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My little love
The Bahrain night was warm.
Too warm, really.
Max had long since abandoned his suit jacket, sleeves rolled up as Red Bull's celebration continued around him. Music boomed through the hotel ballroom, mechanics and engineers finally allowing themselves to enjoy the first race weekend of the year.
P1.
A perfect start and end to the first race weekend of the 2023 season.
Someone clapped him on the shoulder. "Winner." Max turned, grinning and Pierre Gasly smiled back. "Congratulations."
"Thanks."
Pierre looked significantly happier than he'd been twelve months ago. P5 suited him.
"You made Yuki happy by coming."
Pierre laughed. "He threatened me."
"Sounds like him."
The Frenchman stepped aside slightly. "And I brought someone."
Max's eyes shifted.
The man standing beside Pierre was beautiful. Dark curls, blue eyes, soft smile, but there was also something familiar about him.
Pierre seemed amused. "You may remember my friend."
The man extended a hand. "Charles."
Max blinked… Charles. Then it clicked, "Oh my God."
The smile widened. "Hi, Max."
Charles Leclerc.
Karting, rain races, arguments in parc fermé. A boy with scraped knees and a laugh too loud for his tiny body.
The boy who had disappeared.
Max stared. "You..."
Charles laughed softly. "I know."
"You look..."
Different.
Older.
Beautiful.
Alive.
"...good."
The corners of Charles' eyes crinkled. "Thank you."
Pierre's phone buzzed. "Oh, Yuki is looking for me."
Traitor.
The Frenchman smirked knowingly. "Try not to kill each other."
Then he was gone, leaving Max standing awkwardly with a ghost from his childhood.
Silence.
Charles broke it. "So."
"So."
They both laughed, and suddenly it was easy.
I'm leaving town
Won’t be back ‘til the sun goes down
"After the crash, I stopped."
Max frowned.
They'd somehow ended up on the hotel balcony, the music inside had faded.
"What happened?"
Charles looked out over the city lights. "I damaged my back."
Max remembered. The accident, the panic, and then Charles simply…
vanished.
"I couldn't get back into a kart after that."
"I'm sorry."
Charles shrugged. "It was a long time ago."
"But you loved racing."
A small smile. "I still do." He looked at Max. "You did enough racing for both of us."
Max laughed quietly. "Apparently."
Charles smiled. "I still watch."
"You do?"
"Of course, I mean Arthurs there as well.”
The young Ferrari driver had completely slipped his mind. "So what do you do now?"
"Piano."
"Piano?"
Charles laughed. "Yes, Max. Piano."
"I know what a piano is."
"I'm not convinced."
Max shoved him lightly and Charles laughed harder.
God.
He'd forgotten that laugh.
"I perform."
"Professionally?"
Charles nodded. "I travel a lot."
"That's cool."
"It is." A pause. "I've slowed down recently."
Max glanced at him, a flush settling on his cheeks. "Why?"
Charles looked down at his drink, then smiled. "You think it's because of a girlfriend?"
Maybe.
Charles laughed. "No girlfriend." A pause. "And no boyfriend either."
Max swallowed. "Oh."
"Just life."
Something about the answer felt heavier than it should have, but Charles smiled, and Max let it go.
Rub your eyes, get out of bed
Max woke slowly.
There was noise, a soft cursing, and the other side of the bed was empty but still warm.
He blinked.
Charles was hopping around trying to put his shoes on. "Shit—" He nearly tripped, but then noticed Max was awake. "Oh."
Max smiled. "Good morning, schatje."
Charles looked almost guilty. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't."
A lie.
Charles still looked panicked.
Max pushed himself upright, and immediately, the Monegasque froze.
As though expecting him to be angry.
Instead, Max stood. "I'm making breakfast."
"...what?"
"You heard me."
"Pierre said you can’t cook."
"I can fry bacon."
Charles laughed.
There it was, that laugh.
Max kissed his cheek as he passed, and as he walked out, Charles went quiet.
By the time breakfast was ready, Charles had relaxed.
Mostly.
Though Max noticed the way he rubbed absentmindedly at his wrist, the way his fingers trembled slightly around his coffee mug. "Cold?"
Charles looked up. "What?"
"Your hands."
Charles looked down, then smiled like Max had just told a joke. "A little."
Max accepted the answer.
Let's have some fun before we're dead
The Ferrari Monza roared and Charles looked horrified.
"You cannot be serious."
"I am."
"Max."
"C'mon."
"Verstappen."
"You'll love it."
"I absolutely will not."
Max laughed.
Eventually Charles got in.
For the first lap, he was rigid.
By the second, he was swearing in French.
By the third, he was laughing.
Actually laughing.
Wind in his curls, eyes bright… beautiful.
When they finally stopped, Charles looked breathless. "You're insane."
"Thank you."
"I wasn't complimenting you."
Max grinned. "Wanna drive?"
Charles immediately shook his head. "No."
"Why?"
"I'm happier as passenger."
The answer came too quickly, his hand settling on top of Max's.
Shaking.
Max squeezed it. "Still scared?"
Charles smiled softly. "A little."
Max kissed his knuckles.
The shaking didn't stop.
Something good is coming soon
But you gotta keep your eyes wide open
"Max, second place is unacceptable."
Jos continued talkin, but Max barely listened.
His phone buzzed.
Once.
Twice.
Three times.
Charles.
Immediately, he sat up, grabbing his phone and taking his dad off speaker. "I have to go."
"Max—" He hung up.
Then answered. "Hey."
Silence, breathing.
"Charles?"
"...hi." His voice sounded small.
"What happened?"
Nothing.
Then:
"Can you talk?"
Max's chest tightened. "Of course."
A shaky exhale. "I just..." Silence again. "I'm tired."
Max softened immediately. "Oh."
"I know that sounds stupid."
"It doesn't."
Another silence.
Then, "Talk to me."
And Max did.
About anything.
Everything.
The weather, Baku, GP's terrible jokes.
Until eventually Charles' breathing evened out, as though he'd fallen asleep. "Charles?"
A sleepy hum.
Max smiled. "I'm still here."
The line stayed open another hour.
Neither of them wanting to hang up.
That night, Max realized he was in love, and it terrified him.
Hello, sun
The mornings became his favourite thing.
Charles half asleep, hair a mess with his face pressed into the pillow.
Max stroked his back gently, watching him wake, watching his sleepy smiles slowly appear. "Hi."
"Hi." Charles reached for him immediately.
Always.
As though afraid Max might disappear.
Hello, moon
Moonlight painted Charles silver.
Max couldn't sleep.
Instead, he watched.
Watched his chest rise and fall, watched soft curls spill across the pillow, watched his fingers twitch occasionally in sleep.
Beautiful.
Fragile.
His.
Charles stirred, opening one eye. "Why are you staring at me?"
"You're pretty."
Charles groaned. "You are disgusting."
Max smiled, but he didn't stop looking.
I'll greet you with the windows open
Max knew something was wrong before Charles ever admitted it.
It wasn't obvious, not at first at least.
Charles was still Charles.
Still teasing him when he took himself too seriously. Still stealing food from Max's plate despite having ordered the exact same thing. Still humming while he played piano. Still smiling when Max walked into a room.
But Max noticed things, he always noticed things.
The way Charles took longer to stand after sitting. The way he stretched his back more often. The way he sometimes stopped halfway through playing, fingers hovering over the keys as if his body had forgotten what his mind wanted it to do.
The first time Max asked, Charles just smiled. "It's nothing, ma vie."
Max hated that word.
Nothing.
People always said that when something was something.
They were sitting on Charles' balcony in Monaco. The windows were open, letting in the sound of the city below.
Charles had been quiet for almost twenty minutes, that wasn't normal.
Charles was never quiet.
"What happened?"
Charles looked over. "What?"
"You."
A small laugh. "That's vague."
"You're quiet."
Charles looked away, and for a moment, Max thought he wouldn't answer.
Then:
"My back."
Max frowned. "What about it?"
Charles sighed. "The pain's worse."
The words were casual, too casual.
"Since the accident?"
Charles nodded. "Yeah."
"Why didn't you tell me? I mean, I just assumed, it’s been so long."
"Because it wasn't important."
Max looked at him. "Charles."
The smile disappeared. "I didn't want you to worry."
"I worry anyway."
"I know." A pause. "I hate it."
Max softened. "What?"
"That I have to stop." Charles looked down at his hands. "Every time it gets bad, I have to take a break. Cancel things. Change plans." His voice cracked. "I spent my whole life wanting to do something impossible. Then when I finally find something else I love, my body decides it doesn't want to cooperate."
Max moved closer and Charles didn't fight it.
"I feel like I'm losing pieces of myself."
That was when Max understood that this wasn't about the piano.
Not really.
It was about fear.
Charles had already lost racing, he was terrified of losing this too.
Max wrapped his arms around him and for a while, Charles said nothing.
"I'm scared." The words were barely a whisper.
Max held him tighter. "I know."
Charles' fingers curled weakly into the fabric of Max's shirt.
And Max noticed.
The grip wasn't as strong as it used to be.
It's easy getting lost in conversation
But you know the rhythm of my mind
The restaurant closed around them.
Neither noticed.
They arrived at 6:30pm, the reservation had been for an hour, but they were still there at 11:30pm.
The waiter had stopped trying to subtly encourage them to leave.
Max didn't care.
Talking to Charles was easy, it had always been easy.
They talked about everything: Childhood, racing, family, dreams.
Things they had never told anyone else.
Charles had a way of making Max forget the rest of the world existed. "You know," the Monegasque said, resting his chin in his hand, "you're much nicer than people think."
Max raised an eyebrow. "Excuse me?"
"You have this reputation."
"I am terrifying."
Charles laughed. "Exactly."
"Glad you agree."
"But you're not."
Max looked at him. "What am I?"
Charles smiled. "You're someone who cares too much."
Max didn't have a response, because maybe Charles was right.
Oh my love
Take this song and hold it close to you
The morning before Miami was quiet.
Too quiet.
Max woke before his alarm, and for once, Charles wasn't beside him.
Instead, music drifted through the house.
Piano, soft and beautiful.
Max followed the sound downstairs to see Charles sat at the piano.
Lost.
He didn't notice Max at first and Max didn't want to interrupt. There was something about watching Charles play that felt almost sacred, every emotion he couldn't say out loud seemed to come through the keys.
Eventually, Charles looked up. “Oh." He stopped. "Sorry."
"Why did you stop?"
Charles looked embarrassed. "I was just playing."
"Play again."
A small smile. "What?"
"Please."
Charles looked away. "You haven't even heard it properly."
"I don't need to."
"Max."
"Charles."
The Frenchman rolled his eyes, but he smiled, playing again.
And Max sat there until the final note faded. "What was it?"
Charles looked at the keys. "Nothing finished."
"It was beautiful."
"It's not done."
Max walked over. "Still beautiful."
Charles looked at him, and for a second, Max saw something in his expression.
Something like sadness.
But then it was gone.
Oh, my love
Give your heart a chance to dance on through
Max won Monaco.
Of course he did.
It should have been the happiest moment of his year.
The trophy.
The podium.
The crowd.
The champagne.
But the first thing he wanted was his phone.
Charles.
He called.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Max frowned.
Five minutes later:
Charles
Sorry.
Couldn't talk.
I'm proud of you.
Max smiled despite himself.
Max
You better be.
Charles
I am.
Max
I Love you.
Three dots appeared.
Disappeared.
Appeared again.
Charles
I Love you too.
Max stared at the screen, and for a moment, the entire world disappeared.
Mornin' came
Never once by accident
The next morning, Max woke up with an idea.
Breakfast in bed, romantic yet simple: Something Charles deserved.
He moved carefully and Charles barely stirred as Max kissed his shoulder. "I'll be back."
A sleepy noise. "Where are you going?"
"Breakfast."
Charles opened one eye. "You hate cooking."
"I love you."
Charles smiled. "That doesn't answer my question."
"It does."
When Max returned, Charles looked at the tray, momentarily stunned. "You made all this?"
"Yes."
"You?"
"Yes."
Charles picked up a piece of bacon slowly, carefully nibbling at one corner.
Max watched. "You're not hungry?"
Charles smiled. "I am."
"Then why are you eating so slowly?"
Charles looked at him. "I want to remember it."
The answer caught Max off guard. "The breakfast?"
"Yes." A pause. "And this."
Max's heart tightened. "This?"
Charles reached out, touching his hand. "Us."
Max swallowed, then smiled. "You don't have to remember." Charles looked confused. "I'll remind you."
Life is short and life is long
So greet each morning with a song
The night before Austria, Max asked again. "Play it."
Charles looked up. "The song?"
"Yes."
"It's still not finished."
Max gave him a look.
Charles laughed. "No."
"Charles."
"No."
"Please."
"No."
Max widened his eyes.
Charles stared. "Are you seriously attempting puppy eyes?"
"Maybe."
"You're unbelievable."
"It works."
"It does not."
Five seconds later, Charles sat at the piano.
Max smiled, he always won that game.
But as Charles played, Max noticed.
The shaking.
It was small, almost invisible, but it was definitely there.
When the song ended, Charles immediately pulled his hands away and Max reached for them. "Hey."
"I'm fine."
"I didn't say anything."
"You were thinking it." Max didn't deny it and Charles sighed. "I'm scared."
The honesty hurt.
Max kissed his hands. "It's beautiful."
"You think so?"
"I know so."
Charles smiled, a small one, but very real. "I love you."
"I love you too."
And for a moment, neither of them thought about tomorrow.
Something good is coming soon
But you've gotta keep your eyes wide open
Silverstone was perfect.
Charles stood with Red Bull after the race.
Not because he was part of the team, not because he needed to be there, but because Max wanted him there. And when the Dutchman climbed onto the top step, trophy in hand, he looked down.
Charles was watching him.
Proud.
Like Max had won something impossible.
Max smiled.
Because he had.
He had won Charles.
But happiness was never something Max was allowed to keep forever, and he didn't know yet that the clock had already started counting down.
Hello, sun
The first thing Max noticed was the silence.
Usually, mornings with Charles weren't quiet, there was always something.
A song playing from Charles' phone, the sound of coffee being made, Charles humming some melody he had been working on, or even a terrible joke before Max was even properly awake.
But that morning, there was nothing.
Max opened his eyes slowly and found that the other side of the bed was empty.
Cold.
Not just empty.
Cold.
His stomach twisted and he reached for his phone.
A message.
Charles
Ma vie!
Forgot I promised Lorenzo I'd meet him early.
Family thing.
I'll be back around noon.
Sorry if I made you worry
Max stared at it, then smiled slightly.
Of course.
Of course Charles would apologize for spending time with his family.
Max
You don't have to apologize.
See you soon, liefde
He put his phone down and ignored the strange feeling sitting in his chest.
Hello, moon
The next time Max woke up without Charles' frame pressed against him, it was dark.
Instead of laying down, the Monegasque was sitting on the edge of the bed, the sound of a massage gun filling the room.
Max immediately sat up. "Charles?"
The Frenchman jumped. "Sorry."
Max frowned. "Are you okay?"
Charles nodded too quickly. "Yeah."
"Charles."
A sigh. "Just a cramp."
Max looked at him. "You sure?"
"Yes." The answer was soft and not convincing at all.
Max moved closer. "Come here."
Charles hesitated, only for a second, then he leaned into the Dutchman.
Max held him, and for a moment, everything felt normal.
But Max could feel it, an unnamed fear, even when Charles tried to hide it.
Whisper words, softly spoken
After Belgian qualifying, Max called him.
He didn't care that he was exhausted.
He didn't care that there was another media session tomorrow.
He needed Charles.
"Hey." Charles' voice was different. Rough and tired.
"You sound awful."
Charles laughed quietly. "Thank you."
"You know what I mean."
"I know." A pause. "Can you just talk?"
Max softened. "Of course."
They’ve played this game before, so he talked about everything.
The track, the weather, the stupid things Lando said in interviews that morning, anything that Max thought would make his boyfriend smile.
Then Charles sent him something.
An audio file.
Max opened it after Charles prodded him to. Piano, the same piece, but different. It was more complete, more emotional. "What is this? Your song?"
Charles was quiet, taking a beat to respond. "Our song."
Max fell asleep listening to it.
It's easy getting lost in conversation
But you know the rhythm of my mind
The family dinner should have been intimidating.
But it wasn't.
Not with Charles beside him.
Victoria loved him.
Tom loved him.
Even his mother, who had spent years warning Max against jumping head first into relationships, looked at Charles and smiled.
Because everyone could see it.
The way Charles looked at Max, the way Max looked back.
They were ridiculous: Finishing each other's sentences and laughing at jokes nobody else understood.
By the end of the night, Max realized something.
He wasn't just in love with Charles, he was becoming part of his world, and the Monegasque was becoming part of his.
Oh my love
Take this song and hold it close to you
Japan.
Thursday.
The press conference.
Max had been smiling all day.
Everyone noticed, of course they noticed.
"You seem happy today," someone asked.
Max shrugged. "Maybe."
"Anything to do with what you were listening to on your way in?"
Max froze, just slightly, then smiled. "Actually, yes."
The room quieted.
"My boyfriend is a musician." A beat. "My very talented boyfriend."
The room exploded.
Questions.
Laughter.
Max laughed too.
Then he looked across.
Arthur.
Arthur wasn't laughing.
He wasn't surprised.
He just looked...
Sad.
Max's smile faded, only for a second, but he noticed.
Oh, my love
Give your heart a chance to dance on through
The texts started simple.
Thursday
Charles
Congratulations.
You just made yourself everyone's favorite interview answer.
Max
You say that like it's bad.
Charles
It is terrible.
Now people know I have to compete with your ego.
Max
You love my ego.
Charles
Unfortunately.
Max smiled.
Friday
Max
Are you still going to the gala tomorrow?
No answer as the hours passed. But after eight of them, he got a response.
Charles
No.
Max
Everything okay?
A long pause.
Charles
Just tired.
Max
Rest.
Please.
A heart reaction and nothing else.
Saturday
Max
Sleep well.
I'll call after the race.
No answer.
Sunday
Charles
Good luck, ma vie
Win for me.
Max stared at the message, then smiled, because Charles always believed in him.
My little love, I'm leaving town
Won't be back 'til the sun goes down
The race was absolute chaos.
Max barely remembered the finish, not because he didn't care, but because his phone was already in his hand.
Charles.
He needed to call Charles.
But before he could—
His phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
He ignored it.
Then again.
And again.
And again.
Finally, he answered. "Hello?"
Silence for a few beats. "Max?"
The voice was unfamiliar. "Yes?"
"This is Lorenzo."
Everything inside Max went cold. "Lorenzo?"
"Charles is in hospital."
The world stopped. "What?"
More words came through.
More panic.
More noise.
Max only understood two things.
Charles.
Hospital.
He didn't remember leaving, didn't remember telling anyone, didn't even remember getting on the plane.
Only that Arthur had appeared and followed.
Silent.
Broken.
Oh my love
Take this song and hold it close to you
Fifteen minutes into the flight, Max couldn't take it anymore. "Tell me."
Arthur looked up. "What?"
"The truth."
Arthur looked away. "Charles should tell you."
Max's voice sharpened. "We he can't right now, he’s in the fucking hospital."
Silence.
"Arthur."
The younger Leclerc closed his eyes. "He didn't want you to know."
"Know what?"
Arthur's face crumpled. "Max..."
"Tell me."
A tear slipped down Arthur's face. "It wasn't because of the accident."
Max went still. "What?"
"The pain." Arthur swallowed. "The shaking." Another breath. "The tiredness."
Max stared.
"It wasn't old pain coming back." Arthur looked at him. "He’s sick."
The cabin was silent. "What does that mean?"
Arthur looked down and whispered. "Amyotrophic lateral sclerosis."
Oh my love
Give your heart a chance to dance on through
The hospital was too bright, too quiet.
Max hated it, he hated every second of it.
Pascale was there.
Lorenzo.
Charlotte.
The entire family.
And suddenly Max understood.
Charles hadn't just been hiding something, he had been protecting everyone, but especially him.
Arthur immediately went to Pascale, and she held him.
Max stood frozen.
Then Lorenzo walked over and hugged him.
Max let out a broken laugh. "This isn't how I wanted to meet you guys."
Lorenzo's grip tightened. "I know."
Pascale hugged him too, and somehow that hurt worse.
Because they already knew him.
They already loved him.
They had known he was staying.
Even if Charles hadn't bet on it.
"Why didn't he tell me?"
Lorenzo looked down. "Because it changed too quickly." Max closed his eyes. "He thought you'd leave."
"I wouldn't."
"I know." A pause. "He didn't." Max looked at him. "He didn't want you to love someone you were going to lose."
Max swallowed. "But I already did."
Oh, my love
Take this song and hold it close to you
Charles looked smaller.
That was the first thing Max noticed. Not different, not broken, just smaller.
Like the world had taken pieces of him away.
Max sat beside him and took his hand. "I'm here."
Charles' eyes opened slowly, a tired smile graced his lips. "You shouldn't be."
"Too bad." A weak laugh.
"There he is." Max smiled, but his eyes burned. "I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"No." Max squeezed his hand. "I really don't."
Give your heart a chance to dance on through
Qatar.
His chance to clinch the championship.
Max didn't want to go, not without Charles, not when every second away felt stolen, but Charles had held his face and told him, "Go."
"I don't want to."
"I know."
"Charles."
"Max." The old smile, the stubborn one. "Win."
So he did.
When he crossed the finish line, the tears came.
Three championships, a lifetime of work, and all he could think about was the man waiting for him.
GP's voice came through the radio. "Max."
He sniffed. "Yeah?"
"Everything’s off. I have a message just for you."
The song started, piano, soft.
Then Charles, his voice was careful and tired, but still Charles. "Hi, Max." The Dutchman broke. "If you're hearing this, you’ve won." A tiny laugh. "I knew you could do it." The piano continued. "I need you to promise me something."
Max covered his mouth.
"Don't stop."
A pause.
"Don't stop living because I can't."
The tears came harder.
"Keep racing."
A breath.
"Keep laughing."
The song played.
"And dance on through it all, ma vie."
Oh, my love
He got back to Monaco as fast as he could, but time had never cared about Max Verstappen.
Charles was already slipping away.
ALS had taken so much.
His music.
His strength.
But never his kindness, never his love.
Max walked into the room carrying the championship trophy.
Charles looked at it, then at him. "You won." His speech was slurred, but Max was happy to hear his voice in person.
"For you."
Charles' eyes filled. "No."
Max took his hand. "For us." He placed Charles' hand against the trophy. "Every one after this." A shaky breath. "Every achievement." A kiss to his fingers. "Is yours too."
Charles smiled, the smallest smile, but it was enough.
Give your heart a chance to dance on through
Charles Leclerc, Acclaimed Pianist and Former Karting Prodigy, Dies at 25
MONACO — Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc, an internationally celebrated concert pianist whose remarkable resilience carried him from a career-ending karting injury to stages around the world, died peacefully surrounded by his family on October 9, 2023, after a private battle with amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS). He was 25.
Born on October 17, 1997, in Monte Carlo, Monaco, Charles developed a passion for motorsport from an early age. Regarded as one of the brightest young talents in European karting, he competed against many of the generation's future Formula One drivers before a serious back injury brought his racing career to an unexpected end during his formative years.
Though forced to step away from the sport he loved, Leclerc refused to let adversity define him.
Instead, he turned to music.
A gifted pianist from childhood, Leclerc devoted himself fully to the instrument, studying performance and composition before building an international career that earned widespread acclaim for its emotional depth and technical brilliance. His concerts, often described as intimate and deeply personal, took him across Europe, North America, and Asia, while his original compositions became beloved by audiences for their warmth, vulnerability, and quiet optimism.
Friends and colleagues frequently remarked that Leclerc possessed an extraordinary ability to make people feel seen, whether through conversation or through music.
Despite increasing health challenges over the past year, Leclerc continued composing whenever his condition allowed, determined to create for as long as he was able. His final unfinished composition, completed shortly before his death, has since become a lasting symbol of his enduring hope and love for those closest to him.
Away from the stage, Leclerc was known for his gentle humor, unwavering loyalty, and immense generosity. Family remained at the center of his life, and he shared an especially close bond with his brothers, Lorenzo and Arthur, as well as his mother, Pascale.
He is survived by his mother, Pascale Leclerc; his brothers, Lorenzo and Arthur Leclerc; his sister-in-law, Charlotte Leclerc; his extended family; and his partner, three-time Formula One World Champion Max Verstappen.
Following his passing, Verstappen described Leclerc as "the kindest soul I've ever known, the bravest person I've ever loved, and the reason every victory will always mean something more."
In accordance with the family's wishes, details regarding Leclerc's illness had remained private until after his death.
The Leclerc family has requested privacy as they mourn their son and brother. In lieu of flowers, they ask that donations be made to organizations supporting ALS research and patient care, with the hope that continued research will one day spare other families from the disease.
Though his life was far too short, Charles Leclerc leaves behind a legacy measured not only by the music he wrote, but by the compassion he showed, the lives he touched, and the love he inspired.
"Every morning deserves a song." - Charles Leclerc (1997–2023)