𝘩𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘤𝘢𝘳𝘴 || 𝘭𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯

𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

Max knew all too well what it was like to be hated by the fanbase of his sport.

It was because he won, he believed. Not just that he won, because many in the past had won and been revered. It was that he wouldn't lose. He would win no matter what it took. If it wasn't the highest step on the podium, it was the second.

He had made people so tired of hearing his name, his country's anthem, seeing his face across headlines and social media. And yet, he reveled in it. There was a certain pride that he carried despite the hate because he knew he had success to back it up.

Charles didn't.

He had been regarded as one of the most widely loved drivers in the sport since he set foot into an F1 paddock as a driver. If Max was the typical most hated driver on the grid, then Charles was the typical most loved driver on the grid.

Max got criticized on his best weekends, Charles got supported on his worst.

It was unfamiliar when the types of words that were so commonly used regarding Max were now being spoken on occasion about Charles.

But it was different.

Max got hated on because he was too good. Charles was getting hated on because he wasn't good enough.

The Dutch driver didn't care about the hate since he was winning. He knew it stemmed in jealousy, of the fans wanting their favorite drivers to have a chance.

Charles didn't have that stability. Try as he might, the words slowly reached his core, and they burned. He ignored, he pushed them away, he turned the other cheek, but they persisted, and he felt they were going to destroy him from the inside out.

Washed.

Wasted talent.

Worthless.

Ferrari shouldn't waste a seat on him.

He used to have potential.

Remember the days when we thought he was WDC material?

Leclerc's reign is over, but it never even begun.

Words that Charles was slowly starting to believe.

He ran a hand through his hair, not caring as much what it looked like. His looks were the last thing he was concerned about.

As he walked into the paddock, he was met with silence. Usually he was asked for autographs and photos, but it was as if no one wanted to look at him, much less interact with him.

Had he really just gone from loved to hated in a matter of weeks?

He vowed that this weekend, he would show them. He knew he needed to prove his worth now, since he had been comfortable in the reputation that he had. But now, he saw it begin to fade, to slip out of his grasp. He held the elusive Il Predestinato title, but it was slowly being hollowed out, race weekend after race weekend.

He knew the Italian fans believed in him, but he was slowly beginning to think it was a matter of time before they too, realized that it was all false hope.

It had become an addiction at this point. The negative messages killed him, but it was a drug. He couldn't keep himself in the dark, he preferred to know what people were saying about him. He wanted to hear exactly what he knew he needed to prove himself against, and the messages were just getting worse over the course of weeks.

They had adversely affected the team as well, who had begun to put more faith into Carlos Sainz, the other Ferrari driver. They had slowly started to give up on Charles too, helping him enough to get across the finish line but starting to put more faith in his Spanish teammate seeing he was getting the results for the team in recent races.