Work Text:
-When You Love Someone-
“Sir, Mr. Verstappen-.”
“That’s my wife Linda, get off.” Max’s cold gaze failed to stop his own security and the secretary backed away.
“Max-” Fred's voice broke through the tension as he appeared before them, his expression a mix of concern and urgency. “Max, you know we can’t undo this. Think about it, think about him and your career.”
Max’s eyes remained fixed on the screen, replaying the crash in his mind. Charles's car hitting the barriers was a sight that sent him back to his own crash at Silverstone, the fear and helplessness flooding back. “I’ll race for anyone if Red Bull despises me,” he said, his voice steady but filled with resolve.
Fred's concern deepened. “That’s not it, Max. Your career-”
“I’ll willingly sign a contract with you or Ferrari if it’s possible,” Max interrupted, his tone brooking no argument. “Now back away.”
Fred took a step back, his face a mix of resignation and respect. Max’s determination was palpable, an unyielding force that left no room for doubt. He knew that Max’s loyalty to Charles surpassed any professional allegiance, and in that moment, career considerations paled in comparison to the love and commitment driving Max's every action.
in a far more private setting, the world seemed to fade away. “Max, I love you,” Charles whispered, wrapping his arms around Max from behind, his words a sudden, fervent confession as they prepared to leave the Red Bull motorhomes.
“Maxyy, my lovee!” Charles’s voice was full of excitement as he bounded into their penthouse, flinging himself into Max’s arms the moment the door opened.
“Maxy, do you truly love me?” Charles’s voice was a soft murmur in the dim light of their bedroom, his eyes searching Max’s face for any hint of hesitation.
Max met his gaze with unwavering certainty. “I love you.”
“Max, I love you so much,” Charles whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Max pulled him closer, his own voice filled with tenderness. “I love you more, Charles.”
“I love you so much,” Charles murmured, waking up beside Max in their penthouse. The early morning light filtered through the curtains, casting a soft glow over their entwined bodies.
“Maxy, do you know?” Charles’s voice was a whisper as he hugged Max from behind, nuzzling his face into Max’s back, finding comfort in the familiar warmth and scent.
“Max, I like this marriage,” Charles said softly, pressing a gentle kiss to Max’s temple as they lounged on their yacht in Monaco, the gentle waves rocking them in a soothing rhythm.
“I’m so proud of you,” Charles declared, his voice brimming with pride and affection as he slipped a red handkerchief into Max’s pocket at a Polo match.
And then, the big screen flickered, capturing a scene that sent a chill down Max's spine. Charles had managed to get out of his car but was stumbling, barely able to stand as a marshal tried to speak to him. The crowd's murmurs filled the air, but Max only heard the pounding of his own heart. He watched, every muscle tense, as Charles shook his head repeatedly, a gesture filled with frustration and pain. Charles then removed his helmet, followed by his balaclava, and whispered words that Max recognized better than anything: “Don’t come.”
Linda, Max’s trusted confidant and right-hand woman, caught the subtle but unmistakable gesture. Without missing a beat, she began issuing urgent instructions to their team, her voice commanding.
*clang
The sound of Max’s cup hitting the ground echoed through the room, followed by a sudden, intense silence. His hands, still clenched, were white-knuckled, the muscles taut with barely controlled anxiety.
“S-Sir,” Linda stammered, her usually calm demeanour shaken by the sight of Max’s clenched fists and the raw emotion in his eyes. She gestured for the FIA guards to stand back, recognizing the situation's gravity. “Stand back now.”
“Ready the doctor,” Max commanded, his voice a tight coil of tension. “Escort him to the safe house. I want him tended by our doctor. Make sure they know he is one of Verstappen.” Each word was delivered with precision, an ironclad will behind every syllable.
Linda nodded, her movements swift and purposeful. “Right away, sir,” she said, immediately contacting the medical team and coordinating the secure transport. Max turned to Fred, his eyes filled with an urgency that bordered on desperation. “I can take him, right?” he asked, needing the final confirmation to set his plan into motion.
Fred met his gaze and nodded. “He is yours, Max.”
Relief washed over Max, mingling with gratitude so profound it softened his usually stoic expression. “Thank you so much, thank you” he said, his voice cracking slightly with emotion. It was the most genuine gratitude anyone had ever heard from Max Verstappen, a glimpse into the depths of his love and concern for Charles.
The practice session ended early for both Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc. Officially, Red Bull cited power issues, while Ferrari reported a collision with the wall. The media buzzed with speculation, but the truth was far more urgent and personal.
“We’ll do our best, sir,” Linda said, grasping Max’s hands firmly. She had always been a pillar of strength and calm, but today, she felt the weight of Max's desperation.
“You have to, please,” Max replied, his voice breaking slightly, eyes filled with raw emotion. It was a vulnerability Linda had never seen in him before, his usually steely resolve replaced with naked fear and hope.
Linda nodded, her grip tightening in reassurance. “I’ll make sure everything is handled. Just focus on Charles.”
When the helicopter landed at the hospital, everything became a blur for Max. He couldn't remember the chaos of Charles being rushed to the emergency room, still in his racing suit, nor his own hurried steps as he followed, also clad in his Red Bull racing attire. The noise of the media, the flashing cameras, the questions-they all faded into insignificance.
All that mattered was Charles.
Max ignored the swarm of reporters, their questions bouncing off him like rain on a windshield. He pushed past the throng, his eyes fixed on the doors of the emergency room that had just swallowed his beloved. The hospital staff tried to guide him to a waiting area, but he brushed them off, his mind singularly focused.
Inside, the sterile smell of antiseptic filled the air, and the bright lights were harsh on his eyes, but Max didn’t care. He could barely think, his thoughts consumed by a singular, desperate hope that Charles would be okay. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a countdown until he could see Charles again.
Hours felt like days as Max waited, his racing suit feeling tighter with each passing minute, a constant reminder of the world he had momentarily left behind. The media could wait, his career could wait. All he cared about was Charles, lying somewhere beyond those doors, fighting a battle that felt agonizingly out of his control.
“Sir, he’s got an injury that may affect his vision. His wrist is slightly injured too, and due to the G-Force...” The doctor’s words trailed off, unable to penetrate the fog of Max’s focus. Max’s eyes were fixed solely on Charles, lying still and fragile on the hospital bed.
“Leave us,” Max commanded, his voice low but firm.
The medical staff obeyed immediately, shuffling out of the room and leaving only Linda behind.
“Do everything you must to protect his career. Silence everyone.” Max said, his tone brooking no argument. Linda met his gaze, seeing the depth of his resolve. “Do you love him, sir?”
“More than my soul,” Max answered without hesitation, his voice raw with feeling.
Linda nodded, understanding the gravity of his words. “I believe Mr. Leclerc is now your top priority over Verstappen and your career. How far do you allow me to handle this?”
“Do everything you must,” Max replied. “Team intervention, the use of my name and assets-everything is allowed.”
“Yes, sir,” Linda said, her voice steady with resolve. She turned and left the room, already planning the next steps. Max watched her go, then turned back to Charles, reaching out to gently hold his hand. All that mattered now was Charles’s recovery and ensuring his career, his passion, remained intact.
Max remembered the moment vividly-Charles collapsing after telling him to stand back. The helplessness and fear had been overwhelming. In the past, Max's old self would have done everything to ensure Ferrari fired him, driven by a fierce, possessive need to protect Charles at any cost. He might have even locked him away in Verstappen Manor, isolating him from the world under the guise of safety. But those darker impulses had started to fade the day they exchanged vows. Their wedding had marked a turning point for Max, a promise to be a better, more supportive partner. He had vowed to respect Charles's independence and career, no matter how much it terrified him.
Now, as Max sat beside Charles's hospital bed, he took in the sight of his beloved, asleep and wearing a neck brace. The doctors had sedated him heavily to ensure he slept through the night. Max's heart ached at the vulnerability etched into Charles's face, so different from the confident, determined racer the world knew. He reached out and gently brushed a strand of hair from Charles's forehead, his touch tender and careful. “I’m here, Charles,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet, steadfast resolve. “We’ll get through this together. I promise.”
In fact, Max was the one who was not going to get through this easily. “Oh, Jesus,” he muttered to himself, pain engulfing his chest as he watched his beloved. The sight of Charles, usually so full of life and energy, now sedated and vulnerable, was almost too much to bear. Max leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees, and buried his face in his hands. The weight of the situation pressed down on him, threatening to crush his resolve. He had always been strong, always been the one to push through any challenge, but this was different. This was Charles-his Charles-lying there helpless, and it tore at him in a way nothing else ever had.
He looked up again, his eyes tracing the lines of Charles's face, memorizing every detail. The neck brace, the slight pallor of his skin, the way his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath-it all felt surreal. Max’s mind raced with a million thoughts, fears, and what-ifs. His phone buzzed in his pocket, pulling him momentarily out of his spiral. He glanced at the screen-messages from the team, updates from Linda, inquiries from concerned friends. But none of it mattered right now. He silenced the device and returned his focus to Charles.
“Why did it have to be you?” Max whispered, his voice cracking. He reached out and gently took Charles's hand in his, careful not to disturb him. “Why now? Why like this?” The room was silent except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitors. Max felt a tear slip down his cheek, quickly wiping it away with the back of his hand. He had to stay strong for Charles, but in this moment, he allowed himself to feel the depth of his fear. “I’m sorry, Charles,” he whispered. “I’m so sorry.”
Max had won the Grand Prix brilliantly, just as everyone expected him to. His performance on the track was flawless, a masterful display of skill and determination. The cheers of the crowd, the champagne showers, and the accolades from his team all seemed to pass by in a blur. His mind was elsewhere, focused solely on one person. As soon as the celebrations ended, Max made his way to the motorhomes with a singular purpose. He moved quickly and efficiently, wrapping everything up perfectly. His team noticed his haste but said nothing, understanding the urgency in his actions.
Within minutes, he was in his Mercedes, the powerful engine roaring to life as he sped away from the circuit. The night air was cool, and the road ahead was clear, but Max’s thoughts were anything but calm. His hands gripped the steering wheel tightly, his mind racing faster than his car had on the track. He navigated the familiar route to the hospital with precision, barely noticing the passing scenery. All he could think about was getting back to Charles. Every second away felt like an eternity, and he pushed the car to its limits, desperate to return to his side.
Finally, he arrived at the hospital, parking hastily and rushing inside. The sterile smell hit him as he entered, a stark contrast to the adrenaline-fueled atmosphere of the Grand Prix. He made his way to Charles’s room, his footsteps echoing in the quiet hallway. When he reached the room, he paused for a moment, taking a deep breath before stepping inside. The sight of Charles, still asleep and surrounded by medical equipment, brought a lump to his throat. He approached the bed quietly, his heart aching at the sight of his beloved in such a vulnerable state.
“Charles,” he whispered, taking his hand gently. “I’m back. I won today, for you.”
He sat down, his exhaustion from the race catching up with him, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was being here, with Charles. He would have traded every victory, every accolade, just to see Charles open his eyes and smile at him again. “I’ll stay right here,” Max promised softly, his voice filled with love.
“There’s a slight chance he may lose his memories,” the doctor had said, and those words haunted Max day and night. The mere thought of Charles not remembering him, not knowing their shared history, sent a shiver down his spine.
“Mi amour, you’re crying,” came a soft voice, breaking through Max’s tormented reverie.
Max gasped, barely controlling his breath as he saw Charles awake. The tears he had tried so hard to hold back flowed freely now. Charles's eyes, though weary, were full of understanding.
“My dear, I can’t bear to live in a world without you. I can’t do anything without you,” Max confessed, his voice trembling with fear.
“Grand Prix, did you win it? For me?” Charles asked, his voice weak but laced with curiosity.
“For you,” Max replied, glancing at the trophy he had placed on the bedside table. The symbol of his victory seemed insignificant compared to the relief of seeing Charles awake.
“Jesus, thank god,” Charles murmured, his voice breaking slightly.
Max leaned forward, resting his forehead against Charles’s, his lips pressing against Charles’s temples in a kiss that lingered far too long. The tears continued to fall, landing on Charles’s cheeks. They stayed like that, motionless, wrapped in the solace of each other’s presence.
“Mi amour, I am your wife. Nothing’s changed,” Charles assured him, his voice steady despite his exhaustion. Finally, relief washed over Max’s expression, softening the lines of worry etched into his face.
“This is why I can’t bear to lose you,” Max said, hugging him again. This time, Charles managed to lift a hand and gently wipe away Max’s tears.
“D-do you want to eat? The food is here. Can I do something for you? Are you hurt somewhere?” Max’s worries were palpable, his words tumbling out in a rush.
“I’m hungry, Max,” Charles replied, a small smile tugging at his lips.
Max nodded quickly, his anxiety giving way to a burst of activity. He moved to the table where the hospital food was laid out, carefully arranging everything on a tray. He returned to Charles’s side, adjusting the bed to help him sit up more comfortably.
“I’ll feed you,” Max said, his voice filled with tender determination. He picked up a spoon and brought it to Charles’s lips, watching intently as Charles took a bite. Charles’s eyes softened as he chewed, the warmth of the food bringing a semblance of normalcy to the surreal situation.
“Max, the ring,” Charles murmured, noticing the band gleaming on Max’s finger. It matched the one on his own hand. Max had always preferred to keep it on a necklace, a safer place given his racing career, but today it was there, plain and visible, a bold statement of their connection. Max looked down at his hand, a small, almost shy smile spreading across his face. “I needed to feel close to you,” he admitted softly. “With everything that happened, I couldn’t bear not having it on. It’s like… a part of you with me, always.”
Charles’s eyes softened with love and understanding. “It’s beautiful,” he said, reaching out to touch Max’s hand. “I love seeing it there.”
Max squeezed his hand gently, feeling a swell of emotion. “I’ve been so scared, Charles,” he confessed, his voice trembling slightly. “But having this ring on, it reminded me of our vows. It reminded me that no matter what happens on the track, you are my home, my safe place.”
Charles’s gaze was tender, his thumb brushing over Max’s ring. Max nodded, his eyes glistening with unshed tears. “I love you so much,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “More than I can ever put into words. Seeing you like this... it tore me apart.”
Charles squeezed his hand back, his touch gentle but firm. “I know, I’m not going anywhere.”
Max leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to Charles’s forehead. “I couldn’t do any of this without you,” he murmured.
“Did you announce the whole thing?” Charles asked carefully, squeezing Max’s hands.
“No, but they’re not stupid,” Max replied, his voice tinged with frustration.
“I see.” Charles looked away; his eyes clouded with worry.
“Charles?” Max's voice was soft, filled with concern.
“Well,” Charles began, his eyes welling up with tears. “They shall call me Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc Verstappen? I’m not mad, amour, I’m just scared.”
Max’s heart ached at the sight of Charles’s tears. He cupped Charles’s face gently, his thumb brushing away the tears. “Charles, trust me. I’ll do everything, don’t worry.”
“Oh, Maxy,” Charles whispered, his voice trembling. “Don’t throw me that gaze, you know I trust you.”
Max leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to Charles’s forehead. “I know you do, and I promise I’ll protect you.”
Charles nodded, his grip on Max’s hands tightening. “I just… I worry about what comes next. The media, the fans, everyone knowing. It’s overwhelming.”
“I know,” Max said softly. “But we’ll handle it together. We’ve faced worse. This won’t be any different.”
Charles took a deep breath, drawing strength from Max’s words. “You’re right.”
Max continued to feed Charles, the intimate act soothing them both as the night wore on. Eventually, exhaustion caught up with Charles, and he begged Max to sleep beside him. Max couldn't refuse, and that’s how they spent the rest of the night together in the hospital bed, wrapped in each other’s warmth.
When morning came, Max was awakened by the soft sounds of the nurse entering the room. She moved quietly, understanding the delicate situation, and gently roused Max first.
“Sir, you need to rest,” she said kindly but firmly. “This may not be my place to tell you, but your husband is being handled by professionals. We are the best team in this hospital.”
Max rubbed his eyes, the remnants of sleep and fatigue making his movements sluggish. “I can tell,” he murmured, appreciating her words. He knew how dedicated the hospital staff had been, tending to Charles with unwavering attention.
The nurse smiled, her expression one of understanding and concern. “Both of you are exceptional drivers. My husband watches you. But that doesn’t mean you don’t need to rest. The doctor informed me you haven’t slept properly.”
Max couldn't help but chuckle inwardly. Here he was, a world champion driver, getting scolded by a nurse. But he appreciated her concern.
“I’m leaving the blanket here,” she said, placing it gently at the foot of the bed. “Please rest.”
Max nodded, his heart swelling with gratitude. “Thank you,” he said softly, watching as she left the room. He turned back to Charles, who was still peacefully asleep. He adjusted the blanket around them, making sure Charles was warm and comfortable. Then he lay back down, allowing himself to relax. He knew he needed rest, not just for himself but for Charles too. As he closed his eyes, he felt the tension in his body begin to melt away. The rhythmic sound of Charles’s breathing was a soothing lullaby, pulling him back into a restful sleep.
They were discharged from the hospital a week later, with a statement from Ferrari announcing that Charles was ready for the Zandvoort Grand Prix, Max’s homeland and the location of the Verstappen Manor. The anticipation was intense as both Ferrari and Red Bull arrived side by side, making a grand entrance to the paddock. It was a spectacle, a show of unity and rivalry all at once.
Max and Perez walked at the front, displaying self-confidence, while Charles and Carlos followed behind. The media swarmed them like sharks to meat, their cameras flashing, and microphones thrust forward. Charles felt the pressure mounting, the scrutiny weighing heavily on him. But then, Max scooped his waist and pulled him closer, shielding both Charles and Carlos from the onslaught of questions and flashing lights with Red Bull and Ferrari crew.
“Mi amour, what a show,” Charles laughed, his eyes sparkling with amusement despite the chaos.
“Fuckin’ media,” Max grumbled, his grip on Charles’s waist tightening protectively.
“Don’t be mad, Maxyy,” Charles said, laughter bubbling up again. “They’re just doing their job.”
Max sighed, a reluctant smile tugging at his lips. “I know, I know. But it doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
Charles leaned into Max, their closeness a silent reassurance. “You’re right. But let’s give them something worth talking about, shall we?”
Max chuckled, his mood lightening as he looked into Charles’s eyes. “Always the optimist.”
“That’s why you love me,” Charles teased, his smile infectious.
“Among many other reasons,” Max agreed, “I wish to kiss you right here and there, but yeah. Let’s save it for later.” Max drops him at Ferrari motorhomes, saying goodbye to both him and Carlos before finally went to Red Bull.
“It’s lights out and away we go!!” The commentator's voice boomed across the circuit, igniting a wave of excitement and adrenaline.
The roar of the engines, the scream of the crowd, the massive screens flashing images of the race-it was all a blur of noise and colour. Red Bull fans packed the tribunes, waving flags and cheering wildly. Max focused on the track ahead, his grip on the steering wheel firm. But in his rearview mirror, a flash of red-Charles in his Ferrari-caught his eye.
Charles overtook him with such smooth precision that it was almost breathtaking.
“Max, Ferrari just passed you,” GP reminded him over the radio, his voice calm but urgent.
“Max? Mate?” The concern in GP’s voice was palpable.
“I know, GP, I know,” Max replied, his voice tense. His grip on the steering wheel tightened, knuckles white. He wasn’t just racing against his competitors; he was racing against the weight of his own expectations, the pressure of their public declaration, and the fear of what it all meant. Charles was a formidable driver, and Max knew he couldn’t afford to let his emotions get the better of him. But seeing Charles’s car zoom past him, knowing the stakes both on and off the track, was a bitter pill to swallow. He took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus. Ahead, Charles was manoeuvring through the pack with ease, his Ferrari slicing through the air with grace and power. Max watched, a mix of pride and frustration bubbling within him. Pride for the man he loved, and frustration at being overtaken.
“Stay focused, Max,” GP’s voice cut through his thoughts, grounding him.
“I am,” Max responded. He navigated the tight corners and long straights, pushing his car to the limit. Every lap was a test of skill and resolve. The crowd’s cheers grew louder as the race progressed, the tension mounting with each passing second. Max could feel the weight of their eyes on him, the expectations of his fans, his team, and most of all, Charles. He knew they were both fighting for more than just a victory-they were fighting to prove something, to themselves and to the world. As the race neared its climax, Max found himself gaining on Charles. The gap between them narrowed with each turn. He could see Charles’s car just ahead.
“Max, you’re closing in,” GP informed him, the excitement in his voice barely contained.
“I see him,” Max replied, his eyes locked on the target. He pushed harder, his car responding to every command with precision and power. The final laps were a blur of speed and strategy, each move calculated to perfection. And then, in a moment of sheer brilliance, Max saw his opportunity. He took it, his car surging forward, overtaking Charles in a move that left the crowd gasping. The finish line was in sight, and Max crossed it with a roar of triumph. Max stood at the edge of the bustling paddock, the post-race celebrations swirling around him. He couldn’t take his eyes off Charles, who was currently being swarmed by media. Is this normal? Max asked himself, wondering how someone could always look so beautiful in everything and anything.
Charles had secured P2, a fantastic result for Ferrari, but Max couldn’t help but feel a pang of unfairness. It wasn’t because of the race outcome, but because seeing his wife smile and crinkle his eyes for the cameras made Max’s heart race and his body react in ways that were hardly appropriate for the public eye. He’d never felt so proud or so deeply in love with Charles as he did today.
Charles was standing a few feet away, his cheeks flushed with a rosy hue, his soft-spoken tone captivating the reporters around him. He answered their questions with the grace and humility that had endeared him to fans worldwide. He was every inch the Ferrari driver, poised and professional, yet there was a shyness to him that only Max seemed to notice-a shyness that Max found exceptionally endearing and beautiful. As Charles spoke, his eyes occasionally flickered towards Max, a private smile curving his lips whenever their gazes met. Max felt a swell of emotion, a mix of pride and adoration. He had the privilege of calling this remarkable man his wife. The I love you gesture.
Max's thoughts wandered back to the first time he had seen Charles in his Ferrari suit, the red contrasting sharply with his fair complexion. Even then, he had thought Charles was the most beautiful person he had ever seen. But today, there was something different. Maybe it was the way Charles had fought on the track, or the way he handled the media with such poise. Or maybe it was just the simple fact that Charles was his, and that knowledge filled Max with an indescribable warmth. As the media thronged around Charles, Max found himself drifting closer, drawn like a magnet to the man he loved. He waited patiently, his heart pounding, until Charles finally broke free from the reporters and turned towards him.
“There you are,” Charles said, his voice soft and filled with warmth. His cheeks were still flushed, his eyes bright with the adrenaline of the race.
“Here I am,” Max replied, his voice equally soft. He reached out, taking Charles’s hand in his own. The simple touch sent a thrill through him, grounding him in the moment.
The post-race press conference was in full swing, and questions were being thrown at the drivers one by one. Max found himself constantly glancing at Charles, who was seated next to him, wearing their wedding ring openly. It was bold, considering how Max tried to conceal his own ring from the media, but the effort was in vain. The reporters had already noticed, and now it was Max’s turn to answer their questions.
"Max, congratulations again on the win. We’ve seen quite an interesting show this morning with the RB and Ferrari paddock entrance and your fight with Charles. How do you feel today?" a reporter asked, her tone friendly yet probing.
Max offered a genuine smile, his eyes flicking to Charles for a moment before he responded. "It's great seeing Charles come back and a double podium for me and Checo. We’re grateful for the result and we’ll continue to do our best within our power."
The reporter nodded enthusiastically. "Excellent! Now we’re seeing how tight the fight between Red Bull and Ferrari is. What do you think about it this time?"
Max leaned back slightly, considering his words carefully. "Well, honestly, Ferrari is fast, and we have to stay focused and cautious with the outcome. I believe in my team and my teammate Checo. I think it’s a great pace, and yeah, we’ll continue to upgrade ourselves for the next race."
The room was filled with the murmurs of journalists jotting down notes, their interest piqued by Max's confident responses. The rivalry between Red Bull and Ferrari was one of the hottest topics of the season, and Max's words only fuelled the anticipation for the races to come.
Next to him, Charles listened attentively, occasionally nodding in agreement. When it was his turn, he spoke with the same poise and professionalism that had earned him respect both on and off the track.
"Charles, congratulations on P2. How does it feel to be back on the podium, especially after such a dramatic race?" another reporter asked.
"It feels fantastic," Charles replied, his smile lighting up the room. "The team did an incredible job, and I’m proud of our performance today. Max and I had a great fight out there, and it's always exciting to race against such strong competition."
The questions continued, ranging from technical inquiries about their cars to personal reflections on their performances. But amidst the professional facade, there were subtle moments that hinted at their deeper connection. A shared glance, a brief touch of hands under the table, and the way they both seemed to light up when talking about each other.
Finally, the conference began to wind down, and the last few questions were being asked.
"Max, one question," a journalist called out. "We've noticed the rings you and Charles are wearing. Care to comment on that?”
Max didn’t look surprised when the reporter mentioned the rings. Instead, he leaned back and smiled at her. "I'll leave the answer to you then," he said with a small laugh, his eyes twinkling with mischief. The room erupted in murmurs, the reporters exchanging knowing glances. Max's answer was cryptic yet revealing, a perfect blend of playfulness and deflection. He then threw his gaze to Charles, who was visibly trying his best not to flush or blush under the intense scrutiny.
The question about the rings was a dangerous one, a potential minefield of personal revelation. He had subtly made it visible to the world that Charles Leclerc was his, even if he hadn't stated it directly to the media. Max’s intention was clear: he wanted the world to know, without a doubt, that Charles was his beloved partner. The glint of the rings on their fingers was a silent declaration, a personal truth worn openly for anyone perceptive enough to notice.
Charles, catching Max's gaze, managed a small, nervous smile. He knew Max had expertly dodged the question while still letting the truth hang in the air, tantalizingly close to the surface. It was a balancing act, maintaining their privacy while embracing their affection.
“We noticed how Red Bull left the practice session early from the previous race. Is there some connection between you and Mr. Leclerc as to how both of you arrived together this time?”
Max leaned forward, maintaining his composed demeanour. “A good question indeed. I think that’s just a coincidence of timing. Considering how Charles hit the barriers and us having power issues,” he answered bluntly, his tone matter-of-fact.
“Right,” the reporter shifted their attention to Charles. “A question for Charles then. Seeing how magnificent the overtake you pulled there, it seems there’s a slight favouritism towards you as to why the Red Bull driver gave you a safe space. Is it still from the previous accident by any chance? How do you feel?”
Charles glanced at Max, their silent understanding passing between them. Their relationship was like an open secret among the paddock, yet their marriage was a serious commitment, not a mere topic for speculation. Charles took a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Well, racing is about strategy and respect on the track. Max and I are competitors, but we also understand the boundaries and the risks involved. The overtake was purely a racing manoeuvre, nothing more. I don’t think there’s any favouritism at play.” Max nodded subtly, supporting Charles’s statement with his presence. He knew their relationship was under scrutiny, but he also knew that their professionalism on the track had to remain unquestioned. The reporters scribbled down notes, the atmosphere in the room charged with curiosity. They wanted to know more, to dig deeper.
When the session finally ended, they stood up, the weight of the media’s curiosity still pressing on them. Max reached out, his hand finding Charles’s in a gesture of affection.
“You handled that well,” Charles said softly.
Max squeezed his hand gently. “We handled that well,” he corrected, his smile warm and reassuring. “Let’s get out of here.”
The paddock was abuzz with even more activity than usual. Reporters clamoured for additional quotes, photographers snapped pictures at every opportunity.
"Max, Charles! Over here!" shouted one particularly eager journalist, his voice cutting through the din. Max sighed, but before he could respond, Linda, their steadfast assistant, stepped in. "No more questions for today. Thank you, everyone. We appreciate your understanding."
She guided them through the throng, "You two really know how to make headlines," she muttered, though her eyes twinkled with a hint of wonder.
Speculation was inevitable, and it spread through social media like wildfire. Every glance, every touch, every subtle interaction between Max and Charles was dissected and analysed by eager fans and curious onlookers. The F1 community buzzed with theories and interpretations, the excitement was there. Anyone with eyes could see it-the bond between the Red Bull driver and the Ferrari driver was genuine.
Late at night, the paddock was eerily quiet, the usual buzz of activity replaced by the soothing sound of rain pattering against the ground. Max waited outside Charles's motorhome, the Red Bull umbrella shielding him from the downpour. His eyes were fixed on the door. When Charles finally emerged, he looked tired but relieved, a small smile playing on his lips at the sight of Max. "Schatje, let's go," Max said, his voice soft but insistent. He extended a hand, beckoning Charles to come to him.
Without hesitation, Charles stepped forward, willingly walking into Max's embrace. Max's arm wrapped securely around his waist, drawing him close. "Stay close to me," Max murmured, his breath warm against Charles's ear. Charles more than happily scooted closer, pressing himself against Max's chest. The warmth and solidity of Max's body were a comforting contrast to the chill of the rain. Together, they walked towards the parking lot, the Red Bull umbrella barely wide enough to cover both.
They reached the parking lot, the rain still coming down in sheets. Max unlocked the Mercedes, opening the door for Charles and helping him inside before quickly joining him. The interior of the car was warm and dry, a stark contrast to the wet night outside. Max started the engine, the car coming to life with a quiet hum. As they drove away from the paddock, the rain continued to beat against the windows. Charles leaned back in his seat; his hand still intertwined with Max's on the gear shift.
"You know," Charles said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I think this might be my favourite part of the day."
Max glanced over, a curious smile on his lips. "Oh? Why's that?"
"Because it's just us," Charles replied, his voice soft and sincere. "No cameras, no questions, just you and me."
Suddenly, Max’s phone rang, its sound filling the quiet of the car. It was connected to the Mercedes, so he answered through the steering wheel. “Please tell me you’re with Charles?” Linda’s voice was immediate, a hint of urgency in her tone.
“He’s with me. Why?” Max replied, glancing over at Charles, who raised an eyebrow in curiosity.
“Sir, I believe Ferrari PR already informed you about maintaining minimal contact with Charles? The photos of you two have been spreading on social media. We’re working on taking them down one by one,” Linda explained, her tone brisk.
“Oh, you mean the ones under the umbrella? They do look romantic,” Max chuckled, recalling the images Charles had shown him earlier.
Linda’s sigh was audible. “We’ve sent another G-class for you. Please move into a different car and take a separate route from Mr. Leclerc.”
Before Max could respond, Charles gently called out, “Linda.”
“Yes, Mr. Leclerc?”
“Thank you for the countermeasures. You’ve done a great job. But can you allow me to stay with him for a moment? Please.”
Linda hesitated, then relented. “I’ve arranged a different hotel from your team and a private airport for you.”
“Thank you, Linda,” Charles said sincerely.
“Anytime, madam.”
“Ma-madam?” Charles blushed.
“I-I'm sorry, sir. It feels like talking to Madam Sophie. Do you need anything else?”
“He’s flustered, Linda,” Max interjected, amusement lacing his voice. “That will be all. Thank you.”
He ended the call, leaving the car in a moment of reflective silence. Charles, still red-faced, looked over at Max. “Madam?”
Max laughed softly, reaching over to squeeze Charles’s hand. “You do have a certain elegance about you, my love.”
Charles rolled his eyes, though a smile tugged at his lips. “She’s just doing her job, Max.”
Charles sat quietly in the car, the rain tapping rhythmically against the windows, his mind drifting back to a conversation he had overheard between Linda and the guards. The words echoed in his mind: If you were gone, your husband would crumble.
He glanced over at Max, who was focused on the road ahead. Despite his recent victory, Max’s eyes looked tired and lost, the usual spark missing. It pained Charles to see him like this, especially knowing that it stemmed from his own accident. A sense of dread crept over him-what if something worse happened to him? How would Max cope?
Max’s phone call with Linda had only highlighted the precariousness of their situation. The constant scrutiny, the pressure to maintain a certain image-it all seemed so trivial compared to the love they shared. Yet, the reality of their public lives made it impossible to escape entirely.
“Max,” Charles began, his voice breaking the silence.
Max glanced at him, his expression softening. “Yes, my love?”
“Do you remember what Linda told the guards once? About what would happen if something happened to me?”
Max’s grip on the steering wheel tightened, a shadow passing over his face. “Yes,” he replied quietly. “I remember.”
Charles reached over, placing his hand on Max’s arm. “I saw you today, winning the Grand Prix, but you looked so lost, so tired. It broke my heart.”
Max’s jaw clenched; his eyes focused on the road. “I can’t stand the thought of losing you, Charles. When you crashed, I… I didn’t know what to do. Winning didn’t matter. Nothing mattered except you.”
Charles felt a lump form in his throat, tears prickling at the corners of his eyes. “I’m here, Max. I’m right here. But we need to find a way to balance this, to make sure we’re not constantly under this kind of strain.”
“I love you so much, my husband. I do,” Charles began, his voice trembling as the rain poured harder, drumming against the car roof. “But seeing you like this hurts me too. I never meant to hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you. I never meant to.” His voice cracked, and tears began to stream down his face.
Max turned to face him fully, his own eyes glistening.
“I’m grateful for our marriage, but I also fear myself,” Charles continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “I fear putting you through hardship because of me. I am your weakness.”
The words hung heavy in the air, the car’s interior feeling impossibly small and intimate. Max reached out, gently cupping Charles’s face in his hands, his thumb brushing away the tears that fell freely.
“You are not my weakness, Charles,” Max said, his voice firm but tender. “You are my strength. Every moment with you gives me purpose, gives me a reason to fight, to push forward. Yes, seeing you hurt scares me, but it’s because I love you so deeply. You make me better.”
Charles shook his head, more tears spilling over. “But I see the pain in your eyes, Max. I don’t want to be the cause of that.”
Max pulled him closer, their foreheads touching. “You’re not the cause of my pain, Charles. The thought of losing you, of not having you by my side-that’s what hurts. I would endure any hardship if it meant having you with me.”
Charles let out a shuddering breath, his tears mingling with Max’s. “I’m so scared, Max.”
“I know,” Max whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
I told myself to seduce him
I had to make him laugh
But dear,
Everytime he’s laugh
I fell in love
Charles fell in love, but dear, Max fell harder. The intensity of his feelings was palpable in every look, every touch. He couldn't bear to see Charles in pain, and the thought of him believing he was a burden was unbearable. “It pains me to see you have to endure everything without me by your side, Charles,” Max said, his voice thick with emotion. He gently pulled Charles onto his lap, cupping his cheeks with a tenderness that made Charles’s heart ache.
Charles’s tears continued to fall, his hands trembling as they rested on Max’s shoulders. “I love you and words are never enough, so please… don’t ever think you cause me so much pain,” Max continued, his thumb brushing away the fresh tears. Charles sniffled, his eyes searching Max’s face for reassurance. “Yes, Max,” he whispered, his voice fragile but sincere.
Max leaned in, pressing a gentle kiss to Charles’s forehead, then to each cheek, and finally to his lips. The kiss was soft, full of love and unspoken promises. Charles melted into it, feeling the depth of Max’s affection. “I got you Schatz,” Max said, pulling back just enough to look into Charles’s eyes. “You’re my equal. Never forget that.”
Charles nodded, a small smile breaking through the tears. “I won’t, Max. I promise.”