles. Max’s victory is definitely important, but he knew that Charles made a mistake. He made a mistake and lost his place.
Max felt that Leclerc needed help. And it seems like Max only just realized that he can’t handle the monegasque tormenting himself. He can’t just stand there, can’t enjoy his victory while Charles is in dismay.
He can’t. And that goes beyond friendship.
Max knew he was making a mistake entering the box. Giving way to his feelings even though he was taught to stay cool and reserved. But the pull was stronger, and Max had no desire to fight it.
And the RedBull pilot knew this feeling. No other feeling was as all-encompassing as this .
And all it took to understand this was not seeing Charles just one time.
It was a wonder no one stopped him – he looked everywhere, running around from room to room, opening any door he could. Like he owned the place.
And then he finally saw a familiar silhouette behind one of the doors: a well-lit, but pretty empty room.
– Carlos, I don’t wanna talk right now. Leave me alone, I’m fine…
Max stopped for a second. Charles didn’t even raise his head – he definitely didn’t expect to see anyone other than Carlos.
Unfortunately for Leclerc, Max didn’t care he was being kicked out. He moved closer slowly, not even knowing what to say. Or, rather, what could be said right now.
The monegasque lifted his gaze. It was so sad, the green almost faded behind the haze of despair. And that went straight to Max’s heart.
– Max? – Charles straightened at the sight of the guy that definitely shouldn’t be here right now, – What are you doing here?
Yeah, he wasn’t supposed to be here. But he was. And he had his reasons.
He took the other chair and sat down beside him carefully, looking up again.
– I was worried about you. You didn’t come.
And Charles didn’t know how much this meant.
Max felt frantic. And you could see that in his eyes. Because at this moment, he finally knew what mattered to him more than the victories.
Silence. The anger disappears from Charles’ face at the sight of what he saw in the mirror today. The chaos gets worse because he doesn’t know what this expression means on him . He slowly tears his gaze away, looking at the clutched hands in his lap.
He was hoping he’d never be in this situation. And now he knew that Max wouldn’t forget this by morning. He wanted to run away because he didn’t know how else to save himself.
They sat in silence for a few minutes. And then he heard the softest and calmest voice he’s ever heard from Max.
– I saw something was wrong, Charles. I felt it.
Charles didn’t wanna look up. Because he didn’t think the reason for his worries would understand him. Just like that – shattering his hopes for appearing nonchalant. The mask broke in front of the person he wanted it to the least. And now he had to do something about it.
Maybe there was still a chance to fix this?
Charles raises his head and sighs loudly.
“We need to talk”
He opens his eyes and looks at Verstappen. Their voices sounded in unison and he can see Max tear his gaze away from the window abruptly and look back at him. The next minute they’re already out of the car, barely breaking eye contact.
Now they’re leaning on the hood, looking into the distance over the water. They needed to talk, but neither of them could say anything. Another moment of tension – but a different kind now.
Max appeared calm – Charles took a peak – which couldn’t be said about the monegasque. He was almost shaking from how fast his heart was beating, because he knew he could ruin everything right now or just not say anything and come up with some dumb excuse like the failed grand prix.
His head feels heavy again, and Leclerc gives in to that feeling, lowering it. His eyes start to prickle from the unshed tears – he didn’t want them to, but emotions took over. The chaos is too much now. Like he crawled back into the same whirlpool of thoughts he had back in the hotel room.
He didn’t think he was being watched. That Max was watching him, not knowing what was going on in the monegasque’s head either. The difference between them was that Max was actually able to hide his feelings. That’s just how he was. It was dumb hoping that he could make sure Leclerc wouldn’t worry about him by running away. That was his failed attempt at caring about him.
Charles felt a warm touch on his hand and looked at it immediately. Max’s hand was covering his and his eyes were still locked with the monegasque’s. It’s like Leclerc was struck by lightning – that couldn’t be. Max just doesn’t realise what this means to Charles. This was just him showing support, right?
And Leclerc couldn’t hold back anymore.
– Max… – tears started pouring from his eyes, not able to stay back anymore. Something inside him broke – maybe it was his heart.
One touch and he couldn’t handle it anymore. He can’t hide now, and that was what was scaring him so much. Because you can't just say it, can’t confess – “Max, I need you”.
– Charles, please don’t. It’s not worth it… – he pulled Charles into a hug and he reciprocated without even thinking about it, hiding his face in the crook of the other’s neck. He cried even harder, not listening to the dutchman’s words.
But how comforting it was – the shoulders, the hand petting his back, while the other is pressing him closer. He didn’t want to think about anything right now, just give way to his emotions.
He wept into this shoulder, gripping him tighter, still not saying a word. Did he even have to? He’ll just cry it out and calm down.
But Charles could only think that until he felt a light kiss in his hair. He raised his head and looked right into Max’s eyes, wiping his own tears. And everything inside him came tumbling down.
This was the point of no return. He’s gonna die if he doesn’t say it. And if Max rejects him, then that’s just how it’s meant to be…
– I do worry, though. I can’t stand to see you mad or disappointed, I-
– I love you too, Charles.
Leclerc felt his tears wiped by the other’s hand. So soft and careful. He was stuck staring. He couldn’t believe it was actually Max.
The Max everyone hated for being aggressive and inconsiderate. The Max that threatened people with physical violence.
The Max he loves .
And now he’s here, with Charles. Standing at this pier in silence, hugging him and saying what Charles had only dreamed of hearing. But didn’t want to admit. Wiping his tears, comforting and letting him know he’s not alone in this.
And they both knew this wasn't just Verstappen’s intoxicated state. Even if it was, Charles would enjoy this moment.
One sentence was enough to end this conversation and give them both what they desperately needed.
A small smile crept up the dutchman’s face. And it meant so much to Charles right now. Yes, Max had figured him out – and thank god for that. Charles should’ve paid more attention – he was just as needed at the same time.
The tears stopped even though the realization wasn’t there yet. Leclerc must have been blind if he didn’t notice that he was way more than just a friend for Max as well. Only in this monet did he understand that Verstappen was also worried about him.
He would follow him just the same, feeling the monegasque’s disappointment, would break down just the same, looking dumb in somebody else’s eyes.
And if you think about it, it didn’t matter anymore. Because Charles moves closer and carefully covers Max’s lips with his own and relaxes when he feels the kiss being reciprocated.
And it was everything Charles could ever need right now. He slowly puts his hand on the shoulders of his – no, not rival or friend, but someone way more important.
– Did you really not want to go anywhere but the hotel? – Verstappen carefully moves away and smiles at the monegasque again.
– Max, could you be any less romantic?! Shut up, – and Charles does shut him up with another kiss, grabbing his neck so he wouldn’t run away anymore.
Even though Max didn’t even consider doing that, he definitely enjoyed the gesture.
An aftertaste of alcohol, cigarettes and victory . That’s what Max Verstappen feels like.