#third photosphere

[First name] may be the light of the Leclercs’ lives, but she is also very particular on who she welcomes into her exclusive circle. Not even her own godfather Pierre—who has been in her life since she was born—has won an invitation.

Her father, Charles, never forces her to broaden her circle. Instead, he subtly creates opportunities for her to do so, like her occasionally bringing her to grand prix events. Her attendance today is one of those days.

Charles watches her with a fond smile, one hand wrapped around her small one. Her other hand is clutched to her beloved black dragon plush. She says nothing as they walk down the paddock, but her unvoiced fascination is obvious in the way her head swivels, eyes wide and taking in everything around her.

"There’s my favorite Leclerc!" Pierre appears seemingly out of nowhere, brighter and peppier than usual.

On cue, [First name]’s grip tightens, and she shrinks behind Charles’s leg, hiding as much of herself as she can while peaking just enough to keep the newcomer in sight. He gives her hand a gentle squeeze, a wordless gesture of comfort.

He matches Pierre’s playful energy, "I knew you love me!"

His best friend pays him no mind and squats in front of [First name] with a wide grin. "Bonjour, [First name]!"

In lieu of a verbal "hello," she simply moves one of her dragon’s front paws in a silent wave.

Charles doesn’t dwell on [First name]’s bashfulness. A big part of him finds it incredibly endearing that his daughter trusts him to be her safe harbor and shield. Another part finds it equally amusing to watch her pseudo-uncles—the other drivers—try and fail to win her over.

"Still not talking to me, huh, chérie?" Pierre notes, poking her cheek gently. "That’s okay. Tonton loves you still."

He then opens his arms for a hug, hopeful. There have been rare, miraculous times she has accepted that request, and he has been taking his chances for another miracle ever since. Alas, he isn’t destined to find out if today’s one of those days.

"[First name]!" A new voice chimes in. "You’re here today!" It’s Lando, laughing as he practically jogs towards them.

Behind him, Alex follows at a more relaxed pace. "Baby Leclerc!"

Pierre sighs, recognizing his chance to earn her attention for the day officially gone.

"What am I, chopped liver?" Charles asks, feigning a huff. His heart, however, melts at all the attention his daughter is getting.

"Don’t take it to heart," George says, joining their rapidly growing crowd. "We just saw your ugly mug yesterday."

His gasp of offense is audibly, comically real. No one bothers to comment, as their undivided attention is rightly directed at the three-and-a-half behind him.

In contrast to everyone else who has greeted her thus far, Oscar makes no grand commotion. He simply squats quietly near [First name]. "Heya, kiddo," he greets softly, holding up an open palm for a high five.

Wordlessly, [First name] obliges, moving her plush’s paw to touch his hand. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile plays on her lips before she shrinks further behind her father’s leg. She lets go of his hand in favor of holding onto his leg.

It’s a small victory, but it doesn't go unnoticed. The crowd, starving for any ounce of her attention, collectively perks up.

"I want a high-five, too!" Yuki exclaims.

"Can I get a ‘hello,’ cariño?" Fernando asks.

"How about a fist bump?" Gabriel wonders.

"I just want to hear her say anything," Esteban voices everyone’s thoughts. "A ‘tonton’ would be nice, though."

Charles feels her small hand tighten into a death grip on his leg, and makes the call. "Alright, everyone. Don't overwhelm my baby." He lifts [First name] into his arms, and she immediately latches onto his neck, burying her face in his shoulder. "I'll catch you guys later."

He hears a quick, collective sound of disappointment behind him, which is ultimately replaced by a lively farewell. "Bye-bye, [First name]!"

Once they’re far enough away, [First name] finally finds her voice. "Tonton loud," she whispers into his neck.

"They are, aren’t they?" He chuckles softly. He soothes her back with gentle strokes. "Did they scare you?"

"Non," she admits, shaking her head against his shoulder. "Papa here. No scared."

Charles holds her tighter with a kiss, and [First name] sighs in contentment as the world outside their bubble fades away.

Charles knows better than to think the earlier ambush for her attention would be the last for today. After all, it isn’t his first time bringing his three-and-a-half-year-old daughter to the paddock.

As such, he also has no doubt that while everyone from earlier carried their chaos into the group chat—

NOR: How did you get [First name] to smile at you??? @/PIA GAS: @/PIA ALB: @/PIA PIA: Stop pinging me TSU: Teach us your ways ಥ‿ಥ LAW: Don’t gatekeep PIA: She just likes me because I’m her “brother” RUS: That’s so last season COL: I call bull BOR: Did you make a contract with the devil?

—the rest are quietly strategizing to maximize their chances to win [First name] over.

To dissuade anyone from immediately setting their plans in motion, Charles takes his daughter with him to the team meeting. She’s a quiet additional presence, content on his lap with her dragon plush and her own headset. No one on the team minds her being there.

His race engineer Bryan even joins the others in saying "hi" and patting her head.

(They have done it frequently enough for [First name] to eventually mimic it with her plush—patting its head before nodding sagely to herself.)

However, his teammate Lewis seems to have taken the lead. He has taught [First name] how to fist bump with a slight flair, and she has laughed in amusement. Not only that, but she has promptly initiated for a second one as well.

For a group deeply interested in winning her over and one-upping each other, this is truly a monumental feat; something that needs to be bragged about.

"Wait ‘til they hear about this!" Lewis celebrates, heading to his seat with his phone in hand.

Unfortunately, braggable as it may be, it’s also a seemingly impossible accomplishment to believe. The others’ egos and jealousy strongly prevent them from accepting the new feat they’ll need to beat without any proof.

Fortunately, Ferrari’s social media admin has apparently caught the moment on camera. Yet, still, he and Lewis unanimously vote to keep the evidence within the team for the time being: Charles wants to delay the inevitably more intense efforts, Lewis wants to relish his triumph and their denial.

Truthfully, Charles is the least surprised to hear [First name] laugh while in the paddock. He has faith that his efforts to help her expand her exclusive circle is effective; it’s just a matter of when [First name] feels ready. And, apparently, today is the start of it all.

Now, he’s just anticipating if anyone today will succeed in making her talk to them.

Thirty minutes after meeting, and five minutes after [First name] comfortably settles onto a custom-made Ferrari high chair, Carlos appears in the Ferrari motorhome with an unopened pack of snack.

"Cariño, you hungry?" Like Pierre had earlier in the day, his presence interrupts [First name]’s serene before she can even fully appreciate her new surroundings. "I brought you your favorite."

[First name]’s eyes widen, curious and expectant, as they follow the snack Carlos hands over to Charles.

Charles can’t help but laugh. "This is why you asked me what [First name] likes to eat?"

Bribes are hardly surprising—especially with how effective they are with children—but they don’t always work on his daughter. Still, out of everyone competing for her attention, he never imagined the first one to go that route would be his former teammate, who is also the second paddock uncle she has met after her godfather.

"Of course," Carlos confirms with utmost confidence. He gives [First name]’s cheek a light pinch, which she ignores—her eyes still on the snack. "I won’t be losing to Oscar."

Charles carefully opens the packaging and hands her a piece. She immediately puts it in her mouth. "You mean Lewis. He made her laugh."

"I mean," his friend starts, watching as she asks for another piece with puppy eyes and her palm up, "she seems pretty happy right now. Aren’t you, cariño?"

[First name] answers by offering him a piece. She stretches her arm up high, akin to trying to reach the stars, and opens her mouth as if beckoning him to copy her.

Carlos kneels like a knight in front of her, and accepts her offering like someone who just swore his loyalty. "Thank you, [First name]. You’re very kind."

Charles, who has been reigning in his laughter at the theatrics, completely loses it when his daughter flashes a gummy smile before offering him another piece.

"I believe this crowns me as the favorite," Carlos triumphantly announces. He opts not to dignify it.

Charles, as much as he expects nothing, certainly didn’t expect to return to his Ferrari garage and find his daughter comfortably perched on Kimi’s lap.

He feels like he missed a lifetime in the twenty-five minutes he spent outside his garage. How—?

"Tonton Max a donné la sella à Toothless! Toothless non può volare sans la sella!" ["Tonton Maxie gave the saddle to Toothless! Toothless can’t fly without the saddle!"] Her animated hybrid of French and Italian freezes him—and the crowd that decidedly followed him in—in his tracks.

[First name] is talking to someone whose surname isn’t Leclerc in the paddock. Finally.

"That’s awesome, [First name]," Kimi comments, his tone just as animated. Judging by the easy back-and-forth, they seem to be conversing for a long while now. Yet, Charles knows that can’t actually be the case. It simply couldn't have been. He just left her a short while ago, quiet and clinging to his leg. "Sono sicura che Max sarà contentissimo di sapere che ti è piaciuto tanto il suo regalo!" ["I'm sure Max will be super happy to know you liked his gift so much!"]

Still, a part of him is inclined to think otherwise.

She hums in noncommittal agreement. "Papa put la sella on Toothless," ["Papa put the saddle on Toothless,"] she continues, her words a mix of English and Italian. "Poi Ollie un test drive!" ["Then Ollie (did) a test drive!"]

Charles has a lot of questions but he holds off, choosing to bask in [First name]’s newest milestone.

But, alas, the crowd behind him can only delay for so long. "She talks?!" Liam’s voice rings out, followed by a chorus of murmurs. They’re audibly—and visibly—flabbergasted.

Kimi stands up in surprise, carrying [First name] with the ease of a seasoned older brother. "Guys!" His face lights up when his eyes lands on Charles. He gently coaxes the toddler out of hiding on his shoulder. "[First name], your Papa’s here."

Like a magic charm, she immediately moves to find him, her face brightening just like Kimi did. He might’ve traveled around the world and seen countless of breathtaking scenery, but this—his daughter lightening up when she sees him—is still one of the best sights he’s seen by far.

"Hello, ma chérie," Charles greets as he relieves her from Kimi’s hold, planting a kiss on her cheek. "You had fun with Kimi?"

[First name] nods eagerly, burying her face into the crook of his neck for a moment before looking back at Kimi.

"[First name]’s been a great company," Kimi politely corroborates. "She has a lot to say."

Charles chuckles, shifting his daughter to a more comfortable position on his hip. "She usually reserves the paddock debrief until she’s off the property and sure no one else can hear."

Pierre chooses that second to whine, his voice thick with a mock-sulk. He joins Charles, placing himself directly in front of [First name]’s line of sight. "Chérie, your godfather wants to hear your debriefs, too."

[First name] just looks at him, her expression a perfect mix of solemnity and disinterest, unmoved.

A small snicker ripples through the crowd.

Max plows forward before anyone can laugh too long at Pierre’s misfortune. "I believe I just won our little bet."

"Wait— No— How—?" A chorus of confused protests erupts.

"We heard [First name] say my name first."

"That’s not exactly the bet, though, is it?" Nico counters. "[First name]’s supposed to be saying your name to you." He gestures between Max and the toddler.

Honestly, Charles is lost. He’s not sure if he already knows about this bet and just forgot, or if he never knew in the first place. He suspects the latter. Either way, as entertaining as it is, he needs them to zip it now before they scare his daughter with all their inevitably raised voices.

"[First name] clearly picks Kimi as the winner," he points out, subtly moving one shoulder as if to gesture see? without actually saying it.

He watches as the crowd takes note of how [First name] has shifted to his other side to be closer to Kimi, her tiny fingers reaching out to lightly touch his sleeve. A perpetual, innocent smile seems to have etched itself onto her face as she gazes up at him.

"Kimi’s not even part of the bet—" Lance starts.

"[First name], who’s this?" Charles tries to put a definitive end to it, pointing to the younger Mercedes driver.

Much to the rest’s heartbreak and resulting cuteness aggression, [First name]’s response comes with a delighted squeal, her eyes still on Kimi. "Kimi!"

Charles sees Ollie in his peripheral vision, dramatically clutching his chest and leaning on Esteban for support. "God, she sounds so cute. My heart can’t take this."

Isack does something similarly dramatic, wiping a nonexistent tear from his eye. "Kimi is the chosen one."

As does Franco, who sighs theatrically. "I wanted to be the chosen one."

Charles considers the relative silence of their collective heartbreak a win. [First name] is thriving and undisturbed as she plays with Kimi while still in his arms. She’s content and happy, as far as he can tell.

But, alas— "We can still fight for second!" Lando declares, instantly reigniting the rivalry.

[First name] Emilian Verstappen is Max Emilian Verstappen’s only child. Perhaps that’s too early to say with such finality, but that’s the reality they’re living in—and thus shall be the truth he wholeheartedly embraces.

Being an only child doesn’t come with a built-in playmate like twins do, or the constant companionship that comes with having a sibling. Max, being the oldest of two for far longer than he could actually remember, didn’t fully grasp the striking difference a sibling makes until his little [First name] reached her current age.

"Wat gaan we vandaag spelen?" ["What are we going to play today?"] As a father who's rarely home because of work, he's keenly aware he could just let the other children at daycare and her cousins develop her cooperative play skills. However, he also knows she’s not someone else’s responsibility—especially during the precious moments he is actually home.

Thus, there he is now: at the mercy of his four-year-old hours before his scheduled team meeting. "Papa, zit." ["Papa, sit."]

He obliges, sitting on the floor spot she pointed at. Despite not being home as often as he’d like to care for [First name], he still has the fatherly instincts to anticipate and assist. "Zullen we de tafel erbij pakken voor het theekransje?" ["Shall we get the table for the tea party?"]

Unfortunately, it seems he guessed their upcoming game wrong. "Nee, geen theekransje." ["No, no tea party."] His daughter shakes her head in denial. "Papa makeup!"

Max’s shock keeps him appropriately silent. He eyes the makeup toy set he distinctly remembers being wrapped in colorful gift wrap with Daniel’s name on it. He especially remembers the proud advertisement on its box about glitter.

Because, of course, only someone who's never had to clean glitter would gift a kid glitter. Checo, a true veteran of fatherhood, would most definitely never.

"Ga jij Papa mooi maken?" ["Are you going to make Papa pretty?"] He finally reacts verbally when his four-year-old settles comfortably on his lap. Despite his reservations, he makes no move to deter her from her mission. Rather, he tenderly keeps her in place.

"Ja! Net als een prinses!" ["Yes! Like a princess!"]

After all, he has every intention of embracing everything that comes with having a daughter.

Max enters the Red Bull meeting room with the poise of someone who missed their alarm and scrambled to make to their commitment on time. There’s little relief in witnessing people enter after him, as he sits down in the chair behind the plaque with his name.

"You look shiny today," Yuki comments, amusement obviously dancing in his eyes.

He acknowledges the compliment with a couple words of gratitude. "[First name] wanted to make me pretty, so," he punctuates his response with a shrug.

His teammate nods sagely, "[First name] did a great job."

Max relaxes even more into his chair. He had half-anticipated for everyone to be displeased with his makeover and give him a word or two about how he represents the team. Thankfully, their relative silence suggests otherwise—as he isn’t really in the mood to argue why he won’t erase his daughter’s handiwork in the name of ‘image.’

Besides Max arriving a little later than usual, the wait before the start of the team meeting proceeds like it always does. Some take note of his unusual look like Yuki did, but no one says anything with a negative undertone. PR even makes a video draft in good fun.

That is, until their boss appears by the door. "Why is there glitter everywhere?" They all watch as Christian walks in, finally completing their ensemble, and looks down at his hands. "Now, it’s on my hands."

No one answers, but all their attention gravitates towards Max. In another life, he might’ve felt a slight betrayal for everyone wordlessly selling him out. But, alas, the glitter clinging on his skin is doing all the work for them.

He owns sparkling under the fluorescent lights like a vampire from a cringy rom-fantasy movie with his head held high. He gives the fact that glitter is unknowingly falling off of him—coating whatever surface he walks on and touches mercilessly—no moment of thought.

"Alright, new rule: No glitter in the office. Or anywhere. Make sure everyone knows." Christian announces as he sits down in his chair at the head of long table. His visible irritation at the glitter on him manages to keep his attention off of Max—until he finally looks up. "Max! You’re the culprit!"

Max’s instinct is to correct; to point out that it’s technically [First name]. However, he doesn’t act accordingly. "I suppose so."

His boss seemingly takes in the nonchalance in his demeanor—scrutinizing him, almost. He doesn’t flinch. "I stand by my statement."

He almost laughs. It isn’t like he’ll let anyone tell him what to do. (Nor will [First name].) "I make no promises to abide."

Max really had no intention of showing up at the paddock like a low-budget copy of Edward Cullen, shimmering with glitter under the sun. Unfortunately, [First name] had other plans—and he isn’t really one to deprive his daughter of anything.

To top it off, [First name] just had to declare Daniel’s gift her favorite toy ever, despite the tens of other toys scattered around their home that he had given her. It was a serious blow to Max’s ego, fueling his fiery competitive spirit.

He countered by gifting [First name] a very glittery stationery set, complete with fifty glitter-inked pens and overly shimmery stickers.

Then, as if that wasn’t enough, he partnered it with customized Red Bull gear with their surname and his racing number all coated in glitter.

They were an instant hit.

"Oom Cha!" ["Uncle Cha!"] [First name] exclaims as soon as she spots Charles five feet away from where they had stopped. She quickly abandons him and her quest to retrieve the gifts for her paddock uncles and aunts from her backpack in favor of running towards her uncle.

The Ferrari driver catches her with no problem, even when she comes barreling at him like a bull. "There you are, little glitter princess! Came to support your Papa?"

"Uh-huh!" He hears his daughter reply proudly as he walks closer, her small backpack now on his shoulder. "Papa is the bestest! He gaved me glitter! See?"

Max has to hold back a laugh. Of course, he’s only the "bestest" in his toddler’s eyes because he gave her glittery things—not because he’s a four-time World Champion or anything.

"Very pretty," Charles comments on the matching glittery Red Bull cap and shirt that completed her outfit. "Very fitting for a glitter princess." She beams at that, satisfied.

Max chooses that second—after exchanging a quick nod of acknowledgment with his fellow driver—to remind [First name] of her gifts, before she completely forgets and talks Charles’ ears off about something else. "[Nickname], you wanna give your gift to Uncle Cha?"

"Oh! Ja!" ["Yes!"] [First name]’s reaction alone tells him he has made the right call to remind her. She immediately holds out her hand, "Papa, Oom Cha's cadeautje, alsjeblieft?" ["Papa, Uncle Cha’s gift, please?"]

He catches some of the excess glitter falling on the pavement as he hands the gift over. Belatedly, he realizes his daughter’s gifts will be the main reason glitter won’t just stay as a Red Bull issue—but the rest of the paddock’s as well.

"A gift?" Starting with Ferrari, it seems like, considering the amount that had just fallen onto Charles’ clothes. "For me?"

Maybe that’ll finally stop Christian from reminding him about the glitter ban he has been purposely ignoring this entire time.

"Uh-huh! I made one for Oom Lew, too! And Oom Yuki! And Oom Lala—"

Suffice to say, the paddock is a whole lot shinier by the time the weekend ends—and [First name] Verstappen can’t be more ecstatic.