One is the Loneliest Number

First contact

Sometimes we go through an experience so deep, we need some time to work it out. Stay in bed, look at the ceiling, think "what could've been". We curse nature for giving us the ability to think so hardly about something so futile.

16th of April, 2023
Monte Carlo, Monaco

Charles Leclerc was laying on his couch, both hands tied over his chest, eyes blankly looking up and legs intertwined in a relaxing way. The music sheet to 'AUS23' rested on the table, full of Charles' handwriting. He had finished the song after Verstappen left. Now it was already one o'clock in the morning, and he couldn't really bring himself to sleep.

The Monégasque thought of his teenager years. As a rather small and slender kid, fully focused on his career, he never really had the chance to enter a relationship. Truth is: he never really had the interest. Only later would he dare maintaining a romance. "Five years with Gida, four years with Charlotte" he reflected. Both had a number of similarities: they were diffident girls, who liked to take things slowly and never demanded much emotional (or physical) commitment of Charles. The problem was: after those couple of years, both started wanting to develop the relationship, something Leclerc didn't feel very comfortable with.

"Can it be that I was playing in the wrong side of the field all along?" he pondered, remembering how the kiss with Verstappen felt. It was probably the most awkward moment in his life. Both kissed like grade schoolers. No movement, no tongue, nothing. Just two boys holding lip contact.

But Charles somehow liked it. And he felt something he hadn't had with his girlfriends. But he didn't know what it was.

"What a bombshell for the media that would be" he thought, while walking to the kitchen in order to drink a bit of water. "Me and Max Verstappen in a relationship". Charles laughed at his thoughts, but couldn't hide a smile.

Max's words came to him, shattering his happiness. "That's not who I am", he remembered the Dutchman saying. Well, it most likely wasn't. The fierce, hot-headed, masculine Max Verstappen. Everything else but into boys.

Charles went to bed, skipping his usual nightly routine. For quite some time he laid there, just as he was doing in the couch. "This is never going to work" he concluded, before falling asleep.

28th of April, 2023
Baku, Azerbaijan

Max gazed at the Ferrari garage from the distance. Ever since two weeks ago, he hadn't seen or spoke to Leclerc, something he got unaccustomed to over the months their friendship flowered. They had made eye contact while entering the paddock. Luckily, Max began a conversation with Lando in order to avoid the awkwardness.

His race engineer called him back to the garage after a while, in order to continue studying telemetry and working on the setup.

– Everything alright? – GP asked Max, seeing his unsatisfied face.

– Yeah...

– Still thinking about that night with Charles? – Verstappen's eyes went wide, absolutely shocked about the fact GP knew about his little incident. He blinked twice, very hard. – Max? You sure you're OK?

He then came to realise his subconscious was just playing pranks on him.

– Yes, I just thought you said something. – Max covered his face with both his hands.

– Well, I need your focus now.

GP then proceeded explaining the setup data and track qualities. "I need to sleep some more" he thought.

Afterwards, he was given some alone time in order to prepare for qualifying. However, the Dutchman still had something he needed to get out of his mind, and quick. Max went on to put a black jacket over his racing overall alongside a baseball cap, and sneak out of Red Bull's garage from the back. Further, he waited until no one was looking in order to walk into Ferrari's garage. He made his way through the small corridors and coldly went in through the door with the number 16 on it.