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“I want to ask you something,“ Max starts, one random night somewhere in January, they're in their room, underneath large blankets.
“Go ahead, Maxie,” Charles replies, putting his phone down. His feet are finally warm. They're never warm whenever they go to mountains for his training camp.
“You will be mad,” Max mumbles, tangling his feet in with Charles' — a sign that he's nervous.
“No I won't be,” Charles reassures, carefully putting his hand on Max's forearm. He's not sure his hands are warm enough.
“Are you sure?” Max asks, finally meeting Charles' eyes.
“Yes! Ask me anything Max, you're worrying me now, darling” Charles whispers, closing in the gap between them.
There's barely any distance now. Both of them are on their own pillows, but if Charles arches his neck a bit, he's sure he can kiss Max's forehead if need be.
“Why won't Ferrari announce your contract extension?” Max asks, a bit too fast, a bit nervously.
“I— Well— I'm not really allowed to say,” Charles falters. Should he say something? Should he tell Max what has really happened? It isn't as if someone's explicitly told him not to. And this is Max.
Everyone knows he tells Max everything. Should this be an exception?
“I know that, schat. But it is getting annoying now. I see your fans losing hope on Twitter now,” Max muses, and Charles sees his fingers twitch, as if he's itching to grab his phone and show all the posts and memes he's saved.
“I know, I saw some of them have been waiting since Monza,” Charles confesses.
“Since Monza!?!” Max almost yells. Almost.
“It always comes back to Monza,” Charles sighs. “I can't believe I signed it before summer break. It feels like a lifetime ago, Max.”
“It is, Charlie,” Max says. “Why won't they announce it?”
“It's to do with Carlos— honestly. They haven't come to an agreement.”
“Sorry, schat. But what does Carlos' negotiations have to do with your announcement?” Max questions, as if he's not seen hundreds of his own fans wonder the same every time he has opened Twitter.
“Well. We wanted to announce at Monza, you remember that, non?” Charles starts.
“I do. I also remember how Carlos' family was behaving at the time,” Max seethes. “It still makes my blood boil that they call you honorless”
“His godfather called me a rat,” Charles giggled, trying to act non-chalant. But Max knew he was bothered by it— even now, in the new year.
“I don't know how you do it,” Max whispers, as he pulls Charles into his arms. hugging him as tightly as he can.
“What?”
“Act all nice with Carlos,” Max says, as if he doesn't play the same PR roles.
“I keep thinking that maybe he is innocent in all this. I keep thinking that maybe it is just the people around him.”
“But you know it isn't that,” Max ponders out loud.
“But I know it isn't that,” Charles agrees.
“Mum would never hit like on a post that talked about Lando like this— or you,” Max says.
Charles stays quiet for a moment, “Sophie is nice.”
“Yes, but she knows what you and Lando mean to me, you know?”
“What are you saying?”
“I am saying that people around us— drivers, they usually know what we think about others,” Max states.
“Oh believe me, I know. I know the situation at Maranello is getting to him. He is— how do you say— fraying at the edges. I was there myself last season,” Charles laughs, as if he can cover all the pain, betrayal and anguish he felt with it.
“Oh, Charles,” Max murmures.
“I just miss Seb— it was never this complicated with him,” Charles says quietly.
“Should we call him tomorrow morning?” suggests Max
“We should,” A smile so bright, Max thinks he would trade ten suns for it.
“Charlie...” Max begins, again, breaking the silence they've fallen into.
“Oui?” Charles yawns.
“Did he block your announcement somehow?”
“His family has no issues calling me honorless and rat on public platforms. I'm sure you can imagine the sort of things they get up to behind closed doors.”
“Has he said anyth—”
“Not to me, no. I hear the engineers whispering sometimes, though. I know what his team is up to. Everyone at Maranello knows — sometimes he thinks he's above everyone? That doesn't work at Gestione— I know it doesn't. I do not really know what he is asking. But he does not have any real leverage, and he's demanding a lot,” Charles says, frownlines creasing deep valleys between his brows.
“Is he?”
“I think so. At least judging by Fred's facial expressions,” Charles smiles– it is a small thing, but Max notices. Of course he does.
“I think he has forgotten that Binotto is no longer your team principal. He whines like a petulant child on the radio, I can't imagine in debriefs and meetings,” Max says, annoyance carrying through.
“Silvia said entitlement,” Charles giggles.
“Remind me to never get in Silvia's bad books,” Max shivers.
“Mon amour, are you still scared of her?”
“I just know not to fuck with her,” Max says, a grim expression on his face.
And Charles burst into laughter— a full, bellowed laugh. Max couldn't help but join in. It has been a while since he heard Charles laugh like this.
For now, this is enough.
It has to be enough.
“I hope they announce you soon,” Max whispers, as they quiet down after a few minutes.
“I hope so too, mon cœur,” Charles mutters, as he snuggled himself closer to Max.
That night in January, Max doesn't let Charles go.
A few weeks later Scuderia Ferrari announces the continuation of their partnership with Charles Leclerc, until the year 2029.
Max kisses him senseless that night.