Work Text:
2006
The afternoon sun was shining through the already half-closed blinds of the garage.
The air still had that fizzing heat that plagued the kids and their parents and mechanics throughout the day, but already lost its aggressiveness and started to cool off.
It was a beautiful afternoon, typical for Italy at this time of year.
The perfect afternoon to stay at the track and tinker with the car a little bit, or so Charles' father said.
Which most days meant that Hervé was cleaning or fixing the car while 9 year old Charles sat next to him and watched with twinkling eyes and a smile only an excited kid could show.
Most of the kids were gone already, celebrating their gained points or just spending time with their families off the track.
From outside the garage, you could still hear one kart driving rounds, probably George who was very eager to improve his lap times as much as he could.
The only other thing in the garage was another parked kart, currently abandoned by their owner.
Suddenly the backdoor to the garage was slammed open by a very angry looking man and behind him followed a blond boy, who Charles briefly met before on the track.
"Jos!" Charles' father exclaimed warmly, turning towards him with his body.
And that's just who Hervé Leclerc was. Always smiling warmly, always being polite and open. Strict where he has to be, but always having a smile left for a person who might need it.
Even for people like Jos Verstappen, who just grunted something indefinable back and pulled his son towards the other kart.
The blond boy looked uncomfortable, cheeks red and hands fidgeting with his racing suit, stopping every time his father glances at him but continuing mere few seconds after he looked away.
"Why don't you two boys go out in the fresh air, enjoy the sun a bit whilst it's still there?" Hervé exclaimed, looking at both boys, smiling warmly.
Charles just shrugged and ducked under the blinds to get outside. The other boy followed him straight after.
His body seemed to lose tension instantly, him visibly relaxing under the still-warm sun without the glances of his father.
"Do you want to play something?" Charles asked, breaking the silence.
The boy looked at him like he grew a second head. He clearly didn't expect him to ask that, to talk to him at all. His brows furrowed together, like he was deciding if this was a good idea or not.
"Like what?" He finally said with a funny accented voice. It sounded a bit like the German boy Markus that raced in the same group as him, but different. More soft.
"I have a cards in the garage, I could get it! Wait here! Charles responded instantly, beaming from excitement. His English wasn't very good and most of the time he wasn't sure people understood what he was trying to say, but the boy just nodded, seeming to understand and stayed outside while Charles ran into the garage again.
After Charles came back, the boy still looked like he didn't know what he was doing here and if this was all wrong.
"Jules gave me this! It's a game where you have to guess the driver only by their helmets, it's super cool!" Charles was very proud of this game and was smiling widely as he explained the rules to his opponent.
The boy was just sitting still and nodding, still a little bit stiff but definitely more relaxed than he was in the garage.
As they wanted to start the game, Charles looked up suddenly, like he forgot something important.
"I'm Charles. Charles Leclerc."
The boy looked at him, like this was another thing he couldn't believe, Charles introducing himself to him.
"I'm Max Verstappen" he said, almost shyly.
Charles smiled again, more soft this time.
They started playing, and Max was good. Very good. But Charles was the one who played this game a hundred times already, so it was a battle until the end.
Max, who was very reserved at the start, showed his competitive and cheeky side, laughing until dimples showed and scrunching his nose.
They played, trying to find a winner until their fathers went outside and closed the garage blinds completely.
"Max, we are going." Jos said in this strict tone that made Charles flinch. Max just looked down, his smile disappearing, but not looking surprised. Like he knew this was coming.
"Okay Papa." He just said, looking at Charles one last time.
And even if the two didn't find a final winner that day, they found something else.
2010
A grainy autumn day. And of course Max spent it on the race track.
But he wasn't alone. He wasn't the only one spending all his free time on the track.
Charles was also there.
Max and Charles were rarely seen separately, being inseperable on and off track. It was common knowledge that these two were best friends.
Best friends who also happend to race each other in every karting championship. Best friends who shared hotel rooms on race weekends, who ate crackers from snack boxes until their stomachs hurt.
Who wrestled on the grand hotel beds, their only way to solve conflict. And even if Max was bigger and stronger, Charles had that cocky attitude and nimbleness that made their "fights" equal.
Best friends who once made a competition about who could eat a pizza faster. And this summed up their whole friendship apparently, because everyone in the paddock rolled their eyes at them and laughed every time they made a competition about something.
Which was basically everything.
And maybe this was the reason Jos allowed Max to be friends with Charles at all.
Not that he approved, but at least he didn't seem to mind.
"Good competition, will be great motivation for him" his father once said in an interview, and back then Max didn't know what it meant. He was just happy to finally have someone he could talk to, and not only about races.
They talked about the future, about school about cars, about everything teenage boys could talk about.
One time they were at the beach together, lying next to each other in the golden-white sand in silence, just looking at the sea.
"Imagine how cool it would be to race in F1 together!" Charles spoke, voice rising with excitement and hope.
"Calm down, we have to get to Formula 4 first." Max answered, not opening his eyes.
He turns his head slowly towards Charles, a smile spreading across his face.
"But yeah, that would be pretty damn cool"
2014
Turns out, Max never had to wait until Formula 4.
It was his first year in Formula 3, where he got after winning the karting championship.
Charles remained in karting, still proving himself.
Max knew Charles would follow close behind him, leaving the karting world soon also.
How could he not? Charles was indeed a great driver.
Max had his father, his reputation. Charles had only his hard work, so it was natural that they were separated for now.
Still, the two boys kept in touch.
Not too often, not how it was in karting. But something.
Something that made Max think of Charles every time he ate those snack boxes. And even that didn't happen often anymore, given his strict diet.
Max's year in Formula 3 was good. So good Red Bull started talking to him about a F1 contract.
Max told himself he was ready, that he wanted this.
But a small, cowardly part of himself thought this was all moving too fast. Very inconvenient if you are a racing driver moving cars 300 miles per hour.
And an even smaller part of him, a part he forced to be small because it made him weak, thought about how he would lose Charles even more.
How the Monégasque still fought in karting while Max was thriving.
So, Max did something.
He wasn't usually the person to help other people, to give them opportunities.
His father always told him he should care only about himself and that helping his competition would only reduce his own chances.
But also, Max is a competitive person. He wanted to fight. Easy wins are so boring, and Charles is the only person who can really keep up with him, who made him sweat, metaphorically and literally.
Max craved this kind of competition more than anything in the world, so he sat down at the small table in his hotel room and wrote an email.
An email to Formula 3. How if he got into Formula 1, he would like his seat to be given to Charles Leclerc.
Because firstly, it was the right thing to do.
Max got into Formula 3 because of his talent and his father. Charles had the talent, he only needed a person to recommend him.
And secondly, Max hated the thought of him moving upwards and Charles staying at the bottom. Because he needed Charles in Formula 1 with him, and he was determined it would happen one day.
Max didn't tell Charles about it right away. Why bother? He would find out either way, and Max didn't want to give him hope if they would reject his recommendation.
It was a few months later, when Max got the final call. He would be racing with Red Bull in the 2015 season of F1, as the youngest ever driver.
It wasn't a huge surprise. Still, Max felt triumphant. Maybe he would finally get some real competition, even if nobody would be better than Charles.
Max heard his phone ring. It was Charles.
They haven't called in a really long time, so Max assumed the news were either very good or terrible.
"Charlie?" Max greeted him, Dutch accent clearly seeping through, voice careful but kind of gentle, at least as gentle as Max Verstappen could be.
"Max" a pause. Charles' voice was muffled, like he'd been crying. But it wasn't a sad kind of crying it seemed.
"Thank you" was all Charles said, probably wanting to say so much more but not trusting his voice enough.
Max's instincts were to ask him what he went, to pretend he didn't do anything, to ask what happened.
But they both knew. Both boys knew Charles got into Formula 3 because Max recommended him. And Charles' voice sounded so grateful, happy and soft.
"No problem mate. You deserve it" was all Max said, voice calm but more tender than usual.
They stayed in the call a little but longer, not even talking but just listening to each other's breaths.
2018
Charles did it. It was, finally, after all these years, happening.
His debut in Formula 1. It was a contract with Sauber, but still a contract. A contract he waited so long for, worked so hard for.
And Charles didn't even know if he was happier that he would be racing in Formula one or that he would see Max again regularly.
They didn't talk much for the last few years, regarding both their busy schedules. But they found time to text from time to time.
And Max was the first person Charles called after signing the contract.
This was their dream. The scenario Max and Charles dreamed about for so long suddenly felt so palpable.
Max and Charles quickly became inseparable again. It was like when they were kids, talking constantly, arguing playfully, inside jokes only they understood.
All the drivers they knew before, Alex, Pierre, were brought into the same hell again.
The wrestling was the only thing they didn't revive.
Well, not after that one time right before the season during test driving, in that dark hotel room where Max suddenly landed on top of Charles, his arms being the only thing holding him up.
And suddenly, they both were hard. They realised it at the same time, quickly breaking the eye contact that felt too intense now, Max standing up fast and almost speeding to the bathroom.
They don't talk about it again.
2019
This was the year many people considered Charles Leclerc's real first year.
He finally got a contract from Ferrari. At least he could honour his father in some way. At least he could now keep his promise.
And finally he could race against Max.
Technically he was doing that before too, but now he was in a car really capable of winning. Of being first.
The thing was, Max was getting better too. Much better.
It was like they were dancing. This dangerous, aggressively-soft dance on the racetrack that was, again, a competition. Like everything with them.
And even if seemingly everything was fine, sometimes Charles felt the pressure.
How Max would sometimes look at him when Charles won.
How they didn't hug each other after every race anymore.
Charles was telling himself he was overreacting, that every friendship faded a little bit when it got into such a competition.
But this was his and Max's dream. They were supposed to share it together, to celebrate it.
Instead, they both started celebrating their own victories.
And sometimes, in interviews, Charles caught himself not thinking about Max when the reporters asked him about his biggest dreams.
2021
The only thing Max could feel was tension.
Because he knew, this year would be a core year for him.
Either he would win against a 7 time world champion, or he would go down in history as the first driver to attempt that.
It was a tie. Till the very end.
Ferrari wasn't a real competition this year, and when Max was honest with himself, he missed Charles.
He missed their battles, their talking sessions after podiums, their hugs after wins.
Nowadays Charles would just glance at him quickly or maybe smile shortly, which made Max's stomach churn when he thought about how different it was back then.
Back then, when they were just kids without all these complicated feelings Max wouldn't even dare to name.
But Max won that year. He won against the 7 time world champion Lewis fucking Hamilton.
And the first thing he saw after pulling off his helmet was a flash of scarlet and the sparkle of light green eyes.
They hugged like they were little kids again.
"You did it Maxie, I knew you would do it, I knew it" Charles was practically sobbing now, seeming more emotional than Max somehow.
And for a moment, Max believed it could all go back to normal.
Because this felt normal. This was how it was supposed to be.
But as the night went on and the alcohol level in Max's blood increased, he didn't even think about the brunette again.
2022
It was all wrong.
This was the battle Max and Charles wanted from the start. The rough but gentle back and forth, the emotions and sweat.
But this wasn't how they'd imagined it.
In their dreams, this time was supposed to be full of shared happiness. Instead, it held only cold glances and polite nods.
Because something changed over the winter.
Max came back with a cold stoned face and a wall built up so high no one could cross it over. Not even Charles, and that was what hurt the most.
Because he could easily guess why Max was suddenly like that. It all came down back to one person who happens to be Max's father.
But Charles didn't ask him about it. Didn't confront him.
Because secretly, he felt like he wasn't important to Max anymore. And it hurt him more than anything else in the world. But he felt powerless, so he just let it be.
Their battles didn't feel like they had before. It weren't the battles Max wrote that email to F3 for. These weren't the battles Charles wanted so desperately after his father died, feeling like they would be the only thing keeping him afloat.
This wasn't the dream they had as kids.
In an interview, Charles was asked if he and Max were still friends. And even if a part of him was screaming "liar" at him he still answered yes. Because they were. They never had a fight that ended their friendship, they never blocked each other's numbers or anything (if not counting that they didn't follow each other on Instagram but that was different).
But after him was Max. And Charles was only half listening, but the thing he surely heard was "no we aren't friends".
The question was something about how Max felt racing his best friend on track.
Not friends.
Maybe Max just pointed out what had been brewing for months now.
They weren't friends anymore.
They were rivals, who used to be friends, who used to share hotel rooms and snack boxes.
Rivals, who maybe felt a little bit too much about each other.
But that didn't matter anymore. Because a championship was on the way for one of them.
And only one would take it home.
And of course, it was Max at the end.
It has always been Max. In everything.
Max first in Formula 3, in Formula 1, first to win the wdc.
And this time, Charles wasn't there to celebrate. Because he accepted long ago.
He and Max were nothing now.
And maybe without Max, Charles' career was nothing too. Without him Charles wouldn't have reached anything, so maybe without Max Charles had to go.
And maybe he would. He would think about it when his mind cleared up.
When his eyes weren't full of tears and brain thick with fog.
Because even if he accepted, it didn't mean it didn't hurt.
Max Verstappen And Charles Leclerc weren't friends anymore.
The one was successful and the other couldn't do anything other than try.
So maybe, it was better that way.