𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~ Lestappen

The Great Escape Plan

The day after the pizza-and-hug therapy session, Max and Charles were lounging around their hotel room. It was a rare off-day, and after the chaos of race day, the two drivers had settled into a routine of doing absolutely nothing productive. The TV was on, but neither of them was paying attention-Max was scrolling aimlessly on his phone, and Charles was sprawled out on the couch, flipping through channels like it was an Olympic sport.

"Do you think we'll get called into a meeting today?" Charles asked, mid-channel flip, his voice carrying that tone of dread every driver had before a surprise strategy meeting.

Max didn't look up from his phone. "Nope. But if they try, I've got an escape plan."

Charles perked up, suddenly intrigued. "Escape plan? You've been holding out on me, Verstappen. What's the plan?"

Max looked up with a dead-serious expression. "Easy. We fake a stomach bug. Always works. No one questions food poisoning."

Charles snorted. "That's your plan? Stomach bug? You think the team's going to believe both of us mysteriously get sick at the same time?"

Max grinned. "They don't have to believe it. They just have to not want to deal with it. Trust me, no one's sticking around to verify details when you're running for the bathroom every five minutes."

Charles considered this for a moment, then nodded approvingly. "You've thought this through."

"Of course," Max said, leaning back. "I have a list of excuses, ranked by believability and effort required. Stomach bug is top tier-no questions asked, low effort. Then there's 'lost my key card and got locked in my room'-medium tier, works about 50% of the time. And if all else fails, I go with 'I forgot.' That one's risky but sometimes effective."

Charles laughed, shaking his head. "You're a genius. And here I've been, just pretending to read the emails."

Max gave him a look. "Pretending? You don't actually read the emails?"

Charles shrugged, throwing his hands up. "I skim! If the subject line is important enough, someone will text me about it anyway."

Max chuckled. "I should've known."

Before they could dive further into the art of avoiding meetings, Max's phone buzzed. He glanced at it and groaned. "It's from the team. There's a last-minute briefing. Mandatory."

Charles's face fell. "No. No, no, no. Not today."

Max tossed his phone onto the bed. "I'm not going. This is a perfect opportunity to use the escape plan."

Charles nodded eagerly. "We're doing it. I'm in. How do we sell it?"

Max stood up, suddenly very professional. "First, we need to look convincingly unwell. No one's going to believe a stomach bug if we look like we just got back from a vacation."

Charles followed him to the mirror, eyeing his reflection critically. "Right. So, we need to look pale... maybe tired?"

Max narrowed his eyes, thinking. "Got it. Splash some water on your face, make your hair messier than usual-"

"I don't think that's physically possible," Charles interrupted, gesturing to his usual bedhead.

"-and maybe, just maybe, practice some convincing groaning. We'll have to sound like we're dying."

Charles cleared his throat and gave his best performance. "Ughhh, I ate something bad. I don't think I can make it."

Max blinked. "That was weak. Try again, with more... pain."

Charles nodded and tried again. "Uuughhh... I can't even stand up, Max. I think it was the shrimp-"

"Shrimp? We didn't even eat shrimp, Charles. Keep it simple!" Max laughed, pushing him toward the bathroom.

Charles grinned. "Okay, okay. Watch and learn."

He disappeared into the bathroom, and seconds later, Max heard the unmistakable sound of running water. Charles reappeared, his face and hair dripping wet, looking thoroughly miserable. "How's this?"

Max looked him over, impressed. "Not bad. Not bad at all. Now we just have to make the call."

Charles's eyes widened. "You make the call. It's your plan."

Max rolled his eyes but picked up his phone. He dialed the team manager and put on his best "sick" voice. "Hey, uh, we've got a bit of a problem. Both Charles and I aren't feeling too great... I think it might be something we ate. Stomach's all over the place. Yeah, definitely not race-ready. I think we'll have to sit out the briefing..."

Charles watched Max, barely containing his laughter as Max sold the stomach bug story like he was auditioning for a soap opera. After a few moments, Max hung up and turned to Charles with a triumphant smile.

"They bought it. No briefing."

Charles fist-pumped the air. "Yes! Victory!"

Max collapsed back onto the bed, looking smug. "Told you. The stomach bug excuse never fails."

Charles, now fully in on the fun, grabbed the TV remote and flipped the channel back to a cooking show. "Well, now that we've escaped, we can spend the day being completely unproductive."

Max grinned. "Exactly. Just two professional athletes, avoiding responsibilities, watching TV like normal humans."

Charles flopped onto the couch, hands behind his head. "You know, this is the life. No pressure, no meetings, just pizza and TV."

Max smirked. "And a fake stomach bug."

Charles grinned, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "Hey, we deserve a day off after all the real stress. Plus, we're bonding, right? This is practically team-building."

Max laughed. "Yeah, except this is the only kind of team-building I actually enjoy."

As they settled in for a lazy day, the room filled with the sound of the TV and their easy banter. The stress of the race, the frustration with Jos, and the tension of constant competition melted away. They weren't Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc, rival F1 drivers-they were just two roommates pulling off a ridiculous plan to avoid responsibility.

And, honestly? It felt pretty damn good.

AHH GUYS ILY FOR THE SUPPORT YOU HAVE BEEN GIVING TO THIS BOOK IDK IF I DESERVE IT BUT AHHH THANK YOUSM 🎀💌