Lyra

Charles followed Max inside, Rubis and Nyx were already comfortably curled up in the stables out back.

Both riders were absolutely drenched to the bone, hair dripping water onto the hardwood floors, uncomfortable socks making a disgusting squelch in his riding boots with every step, the sound making Charles physically shiver.

"God, rain is gross." He complained.

"You're gross. The rain is fine." Max shot back as he kicked his boots off.

Charles glared, but held his tongue—After all, Max was nice enough to let him stay the night, so he had to have at least a sliver of decency towards the man.

His home was shockingly clean—It had a cozy feel, a fireplace burning in the living room, deep cherry red couches, and— A cat tree?

Charles raised a brow, "You got a cat, too? Thought Nyx was enough to pass as one." Max bit the inside of his cheek instead of responding, eyes scanning the room for a moment before he walked over to the small chair in the corner, half hidden by the wall.

He returned cradling a large, fluffy Bengal cat.

Charles blinked.

"You're joking."

"I'm not joking. Her name is Sassy."

"So you named her after your most prominent personality trait? Sounds a bit egotistical."

"Fuck off."

Through the banter, Sassy blinked slowly at Charles, tail flicking as if it were in agreement before she squirmed out of Max's arms and dropped onto the floor, landing on all fours with a thud—Not graceful in the slightest.

"Fatass." Max murmured, watching the cat prance away like a majestic, but very large horse.

Neither rider forgot what had taken place outside just moments ago—But they'd certainly been distracted enough to ignore it.

It still played in the back of their minds, though.

Until yet another crack of thunder made Sassy jump and run to hide in what Charles assumed to be Max's bedroom.

"You can... spare bedroom is down the hallway, to the left. Across from mine, I can make something to eat if you... want?"

The normally serious "Mad Max" had become a nervous, stuttering mess in a matter of minutes. Charles would've found it incredibly amusing if his heart wasn't still racing from the whole situation.

Spilling his heart out to the man he swore he despised, being invited inside and offered to stay the night until the rain calmed down, a.. cat, and the way the possibility of running away from his responsibilities sounded.

He couldn't think about that tonight.

He shouldn't.

But he still found himself sitting on Max's couch while the Dutchman clanked and clattered around in the kitchen, eyes unfocused and locked on the burning fireplace.

"don't know what it's like to escape"

"meant to be great"

"giving it all up to chase something else"

"because you have a choice"

A choice.

A fucking choice. Something Charles never had.

Whether it be relationships, his future, his schooling—Even something as small and insignificant as his words or his clothes. He was always told what to do.

"Marry a reputable woman." He'd been told before he'd even met Alexandra, "find her while you're still young."

Those words led to him getting his first girlfriend—But was that truly love, when he was so young and clueless?

Had he ever truly felt love that way towards a woman?

He froze

Had he ever fallen in love with a woman?

Was that what he'd felt about Max?

No. Hell no.

It was... wrong. He couldn't be in love with another man, especially not the one who everyone knew of as an outcast. His own reputation was already dwindling with his tendency to disappear to race, God forbid he thought about going for a man.

Charles bit the inside of his cheek subconsciously, the slight pressure of teeth on soft skin drawing him out of his thoughts just enough to finally hear Max call his name.

Well. Not his name—but it was close enough.

"Chuck, you alive?"

Chuck? What the hell, Max already forced them onto casual nickname basis?

With some reluctance, Charles slid off the couch, the shift in posture making his back pop as he groaned—Good God. That made him feel old.

He ambled out to the kitchen to find Max hunched over the stove like an old man, with a—

No fucking way. It kept getting better.

A cooking apron. Not only did the man own a cat, live in a house straight out of a romance novel. But he wore aprons to cook.

A stark contrast to his personality in the air.

This time, Charles didn't even try to muffle his laughter as a loud giggle escaped him.

"You're wearing a—"

"Mention it and you'll be wearing pasta sauce all over your pretty face. Sit down."

The rain made everything around them feel muffled—The only thing Charles could hear was his own breathing, and his racing thoughts.

"It means—" He groaned, "It means that something about... you makes it impossible not to care. Seeing you disappear, wondering where you go, what it's like."

"I'm always being watched, I can't just vanish into thin air. I don't know if the fact I care is because of jealousy or something else—"

He stopped. Jaw clenched with words that threatened to escape, words that had been hanging unspoken since that first night he appeared.

"You care because you're jealous." Max repeated, "Because you don't know what it's like to escape."

Charles looked away.

"Because you were raised standing on a pedestal, told you were meant to be great. But that's not what you want, is it?"

The brunet shook his head with reluctance, feeling like his chest was struggling to contain his racing heart. Why did he know? How did he read him?

Maybe the quiet ones really were the most observant.

But Max couldn't help but wonder—What was that "something else" he'd mentioned? Was he being crazy, or was Charles—?

"You can always leave." He finally spoke.

"It's not that easy."

"Why?"

Charles let out a sigh, a laugh tearing from his chest.

"Because I'm not like you. I have the weight of a whole fucking kingdom on my shoulders, I'm the only one who can take after my father.

I have no male cousins, no brothers. I'm supposed to marry a woman who I can't even force myself to love, but if I don't I may as well be a fucking waste to the family. If I'm going to be king, a husband, a good son, what the point of giving it all up to chase something else?"

A beat of silence.

"You run because you have a choice."

Charles' voice cracked

"I don't have that choice."

Max stared for a moment, mouth agape, the words lost—All this time he'd been so wrong about this man, thought he was too polished, that he had everything he wanted and more.

But he was drowning. Charles Leclerc was drowning.

Before he could speak again, a loud crack of thunder echoed through the valley, making Charles flinch.

He hesitated, glancing at Max like a silent question.

The weather was too bad to fly in. He couldn't get home quite yet.

Max huffed.

"Come inside, put Rubis in the stable. You're staying here until the rain stops."

His voice was commanding, leaving no room for argument as Charles took the offer swiftly.

He followed from a distance—Close enough to see how his gaze was only on the endless water ahead, to avoid either rider being swallowed by the fog, but far enough as to not be seen.

"Ralentissez, taisez-vous." Charles spoke as Rubis obeyed a few seconds later, decreasing the speed at which they flew, the constant speed turning into a steady soar, making them quieter as they approached.

Max went down on a nearby island.

Gesturing down, Nyx following instantly as she landed just outside of a small village.

Who would've thought the outcast lived somewhere so... quaint.

But despite that, he followed his trail and landed behind a relatively large hill, Rubis curling up in the grass as she watched her rider run off to keep his sights on Max with a heavy sigh.

God. He was so gone that even his dragon could see it. And Rubis wasn't quite the highest-intelligence dragon out there.

He watched Max disappear into one of the small homes—Charles could only assume that's where he'd been going after every race, everything in him screamed not to follow him, but he did the opposite.

He approached the building with caution, as if the sound of his footsteps alone would draw attention to himself, despite being covered but the sound of heavy rain pattering on the roof.

Lifting his balled fist to knock, he hesitated—Was this really the good idea?

Maybe not. But it was the only one.

The sharp sound of his knuckles meeting the wooden door made him hold his breath, listening to the sound of Max shuffling around inside before the door swung open.

His mask was gone, he was wrapped in comfortable clothing, short hair tied back and brushed out of his face.

He looked human.

Nothing like the man that had glared daggers at him earlier.

"Why... Why are you here? How did you even—" Max started, Charles butting in.

"I'm here to talk to you. I uhm... followed you, I didn't know what else to do." He admitted, the blond letting out a heavy sigh as he glanced back into the home before stepping outside, the door shutting behind him.

Silence lingered for a moment, but this time it wasn't that comfortable quiet that they shared—It was tense, Charles' eyes wide as he searched for the words that had been on the top of his tongue for far too long.

"You followed me." Max repeated, "Why?"

"You keep disappearing."

"That isn't your problem."

The tension grew with the conversation, getting heated—Despite the freezing rain, despite the winter setting in, neither of them noticed.

"You think I'm some snobby prince, but you're not much better yourself. Yet you still act like I don't exist outside the track." Charles snapped,

"Maybe you don't, people only love you because you're owned by a crown—At least I have the freedom to exist and disappear at will." Max's voice raised, jaw clenched.

A flash of anger crossed Charles' face.

"Do you have any idea what it's like for me? Watching you leave, wishing I was you—"

Max scoffed. "Why do you care?!"

"Because you make it impossible not to!"

Silence.

Max was taken aback, Charles physically stepped back.

"What the hell does that mean?"

He disappeared quietly into the crowd, climbing back onto Nyx after their short rest time—Where he allowed both him and his dragon to breathe, to come down from the high of adrenaline.

Charles locked eyes with him one final time, a flicker of surprise flashing on his features as he watched him fly off.

He should've expected it. In all the months they'd been racing, Max never stuck around long enough to speak post-race—Of course, that frustrated him a little bit, he never even had enough time to congratulate him, or actually try to strike up conversation.

Just standing side-by-side over the crowd, champagne bottles that were far too expensive in hand, eyes shut as the cheer of the crowd echoed through the mountains.

And then he was gone.

A part of him wanted to speak to him more, get a chance to know the man behind the mask.

After all, the only time he'd ever seen him bare-faced was that night on the beach. That night that still stuck with him, that he still thought about when he lied awake at night.

The way his eyes caught the moonlight, making them almost glow, the way his hair was such a mess—Something that you'd expect from the outcasted mystery man.

But it almost mirrored Charles in a way that he couldn't push away.

He still wondered, why was he out there? Was it just coincidence? Fate, perhaps?

No. Charles didn't believe in fate. Not after he was cursed with the life he lived now, never a hint of privacy.

The people of his kingdom said he was destined to be king one day, to be a ruler—But that couldn't have been farther from what he wanted, he yearned for freedom. The ability to do whatever he wanted, without being questioned.

Every night when he'd arrive home late, balancing clumsily on Rubis' wing as he climbed back through his window, always turning to watch the scarlet red dragon disappear into the night, heading to the den within the kingdom.

His father would always ask.

"Where have you been?" "Why are they talking about you... racing?" "Where do you keep disappearing to?"

Questions he could never answer without being locked up in the palace again.

He'd experienced it a few times. The first time he had a girlfriend back in elementary school—He was eleven, young and stupid, had no idea what love was.

He snuck out while his father was busy, running through the streets to her place, a bouquet of wilted roses and daisies that he'd pulled out of the palace gardens squeezed in his hand.

He thought he'd been being slick.

He wasn't.

Those actions were what got him introduced to Alexandra. (Side note. I love love LOVE Alex, I'm just using her here for the plot, nothing negative!)

The girl he was told he had to marry in the future. Her family was rich, respectable, and she was the same.

She was gorgeous, funny, intelligent, kind-hearted—All the things Charles should've loved. But all the things that he couldn't bear.

He didn't want to marry somebody his father chose. He didn't want anything to do with royalty at all—Sure, the money was nice. Being able to spend without worrying, but he'd rather live his days without a place to call home than live in a place that was supposed to be his home, all while it never felt like it.

So without further thought, before his better senses kicked in, he scrambled to climb up onto Rubis and followed after the dutchman.

Even as the rain started to fall, seeping through his clothes, making his hair stick to his face.

It felt like the race had finished as soon as it started, crossing the line felt like a blur.

P1.

But it didn't feel like such—Any time before he would've been cheering, throwing his arms in the air, grinning so wide that his face hurt.

This time, it was quiet.

Sliding off of Nyx and onto the solid ground that felt like it would swallow him whole, the grass that brushed on his legs feeling like a harsh reminder of reality.

He'd come to the realization a few days ago, lying in bed, silence engulfing him like a cloud, his room feeling both too quiet and too loud at once.

He couldn't hate Charles—He'd never truly hated the man in red. Hatred was just the one thing his mind went to when met with the complicated feeling of love.

Odin forbid. He loved the man.

The reason that he couldn't stop thinking about him wasn't because he wanted to destroy him—He wanted the opposite.

Those short moments of softness, the silence they shared were neither of them felt the need to speak and break the comforting feeling of just existing in one another's presence, it all stuck with him.

He wished there were more.

It was disgusting.

But he never said a word about it, and his first instinct was to retract.

Maybe if he pushed himself hard enough, if he just avoided him—Maybe those feelings would disappear.

He wasn't a teenager. He couldn't just walk up to someone and casually tell them that he was madly fucking in love with them, especially not another man.

That was frowned upon—Incredibly so. If anyone found out that the "Mad Max", the man who came and left without a trace like a mystery was gay.

But that was something he always knew, the secret he'd buried so deep that even he managed to ignore it, now making itself known in the most painful way.

He watched Charles celebrate his second place finish with spectators, watching Rubis prance around like an overexcited, oversized puppy, a stark contrast to the fear that was currently consuming the blond.

Three years spent as Luke Browning's partner brought an unpredictable, and very... active lifestyle, race weekends brought a stressed driver that was riled up like fishing line.

And it only got more intense when he made it to Formula One in 2026.

Replacing Carlos Sainz in williams, millions of eyes on every move that he made in front of the camera, eyes always searching like he knew somebody was watching.

But with her it was different.

Shoulders relaxing every time she did something as small as touch him, his eyes only ever on her when she was around, instead of the surroundings that were normally stuffed full of cameras when he was out in the paddock.

Post-race was always the same, no matter how it went—Whether he scored points or binned it into the barriers, he'd always fly home a day early, trudge through the door early morning, half asleep and looking like a zombie hunting for a pair of warm arms to rest in.

But fame changed everyone—He was under constant stress and she could see it, she saw the changes long before he did.

How his tempter was shorter, his tendency to snap when it got to be too much.

Something he never did before.

She could see the tension in his body, how his lips were often red or bruised from how hard he'd bite them when he tried to hold himself together, how his shoulders never relaxed the same way they used to.

It worried her.

She understood the pressure of the sport, how loud and overwhelming it would get—But she never imagined how much of a toll it really took on drivers until it started affecting Luke.

But still, one thing always did stay the same.

He'd practically rip his jumper off like it personally offended him by making her feel too far, tossing it haphazardly as he climbed into her arms, burying his face in her neck.

"I'm bloody exhausted." He'd whine, same three words every single time—It was like clockwork, never missing a moment.

But this time it didn't happen.

He walked through the doors, eyes unfocused and just leaned against it for a moment, breath uneven as he put his hands over his face.

She'd missed the race, too caught up with studies—Of course she still sent him a message before, wishing him luck as she always did. But she had no idea what had happened that weekend.

He'd crashed into Alex. Humiliatingly, the car given too much unexpected closing speed, he couldn't stop it in time and absolutely ruined the race for the team.

He apologized profusely, to Alex, to James. Tried to explain what had happened, but neither listened quite yet.

James assured him that stuff like that happens, but didn't offer anything else.

No "we'll figure out what happened" just... "shit happens".

The cameras suddenly felt like they were mocking him, like those photos of him would be on every headline—"Rookie driver costs team crucial points in Austria.".

His eyes met hers from across the room, a pitiful expression flashing across his face as he watched her stand and approach.

God. Maybe he wasn't quite ready for this.

Max left the track disappointed, seething, and for once?—He was confused.

What the hell was wrong with him? Getting distracted over a man he swore he hated. He was Max fucking Verstappen, not a schoolboy whose crush didn't go to watch his game.

So why was he so lost? It didn't make sense.

But no matter what was going on, he had to be found soon. Because that race set him back, big time.

Points lost, an investigation that could end in a potential penalty that would only push him back further, push his head even more off track than it was before.

Those late night rides became a consistent activity for him.

The cold biting into his skin, the wind whistling in his ears louder than his mind would scream, the feeling of going so fast that nothing in this world could reach him—It became a comfort over a hobby.

The next weekend brought nothing different, Charles arrived like everything was normal, because maybe it was for him.

Maybe this was all one-sided. And a part of Max prayed that it wasn't.

A part of him wished to get into his rivals head the same way he got into his—Latching onto the stem of his brain and refusing to let go.

Speaking, distracting him, ruining everything. Like a fucking parasite.

But this didn't feel like hatred anymore. He knew what hatred felt like, experienced it time and time again.

This was something else—Something stronger. And that freaked him out.

Because why did a part of him feel like he was falling for the man he so badly wanted to beat?

He must've been staring off into the distance, because before he could even attempt to collect his thoughts, he felt a hand on his back, bringing him out of them instantly, but leaving them scattered.

"You good, Mad?" Charles spoke, his accent reaching his ears like nails on a chalkboard.

Max clenched his jaw, "I'm fine. And stop calling me that, or I'll make snobby prince your main title." 

There it was.

He watched the brunet's expression tighten yet again at the name, his gaze hardening just enough to be spotted before he smiled widely and shook his head.

"Whatever you say."