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When the words first appear on Charles’ skin, he doesn’t pay much attention to them. After all, he is five and the fragile letters on his left foot written in a language still foreign to him. His parents notice, of course, but with a single glance it is decided that they would leave it to Charles to discover the meaning of his marks by himself.
For years, he doesn’t waste more than a few thoughts on the writing that is neatly tucked away behind colorful socks and racing shoes.
It's only after his older brother has gained a basic knowledge in English that Charles starts thinking about the words more often. He flips through the text book stolen from his brother’s room late at night, way beyond his bedtime, searching for sequences of letters resembling the one on his foot. Hidden underneath his blanket, the flashlight sneaked from his father’s tool box almost too bright for his eyes, he deciphers the words that would bind him to another human being for the first time.
Be careful out there.
The last words his soulmate would ever say to him. Charles repeats the phrase over and over again, unable to sleep that night. Too old to return to blissful ignorance, too young to truly understand the gravity of it. Not knowing what else to do with the four words, he tucks them away once again, to the back of his mind and inside his racing shoes as he focuses on his passion. Only when his English improves to the point that he is able to speak to competitors from other countries, he notices the implication of his mark.
Charles will die racing. The realization hits him like a truck, the weight of the world almost unable to bear as he curls up behind a tree next to the track, trying to calm his heartbeat. He claws on his left shoe until his foot is freed, the mark now burning like it could set his entire being ablaze.
Just when Charles thinks the pressure on his chest in going to squeeze the last bit of air from his lungs, the Dutch kid appears in front of him. He doesn’t say anything, but his striking blue eyes ask enough questions for Charles to spit out a chain of words which he hopes form a coherent message. Surprisingly, his rival isn’t taken aback by Charles’ ramblings about death, French accent thicker than usual as he is trying to steady his breathing. Instead, Max flops down next to him and explains nonchalantly that Charles might as well be the surviving soulmate.
When Charles finds himself blankly staring and unable to form a coherent thought, Max rolls his bright eyes at him before unlacing his right boot and setting his naked foot next to Charles’.
See you on the podium.
The words are just as delicate as the ones long burned into Charles’ memory. He moves his head to look at Max’s face again.
Green meets blue.
Max goes on to explain how he has decided that the possibility of going out doing what he loved the most wouldn’t hold him back for even one second. And having seen him drive more recklessly than anyone else he has ever battled on track, Charles believes him in an instant. After a brief moment of consideration, Max admits that his soulmate dying while he is in the car is the option he has decided to focus on during races. They sit in silence after that, long enough for Charles’ heartbeat to normalize again. When it’s time to return to the track, Max silently offers his hand and helps Charles back onto his feet.
Charles pushes him off the track the next day.
As he moves up ranks and expands his racing horizon, Charles oftentimes finds himself too busy to think about the words on his skin. Other times his hands tremble on the steering wheel as he replays every word said to him right before getting into the car. For a while he thinks his soulmate might be Pierre, the French boy that is always by his side and supplies him with both the latest grid gossip and comfort after a screwed-up race. After all, no one ever said soulmates would fall in love on first sight. But then Pierre discovers the joy of working out shirtless and Charles spots the words on his lower back in a language neither of them speak.
The full gravity of carrying your soulmate’s last words to you on your skin doesn’t hit Charles until he walks past his mother the night after his father passes away, curled up on the couch in their living room, running her fingertips over the words on her wrist again and again.
Up to this point Charles had been scared of dying.
It’s when he hears his mother’s heartbroken sobs through the blanket he has pulled over his head and pressed tightly against his ears that he realizes living is the hard part.
Something within him shifts that night, as quiet tears shed for the person that loved him first soak his pillow. He cries for himself, for his brothers; all three of them still too young to be left without fatherly guidance. He cries for all the moments he will never get to share with the person he could always rely on. And he cries for his mother, now left with nothing but memories of what it was like to truly be loved and understood by another soul, made from the same speck of stardust as one’s own.
Charles locks his heart behind a stone wall the night after his father passes away.
Moving through Formula 2 and eventually up to the ranks of Ferrari’s number one championship hope, Charles does allow himself to fall for others. Women and men alike, some that stay for months, some for one night only. He does get his heart broken here and there, but when he thinks back to his mother’s broken cries, he realizes getting dumped by some fierce Italian beauty is nothing more than a scratch on his carefully constructed barriers. He rarely thinks about his soulmates alleged last words to him these days, with people telling him to be careful every other Sunday.
His main focus is on winning races anyways, dragging his car around corners as tightly as possible and pushing until he feels like flying. It had been a delight do see his rival from karting days again, now Red Bull’s shining number one driver. Max doesn’t look much like the pale kid that had stared daggers at him anymore. He is a young man that pulls Charles into tight embraces after each shared podium, voice now dropping low as he carefully analyses each and every second of the race. But he still drives with the same passion as he did back when they were still kids.
And Charles is grateful for that. Through all the highs and lows in his life, battling Max for the top step on the podium feels like the only constant he can rely on. Their fights are hard, not always fair, but they leave both of them ecstatic and yearning for more. Especially this season, the Championship finally within Charles’ reach.
Charles can feel the excitement buzzing beneath his skin as he finds his way through the paddock, spotting Max in a crowd of Red Bull staff. He has his back turned towards him, but the gravitational pull neither of them can escape pushes him to face the man in red. Max face lights up as he spots Charles, excusing himself from the mechanics and sprinting towards him.
The paddock around them is bustling with life, people chattering, fans cheering, cars and parts being moved around. But standing amidst all of it, it’s just the two of them for a moment. Charles and Max. Max and Charles. Smiling brightly as they talk about the upcoming race and their fight for the championship. They don’t talk about how much they look forward to chasing each other around corners and pushing their cars to the limit. There has never been the need to.
Their moment is broken when Christian calls for his driver. Max lingers for a moment, wrapping one arm around Charles’ shoulders and patting him on the back.
“Be careful out there.”
“See you on the podium”, Charles responds with a cheeky grin before they turn around to get into their respective cars.
The race goes as expected. Max wins the start, but Charles is trailing close behind. The rest of the grid isn’t much of a competition to them, with Oscar on third place already more than ten seconds behind, gap growing with each lap.
And then the first raindrop hits Charles’ visor. A single spot of water, trickling down his helmet like a tear. He isn’t surprised, Max and him had discussed the weather less than an hour ago, and he knows they will be called to box soon. But for now he focuses on the task at hand, getting past the Red Bull in front of him. The straight allows him to gain more speed than Max, driving wheel to wheel as they rush towards the next corner.
Charles turns his head to the side, surprised when he finds Max does the same. And for a moment Charles swears he can see his eyes through the visor.
Green meets blue.
Charles turns his attention back to the track and pushes his car as hard as he can. He turns the corner, now in front of Max. Another.
When he checks his mirrors, the dark blue car behind him is gone.
Charles knows. He knows before he sees the red flags, before the radio comes alive with static, before he realizes the gut wrenching scream he hears is his own.
He knows, because his carefully sheltered heart shatters into a million tiny fragments, leaving behind a void he knows he won’t ever be able to fill again. And while he knows people talk to him as they help him out of the car, back into the garage, back to his room, all he can hear is Max’s voice, many years younger than it was when he said the words that are now eating Charles alive.
“You know”, Max says, always so sure of himself, “I think there are fates worse than ours.”
They are sitting underneath the tree Charles is hiding behind, the black ink on their naked feet almost touching.
“A driver as soulmate.” When Charles looks at him in confusion, Max grins. Charles decides he needs to see him like that more often. It’s a soft smile, not the sharp one reserved for rivals beaten on track. It’s an earnest smile, one that reaches Max’s eyes and makes Charles heart swell just a tiny bit.
“That means we get to race together not just in this life, but in the next, and the next, as long as the universe exists. Doesn’t that sound lovely?“