Unbroken hopes|| Charles Leclerc x Max Verstappen(lestappen)Wildest dreams book2

The breaking point

Las Vegas had been the glitzy spectacle everyone anticipated, a weekend full of flashing lights, roaring crowds, and endless energy. For Charles, it was supposed to be another step toward realizing his dream—his first Formula 1 World Championship. After all, Ferrari had the edge here. The car suited the circuit's characteristics, and after his victories in Brazil and Mexico, Charles was on a hot streak, inching ever closer to Max in the standings.

And it started just the way he'd hoped. Pole position was his, after an intense qualifying session where he had outpaced Max by a mere fraction of a second. Ferrari fans roared in support as Charles stepped out of the car, his face flushed with adrenaline and excitement. He could see the championship within reach, just three races left, and he had the upper hand. But as Sunday's race unfolded, it became all too familiar. Ferrari's tire strategy faltered, and what could have been another victory slipped through his fingers, leaving Max to capitalize on the opportunity.

Max had been his usual brilliant self, pushing his car to its limits and beyond. Charles couldn't deny that Max had earned the win, but the sting of watching another race slip away left him in a strange limbo of emotions—pride for his husband's success, but frustration that once again, he was second.

They didn't have much time to process what had happened in Vegas. The championship fight was tighter than ever, with only two races left, and every point mattered. They were on a private jet to Qatar within hours of the Las Vegas podium, the hum of the plane engines filling the quiet space between them.

Max sat across from Charles, flipping through some race notes on his tablet, seemingly unaffected by the intensity of the weekend. Charles, on the other hand, stared out the window, lost in thought. The skyline of Las Vegas had long disappeared, replaced by the endless stretch of desert below, but his mind was still replaying the race.

Max noticed the silence between them and set his tablet aside. "You've been quiet," he said gently, leaning forward. "Everything alright?"

Charles glanced at him, trying to muster a smile, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Yeah... just thinking about the race."

Max nodded, sensing there was more to it. "It was a tough one," he acknowledged. "Ferrari had the pace, but the tires—"

"—the tires," Charles finished bitterly, shaking his head. "It's always something, isn't it? I had the car. I had the pole. But here we are again."

Max's eyes softened. He knew this tone, the self-doubt creeping in around the edges. He'd seen it before in Charles, especially when things didn't go to plan. "Hey, you drove brilliantly. I didn't win because I was faster. It was strategy, pure and simple."

Charles rubbed his face with his hands, trying to shake the frustration. "It's not just that, Max. It's... it's this feeling, like no matter what I do, you're always one step ahead. It's always me chasing you. Even when I have the upper hand, something slips."

Max leaned back in his seat, studying his husband. "I get that. But you've closed the gap, Charles. You're right there with me. You've won the last two races, and Vegas was out of your hands. That's not on you."

Charles exhaled slowly, turning to look at Max fully. "I know. I know it wasn't my fault, but... it's hard not to feel like I'm losing it, like the championship is slipping away again. I've been here before, Max. I've been this close, and then..." He trailed off, not wanting to voice his deepest fear—that he'd come up short once more.

Max's expression was steady, his voice calm and reassuring. "You're not losing it, Charles. And this isn't over. We've still got two races, and anything can happen. You've proven you can beat me, you've done it more than once. You just have to believe in yourself."