Chapter Text
The first time Max meets the prince of Monaco, he wants nothing more than to leave the principality. The giant screens around the circuit are still replaying his crash against the barrier of turn 5 in slow motion and they’re everywhere , taunting him. Surprisingly, he’s not even angry at himself. Instead, when the rush of adrenaline left him once he was out of the car he felt nothing but disappointment.
So, instead of walking back to his garage to go over his racing telemetry, he stops by what seems a relatively unfrequented corner of the paddock and he sits against the wall. There, he wants nothing more than to wallow in self-pity.
Maybe if he stays there, hidden behind a stack of used tires, he won’t ever have to face his dad.
Frustrated, he throws his racing gloves to the ground. The sudden move awakens a painful jolt in his left wrist. He massages it and wonders if he hurts himself after he tried to hold the steering wheel of his car while he was drifting into the wall.
As distracted as he is, he doesn’t hear the sound of a gate opening behind him or of someone approaching him slowly.
“Are you hurt ?” a soft yet deep voice asks him.
Startled by the noise, he looks up rapidly. The sun shines rights into his eyes and he only sees a figure surrounded by a halo of white light. He squints his eyes and meets the deep emerald eyes of a young man. His breath hitches when he notices more and more details of the man’s face. He indulges himself in being drawn in by his complexion, pure as porcelain and magnifying the soft curls framing his face. He wonders fleetingly if he’s hallucinating a meeting with an angel.
“I’m Charles, do you need me to call someone ?”
Max comes back to his sense while he notices the stranger is extending a helping hand toward him. He takes the offer and rises to his feet.
Suddenly, he remembers to speak. “N-No I’m alright, I was just resting...”
Now at the Charles level, he realizes the sun might only be part of the reason Max was blinded. The young man in front of him is wearing a white suit with a long cape that envelops his lithe figure, almost like a veil would.
God, he’s beautiful, Max thinks dumbfounded while he struggles to resist the urge to count the small moles sprinkling the man’s face.
When he feels Charles’s eyes on him, Max cheeks redden uncharacteristically. Despite usually not caring for his physical appearance, he suddenly is very aware of how sweaty he is.
Yet, when Max lowers his gaze in embarrassment, he can’t help but notice a small red, gold and white sleeve cuff on the man’s right shoulder. He recognizes it as the same emblem he’s been seeing at every corner of Monaco ever since he moved there : Monaco royal house’s crest.
Immediately, Max shifts his gaze to the man’s face and his heart stalls as it finally dawns on him he’s not facing just anyone named Charles, but the actual crowned prince of Monaco, Charles Leclerc .
“Are you sure you’re okay ? You seem a bit, eh- how to say...Spacey ?”
“Sorry,- I” he stumbles over his words “It’s just the adrenaline crashing...”
“Oh, good, I was afraid something happened to you in that crash… !” Charles comments.
Great , Max thinks self-deprecatingly, so now even the Prince of Monaco got to watch him bin his car. “Oh. No it was ok. Nothing I can’t handle ! I can’t say the same about my bruised ego, though.”
Certainly not accustomed to people joking with him, the prince giggles at his answer. A soft, crystalline sound that make dimples appears on his cheeks.
“Hopefully you’ll have more chances next race in Monza, right ?”
Even more surprised that the prince knows the place of the next race, Max widens his eyes “You follow F1 ?”
“Yes, I’ve been a fan since I was old enough to walk !” Charles answers, with eyes filled with child-like amazement.
“You’ll be cheering for me then ?” Max asks, not knowing where this confidence comes from.
“Of course ! Well, I mean, as long as you don’t beat Vettel or Raikkönen !”
“Oh, you’re a Ferrari fanboy then ?” Max teases back before he can stop himself and it’s how he finds himself embroiled in a surprisingly passionate debate with the Prince of Monaco about the best team in F1. The Scuderia’s history, its lows and highs, its current line-up, everything seems a reason for the Prince to explain why everybody should love the team as much as he does.
Max doesn’t know how long their discussion last, only that with the fervour Charles speaks, he almost wants to agree with him. Of course, he’ll never admit it out loud.
Their debate is then interrupted when a man in suit standing a few meters away from them, that Max didn’t even notice before, comes close to them.
“Your Highness, I hate to interrupt you but you’re supposed to be at the podium ceremony in 10 minutes, we really should hurry.”
“Already ?” the Prince says with a hint of disappointment flashing in his yes "Well, Max it was a delight to talk to you ! We’ll see each other at another race hopefully !”
Reluctantly, they part ways. Max watches the Prince walk away and he notes how the flowy cape the Prince is wearing makes him seems to fly away, his steps light and graceful.
With those thoughts, he finally goes back to his garage. The debrief is less excruciating when he can see a retransmission of the podium ceremony. He notes with a hint a jealousy how deeply the prince blushes when he gives the winning trophy to Sebastian.
That day, he makes a promise to himself to be on that same step next year.