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Daniel Ricciardo had promised himself one thing after leaving Formula 1 ...never, ever return to the paddock.
Not as a commentator, not as a coach, not even as a bloody umbrella holder. He had his vineyard, his dogs, and his peace. Sure, he missed the adrenaline, the noise, and yeah… maybe Max Verstappen just a little. Just a tiny bit. Fine, maybe more than a little.
But when the internet started flooding with “Lestappen is real 🥺” edits, and Max started showing up in Charles Leclerc’s stories too often for Daniel’s liking, something inside him snapped.
Was Max laughing with Charles? Were they hugging post-race? Was Charles calling Max “mate” on Instagram?
Absolutely not.
Max had always been almost his — those long nights, shared hotel rooms, quiet smiles that said more than they should’ve. But they never said anything. And when Daniel left, Max didn’t ask him to stay.
So, Daniel watched from the outside. Max winning. Max dominating. Max being shipped with... Charles Leclerc?
Excuse me?
No, no, no. Charles is a menace with perfect hair and zero romantic interest in Max — because he’s very much in love with Carlos Sainz. But the internet doesn’t know that. And Daniel doesn’t like it.
So when a particularly viral Lestappen edit trends with soft music, eye contact, slow zooms — Daniel snaps.
So Daniel does the only logical thing:
He walks back into the paddock like he never left, sunglasses on, smile wide, and armed with one mission...
He’s going back.
To the paddock.
To his man.
And to make Maxiel canon with zero warning and a lot of flair.
And maybe, just maybe… finally figure out if Max ever felt the same way.
……
At first, he’d found the edits funny. A few harmless TikToks with glitter filters and dramatic audio. But then they got serious. Entire Twitter threads analyzing eye contact. A 12-minute YouTube video titled “Why Lestappen is the F1 Power Couple We Deserve.” A trending hashtag: #SoulmatesInMonaco.
And Charles?
Blissfully oblivious.
Because Charles had Carlos. The kind of affection that slipped between casual and quiet devotion. Daniel had seen them … the lingering glances, the subtle shoulder touches in the media pen, Charles reaching for Carlos’s wrist like a lifeline after a bad quali.
But the world didn’t see that.
They saw Max and Charles.
And it made something restless coil in Daniel’s chest.
So when he quietly appeared in the Red Bull hospitality unit in Barcelona .. no press, no dramatic announcements … no one quite knew what to say.
“Just visiting,” he told the team.
“Old friends,” he said when pressed.
But when Max turned the corner and froze mid-step, blinking like a man seeing a ghost, Daniel only smiled.
“Hey, mate,” he said softly, almost casual. “You’ve been busy.”
Max’s reply came half a beat too late.
“You’re… here?”
Daniel shrugged, hands in his pockets. “Thought I’d see how the golden boy’s doing in person. Screens don’t do you justice.”
Max’s mouth twitched.
It wasn’t much.
But it was enough.
…..
Barcelona.
Race day.
Max had never been the type to search for anyone in the crowd. His focus was always forward — track, data, trophies, repeat.
But today?
Today he glanced at the Red Bull garage more times than he could count.
And every time, Daniel was there.
Not doing anything. Not saying much. Just... leaning against the wall, sunglasses perched on his nose, arms crossed and casual. Like he wasn’t a man who once walked away from all of this. Like he hadn’t disappeared.
Their eyes met only once — in a quiet moment between FP3 and Quali. Daniel tilted his head, offered Max a two-finger salute and a smile that Max swore twisted something in his chest.
Max looked away.
Too fast.
….
Later, in the cooldown room after the race, Charles side-eyed him while sipping water.
“You saw him today,” Charles said casually.
Max wiped sweat from his brow. “Who?”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “Don’t be annoying. You know who.”
“I didn’t,” Max lied, poorly.
Charles leaned in, voice low. “He was wearing your old hoodie. From Monza. The one you said went missing.”
Max froze.
His mouth opened. Then closed again.
Charles grinned, smug and sunny. “Interesting, no?”
….
In the post-race press conference, the inevitable happened.
A journalist leaned forward, bright-eyed and far too online.
“Max,” she began. “There’s been some buzz around you and Charles lately—”
Charles snorted.
“—do you think the ‘Lestappen’ ship has affected how fans see your friendship?”
Max blinked.
Charles beat him to it.
“I have a boyfriend,” Charles said smoothly. “And he’s Spanish. Drives for Ferrari. Smells like expensive shampoo and dumb decisions.”
Lando choked on his water.
Max stared at Charles, stunned.
The journalist flailed slightly. “Oh. I see. So, not—”
“No,” Charles deadpanned. “I’m in love with Carlos. Max is just tall and grumpy.”
Max turned slowly. “You told people?”
Charles winked. “Soft launch.”
The room laughed. The questions moved on. But Max felt... strange. A little exposed. And for some reason, annoyed.
Not because Lestappen wasn’t real.
But because it ever existed at all.
Because if people were going to ship Max with someone — why wasn’t it Daniel?
…..
Max was lying in bed, hair still damp from the shower, scrolling through Instagram with the mechanical detachment of someone too tired to sleep.
Race clips. Team posts. Memes.
More race clips.
And then — he landed on a reel. One of those fan edits with a sad song and flashing moments stitched together.
He almost scrolled past it.
Until he saw the caption:
"He looks at Charles like he's already his." 💙 #Lestappen
Max frowned.
He tapped the reel.
Soft piano music. Dramatic transitions. Clips of him laughing next to Charles. Standing close. That one clip where he leaned slightly toward him on the podium — for half a second. Not even intentional.
Cut to Charles smiling.
Cut to Max glancing.
Cut to someone whispering "soulmates."
“What the fuck,” Max muttered.
He clicked into the account. It was full of Lestappen content. Fanfiction links in bio. The pinned reel had 3.2 million views and a comment section filled with things like:
- "Just kiss already 😭😭"
- "Charles is literally his calm 🥺"
- "Maxiel who?"
Max sat up straighter.
“Excuse me?”
He scrolled faster, face tightening with every passing post. There were hundreds of them. Thousands probably. People analyzing every glance like it meant something. Like he and Charles were—
He stopped cold at one particularly audacious post:
“Lestappen: the slowburn we didn’t know we needed.”
Max dropped the phone on his chest.
His jaw clenched.
“Slowburn,” he repeated out loud. “Are you serious.”
It wasn’t even about Charles.
Charles was his friend. His weird, dramatic, Ferrari-doomed, totally-in-love-with-Carlos friend. Charles had literal heart eyes for Carlos during race briefings.
So no, Max wasn’t annoyed about the pairing itself.
He was annoyed because—
Because Daniel was right there.
Daniel, who used to sit too close and laugh too loud.
Daniel, who knew what Max was thinking before Max said it.
Daniel, who gave him shoulder bumps before races and called him “mate” like it meant something more.
Daniel, who wore his hoodie last week and acted like it was nothing.
Daniel, who left.
Daniel, who was now back, standing around the paddock like a slow-moving storm cloud and not saying a damn thing.
Max stared at the ceiling.
Why was he… offended?
Why did it bother him that people shipped him with Charles?
Why did it feel like some weird betrayal — not to himself, but to Daniel?
He groaned and dragged a pillow over his face.
“This is stupid.”
His phone buzzed again. A DM from Charles.
charles_leclerc:
You ok? People are saying we’re soulmates again 😩
Sorry. I told them about Carlos but they don’t care lol
ps. daniel looked very grumpy today. Did you talk to him?
Max didn’t answer immediately.
He scrolled up instead.
Found the reel again.
Pressed “Report.”
Selected: "False Information."
Because Max knows the answer now, ‘He has always been in love with Daniel’
…..
Setting: Post-race evening, Max's hotel balcony
Charles and Carlos: already publicly soft-launched with a blurry hands-holding-in-the-paddock story
Daniel: still hovering around Max's life like a ghost with a smirk
Max: spiraling into “how do people not see I’m his??” territory
…..
It had been three days since Max rage-reported a Lestappen fan edit and went to sleep muttering about "false information."
It had been two days since he saw Daniel laughing with someone from McLaren and felt irrationally angry about it.
And exactly five hours since he saw Charles post a blurry picture of Carlos’s hand tangled with his own under the table at dinner, captioned:
“You always choose the worst wine. I love you.”
Thousands of comments. A million likes.
"SOULMATES 😭"
"CHARLOSSY RISEEEE"
"slowburn? nah softlaunch perfection"
Max stared at the screen, jaw tight.
Daniel was in his hotel room.
On the couch. Wearing his hoodie. Again.
Flipping through TV channels like he lived there.
Max didn’t speak for a while.
And then—
He got up. Walked to the balcony.
Snapped a photo.
Daniel — sun-drenched in golden hour, feet up, curls messy, profile soft and stupidly beautiful. One of Max’s Red Bull caps hung off the back of his head. He was laughing at something on the TV. Completely unaware.
Max opened Instagram.
No caption. No warning. No filter.
Just the picture.
Posted to grid.
Tagged: @danielricciardo
Location: “Home.”
Then he closed his phone, tossed it onto the table, and sat back down like nothing happened.
Daniel blinked. “Did you just—”
“Yep.”
“…Hard launch?”
“Yep.”
Daniel’s mouth opened, then closed. Then:
“You okay?”
“No.”
A pause.
Then Daniel leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Max turned his head, just enough to catch his mouth.
…..
Comments Section:
@landonorris:
OH MY GOD. MAX WHAT. WHATTTT
@charles_leclerc:
max what happened to subtle
(i love it tho congrats)
@carlossainz55:
Charles literally screamed when he saw this. Also congrats.
@danielricciardo:
🥲❤️
(about time, right?)
@f1:
Max Verstappen has entered the chat.
....
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