𝐴𝑙𝑙 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟𝑠~𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑝𝑝𝑒𝑛

the Meltdown

Race day

Race day had come and gone, and Max Verstappen was sitting in his hotel room, staring at the wall like it had personally wronged him. Finishing P4 was not a disaster by most standards, but for Max? It might as well have been the end of the world.

He’d barely gotten out of the car when his father, Jos Verstappen, stormed over, his face as red as a Ferrari. “P4, Max? P4?” Jos bellowed, causing the mechanics to pretend they suddenly had urgent business at the other end of the paddock.

Max had known it was coming. He’d already been beating himself up, but Jos’s disapproval was like a hammer to the skull. “You didn’t push enough. You could’ve taken that corner faster! Why didn’t you fight harder?”

Max had tried to explain, really, but every time he opened his mouth, Jos would wave him off. By the time his dad was finished lecturing him, Max felt about two inches tall. He made a quick escape to the hotel, hoping for a few hours of peace before the post-race debrief.

Now, he sat on the bed, wallowing in the kind of self-pity only a professional driver could muster after a P4 finish. His head hung low, and he hadn't moved for the past 30 minutes. He was replaying the race in his mind, over and over, focusing on every mistake like it was on loop.

Just then, the door to the room swung open, and Charles Leclerc walked in, carrying a pizza box and looking a little too cheerful for someone who had also been stuck in a DRS train all race.

“Hey, I brought food,” Charles announced, tossing the box onto the bed.

Max didn’t respond, still staring blankly ahead.

Charles tilted his head, confused. “Max?”

Max finally glanced up, looking like he’d just returned from the emotional equivalent of the wilderness. “Hey,” he mumbled, his voice flat.

Charles furrowed his brow. “You look like someone stole your kart.”

Max sighed, leaning back against the headboard. “P4, Charles. P4.”

Charles nodded sagely, plopping down next to him. “Right. That'swhy you need food.”

Max gave him a disbelieving look. “food? My dad tore into me after the race. You’d think I finished dead last.”

Charles raised an eyebrow, pulling a slice of pizza out of the box. “P4 is still points. Don't let your dad's word get to you.”

“idk i mean,” Max muttered. “He practically shouted that P4 isn’t good enough.”

Charles chewed thoughtfully on his pizza, then wiped his mouth and leaned back against the headboard next to Max. “Look, I know your dad is, um, intense, but seriously, you’re Max Verstappen. You don’t need to impress anyone.”

Max stared at him, unblinking. “Tell that to my dad. He’s acting like I should’ve won by a mile. It’s like the guy forgets other drivers exist.”

Charles snorted. “Well, yeah, according to Jos, every other driver is just there to fill the grid and look pretty.”

Max managed a half-smile. “True.”

There was a brief moment of silence as they both stared at the ceiling. Charles picked up another slice of pizza and handed it to Max, who took it absentmindedly.

“You know,” Charles began, his voice casual, “I had this exact same conversation with my mom once. After a karting race where I came second.”

Max looked over at him. “Your mom yelled at you for finishing second?”

Charles shook his head, grinning. “No, she tried to cheer me up by saying, ‘Charles, you have to realize, second place is still better than 99% of the people watching you.’ And I was like, ‘Yeah, but that other 1% is the problem.’”

Max let out a laugh, the first genuine one of the evening. “Exactly!”

Charles leaned in, his grin widening. “But here’s the thing: You’re not racing for your dad. You’re not even racing for yourself. You’re racing because you love it. And, frankly, you’re still beating 99% of the people out there.”

Max rolled his eyes, though his expression had softened. “I know, I know. But it’s hard when I have that guy breathing down my neck.”

Charles leaned back, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know what you need?”

Max narrowed his eyes suspiciously. “What?”

“A hug.”

Max nearly choked on his pizza. “A hug? I’m not five, Charles.”

Charles shrugged. “You say that, but I’ve seen you throw a fit over tire wear. So, you’re not that far off.”

Max shot him a glare, but Charles just grinned wider. “Come on, stand up. We’re doing this.”

Before Max could protest, Charles stood up and pulled him to his feet. Max stumbled, caught off guard, but before he knew it, Charles had wrapped him in a dramatic, exaggerated bear hug.

“This is so stupid,” Max grumbled, his arms awkwardly hanging at his sides.

“You love it,” Charles teased, tightening his grip.

Max finally relented, wrapping his arms around Charles with an eye roll. “Fine. But if anyone sees this, I’m denying everything.”

“Relax, Verstappen, no one’s here to see your emotional breakthrough,” Charles said, patting him on the back like a proud parent.

After a few seconds, they broke apart, Max shaking his head but clearly in better spirits. “You’re ridiculous.”

Charles winked. “And you’re welcome.”

Max slumped back onto the bed, feeling lighter than he had since the race ended. “You know, I’m kind of glad you’re my roommate.”

Charles grinned. “Told you, I’m excellent company.”

Max chuckled, finally biting into his pizza. “Maybe. But you still owe me for making me do that trust fall yesterday.”

Charles gasped, feigning shock. “I caught you! I’m a hero.”

Max shook his head, smiling despite himself. “Right. Keep telling yourself that.”

As they sat in companionable silence, finishing off the pizza, Max realized that maybe, just maybe, this wasn’t such a bad way to end a race day. Sure, his dad would always be intense, and P4 would never feel like a win, but having someone like Charles around to remind him to laugh at the absurdity of it all? That was worth something.

And hey, at least he didn’t have to do any more trust falls.

For now.

AHHHH GUYS SORRY FOR THE LATE UPLOAD BUT HOW IS THE STORY SO FARRR
IK IT'S NOT GOOD BUT BEAR WITH ME 🎀🎀