Archive of Our Own

Charles’ contract was up. Any other season there wouldn’t have been a single question about what his next step would be. He would renew it, certainly. For as long as he could remember he had dreamt of winning in red, listening to the cheers of the tifosi, feeling the name Scuderia Ferrari roll off his tongue with practiced ease.

But this wasn’t any other season.

The first time he questions his future with the team it’s in a meeting with Lewis. Well, meeting was a rather formal word for a couple of drinks and chess between friends, but that was surely what it felt like. Lewis was tense the entire time, leaving his pieces open to all sorts of attacks.

“Mate I could checkmate you in two moves.” Charles leaned back in his seat, shoulders tense. “Is something wrong?”

Lewis jolted back to reality, clearly having been stuck in his own head. “Wrong?”

Charles nodded. “You never let me win.” He grinned. “At least not so easily.”

Lewis picked up his drink, taking a sip. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Should I be worried?” Charles tried his best to lighten the mood, but his heart was racing. Something was definitely wrong.

Lewis smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He crossed his legs, set down his drink, and took his hands from the chessboard, folding them in his lap. “This is going to be my last season.”

Charles thought he must have misheard. The hotel room went silent, even the excitement outside was muffled. He would have taken another sip from his drink, but his hands shook so bad he feared he’d drop it. “What are you talking about?”

Lewis Hamilton did not say he was going to retire. It didn’t make any sense. Sure, the season wasn’t going great, but it wasn’t like Lewis had a terrible position in the drivers’ standings. Fuck Ferrari was in second for the constructors and that was a miracle given how horribly their car had been performing. None of it made any sense.

The man let out a long sigh. “I can’t keep doing this forever, it was going to happen eventually.”

“But it doesn’t have to happen this year.” Charles wouldn’t lie, a part of it was purely selfish. He got to tell people that he was teammates with Lewis Hamilton, that he stood side by side with one of the greats. More than that though, Lewis was one of the best people in Charles’ life. He didn’t want to lose the man all because of one bad season that wasn’t even over. “What are you going to do?”

It was clear from the look on Lewis' face that this wasn’t an out of the blue decision. He had certainly thought about it thoroughly, likely even with the team, but Charles still didn’t want to accept it.

Lewis shrugged. “That’s the beauty of it, right? It’ll be the first time in a long time my life isn’t constrained by the race schedule.”

Charles looked down at his lap. He was tugging at his fingers again, a bad habit that he’d tried to stop years ago, but it always came back when he got panicked. “Have you told anyone yet?”

“I told Fred a few weeks ago. I thought it would be best to give him some sort of head’s up so he can start asking around about other drivers.”

“That makes sense.” Part of him didn’t want to look Lewis in the eye, that would make it all too real. If he just stared down at his thighs then he could pretend that this was all some bad dream he’d eventually wake up from. He wouldn’t be losing his teammate, again; he wouldn’t be losing his sense of direction for the next season.

Lewis reached over the small table between them, putting a hand on his shoulder. “It’s going to be okay, alright? You’re going to absolutely kill it next season.” He smirked. “Maybe I’ll even come around for a grid walk or two like Nico.”

Charles’ stomach twisted. Lewis rarely brought up Nico, not if he could help it. Talk about him meant that the conversation was serious, deathly so. “Ferrari won’t be the same without you.”

“Thanks, mate.” Lewis gripped Charles’ shoulder a bit tighter before dropping his hand.

Retirement. That meant that Charles only had half a season or so left with Lewis. To some that would feel like an eternity, but to him it felt like a matter of seconds. Everything moved fast in Formula 1 which meant he didn’t have much time to figure out what his next move would be.

“Checkmate.”

Charles frowned as he looked at the board. Lewis always won in the end.

⤝❖⤞

The second time Charles thought that Ferrari wasn’t his future was when he caught wind that Yuki was going to be transferring. Really, he knew better than to listen to paddock gossip; after all, they were the same sources that a few weeks prior had been claiming that Max was transferring to Mercedes. As if Toto would drop George or Kimi.

From the way Yuki looked at the cars, the slight frown that had become ever present on his face, Charles knew that it wasn't just gossip. Yuki was really transferring. To where, he had no idea, but it was going to be somewhere non Red Bull related. God, that team went through drivers quickly. It was possible that the team would look towards a F2 driver, but Charles hadn’t seen anyone that was a likely candidate. Not like there was one for Ferrari either. That made two massive gaps in the drivers’ lineups that were difficult to fill.

Every race that passed, every sprint and grand prix, Charles started eyeing that Red Bull spot more and more.

Really, it was a stupid idea. Him driving a Red Bull. That would send a million fans into an early grave. But at the same time, Ferrari wasn’t changing any time soon – a fact that was becoming more and more apparent as the season stretched on. Charles didn’t want to leave Ferrari. It was a second home to him, a place he had fought tooth and nail for. But Ferrari wasn’t the unshakable god that he once believed it to be. The team was cracking apart, so much so that even those on the outside could see it.

After the Hungarian GP, feeling the rush from securing pole position to scrambling through the race to pick up points in P4, Charles knew.

He couldn’t stay with Ferrari.

Pierre was the first person he called regarding his decision. He couldn’t face his family at the moment, and bringing it up in front of the team felt like a betrayal, so he turned to his friend, less for advice and more for a shoulder to cry on. It was summer break so getting in contact with the man was far easier than it would have been during a race week. The phone call went about as well as he could have hoped.

Charles paced around his apartment, probably sending Leo into a nervous fit. The phone rang, once and then twice.

“Charles?”

“Hey, mate, how is it going?”

There was a pause from Pierre’s line. “Alright, what’s bothering you?”

Charles ran his fingers through his hair. Sometimes he hated how well his friends could read him. “I think I’m going to leave Ferrari.” He spit out the words before he could stop himself, ripping it off like a bandaid.

Pierre was quiet again. “Oh.”

That simple one syllable sound was enough for Charles to wonder if he’d royally fucked everything up. “Do you not think it’s a good idea?” His stomach felt like it was lurching to his throat. “I should stay, right? I mean… with Lewis leaving they would need to build a whole new team. I cannot leave them in the dirt. No?” Charles couldn’t breathe. He knew he was breathing because he was talking and he needed air for that, but it didn’t feel right.

His apartment felt like a furnace.

“Charles, take a breath.”

He listened. It was harder than it should have been.

Pierre let out a sigh. “I can’t say I’m surprised.”

“What?” Charles leaned against the counter, fearing that if he didn’t have something to hold him up that he would go tumbling onto the ground.

“Everyone can see that you are upset with Ferrari.” Pierre let out a short laugh. “It was only a matter of time before you looked somewhere else.”

Charles chewed his lip. “I was looking at Red Bull actually.”

If he thought that Pierre got quiet after he mentioned leaving Ferrari, then talking about joining Red Bull may as well have caused Pierre to hang up completely. “Are you being serious? Charles, it’s Red Bull.”

“I know, yes, but it would be a good decision, no?”

Pierre let out a huff. “Well, yes, Red Bull is a strong team. But, mate, you realize you’d be teammates with Max, right?”

Oh, Charles had thought about it. The moment he knew that there would be an open spot at Red Bull, he envisioned himself as Max’s teammate. He knew Max for most of his life at this point, always at odds with the other man. Rivals becoming teammates. That would be quite the story. It was invigorating though. Things wouldn’t be the same, they wouldn’t be able to race against each other the same way, but it would be a good move on Charles’ part. Well. Maybe good was putting it lightly.

“Oh, mon ami.” Pierre sighed. “Just think a bit before you get into contract talk.”

“I will.” The phone call ended after that.

Charles let out a long breath, shaky and coarse. He gripped the counter until his knuckles turned white. Leo scampered across the ground, barking up at him. Charles slid down to the floor and pet Leo’s soft fur. “What are we going to do, Leo?”

⤝❖⤞

Charles announced on Instagram midway through summer break that he would not be renewing his contract with Ferrari for the 2026 season.

Two weeks later, just ahead of the Dutch GP, it was published that he would be signing with Red Bull Racing.

⤝❖⤞

Max approached him in the paddock during free practice.

Charles had been waiting for the moment the man questioned him about his decision. He was certain that Max had torn into his team for the decision, but there was nothing he could do to stop it. Charles was officially going to be a Red Bull driver the following year – it was exhilarating in the strangest sort of way.

Max’s fireproofs were halfway undone, tied around his waist. Someone really should have gotten him before he got anywhere near the Ferrari garage. Charles wished they did, if someone had then his heart wouldn’t be pounding so hard. “Max.”

“What are you playing at?” There was anger on his face, more like the rage fueled man the media saw him as than the one Charles knew was hidden behind it.

Charles sucked in a breath as Max stepped closer. There was only a foot or two between them, certainly not enough space to feel comfortable. “We should talk about this later.”

“We should talk about this now.”

Mechanics were moving around the garage, too consumed with readying the car for qualifying tomorrow to notice who had shown up. Charles hoped that just one of them would look up and tell Max to fuck off for now. Sadly, no one came to his rescue. “There is a practice session to finish up and I know you want to do well. I do too. So, we should focus on the race for now.”

Max stood still, unmoving. He pursed his lips almost like he was pouting. It took far too long for him to step back. “Fine. Tonight, I’ll text you my hotel number.”

“Sounds great.” It sounded like Hell on Earth. Instead of saying that, Charles put on his best smile and tried to focus on free practice. He had a race to complete and he couldn't let Max get into his head. There were two McLarens to deal with that needed his full attention.

Despite knowing better, he stressed throughout the entire practice session. At the very least, he hadn’t crashed, but it wasn’t the cleanest he would have liked either. The car was still shit, the team scrambling, and Charles was doing all that he could to push the tractor as hard as he could. At some points, he thought it would be easier to walk out and start pushing it down the track.

Back in his hotel room, Charles looked over several sets of clothes laid out on his bed. He knew he didn’t need to impress Max, at least not with his fashion – it wasn’t like the man was the peak of style – but he couldn’t help it. There was a little voice whispering to him that he had to prove something to Max, that he would make a good teammate, that he could put aside all the personal stuff and stick strictly to business.

In the end, it didn’t work. He narrowly avoided texting Pierre and asking for his opinion on the outfits. That was only because he knew what the man would say, and Charles didn’t need to hear it.

He was not pining over Max Verstappen of all people. That was ridiculous.

Charles picked out a plain t-shirt and a nice enough pair of joggers. This was just a conversation, not a business meeting. He thanked the cover of night for his ability to make it to Max’s hotel and room without getting swarmed. He was certain he looked stupid, ducking around corners and keeping his head low, but he couldn’t risk getting caught. Even if the world knew he was transferring to Red Bull, they didn’t need to know every little detail.

The media would probably end up twisting it into something it wasn’t. They liked to do that.

Max was quick to open the door when he appeared. “You actually showed up.”

“We agreed we would talk.” Charles bit his tongue. Max had his glasses on, and there was a scowl on his face. What Charles wouldn’t do to wipe it away. Max had a nice smile.“Can I come in?” He looked down the hall like a camera was going to pop out of the drywall. “I don’t think you want people to know about this.”

Max rolled his eyes but let him in.

The suite was nice, as they always were. Charles shoved his hands in his pockets and paced. He’d been doing that a lot recently.

“Why Red Bull?” Right into the conversation then. Max came blazing, tone rough and shoulders squared. It was as if he was looking for a fight.

Charles shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant even as his heart stammered. “Someone once told me I look good in blue.”

“Charles.”

His name was dangerous on Max’s tongue. Intoxicating. Charles chewed his lip and shook his head. “Ferrari is falling apart. I’ll never win a championship with them.”

“And you will with Red Bull? Have you been watching this season or have you been asleep behind the wheel?”

Max looked so alive.

“I’m holding my own as well as I can this season. The McLarens are impossible to compete with.” The sight of orange was beginning to make Charles sick. He would rather anyone at all stand atop the podium. “With the new regulation changes that could change, and when that happens I want to be with the team I think will be the strongest, one that knows how to adapt.”

Max raised a brow. “What happened to that Ferrari pride?”

The words felt like a knife to his chest. There was still part of Charles that was attached to Ferrari, likely it would always be there. The team was too important to him to give up completely. But driving was his career. Sacrifices had to be made.

Charles took a step closer even though the heat between them grew. “I’ve gotten realistic.”

“Clearly.”

They stood for a moment, nearly chest to chest. Max was the first to turn away. “Racing with you in Belgium was the best part of the season so far.”

The words caught him so off guard, Charles nearly was knocked down by their impact. He bit back a smile. “Then let’s hope Red Bull allows us to race next season.” Max looked at him with something dark in his gaze. “Let’s.”

⤝❖⤞

Charles secured pole position in the Netherlands, for the second race in a row. When he caught sight of Max later in the paddock he smirked. I can be a worthy teammate.

⤝❖⤞

The season progressed faster than he would have liked. It ended as he expected, as everyone did. The McLaren boys were just too powerful, sitting in their rocket like cars. Max accepted his third place position with barely hidden annoyance. Charles could tell, as soon as Max stepped on stage, that he was already thinking of the next season. Charles knew because he was too. They talked about it since that night in the Netherlands, a conversation stretching deep into the night. Charles couldn’t contain himself, just like Pierre had always told him. It was an embarrassing fact to face, but he knew that he couldn’t avoid it, not when he was going to spend the rest of the year swept up with the other man.

Pierre was right about the pinning, but Charles couldn’t let it interfere with the racing. He transferred to Red Bull with the full intention of holding that World Championship trophy and he was going to get it. The personal stuff would be swept to the side. Charles would see Max not as a friend or anything else, but simply as a teammate, a colleague. That was best for both of them.

⤝❖⤞

They didn’t talk much over winter break. At least, they didn’t talk about anything of substance. Charles spent most of his time with the Red Bull team, sans Max, trying to get acquainted with a new set up. There was plenty of PR to do, so much that Charles knew each of the media team members' names on a first name basis. Typically, Charles spent the break on, well, break. Not this time though.

When the 2026 season drew closer, it was obvious that he and Max would need to actually work with one another. That was when the media team decided to ramp up their conjoined interviews. One was scheduled for a week before the Australian GP. It would be an important one, that was for certain. Charles didn’t know how to contain himself.

The interview took place in Monaco, which was pleasant enough. It meant that Charles didn’t have to suffer an early wake up and a plane ride, overthinking what he was going to say for hours on end. Still, that didn’t mean there wasn’t plenty of time to worry. As the days passed, more phone calls and texts and emails than he could have expected, Charles could feel himself working into a panic.

It blew up in his face when was readied for the interview by the media team and dressed in the iconic Red Bull polo. He looked down at his torso – it looked odd. He’d worn it a few times in the past weeks, a jacket or two as well, but he’d grown used to the look of red. The polo looked more normal on Max who sat beside him, a couple of feet between them.

Charles crossed one leg over the other, hands on his knee to stop them from shaking. He told himself all he had to do was make it through the interview, but that wasn’t true. The transfer to Red Bull was more than this one instance. It was now his life.

Maybe he hadn’t thought through things enough.

The woman interviewing them introduced herself to the camera with a bright smile on her face. “And with me today is Max Verstappen, a familiar face to the Oracle Red Bull Racing team, and a new edition, Charles Leclerc.” Lisa’s, the interviewer, expression was practiced and perfect.

Charles however didn’t feel nearly as put together as he should have been. He started to tug at his fingers again, hoping that it wasn’t seen on camera.

Lisa began firing away questions before Charles could properly brace himself. “Charles, you’re the man of the hour. Now tell me, what factors led to your transfer to Red Bull? I think I speak for everyone when I say that I didn’t expect you to see you in anything that wasn’t a Ferrari coverall.”

Charles tried to smile, but it was more like a cringe than a real one. “Right into the hard questions then.” He laughed, but it wasn’t as bright as he usually sounded. Looking down at the floor, he felt a hand touch his thigh. It was only for a moment, but it made Charles nearly jump out of his skin.

Max was the only person that could have done it which didn’t help him feel any better. In actuality, that made it even more stressful. He hoped that the camera didn’t pick up how his breath caught in his throat. It was probable that Max was just trying to comfort him, but it didn’t work all that much.

Pining. Pierre’s voice echoed in his mind.

Charles took a deep breath. “Well, Red Bull is a powerful team, one I believe can be at the top of the standings this season, and I’d love to be a part of that.”

Lisa looked down at her cards with the multitude of questions that Charles didn’t want to answer. “Did your decision have anything to do with Ferrari’s performance last season?” Her expression was calm, but her words were cutting.

Charles wanted Lisa to ask Max anything at all. Maybe if they pissed the man off enough then the whole thing would get called off.

Max’s touch was back, this time not as jumpy as previously. He kept his hand there for a moment. If Charles was any weaker of a man, he would have reached out too, but that definitely would have been picked up by the cameras – mostly because they would love the chance to start something. He had to admit though, Max actually was a bit of a comfort, as long as Charles fought through the anxiety.

Max was a solid force beside him. If Charles had to go through all of this alone he would have completely lost it.

Charles shook his head. He didn’t know how to respond to Lisa’s question. Lying through his teeth would be too obvious. Everyone knew that he wasn’t happy with Ferrari the previous season – the radio clips were viral enough to prove it. The last thing he wanted to do was talk shit about his past team. There were still good people there after all.

“Are we going to talk about the past the entire time? I thought this was supposed to be an interview about the coming season.” Max’s voice filled his ears. It didn’t sound genuinely angry, just a bit of sarcasm. It was such a typical Max response.

Lisa grinned through it. “Perhaps we’ll skip through a few of these questions then.” She shifted through her cards. The studio went quiet as she did so.

Charles turned, ever so slightly, to give Max a glance. Max only looked with his eyes, expression still contained. Charles expected nothing less, but it still sent a flutter in his chest.

Lisa turned her questions around. She listened to Max’s request, asking about changes to the car – something they couldn’t actually say all that much about – that changes to the schedule that they were looking forward to and those that they weren’t. There was a question or two about Lewis, which made Charles reel back a little. He’d still be in contact with the man, and Lewis had been as shocked as anyone to hear about Charles’ transfer.

The space between them lessened as the interview continued, both of them growing more comfortable as time progressed. Despite not spending as much of the break together as they probably should have, Charles and Max were actually quite friendly with one another. It was a bad idea to let that spiral anymore. Two chairs probably would have been the better option. At least then Charles would be able to put more space between them instead of subconsciously leaning closer.

The sofa suddenly felt too small.

Charles watched as Max spoke, the movement of his lips, the tone of his voice. The corners of his lips quirked up involuntarily. He didn’t notice that until after though, when he was watching the interview back after it was posted. When he did watch it, he already knew what the comments were going to be – everyone would point out that he looked hopelessly in love with his teammate and wasn’t that quite something.

Charles sat back in his seat. He made this transfer for a reason, to win, and he was going to make the most of it whether or loved Max or not.

⤝❖⤞

Melbourne was a mess.

Free practice had gone fine. The paddock made him feel like he was stuck in the crossfire; the media were harassing him as soon as he stepped out of his car, but that was to be expected. Max stuck by his side the entire time, though Charles would have found everything easier to bear if there was some space between them. There was strategy talk that went far smoother than Charles was used to, a lot more input from himself and Max were accepted. That made his stomach churn from how unusual it was. Max seemed a little shocked as well which reminded Charles that this was also his first full season with a new team principal. Red Bull was changing in all sorts of ways.

Qualifying was fine enough. The McLarens were fast, but the new regulations leveled the playing field a bit more. That didn’t take away Oscar or Lando’s talent though so there was still a difficult fight to come. Mercedes pulled out good times, but Max came out ahead, Charles only a step behind. P2 and P3 – George had pushed himself all the way to the front of the pack.

The weekend went well.

That was until the actual race.

The pair was told to follow McLaren rules. As annoying as Charles found the name, it made sense for him and Max. They could race against each other as much as they wanted, but they under no circumstances could make contact with one another. Mekies made that rather clear.

The race started cleanly. Charles fell behind Max but kept the gap close. Both of them eyed George in P1. Max went for the attack early, diving tight on turn three. Charles followed.

That was basically the entire race, and it made his blood boil. He couldn’t ignore how badly he wanted to win, it would be fantastic to start the season off with twenty-five points. A podium was nice, but winning was better.

His engineer was steady in his ear. “Alright Charles, ten laps to go. The gap behind you is widening by three tenths every lap.”

Charles bit back his want to tell the man to just let him drive, and simply responded with a quick “copy.”

Max was in his sights. In ten laps he would be able to catch the other man, certainly.

“Mind the gap between you and Vertstappen, your left front wing almost caught his wheel on turn eleven.”

Right, it had, because Charles had tried to cut in, braking late, in an attempt to catch Max off guard. It hadn’t worked, and he’d almost broken the one rule in the first race. Charles Leclerc was not viewed as that kind of man. He was respectful, apologized when he ended up snapping, but he was reaching his wits end. Red Bull was supposed to be a fresh start.

The grand prix wasn’t the reason Melbourne had been shit though. He finished the race in P2, a great way to start off at a new team. Everyone was already writing about how the season was going to be dominated by Red Bull.

The taste of champagne was still on his tongue when Max pulled him to the side. His grip was steady. Max leaned down, speaking into his ear so the cameras wouldn’t be able to read his lips. “You were the only one I was watching out there.”

Charles couldn’t hide the shock on his face. He knew he should have, especially when he heard the flash of dozens of cameras, but he couldn’t.

Max didn’t let anything show, everything hidden behind a calm exterior that was nearly unbreaking. Nearly. Charles wanted to see what happened when it did fall, when the cracks began to show. What was Max like when he didn’t need to be Max Verstappen, four time world champion, the fierce lion of Red Bull?

That was another reason he decided to transfer, but Charles would never say that aloud. That was a secret he would keep to his grave.

They ended up partying together, which was to be expected. There were plenty of other drivers, celebrities, and paddock employees in attendance. Charles thought that the crowd would sweep him away, hide him from the eyes of the man he couldn’t face, not when he knew what Max’s breath felt like on his ear. Life wasn’t that easy though.

Max was unstoppable – especially after he got a few drinks in him.

Charles had seen Max at parties before; he thought he knew what to expect. He was wrong. If he thought that Max had gotten touchy around the paddock and during PR sessions, then Max was a completely different person while intoxicated.

He couldn’t decide if it was the alcohol, the high of winning the first race of the season, or the heat getting to Max – perhaps it was a mix of all three. Charles knocked back a few drinks as well, trying to ignore the twist in his heart whenever Max’s hand lingered on his shoulder for a few seconds too long or when they ended up pressed chest to chest as the crowd bunched together.

It was immensely stupid not to pull away, but Charles felt pulled towards the Max like a magnet. Everything was too hot – the crowd, the room, Max’s hands. Charles felt like he was in Singapore all over again, overheating from the inside out. The night stretched on, he and Max saying things he hoped they would forget in the morning. The crowd started to dissipate. There was a whisper, a mention of a hotel. Charles didn’t say no.

The thing that saved him from making one of the most questionable decisions of his life was the multitude of drinks swirling in his stomach finally fighting against him. It wasn’t the highlight of his night, and it was immensely embarrassing, but Max decided to walk Charles back to the proper hotel room instead.

Charles was thankful when he felt his own bed sheets beneath his fingers. He looked up at the ceiling, chest heaving. The first race of the season and he almost fucked up everything – the race, the team, his relationship with Max. There was still an entire season to drive. It was going to be the longest season of his entire life.

⤝❖⤞

Races passed in a blur: Shanghai, Suzuka, Sakhir. Red Bull really was dominating. Charles and Max swapped positions nearly every race. One week Charles would be leading the drivers’ championship and the next it would be Max. The latter was still able to pull ahead in the sprint races though, likely out of pure spite.

It was the most fun that Charles had in ages, something he had said already in a string of interviews. After Melbourne, knowing that Max was truly racing with him, Charles couldn’t find it in himself to be angry. It was a huge plus that the team treated them as equals, clear as day that either of them had a shot at winning the championship.

Charles’ smile after a race made his glee apparent to everyone even if they didn’t know about his history with Max.

Max. Oh, Max.

The man made Charles’ life both increasingly annoying and thrilling. He was the person Charles could turn to for cat pictures as well as advice on the next qualifying session. Everything was confusing with Max. Neither of them brought up the party in Melbourne, but that didn’t mean they pretended like it didn’t happen. They didn’t speak with words, instead using actions and silence to communicate.

They practically fell into a routine. Max brought him coffee when they shared mornings. Charles started keeping Red Bull at his apartment. Max pivoted conversations away from Ferrari when they were interviewed together. Charles invited him to paddle games.

With every week that passed, Charles knew that it was a bad idea to allow things to continue down the path it was heading, but it was too wonderful to stop. For the first time in years he stepped out into the grid with a genuine smile; he opened his phone and didn’t feel a crushing sense of loneliness; he spoke with his team and was listened to. He didn’t want to ruin the good thing they had going.

Things changed in Monaco though, the Monaco GP that is.

Charles was more nervous for his home race than he’d been in previous years. He wasn’t in red, and that hurt more than he would have liked to admit. He lounged in his apartment longer than he should have, so much so that his phone began to blow up with the threat of the team dragging him out by his shirt collar.

He wanted to race, but he didn’t. He wanted to prove to the city that he was still someone they should stand behind, but he didn’t know if they would want to do so if he was in navy. Charles ducked away from every microphone and camera. It was extremely difficult because Monaco was small which meant that the paddock was small – there wasn’t any room to breathe. It didn’t help that practically every face he passed was someone he noticed, someone he’d seen on the streets during a normal day – decked out in red.

Always red.

The color blinded him. Charles couldn’t escape it, everywhere he looked he saw people dressed in red. Even the Monégasque flag made bile rise in his throat. Monaco was his home, but it felt like too much. This wasn’t the first time that had happened of course, but everything felt different now that he wasn’t racing for Ferrari. It felt like betrayal.

“Charles.” There was a hand on his shoulder, steady and warm.

Charles looked up through his lashes. His eyes felt hot. “Max.” He hated how his voice cracked when he spoke.

“Come with me.” Max spoke with a steady rhythm. Collected in all the ways that Charles wasn’t.

Free practice was going to start soon, but Charles listened to Max’s request and took to his feet, a little unsteady. There were dozens of bodies moving through the garage, but Max walked through all of them with a wave of confidence. Walls passed, team members saw the determination on Max’s face and drew back. Max brought him back to Red Bull hospitality, to a back room hidden from others’ view.

“Sit.”

Charles sat.

Max popped out of the room for a moment, just a moment, and came back with a bottle of cold water. He pressed it into Charles hand, their fingers touching for longer than necessary.

Charles sipped on the water, slowly, he knew that it was best not to chug it all down in one go. That would only cause the sickness in his stomach to worsen. The room was quieter than the outside world, the air cooler. He knew that if he listened hard enough he would hear the roar of the crowds, smell burning rubber. Charles tried not to pay attention to the details – letting them blur at the edges.

Max stayed, sitting next to him on the floor.

The way the ground dug into Charles’ tailbone helped take the edge off. Almost like a strong drink.

“This is still your race.” Max spoke, voice still as steady as ever. His side was pressed against Charles’. “You are from Monaco; this is your home. It doesn’t matter what team you’re racing under.”

Charles squeezed the water bottle, the condensation wetting his palms. He didn’t know how Max knew what to say, how he was so good. The world didn’t see him like this, but Charles wished they did. Another part of him was glad that he was one of the few people that got to see this other side of the man. “I don’t know if I can face them.”

Max rested his hand on Charles’ thigh again, squeezing lightly. “You can.” He was sure in his words, far more sure than Charles was. “You’re stronger than they give you credit for.”

Charles didn’t believe that for a second, so he just leaned into Max’s side until the team came calling for him.

The weekend mixes together. Free practice was similar to years passed. Crashes happened, red flags were called. Charles took all of it in stride. He put on his brightest smile when he touched tires with Esteban, nearly leading to yet another red flag. Qualifying finished with a flourish. Charles took pole position. He didn’t let it blind him though; he knew all too well that pole didn’t guarantee a win, even in Monaco when it was a great advantage.

Max was close behind in P3. Charles didn’t think he would stay there for long.

The race started, and Charles' mind went blank. The first sector bled into the second and then into the third. Laps continued one after another. Charles didn’t know what his engineer said; his body responded without his mind needing to process anything at all. His heart jumped in his chest when he heard the call towards the pit.

He trusted the team enough to follow the call.

When he came out he was just behind Max. The turns were like Melbourne, but Charles didn’t want a repeat of the past. He needed to pull ahead, especially in Monaco, with everyone’s eyes on him, with Ferrari still glancing at him across the paddock even though they tried to hide it. “Gap with Max is seven tenths. Sainz is pushing behind.”

Charles didn’t care about Carlos at the moment, his eyes were focused on the tail of Max’s car as he weaved through corners like a dream just out of reach. Lap fifty came and went, then sixty, then seventy. The gap between them grew and shrank but was never larger than a second.

On the straight in the first sector, Max began to slow as he climbed higher and higher. Charles gripped the steering wheel tighter. “What is wrong with Max?”

“No sign of problems, keep pushing.”

Charles knew something was wrong though, even if his engineer didn’t want to say it. He followed close behind for a majority of the seventy-first lap until turn twelve came. Then the opening came and he pushed forward, tight on the corner, forcing Max to take the turn wide. The crowd erupted when the overtake was completed.

He sped through the third sector, checking his mirrors for any sign of Max behind him. The man was there, sure enough, but not as closely as he could have been. Charles knew the Red Bulls were fast. Max could have lessened the gap. He didn’t.

Crossing the finish line left him feeling empty, not joyful, not at ease, just nothing. Charles kept his helmet on longer than he should have as cameras flashed around him, the team coming out to congratulate the two of them on a 1-2. He felt like if showed his face that he would be sick. That wouldn’t be a good look for a winner. He flipped his visor up.

Max had already taken his helmet off, a grin split across his face. He pulled Charles into a hug, even though the helmet made it difficult, clunky. “You were untouchable.”

Charles pulled back, squinting. He hadn’t been untouchable. If that was the case then he would have been in P1 for the entire race. He wouldn’t have needed to defend against Carlos or fight against Max to regain his position. His hands rose to his helmet, and he shucked it off.

A flash of worry flashed across Max’s face, only for a moment.

“You know better than that.”

The podium was a mix of solemn and festive. The trophy was heavy in his hands, and the champagne was sticky on his skin. Charles only stayed at the after party for roughly half an hour – ducking away as drinks were poured. He needed to get out, away from the glitz and glamor, away from F1. Just for a little while.

His apartment was quieter.

Monaco was still alive, offensively so, but at least in his apartment he could close the windows, wrap himself in blankets, and put on his best headphones.

Max hadn’t given it his all, Charles knew that deep down. The title should have gone to him. It would have hurt, losing his home race again, but it would have been fair. What happened out on the track wasn’t fair. It was pity. Charles didn’t want it.

He didn’t know how much time had passed until Leo started to bark. He jumped, yelped up at Charles, rushing towards the apartment door and then back to Charles. “What is it?” He took off his headphones, setting them on the sofa.

There was a knock at the door, a swift one, two, three. For a good while, he thinks about ignoring it. Whoever was at the door could assume that he was still out partying, maybe on someone’s yacht, out at some bar, but the knocking didn’t stop – incessant.

Charles huffed and went to answer it.

The man behind the door was exactly who he didn’t want to see. “Was there a private party I wasn’t invited to? That seems like poor comradery."

“What are you doing here, Max?” Charles wanted to push the man away, tell him to fuck off until the next race weekend.

Max’s expression softened at Charles’ heat. “I missed you.”

Charles’ jaw clenched. “You aren’t allowed to say that.”

“Says who?”

“You should be out celebrating. P2 is good.” He kept his hand on the door, ready to close it at any moment. He wouldn’t though. He didn’t want to shut Max away no matter how much his mind screamed at him that Max had given him the race.

Max took a step closer. “P1 is better. You’re leading the championship now.”

Charles shook his head. “You know I shouldn’t be.” His mouth grew dry. He just wanted the night to be over.

“You always deserved to be.” Truthful. Calm. Max wasn’t the kind of man to lie about these sorts of things. If he thought that Charles had done a terrible job then he would voice it, that had never changed.

Charles let the man into his apartment even though he knew he shouldn’t have.

They stood on opposite sides of the kitchen; Charles needed the space more than he needed Max’s touch. He took in a deep breath, squeezing his eyes tight to stop the tears. “Why did you hand me the race? Why didn’t you fight in the end?”

Max flinched back. “What are you talking about?”

Charles squeezed his hands so hard his knuckles turned white. “Lap seventy-one. I overtook you and you didn’t fight back. You always fight back.” He leaned against the counter, the marble digging into his ribs. “I don’t want to win if it means you’ve given up. I don’t want to have the championship handed to me. I don’t want you to pity me.” His voice was too loud for the hour – it echoed through the room.

Max went quiet, expression calculating. He chewed on his lip. “You were the better driver today. I made a mistake, too late on the throttle. You were off in the distance before I could correct it.”

“Bullshit.” It didn’t sound like bullshit though. Max looked at him like he did in Melbourne, in Jeddah, in Miami. His pupils were wide and wanting.

Max stood ramrod straight. “Do you actually think it’s bullshit, or do you not believe you were better because I’ll tell you until my throat is raw,” Max spanned the distance between them. He didn’t touch, but he came close to it. “You are one of the best drivers I’ve ever met, and every day it’s an honor to race with you.”

Charles looked at the counter, fearful that if he raised his head he would break into tears. It felt different than when the reporters said it, then when fans praised him, because when Max said it his words sounded like a prayer, like true adoration.

Max tilted his head up, fingers calloused. “Do you ever let me win?”

“Max.” Charles’ voice was tight.

“Do you ever let me win?” Max repeated the question.

Charles shook his head.

“There. We race against each other, it doesn’t matter what car we’re in. You won today because you deserve it. Enjoy that.” He didn’t take his hand away, touch hot.

Charles felt his heart stall for a moment. He didn’t want to hold back anymore; he couldn’t hold back anymore. The kitchen was dark, their actions hidden in the privacy of his apartment. He leaned forward and let his eyes flutter closed. “Will you let me do this?”

Max didn’t respond with words. He closed the distance between them, lips chapped and still tasting of champagne.

Charles sighed into the next kiss, their movements growing more frantic, more passion filled. They kissed like they raced, pushing against each other like a practiced dance. He had thought of this moment since Melbourne. No, that wasn’t true. Charles had thought of this exact moment for years, repeated over and over in his mind. “Fuck.”

“Schatje.” Max trailed his hands down Charles' sides, toying with the hem of the man’s shirt. He pressed kisses down Charles’ neck, one after another. “You’re better than any podium.”

The statement was so outrageous given the situation that Charles couldn’t help but let out a high pitched laugh. “You’re insufferable.” He threaded his fingers in Max’s hair, adoring the way it grew more and more tousled like it did when the man took off his balaclava.

Max smirked. “You love it.”

Charles' heart thudded heavy in his chest. He did, he really did. He loved Max in every interaction, for years upon years, and now he had the opportunity to say it.

Max pulled him into an open mouth kiss, pulling him up onto the counter.

Charles wrapped his legs around the other’s hips. “I’ve always loved it.”

⤝❖⤞

They woke up in bed together. Drops of sunlight streamed in through the window. Charles took in a deep breath and sighed contently as he heard Max’s heartbeat in his ear. He trailed a finger down the man’s chest, tracing patterns.

The previous night had been rather something, what Melbourne could have been but better than how it would have resulted. Charles was thankful. He liked it better sober.

Max shifted, eyes fluttering open. “Geodemorgen.” His voice was heavy with sleep.

Something stirred within Charles. “You stayed.”

“I wanted to.”

Charles sat up, leaning over Max. “This is a bad idea.” It was a horrible idea. He knew that relationships between teammates rarely ended well – Lewis told him plenty of stories about his Mercedes days.

Max sat up as well. His thumb danced across Charles’ bottom lip. “People thought your transfer to Red Bull was a bad idea.”

“It was.” He let out a chuckle.

Max pursed his lips. “Do you really think that?”

The world paused for a moment, taking a breath. The question bounced in Charles’ head. Did he? Red Bull was looking good, looking optimistic – something Charles hadn’t felt for years. Red Bull had given him a new flame, a new hope, but most of all it had given him Max in a way he never could have imagined.

Charles shook his head. “No. Never.” He leaned forward, taking in Max’s taste because he was allowed to do that now. He felt intoxicated.

Max smiled through the kiss. “Good. I don’t want to lose you again.”

“You’re stuck with me now.” Charles threw a leg over Max’s lap, placing his hands on the man’s shoulders. “The contract is until 2030.”

Max’s brow raised. “You have time to catch up to my world titles then.”

“Fuck off.” There wasn’t any venom in his voice when he spoke. Charles leaned in for another kiss.

The season was well on its way, but there were always twists and turns. Those were some of Charles’ favorite parts.