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harrysfolklore · 1 day ago

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christ-max -mv1

summary: you invite your boyfriend max to spend christmas with you for the first time, however, your family doesn't quite believe you're dating a formula 1 world champion. wc: 5.8k

folkie radio: HAPPY CHRISTMAS TO ALL OF YOUUUU! i hope you're having the best day ever with your loves ones. this fic ended up being longer than i intended but i hope you like it!

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

You're nestled into Max's side on his couch, wrapped in the soft throw blanket he keeps specifically for these quiet moments together. The afternoon light filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Monaco apartment, casting a glow across the room. Your feet are tucked under you, and you can smell the lingering scent of the coffee you both made earlier.

The Netflix show you'd put on - some random documentary about deep-sea creatures - has become mere background noise. Max's fingers are threading through your hair in that gentle way that always makes you melt, occasionally stopping to massage your scalp. .

"I can't believe the season's actually over," you murmur, tracing lazy patterns on his arm. "Feels weird not having to plan around race weekends anymore."

Max chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest where your head rests. "Yeah, but now we have to plan around all the end-of-year events instead. Did you see how many galas and ceremonies are coming up?"

"At least those don't involve you flying halfway across the world," you tease, tilting your head to look up at him. His hair is slightly messy, free from its usual styling, and you resist the urge to reach up and run your fingers through it.

"True," he agrees, then glances at his phone on the coffee table. "Speaking of events, I can't believe it's already December. Christmas is going to be here before we know it. Guess time flies when you're busy winning championships."

Your heart skips a beat. This is the opening you've been waiting for. You've been thinking about this for weeks, planning how to bring it up. "Actually… I wanted to ask you something about Christmas," you start, sitting up slightly to face him better.

Max's blue eyes meet yours, curious. "What's on your mind?"

"Well…" you bite your lip, suddenly feeling nervous despite knowing there's no reason to be. "I was wondering if you'd want to spend Christmas with me and my family this year? I know we've kept things private, but I really want them to meet you, and-"

"Wait, really?" Max interrupts, his whole face lighting up with that boyish excitement that made you fall for him in the first place. "You want me to meet your family?"

You can't help but smile at his enthusiasm. "Of course I do. We've been together almost a year now, and they keep asking why I'm always smiling at my phone." You playfully poke his side. "Which is your fault, by the way."

He catches your hand, intertwining your fingers. "My fault? I'm just being my naturally charming self," he grins, then his expression turns slightly more serious. "But are you sure? I mean, won't they be surprised when you show up with, well…"

"With a four-time World Champion?" you finish for him, laughing. "Actually, my dad might pass out. He's been watching F1 since before I was born. He has no idea I've been dating his favorite driver."

Max's eyebrows shoot up. "I'm his favorite driver?"

"Don't let it go to your head," you warn playfully. "But yeah, he's got your merchandise and everything. It's actually kind of embarrassing how much he talks about you during race weekends."

Max throws his head back laughing, and you can't help but join in. "Oh God, this is going to be interesting," he says, wiping at his eyes. "What about the rest of your family?"

"Well, Mom will probably try to feed you until you burst - she's like that with everyone. And my little sister Ruby, she's seven and she's going to have so many questions. She's in that phase where she wants to know everything about everything."

"I can handle questions," Max says confidently, then hesitates. "What kind of questions are we talking about?"

You pretend to think about it. "Oh, you know, probably things like 'How fast have you ever driven?' 'Have you ever crashed?' 'Do you want to marry my sister?'"

Max nearly chokes on air at the last one, his cheeks turning slightly pink. "You're joking, right?"

"About Ruby? Nope, she has absolutely no filter," you laugh, then soften your voice. "But seriously, they're going to love you. Just be yourself - the you I know, not the racing driver everyone else sees."

He pulls you closer, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I'd love to spend Christmas with your family. I can't wait to meet them." He pauses, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Should I wear my race suit when I meet your dad?"

You swat his arm, laughing. "Don't you dare! He'll actually faint." You settle back against his chest, feeling warm and content. "Thank you for saying yes. It means a lot to me."

"Thank you for asking me," he murmurs into your hair. "I love you."

"I love you too," you respond, smiling as his arms tighten around you. The documentary continues playing, forgotten again as you both start planning for Christmas, trading ideas and jokes about how to break the news to your family.

You're sitting cross-legged on Max's bed while he's in the shower, your phone propped up against a pillow as you FaceTime your family. Your mom's face fills most of the screen, with your dad peering over her shoulder and little Ruby bouncing around trying to get a better view.

"Honey, we can barely see you. The lighting is terrible," your mom critiques, and you adjust your position slightly.

"Better?"

"Much better! Now, what's this important thing you wanted to tell us about Christmas?" Your mom asks, while Ruby shouts "Is it presents?" in the background.

You take a deep breath, trying to contain your smile. "Well, I wanted to let you know that I'm bringing someone with me this year… my boyfriend."

There's an immediate explosion of excitement. Ruby starts jumping up and down, your mom gasps dramatically, and your dad's eyebrows shoot up with interest.

"Finally!" your mom exclaims. "We've been wondering when you'd introduce him. You've been so secretive about this boyfriend of yours."

"What's his name?" Ruby pipes up, her face suddenly taking up half the screen as she pushes closer to the camera. "Is he nice? Does he like Disney movies?"

You laugh, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. "Yes, Rubes, he's very nice. And his name is…" you pause, knowing what's coming. "Max. Max Verstappen."

There's a moment of silence before your dad bursts out laughing. "Good one, sweetheart. Now, what's his real name?"

"I'm serious, Dad. I'm dating Max Verstappen."

Your mom is trying to hold back her laughter now too. "Honey, isn't that the racing driver you and your father are always watching? The one your dad has all those caps and shirts of?"

"Yes, and I'm actually dating him," you insist, feeling your cheeks heat up.

Ruby's face scrunches up in confusion. "The fast car man? From TV?"

"The very same one, Rubes."

Your dad wipes tears from his eyes. "Come on now, what's next? Are you going to tell us you're best friends with Lewis Hamilton too?"

"Dad!" you groan, running a hand over your face. "I'm being serious! We've been dating for almost a year. I'm literally at his place right now!"

"In Monaco?" your dad asks skeptically. "Prove it."

You swing your phone around to show the familiar view of Monaco through the windows, but your dad just shakes his head. "Could be any apartment in Monaco."

"You're impossible!" you huff. "Fine, don't believe me. You'll see at Christmas."

Ruby presses her face closer to the screen again. "Will he bring his race car?"

"No, Rubes, he can't bring the race car," you say, softening your tone for your little sister. "But I promise you'll love him."

After a few more minutes of your family teasing you about your "imaginary Formula 1 driver boyfriend," you end the call with a mix of frustration and amusement. Just as you flop back onto the bed, you hear the bathroom door open and Max walks out, his hair still damp from the shower.

"How'd it go?" he asks, noticing your expression.

You let out a laugh. "They think I'm making you up. They literally don't believe I'm dating you."

Max raises his eyebrows, looking amused as he sits next to you on the bed. "Really?"

"Really. Dad laughed so hard he nearly cried. And Ruby, my little sister, just wants to know if you're bringing your race car for Christmas."

"Sorry to disappoint Ruby," he grins, then looks thoughtful. "You know, maybe we should've waited to tell them in person. The looks on their faces would've been priceless."

"Oh, don't worry," you sit up, wrapping your arms around his neck. "They'll still be priceless. Dad's going to lose it when he realizes all those times he was rambling about you during races, he was actually talking about his daughter's boyfriend."

Max laughs, pulling you closer. "What else should I know before meeting them?"

"Well, Ruby's seven and obsessed with Frozen. She'll definitely make you watch it and probably sing along too."

"I can handle that," he says confidently.

"And recite all the lines?"

"…Maybe not that."

"And act out the scenes with her?"

Max's eyes widen slightly. "What have I gotten myself into?"

You kiss his cheek. "Too late to back out now, Verstappen. You're stuck with us."

"Wouldn't have it any other way," he murmurs, pulling you in for a proper kiss. "Even if it means playing Olaf the snowman."

"Oh no, you'll definitely be playing Elsa. Ruby's very particular about casting."

The look of horror on his face makes you burst out laughing, and soon he's joining in too. As your laughter dies down, you can't help but think about how perfect this feels - being here with him, planning to spend Christmas with your family, even if they don't believe you yet. You can't wait to see their faces when you show up at their door with Max Verstappen himself.

"Hey," Max says softly, breaking into your thoughts. "What are you smiling about?"

"Just thinking about how Christmas is going to be interesting this year."

"Interesting is one way to put it," he grins. "Should I wear my race suit when we arrive?"

"Don't you dare! Dad will actually faint."

"That's kind of the point," he winks, and you grab a pillow to hit him with, both of you dissolving into laughter again.

"Let me guess, another text from 'Max Verstappen'?" your dad teases from his spot at the kitchen counter, making air quotes with his fingers. He's wearing one of his many Red Bull Racing shirts, completely oblivious to the irony.

"Actually, yes," you reply, rolling your eyes. "He'll be here soon."

Your mom chuckles while peeling potatoes. "Honey, you can just tell us who your boyfriend really is. We won't judge, even if he's not a Formula 1 champion."

"Mom, I've told you a million times-"

"LOOK!" Ruby crashes into the kitchen, pointing at the TV in the living room where they're showing highlights from the last race. "It's YN's boyfriend!" She dissolves into giggles, clearly in on what she thinks is a funny joke.

"Very funny, Rubes," you mutter, but check your phone again when it buzzes.

Max: "Just turned onto your street. Nice neighborhood 😉"

Your heart starts beating faster. "He's here," you announce, heading toward the front door.

"Oh, we're still doing this?" your dad calls after you, amused. "Should I get my Max Verstappen cap for him to sign?"

"Actually, Dad, yes, you should," you shout back, slipping on your boots.

"Sweetie," your mom starts in that gentle voice she uses when she thinks you're being ridiculous, "you don't have to-"

The sound of a car pulling up interrupts her. You open the front door and step out onto the porch, watching as Max's car comes to a stop in your driveway. Your family has crowded behind you in the doorway, probably expecting to catch you in your "lie."

Max steps out of the car, looking unfairly handsome in his dark winter coat and scarf. His face lights up when he sees you, and you don't hesitate to run down the steps toward him.

"Hi," he grins, catching you in a tight hug and lifting you slightly off your feet. "Missed you."

You hear a loud gasp behind you, followed by what sounds like your dad choking on air.

"Missed you too," you murmur against his chest before turning to face your family, keeping one arm wrapped around his waist.

The scene on your front porch is priceless. Your dad's mouth is hanging open, his face pale except for two bright red spots on his cheeks. Your mom has both hands pressed to her face in shock. Ruby is the only one moving, bouncing up and down with excitement.

"IT REALLY IS THE FAST CAR MAN!" she shrieks, breaking the silence as she barrels down the steps toward you both.

Max laughs, crouching down to her level. "Hi Ruby. Nice to finally meet you. Your sister has told me a lot about you."

"You're real!" she exclaims, poking his arm as if to make sure.

"Very real," he confirms, looking thoroughly amused.

"I… you… but…" your dad stammers, still frozen in the doorway.

"Hi, Mr. and Mrs. LN," Max says, standing back up and guiding you and Ruby toward the porch. "Thank you for having me for Christmas."

Your mom seems to snap out of her shock first. "Oh my goodness, please come in! It's freezing out here. I… oh dear… the potatoes… I should… more food… I need to…"

"Mom, breathe," you laugh, as Max follows you inside.

Your dad hasn't moved an inch, still staring at Max like he's seeing a ghost. "You're… you're actually… the Brazil overtake…"

"Dad, no F1 talk yet!" you warn. "Let him at least get his coat off first."

"Right! Yes! Coat!" your dad says frantically. "I'll take your coat! And then maybe… could you… would you mind signing my…"

"Collection?" you finish for him, smirking. "The one you thought I was making up?"

Max raises his eyebrows at you, remembering your conversation about your dad's merchandise collection.

Ruby tugs on Max's hand. "Do you want to see my Frozen dolls? And can we watch the movie? Sissy said you've never seen it!"

"Ruby, let him settle in first," your mom calls from the kitchen, where she appears to be panic-cooking. "Oh God, is the food good enough? Do Formula 1 drivers have special diets? Should I-"

"Mom, the food will be perfect," you assure her, then turn to Max. "See? I told you they'd be cool about it."

Max tries to suppress his laugh as your dad continues to stare at him in awe, your mom stress-cooks enough food to feed an army, and Ruby continues pulling on his hand.

"Very cool," he agrees, pressing a kiss to your temple. "Though I think your dad might need to sit down."

"I'm fine!" your dad squeaks, then immediately sits down heavily on the nearest chair. "Just… just give me a minute to process that my daughter is actually dating Max Verstappen and I've been accidentally talking about my future son-in-law during every race and-"

"DAD!" you exclaim, feeling your face heat up while Max chuckles beside you.

"What? I'm just saying… all those times I said 'that Verstappen boy would make someone a good husband someday' and it turns out-"

"Okay!" you interrupt loudly. "Who wants coffee? Max, come help me with coffee!"

As you drag a laughing Max toward the kitchen, you hear Ruby start explaining the entire plot of Frozen to him, your mom muttering about needing to buy more food, and your dad still talking to himself about racing statistics.

"Still think this was a good idea?" you whisper to Max.

He pulls you closer, grinning. "The best. Though you might want to tell your dad to breathe before he passes out."

"Can we build a snowman after coffee?" Ruby calls out.

"Only if Max gets to be Elsa!" you shout back, earning you a playful glare from your boyfriend.

Looking around at your slightly chaotic but loving family, and seeing how naturally Max fits into it all, you can't help but smile. This is definitely going to be a Christmas to remember.

The initial chaos has settled into a cozy scene in your living room. You're curled up on the couch next to Max, who has Ruby practically attached to his side. She hasn't stopped talking since everyone sat down, and Max, to his credit, is giving her his complete attention.

"And then Elsa makes this huge ice castle," Ruby explains, using elaborate hand gestures. "Can you drive as fast as Elsa runs up the mountain?"

"Probably faster," Max answers with a grin, making Ruby's eyes widen.

"Even in the snow?"

"Even in the snow."

Your dad, who's finally regained his ability to form complete sentences, sits in his armchair trying very hard not to bombard Max with racing questions. He keeps opening his mouth, then closing it again when you give him a warning look.

"It's okay, Dad," you laugh. "You can ask him one race question. Just one."

Your dad looks like he might cry from happiness. "The overtake in Brazil-"

"Which one?" Max asks with a playful smirk, and your dad launches into an enthusiastic discussion about racing lines and grip levels.

Your mom returns from the kitchen with a tray of hot chocolate and cookies, having finally accepted that she doesn't need to cook enough food for an entire F1 paddock. "Here we go. I hope it's okay, Max. YN mentioned you like hot chocolate."

"It's perfect, thank you," Max says warmly, accepting a mug.

Ruby immediately reaches for a cookie, then pauses. "Do race car drivers eat cookies?"

"Only the fast ones," Max whispers conspiratorially, making her giggle.

"Ruby, give Max some space to breathe," your mom says gently, noticing how your sister is practically in his lap.

"It's fine," Max assures her. "I have nephews. I'm used to it."

Ruby beams at this information. "Really? Do they like Frozen too?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure they'd love to hear your explanation of it," he says, and Ruby launches into another detailed plot summary.

You catch your mom watching the interaction with soft eyes, all her earlier panic forgotten. She meets your gaze and mouths 'He's wonderful' when Ruby isn't looking.

Your dad has moved on from Brazil to discussing tire strategies, but stops himself mid-sentence. "Sorry, I'm probably boring you. You live this stuff."

"Not at all," Max says sincerely. "It's nice talking about it with someone who understands racing. YN usually just tells me to stop being a nerd when I talk about tire compounds."

"Because you spent two hours explaining the difference between C3 and C4 compounds!" you defend yourself.

"It's fascinating stuff," your dad says eagerly, and Max nods in agreement.

"Oh no, there's two of them now," you mutter to your mom, who laughs.

Ruby tugs on Max's sleeve. "Can we watch Frozen now? Please? You promised!"

"Ruby, let Max rest a bit," your mom starts, but Max shakes his head.

"A promise is a promise," he says solemnly to Ruby. "Should we watch it now?"

Ruby squeals with delight, jumping up to get the remote. Your dad looks slightly disappointed that his racing talk is being cut short, but you can see him hiding a smile at Ruby's excitement.

"Fair warning," you whisper to Max as Ruby sets up the movie, "she knows every word. And she will sing along."

"As long as she doesn't expect me to sing," he whispers back.

"MAX!" Ruby calls, patting the spot next to her on the floor where she's arranged pillows. "You have to sit here! It's the best spot!"

Max obliges, settling down next to her while you stay on the couch, exchanging amused looks with your parents as Ruby starts the movie, already mouthing along to the opening music.

Your mom leans over to you. "I'm sorry we didn't believe you," she whispers. "He's lovely. And so good with Ruby."

"I told you," you whisper back, watching as Ruby explains to Max why Elsa has ice powers.

Your dad joins in the whispered conversation. "Think he'd sign my mug collection later?"

"Dad!"

"What? I'm just saying, Christmas cards would be sorted for the next few years…"

You're about to respond when Ruby shushes you all loudly. "This is the best part!"

Max catches your eye and winks, clearly enjoying himself despite being roped into a Disney movie viewing with a very enthusiastic seven-year-old commentator. Your heart swells watching him with your family, how naturally he fits in, how gentle he is with Ruby.

"Do you want to build a snowman?" Ruby starts singing along with the movie.

"Later, Rubes," you promise. "Let's watch the movie first."

She nods seriously, then turns to Max. "Pay attention to this part. It's very important."

"I won't miss a second," he promises, and Ruby beams at him before turning back to the screen.

Your mom reaches over and squeezes your hand, giving you a knowing look. Even your dad has stopped thinking about racing long enough to appreciate the moment – his youngest daughter sharing her favorite movie with your boyfriend, who happens to be the F1 driver he's been fan-boying over for years.

It's perfect, you think, watching your family and Max together. Different from how you imagined telling them, but perfect nonetheless.

"Shh!" Ruby whispers loudly. "Elsa is about to sing Let It Go!"

Max shoots you a slightly panicked look as Ruby starts to stand up, clearly ready to perform the whole number. You just grin and shrug. After all, you did warn him about the singing.

Later that evening, you finally manage to steal a moment alone with Max. Ruby had fallen asleep during the third replay of Frozen, and your parents took her up to bed before retreating to the kitchen to finish some Christmas preparations.

You find Max on the back porch, leaning against the railing and looking up at the stars. The winter air is crisp, and you can see his breath forming little clouds in the darkness. Quietly, you step out and wrap your arms around him from behind, pressing your cheek against his back.

"Hey," he says softly, turning in your arms to face you. His hands find their way to your waist, pulling you closer. "Needed a little break from being Elsa?"

You laugh quietly, reaching up to brush a strand of hair from his forehead. "You were amazing with Ruby today. I think you're officially her new favorite person."

"She's a sweet kid," he smiles, then adds with a playful glint in his eyes, "Though I didn't expect to watch Frozen two times in one day."

"Just wait until tomorrow. She'll probably want to act it out."

He groans dramatically, but you can see the fondness in his expression. "The things I do for you."

"Mmm, and I appreciate every one of them," you murmur, standing on your tiptoes to kiss him softly.

Max responds immediately, one hand moving to cup your face while the other pulls you even closer. The kiss is gentle and unhurried, full of unspoken emotions. When you finally pull back, he rests his forehead against yours.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"For what?"

"For being so perfect with my family. For watching Frozen multiple times. For not running away when my dad started his racing commentary."

He chuckles, the sound rumbling in his chest. "I like your family. Your dad's racing knowledge is impressive, your mom's trying very hard not to mother me to death, and Ruby…" he pauses, smiling. "Ruby reminds me of Victoria at that age."

You snuggle closer, seeking his warmth in the cold air. "I was so nervous about telling them, and then even more nervous when they didn't believe me. But this… this is better than I imagined."

"Even with your dad asking me to sign his entire Red Bull merchandise collection?"

"Hey, at least he waited until after dinner," you laugh. "Though I'm pretty sure he's in there right now planning which items to bring out first."

Max wraps his arms more securely around you, pressing a kiss to your temple. "I love you," he says quietly, and your heart skips a beat like it does every time he says those words.

"I love you too," you reply, tilting your face up for another kiss.

This one is deeper, more passionate, until you hear the back door creak and quickly step apart.

"Oh!" your mom exclaims, looking flustered. "Sorry, I just… wanted to ask about breakfast preferences… but it can wait… carry on!"

She disappears back inside, and you both burst into quiet laughter.

"We should probably go back in," you sigh, though you make no move to leave his embrace.

"Probably," he agrees, but instead of letting go, he pulls you back for one more kiss. "Five more minutes?"

You smile against his lips. "Five more minutes."

In the quiet of Christmas eve, wrapped in each other's arms, you can't help but think how perfectly he fits into your life, into your family, into your heart. Tomorrow there'll be more Frozen, more racing talk, more of Ruby's endless questions, but right now, it's just the two of you, and it's everything.

The winter sun is just beginning to peek through the curtains of your childhood bedroom, casting a soft golden glow across the room. You're wrapped in warmth, nestled against Max's chest with his arm draped around your waist. His steady breathing tells you he's awake before he even moves.

"Good morning," he murmurs against your neck, his voice still rough with sleep. His lips brush against your skin, sending shivers down your spine.

"Morning," you whisper back, feeling his hand slowly slide beneath your sleep shirt, his fingers tracing patterns on your skin.

"Sleep well?" he asks innocently, but his actions are anything but innocent as he presses closer, leaving a trail of kisses from your shoulder to your ear.

"Max," you breathe, caught between wanting to lean into his touch and knowing you should stop. "We can't… my parents…"

"Then we'll have to be very, very quiet," he whispers, nipping at your earlobe. His hand travels higher under your shirt, making your breath hitch.

You turn in his arms, ready to either give in or properly protest - though the way he's looking at you, eyes dark with desire and that signature smirk playing on his lips, makes you lean heavily toward the former.

"You're trouble," you murmur, reaching up to run your fingers through his disheveled hair.

He leans down to capture your lips in a heated kiss. "You love it."

Just as his hand starts to wander again, a voice pierces through the quiet morning:

"IT'S CHRISTMAAAAS!" Ruby's excited scream echoes through the entire house, followed by the thundering of small feet running down the hallway. "WAKE UP! WAKE UP! SANTA CAME!"

Max drops his forehead to your shoulder with a frustrated groan. "Your sister has impeccable timing."

"Welcome to Christmas with Ruby," you laugh, pressing a consoling kiss to his cheek. "I tried to warn you."

"YN! MAX!" Ruby's fists pound on your door. "GET UP! There are presents EVERYWHERE! And it SNOWED!"

"Five more minutes, Rubes!" you call back.

"NO MINUTES! NOW!" she insists, continuing to knock. "Mom said breakfast is ready and Dad made hot chocolate and I SAW A HUGE PRESENT WITH MY NAME ON IT!"

Max chuckles against your shoulder. "I suppose we should…"

"PLEASE!" Ruby calls again. "I promise I'll let you drink your coffee first!"

"That's quite the offer from her," you tell Max. "She usually doesn't allow any delays on Christmas morning."

"We're coming, Ruby!" Max calls out, sitting up and running a hand through his hair. "Give us two minutes to get dressed."

"TWO MINUTES! I'm counting!"

You can hear her dramatically counting down in the hallway, making Max laugh. "She's serious about this, isn't she?"

"Oh, you have no idea."

The living room is a festival of color and chaos when you finally make it downstairs. Ruby's bouncing by the tree in her Christmas pajamas, while your parents are settled on the couch with steaming mugs of coffee.

"Finally!" Ruby exclaims. "I counted way past two minutes!"

"Sorry, princess," Max says, accepting a coffee mug from your mom. "But I'm here now."

"Max, sweetheart, you really didn't have to get us anything," your mom says, noticing the pile of presents he'd arranged under the tree last night.

"Of course I did," he replies warmly. "It's Christmas."

Ruby's practically vibrating with excitement as your dad starts distributing gifts. "Can I open mine from Max first? Please?"

At your nod, she tears into the elaborate wrapping paper, gasping when she reveals a beautiful wooden chest with golden details. "It's like a treasure chest!"

"Open it," Max encourages, smiling.

Ruby lifts the lid carefully, her eyes widening. Inside is a complete collection of princess dresses, each one a perfect replica from different Disney movies, along with matching accessories and a tiara for each one.

"The chest is magical," Max explains, kneeling beside her. "Every time you open it, there might be a new surprise inside. And look at this…" He reaches in and pulls out a small envelope.

Ruby opens it to find a letter with the Disney castle letterhead. "Dear Princess Ruby," she reads aloud, her voice getting more excited with each word. "You are cordially invited to spend a royal weekend at Disney World, where you will have a private breakfast with all the Disney princesses…"

She doesn't even finish reading before launching herself at Max, nearly knocking him over. "Thank you thank you thank you! Can I try on the Elsa dress right now?"

"After presents," your mom laughs. "Let's see what else Santa brought."

Your dad opens his gift next, finding an envelope that makes him pause. "Son," he says, voice thick with emotion as he reads the contents. "This is…"

"VIP passes to the British Grand Prix," Max confirms. "Including garage access, grid walk, everything."

Your dad has to sit down, clutching the passes like they might disappear. "This is… I can't…"

"And this," Max hands him another package, "is just a little something extra."

Inside is a vintage racing jacket from your dad's favorite driver from the 80s, signed and authenticated. Your dad actually tears up.

Your mom opens her gift next, despite protesting again that Max shouldn't have gotten them anything. She unwraps a beautiful pair of earrings.

"Oh, Max," she whispers, "This is beautiful."

Ruby, who has been surprisingly patient, tugs at Max's sleeve. "Can we do my princess breakfast now?"

"After we finish presents," you laugh. "And maybe we should have real breakfast first?"

"But I'm a princess now," she declares. "Princesses have special breakfast times."

Your mom shakes her head fondly. "How about pancakes fit for a princess?"

"With chocolate chips?" Ruby negotiates.

"With chocolate chips," your mom confirms. "Max, honey, how do you like your pancakes?"

"However they're made is perfect," he assures her, but your mom is already heading to the kitchen, muttering about making sure she has enough chocolate chips.

Your dad finally finds his voice again. "Max, this is too much…"

"It's not," Max says firmly. "You're… you're family now. Or at least, I hope…"

He glances at you meaningfully, making your heart skip a beat.

Later, after pancakes and multiple princess dress changes from Ruby, you manage to steal some time alone with Max in your favorite spot on the back porch. The morning sun has warmed the air slightly, but there's still a crisp winter chill that gives you an excuse to stay close to him.

"Your turn," Max says softly, pulling out a small wrapped box from his pocket.

Your hands tremble slightly as you unwrap it, revealing a velvet jewelry box. Inside is a delicate silver necklace with two intertwined pendants - a heart and a tiny racing helmet.

"Max," you breathe, touching the pendants gently. "It's beautiful."

"Look at the back," he says quietly, his voice carrying a note of nervousness you rarely hear.

You turn the heart over to find an engraving: "You're my biggest victory. -MV"

"I love you," you whisper, pulling him down for a kiss. His arms wrap around you, holding you close as if you're the most precious thing in his world.

When you finally part, you hand him your gift - a wrapped box that makes him raise his eyebrows at the weight.

Inside, he finds a handmade scrapbook filled with your personal moments - sneaky paddock kisses, quiet mornings at home, victory celebrations, and candid moments no one else has seen. The final page holds a photo from yesterday - Max on the floor with Ruby, both laughing during their third viewing of Frozen.

"This is…" he starts, voice thick with emotion.

"Wait," you say softly, reaching into your pocket. You pull out a key on a simple keychain. "I thought… maybe… if you wanted…"

"Move in with you?" he finishes, breaking into that brilliant smile that never fails to make your heart race. "Yes. Absolutely yes."

He pulls you into another kiss, deeper this time, one hand cradling the back of your head while the other holds the key carefully.

"MAX!" Ruby's voice carries from inside. "I need help with my Cinderella shoes! And then we have to build a snowman! A FROZEN snowman!"

You both laugh against each other's lips.

"Duty calls, Elsa," you tease.

"Only if you'll be my Olaf," he grins, pressing one more quick kiss to your lips.

"Always," you promise, letting him lead you back inside where Ruby waits, already changed into her third princess dress of the morning.

Your dad catches your eye as you pass, "If you don't marry this boy," he whispers, "I will."

"Dad!"

"I'm just saying," he shrugs, then heads outside to join the snowman-building committee.

Your mom appears at your other side, wrapping an arm around you. "He's right, you know. He's perfect for you."

You lean your head on her shoulder, watching Max let Ruby direct him on where to place the snowman's arms. "I know," you smile. "I know."

"Best Christmas ever?" she asks softly.

Looking at your family, and Max in the middle of it all, belonging there like he's always been part of it - you smile.

"Best Christmas ever," you agree.

1K notes · View notes

eu-nicola · 18 hours ago

Text

the fastest driver part 3

summary: you are a young and talented driver, who begins your journey in Formula 1 with Ferrari. despite your undeniable ability, you are constantly relegated to the background due to the Scuderia's strategies, which always favor your teammate, Charles Leclerc

warnings: take of pills

word counter: 7364

author's note: english is not my first language, this is from an amazing request, thanks for the comments 🤍

tags: @ilovechickenwings @amortentiaaaa @ananyasribughead @supertrashbread @amalialeclerc @rawr-123s-stuff @wierdflowerpower @malvikareader @freyathehuntress @sweetmuffynsblog @vjbillno

Endless hours passed after the accident before the first clear update about your condition reached the media and the paddock. Everyone was anxiously waiting for news about your health. The uncertainty left fans, journalists, and especially those who truly knew you in a state of tense anticipation.

Finally, a statement from the hospital's medical team brought some relief: you were stable and conscious. While initial tests had ruled out serious spinal injuries or significant fractures, the impact had been severe, leaving you with a moderate concussion and several internal bruises that required monitoring. What concerned the doctors most were the potential psychological and emotional aftereffects: the nature of the crash, the impact, and all the built-up stress could take a toll later.

Hours later, you woke up in a hospital room softly lit by the afternoon light. Everything was quiet except for the rhythmic beeping of the monitor beside your bed. Your body felt heavy, like it was filled with lead, and the headache was sharp and constant. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you noticed someone sitting nearby.

It was Charles. He was there, his hands clasped in front of his mouth, as if praying or just trying to calm his own nerves. When he saw you stir slightly, he lifted his head, and his expression changed a mix of relief and worry crossed his face.

“You’re awake,” he said softly, as if he didn’t want to scare you. “Thank God.”

You hadn’t expected to see him there. In fact, you hadn’t expected to see anyone. And yet, here he was.

“Charles…” you tried to speak, but your voice came out as barely a whisper.

“Shhh, don’t talk too much. The doctors said you need to rest.”

“What are you doing here?” you asked, ignoring his warning, even though just talking felt like needles stabbing your skull.

He shrugged, offering a light but sincere smile.

“Someone had to make sure you were okay.”

Charles stayed by your side for hours, even when the doctors came in and out to check on you. He answered questions from the journalists crowding outside the hospital, desperate for a statement, and refused requests from photographers trying to get a shot of you. There was something unusually warm and protective about the way he acted.

As you lay back, eyes closed to avoid making the headache worse, you heard his voice.

“You scared me, you know? I’ve never seen anything so…” He paused, searching for the right word. “So violent. Not since Jules. And when I saw the crash on the screen, I thought the worst.”

You opened your eyes and looked at him. There was sincerity in his face, something you hadn’t expected.

“I’m okay… sort of.” You tried to joke, but the pain turned it into a grimace.

“No, you’re not okay. But you will be. You have to be.”

As Charles stayed with you, messages started pouring in. Your phone sat on the bedside table, just out of reach, and Charles offered to read some.

“Everyone’s worried about you. Here’s one from Lando… and even one from Toto. Seems like the entire F1 world is waiting for you to get better.”

“Who else?” you asked, almost dreading the answer.

Charles scrolled through, his expression hardening briefly before softening again.

“Max,” he said simply.

Your heart stopped for a moment. You didn’t know what to expect. Since the accident, you’d assumed Max was too caught up in his own world to care, but the fact that he’d written at all was enough to twist your stomach.

“What does it say?” you asked, trying to sound indifferent, though you knew Charles could see right through you.

He hesitated before answering.

“‘Hope you’re okay. Sorry I wasn’t there sooner. Let me know if you need anything.’”

The neutrality of the words didn’t match the intensity of what you felt hearing them. You closed your eyes, trying to process it all. What did that message even mean? Was it just courtesy, or was there something more behind those words?

Charles noticed your discomfort and set the phone aside.

“You don’t have to reply if you don’t want to.”

“I won’t,” you said quickly, though part of you knew that wasn’t true.

As night fell, Charles finally said goodbye, promising to return the next day. There was something comforting about his presence, how he’d set aside any competitiveness or formality just to be there for you. Yet, when you were left alone, the thoughts began to overwhelm you.

The crash, the messages, the worries it all tangled into a mess of emotions you couldn’t unravel. The only thing clear was that while you were physically stable, emotionally, you were far from okay.

After that day in the hospital, Charles became a constant presence in your life. His support wasn’t limited to encouraging messages or occasional visits. He went beyond that. Where others saw a moral obligation or an opportunity to score points with the media, he saw something else: a chance to show you that you weren’t alone.

The medical team made it clear you could return to racing, but not without certain restrictions. You had to stick to a strict combination of medications after every race: anti-inflammatories, painkillers, and supplements to manage the physical and mental stress you still felt after the accident. Charles was the first person to offer to help you with this. It wasn’t his responsibility, but he seemed to take on the role without hesitation.

The first race after the accident was a mental and physical challenge. As you prepared to get back in the cockpit, fear swirled in your chest. The accident was fresh in your memory, and even though you knew you were capable, there was a shadow of doubt you couldn’t shake.

The day before the race, Charles showed up at your hotel. He had a small bag in hand and a calm expression, almost as if it was meant to soothe you.

"I thought you might need this," he said, placing the bag on the table.

Inside, there was a box of relaxing tea, a small book about mental strategies in sports, and a handwritten note. When you opened it, you found a simple phrase: "You’re stronger than you think."

"Thank u," you said, moved by the gesture.

"You don’t have to thank me. I just want you to know I’m here, okay? If you need to talk, if you need anything..."

You nodded, grateful for his sincerity. For a long time, you’d felt alone in this world. It was strange to realize someone was willing to stand by your side without asking for anything in return.

Race day was a whirlwind. Even though you tried to stay calm, every time you sat in the car, the memory of the crash resurfaced. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, reminding yourself you’d done this thousands of times before, that you were capable—one of the best.

The race wasn’t easy, but you finished in a solid fifth place, a result any other driver would’ve considered a success under the circumstances. When you got out of the car, exhausted but relieved, Charles was the first to approach you.

"Well done," he said, patting your shoulder.

After every race, Charles made sure you followed the medical protocol. Sometimes, when you forgot the pills, he’d show up holding the box, reminding you that your health came first.

"How do you even know I haven’t taken them?" you asked one day, half-joking.

"Because I know you well enough to know you hate depending on this stuff," he said with a smile, handing you the water and pills.

It was strange how his presence had gone from sporadic to constant. He wasn’t just there for the serious moments; he also found ways to make you laugh, to lighten the weight on your shoulders.

It wasn’t something you’d planned or even imagined after everything you’d been through, but your friendship with Charles was good for you. So much so that you felt comfortable asking him something after noticing he’d been off for a while. You’d seen his behavior become quieter than usual, even in the paddock, where he usually managed to keep up appearances in front of the cameras.

"Are you okay? You seem... off."

His response came almost immediately.

"Do you have time to talk?"

You invited him to your place, where you saw a different side of Charles. He’d shed his usual composure and looked... vulnerable, almost like the facade he kept in public had cracked.

"Thanks for this," he said, sitting on the small couch as you handed him a bottle of water.

"You don’t have to thank me, Charles. What’s going on?"

He sighed, fiddling with the cap of the bottle before speaking.

"It’s... complicated. Ferrari doesn’t feel like my team anymore."

You frowned, surprised by his words.

"What do you mean?"

"Since Lewis joined this year, everything changed. I knew it would be different, it’s Lewis Hamilton, of course but I didn’t think it’d be like this," he confessed, his voice low, almost a whisper. "I feel like everything revolves around him. The strategies, the resources, even the engineers’ attention... It’s like I’m a shadow in my own team."

You felt a pang in your chest hearing that. It was almost an exact replica of what you’d felt when you shared a team with him at Ferrari.

"Charles... you don’t know how much I get it," you said, sitting across from him. "That feeling of being invisible, like your efforts don’t matter... I went through the same thing with you."

He looked up, surprised by your honesty.

"Really?"

"Yeah. Do you remember all those team orders? All those moments where no matter how fast I was, they always put me aside to favor you. It’s... frustrating. It makes you question everything you do."

Charles nodded slowly, processing your words.

"I guess I never saw it from your perspective. I always thought the team’s decisions were fair, but now... now I know what it feels like."

You leaned forward, resting your elbows on your knees.

"Charles, I know how hard this is. But what you need to remember is that your talent doesn’t depend on them. Ferrari is just one team, one stage in your career—it doesn’t define who you are as a driver."

"How did you deal with it?" he asked, genuinely curious.

"At first, I didn’t," you admitted. "I kept everything inside, let the frustration eat me up... until I couldn’t take it anymore. But I learned something: you can’t let them take away what you love about this sport. If Ferrari doesn’t value you the way they should, then prove your worth on the track. Force them to see you."

Charles nodded slowly, as if your words were beginning to sink in.

"It’s easier said than done," he said, with a bitter smile.

"I know. But I also know you have the talent to do it."

The conversation went on for hours, shifting from serious topics to shared memories and stories from your days at Ferrari. It was strange, but comforting, to share that space with him. He’d gone from being the rival who overshadowed you at your lowest to someone you could fully trust.

When he finally stood to leave, Charles paused at the door and looked at you with an expression you hadn’t seen before.

"Thank you for this. I don’t know what I would’ve done without you."

"I’m always here. You know that."

As the door closed behind him, you couldn’t help but smile. Charles was so much more than you’d ever thought. And somehow, he’d brought out the best in you too.

While you were helping Charles find his way in a team that relegated him to second place, you couldn’t ignore the fact that your own demons were still lurking. And, as if that wasn’t enough, Max remained a constant presence both on the track and in your personal life.

Since your move to McLaren, the rivalry with Max had reached a new level. If before you shared moments of camaraderie and confidences, now every interaction was loaded with tension. And not just on the track.

The championship was on fire. You and Max were leading the standings, swapping first and second place race after race. On every circuit, every corner, and every straight, it felt like only the two of you existed. It didn’t matter who else made it to the podium; the battle was always between you and him.

During qualifying, both of you pushed to the limit, but an incident in Q3 left Max without a lap time. As soon as he got out of the car, Max stormed straight toward you, visibly furious.

“What the hell was that?” he snapped, his voice sharp as he closed the distance between you in the paddock.

“What was what?” you asked, raising an eyebrow, though you knew exactly what he was referring to.

“You blocked me on my flying lap.”

“Max, you were too far behind when I started my lap. I didn’t block you.”

“Of course you did!” he insisted, stepping even closer. His blue eyes burned with a mix of frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place.

The argument caught the attention of journalists and members of both teams. You knew that one wrong word could make headlines the next day, so you chose to stay calm.

“If you have a problem, take it up with the stewards, not me,” you said before turning and walking away, leaving Max with the words stuck in his throat.

But the tension wasn’t confined to the track. It had started to bleed into your personal lives. Even though both of you tried to avoid each other outside of race weekends, coincidences were inevitable especially at sponsor events or official meetings.

At one of these events, an FIA gala in Monaco, Max couldn’t resist looking for you in the crowd. When he finally spotted you, you were talking to Charles, laughing at something he’d said. The sight seemed to ignite something in Max, and he couldn’t hold back as he approached.

“Can we talk?” he asked, cutting into the conversation.

Charles glanced at you, his expression a mix of curiosity and caution, before stepping back to let you decide.

“What do you want, Max?” you asked, trying to keep your voice neutral.

“You and Charles, what’s going on between you two?” he asked quietly, though his tone carried an accusatory edge.

“What kind of question is that?” you replied, crossing your arms.

“I don’t know. Maybe I’m losing it, but… every time I see you two together, I can’t help thinking that…”

“That what?” you interrupted, annoyed. “That maybe someone else can actually support me and understand me in this chaos that you chose to ignore?”

Max pressed his lips together, clearly feeling the sting of your words. But instead of responding, he looked away and muttered:

“You still know how to twist everything around.”

The conversation was left unfinished, but the night didn’t end there. Later, as you tried to avoid him, you found Max alone on the terrace of the venue, staring out at the sea, his figure illuminated by the lights.

“Why do you do this?” you asked, walking toward him. Your tone was no longer defiant but tired.

“Do what?” he asked without looking at you.

“Show up, disappear, demand things from me that you can’t even give yourself. You’re still with her, and yet…”

Max closed his eyes, as if your words were too heavy to bear.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” he admitted finally, turning to face you. “You and me… I don’t know how to handle it.”

“Then maybe you should stop trying,” you said, though your voice cracked at the end.

The silence between you was deafening. Too many unsaid emotions, too many decisions both of you refused to make. Finally, Max stepped back.

“It’s easier said than done, isn’t it?”

And with that, he left, leaving you alone on the terrace, feeling like the two of you were trapped in a vicious cycle neither of you knew how to escape.

In the days that followed, you tried to focus on racing and your friendship with Charles, who had become a kind of refuge in the chaos. But every time you saw Max, every time your eyes met in the paddock, you felt the storm lingering, waiting for the right moment to break again.

The rivalry on the track only grew more intense. Max and you raced as if every race was the last, as if the championship depended on who was stronger, more determined, more ruthless. But off the track, you both continued to grapple with the same internal conflict: what you felt for each other and what the world expected of you.

You and Max were the top contenders for the title, and every race turned into a war. The media called it “the battle of the century,” comparing it to the legendary Senna-Prost rivalry. Every overtake, every strategy, every word in a press conference was scrutinized.

At the Brazilian Grand Prix, things came to a head. From the first lap, the fight between you and Max was fierce. You knew every one of his tricks, every weakness, every strength. There were moments when the cars seemed to touch, pushing the limits of competition to the extreme.

On lap 43, you attempted an overtake on the inside of Turn 1, but Max, in his trademark aggressive style, shut the door almost recklessly. Your front tires brushed his, and though both of you managed to maintain control, the incident was enough to set off commentators and social media.

“This is unacceptable!” your engineer shouted over the radio. “We’re reporting it.”

But you didn’t want to win the championship through a penalty.

“Leave it. I’ll settle it on the track,” you said, with a determination that surprised even yourself.

In the end, you finished second, behind Max, but the battle was epic. Fans were divided, some siding with you, others defending Max. But in your mind, one thought started to take root: maybe you’d had enough of this world.

After that race, you decided to take a break. You flew back to your hometown to spend time with your family, seeking comfort in their presence. One night, sitting in the garden of your parents’ house, you opened up to your mom.

“I don’t know how much longer I can do this,” you admitted, staring at the stars. “Every race feels like a battle not just on the track, but inside me, too.”

Your mom, always wise and patient, looked at you with gentle understanding.

“Then why do you keep going?”

You stayed silent for a moment, searching for the words.

“Because it’s all I’ve ever known. Since I was a kid, my entire world has revolved around racing. But lately… lately, I feel like I want something more. I want a normal life, a family. I want to stop fighting all the time.”

“What’s stopping you?.”

“I don’t know. Maybe it’s because I don’t know what that life would look like, or who it would be with.”

It was the first time you’d said those words out loud. The idea of giving up Formula 1, of walking away from everything you’d worked so hard for, was terrifying but also freeing.

You couldn’t help but think of Max. Even though your relationship was broken, and the rivalry had reached its peak, there was still something about him pulling you in. But the question that haunted you was: did he feel the same?

Max was still with his partner, at least publicly. But his actions, his looks, even his comments during races, hinted at something more. Could you build a life with someone who seemed incapable of facing his own feelings?

“Maybe it’s not Max,” you muttered to yourself that night, curled up on the couch in your childhood bedroom. “Maybe it’s someone else. Or maybe I just need to find myself first.”

When you returned to the paddock for the US Grand Prix, something had shifted inside you. You hadn’t made any final decisions, but you knew this chapter of your life was nearing its end. Still, as long as you were in F1, you were going to give it everything you had.

In the pre-race interviews, journalists bombarded you with questions about your rivalry with Max.

“Is it personal?,” one of them asked with a sly grin.

“Everything in Formula 1 is personal,” you replied with a wry smile, offering no further explanation.

Max, sitting next to you at the press conference, shot you a sideways glance but said nothing. The tension between you two was palpable, even in front of the cameras.

That race turned into yet another head-to-head battle between the two of you. During the final laps, the radio chatter grew more intense.

“He’s losing rear grip. Push him.”

“I already am!,” you snapped, pushing the car to its limit.

In the last lap, you pulled off a risky overtake that left everyone stunned. You won the race, and as you stepped out of the car, you felt a mix of euphoria and exhaustion.

While celebrating with your team, your thoughts drifted back to your conversation with your mom. Maybe this was the ending you’d been searching for, or maybe it was just the start of something new.

Max watched you from the podium, his blue eyes filled with something you couldn’t decipher. In the crowd, you couldn’t help but wonder: could you ever leave it all behind, even him?

The next race, under the scorching Qatar sun, felt heavier, both in the air and in the paddock. Everything about this second-to-last race of the season felt like a countdown to something inevitable. You and Max were tied in points, both neck and neck after a season of epic battles, controversies, and moments that had pushed you to the edge emotionally.

The tension in the McLaren garage was palpable. Though your relationship with your team was excellent, you knew the pressure was on you. Lando tried to lighten the mood with his usual sense of humor, but even his energy couldn’t cut through the wall of your thoughts.

“Come on, don’t be so serious. We could both use a win today,” he joked while adjusting his gloves.

“Sure, but if you win, I won’t complain,” you replied with a faint smile, though you both knew that wasn’t true. This race meant everything to you.

Meanwhile, Charles had sent a message that morning: ‘Remember, one race at a time. You can do this. You’ve already proven you’re the best.’ His unwavering support had become one of the few things keeping you mentally afloat during this emotional rollercoaster.

From qualifying, it was clear this race would be another direct battle between you and Max. Both of you blocked every attempt the other made to set the fastest time, ending up on the front row: Max on pole, you in second.

The start was clean but intense. From the first corner, Max showed his usual aggression, shutting you out in an attempt to stay ahead. But you knew this game; he had taught you how to play it. You used the slipstream on the main straight, and on lap five, you overtook him with a surgical move in turn 6.

For a moment, the world seemed to stop as you led the race, but you knew the real battle had just begun.

Midway through the race, things heated up. Teams began to play with strategies, and tire choices became crucial. On lap 32, as you exited the pits after a tire change, Max appeared beside you. The overtake that followed was so tight the two cars brushed slightly, sparking an explosion of shouting over the radio.

“That was way too close!,” your engineer protested, but you were too focused to respond.

Max didn’t back down. In the following laps, he kept relentless pressure on you, looking for any weakness in your defense. On lap 48, he attempted an inside overtake on a tight corner, but you managed to hold your position with a move that left everyone on the edge of their seats.

In the final laps, your mind was torn between the adrenaline of the race and the mental exhaustion you’d been carrying all season. Max was glued to your diffuser, but he made a small mistake on the second-to-last corner, giving you just enough of a margin to cross the finish line first.

Your team’s shout over the radio was deafening:

“Victory! You’re incredible, what a race!.”

But you didn’t have time to celebrate. As you parked the car in parc fermé, reality hit you: this victory only meant you were still tied in points, and everything would come down to the final race.

The journalists were in a frenzy. In the post-race press conference, the questions came at you like bullets.

“How do you handle the pressure heading into the last race?.”

“Calmly. One race at a time.” you replied, echoing Charles’ words, even though calm was the last thing you felt.

Max, sitting beside you, spoke after you.

“I always knew this season would be decided in the end. I’m ready for it.”

His gaze met yours for a second, and in that brief moment, the tension between you two felt more personal than ever.

Back at the hotel, you tried to disconnect, but it was impossible. Your mind raced, replaying every detail of the race and anticipating what was to come. Charles called to congratulate you but also to remind you to rest.

“Don’t let this consume you, okay?,” he said, his tone serious but kind. “You’ve done an amazing job, and you have everything you need to win.”

“Thanks, Charles. Really. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“I don’t know what you’d do without me either,” he joked, managing to make you laugh.

However, when you hung up, you kept staring at the ceiling of your room, wondering if you were truly ready to face everything the final race was about to bring.

Even though you hadn’t seen Max since the press conference, you knew he was just as restless as you. Despite everything that had happened between you two, you couldn’t help but think about him, about how this rivalry had consumed everything you once shared.

Is this really what you wanted? To keep fighting, keep competing, keep losing yourself in the process?

You closed your eyes, trying to calm your thoughts. Just one race left. One final battle. And after that, maybe you’d finally have the answers you’d been searching for.

The last week of the season was a whirlwind of emotions, preparations, and a tension so thick you could cut it with a knife. The entire paddock was on edge. Everything would be decided in Abu Dhabi.

Escaping the media’s attention was impossible. Cameras followed you everywhere, looking for any reaction that could turn into a headline. The atmosphere at McLaren was optimistic but tense. You’d brought the team to its highest point in years, and that was already a monumental achievement. But for you, it wasn’t enough. You wanted that title.

During the press conferences, the questions were relentless. You and Max were the center of attention. Though both of you kept calm outwardly, the discomfort between you was obvious. Every word, every gesture was analyzed by the journalists.

“How do you feel heading into this decisive race?” they asked you during one of the press rounds.

“Focused. This is what we’ve worked for all year. I just want to do my job and see what happens,” you replied diplomatically, though inside your heart was racing.

Max, sitting next to you, simply said:

“I’m focused too. We both know what’s at stake. May the best win.”

There was a moment when your eyes met, but it was fleeting. There were so many words left unsaid between you, and the weight of that silence felt unbearable.

In the final strategy meeting with your team, the tension was palpable. You knew every decision would matter, every detail could be the difference between winning and losing. Your race engineer, always meticulous, reviewed the plans calmly, but even you could tell he was nervous.

“I believe in you. You’ve proven you can do this,” he said, placing a hand on your shoulder before you left the garage.

Lando, on the other hand, tried to lighten the mood with a joke.

“If you don’t win, can I keep the consolation trophy?” he said with a cheeky grin.

“There won’t be a consolation trophy,” you replied with a smirk.

That day, Yas Marina Circuit was lit up like a jewel in the desert, and the atmosphere was electric. Before getting in the car, you took a moment for yourself. You took a deep breath, closed your eyes, and visualized every corner, every move. You knew you had to give it everything.

The anthem played, and the world seemed to pause for a moment. Max was beside you on the grid. Though you didn’t speak, you could feel his presence, his energy. You both knew this race wasn’t just about the championship but also everything that had happened between you.

The start was flawless. From the first corner, you and Max were locked in an intense battle. Neither of you gave an inch. Every lap was a fight, every overtake a statement. The rest of the drivers might as well have been racing in a different category; it was as if this championship was meant to be decided between just the two of you.

On lap 35, a slow pit stop almost cost you the race, but you quickly recovered, overtaking Max in a spectacular move on lap 42. The crowd went wild.

But Max wasn’t going to give up. On lap 50, he took the lead back, forcing you slightly off the track. It was an aggressive move, but clean—classic Max.

In the final five laps, both of you were at the limit. Your hands trembled slightly from the adrenaline, but your focus was unshakable. In the penultimate lap, you found a gap on the main straight and passed Max on the inside. This time, he had no answer.

When you crossed the finish line, the world seemed to stop for a moment before exploding in celebration. You’d done it. You were a world champion.

Your team screamed over the radio, their voices full of tears and joy.

“You’re the world champion! You did it!”

As you climbed out of the car, the emotions overwhelmed you. Your team surrounded you, celebrating. Lando was one of the first to hug you, shouting:

“I told you! I knew you’d do it!”

As you stood with your team, your eyes instinctively searched for Max. He was there, watching you from a distance. Slowly, he approached, his steps a mix of pride and resignation.

When he reached you, he extended his hand.

“Congratulations,” he said, his voice calm but heavy with emotion.

“Thanks, Max,” you replied, shaking his hand. For a moment, his eyes reflected something that looked like regret, but he said nothing more. He turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd.

That night was magical. There was laughter, tears, toasts. The tension of the entire season melted away in a whirlwind of emotions. Charles called to congratulate you, and his genuine happiness was like a balm to your heart.

“I knew you could do it. I’m so proud of you,” he said, his voice full of sincerity.

As the celebration went on, you took a moment to reflect. You’d reached the pinnacle of the world, but you knew this was just the beginning of a new chapter in your life. The future was full of uncertainty, but that night, you decided to enjoy the present, savoring every moment of your triumph.

The emotional hangover the next day was overwhelming. It wasn’t physical, nor from the celebration, but a deep emptiness you hadn’t expected to feel after achieving the dream of your life. You’d won the Formula 1 World Championship, the peak of your career, but instead of feeling complete, you felt lost.

You woke up in your hotel room, sunlight streaming through the curtains. Around you, there were remnants of the celebration: a half-empty champagne glass on the table, the dress you wore last night carelessly thrown over a chair. The trophy, shiny and imposing, sat on the nightstand, but as you looked at it, you didn’t feel the euphoria you’d imagined for years.

You got up and walked to the mirror. The reflection staring back at you was different from the one you were used to. It wasn’t just the physical exhaustion from the season; it was something deeper a sense of disconnect with yourself.

You spent the morning avoiding your phone, even though you knew the notifications had to be flooding in. Messages of congratulations, articles from the media, videos of the highlights... but you weren’t ready to face it yet. Instead of feeling celebrated, you felt isolated.

The idea had been lingering in your mind for weeks, maybe even months. The crash, the endless emotional struggles, the pressure to always be the best... it had all left its mark. And now, after achieving what you’d always dreamed of, you realized something: you didn’t want to keep going anymore.

During breakfast with your parents, you decided to share your thoughts. You’d avoided bringing it up before, afraid of their reactions, but now felt like the right time.

“I’ve been thinking about something... important,” you said, breaking the silence while fiddling with your coffee mug.

Your mom looked at you with concern.

“Are you okay? Does this have to do with Formula 1?”

You shook your head.

“No… well, partly, yes. Like I said, I’ve been reflecting, and I think... I don’t want to keep racing anymore.”

The silence that followed was heavy. Your dad, ever the pragmatic one, was the first to speak.

“Are you sure? You’ve worked your whole life for this.”

“I know, Dad. But I’ve also given it everything I had. And now I feel like if I keep going, it’ll just be out of habit, not because I really want to.”

Your mom took your hand.

“We’ve always wanted you to be happy, no matter what you do. If you feel this is the time to stop, we’ll support you.”

That conversation was the turning point. Over the following days, you talked to your team, Lando, and even Charles, who, although surprised, understood your decision. Lando tried to convince you to stay for one more year.

“Are you really going to leave me here alone? We were just starting to have fun!” he joked, though there was genuine sadness in his eyes.

“It’s your time, Lando. I’m sure you’ll do amazing things,” you replied, hugging him.

Charles, on the other hand, was more serious.

“I didn’t see this coming, but I get it. Just… promise me you won’t disappear completely.”

“I won’t. I’ll always be here, even if it’s just as a spectator.”

That same night, after hours of figuring out how to word it, you sat in front of the camera in your room. You were nervous, not about the decision, but about how the world would react. You wore a simple t-shirt, your hair tied back. You wanted the message to be honest, without distractions.

‘Hi, everyone. I know this isn’t the video you were expecting after the incredible season we just had, but I wanted to share something important with you...’

You took a deep breath before continuing.

‘I’ve decided to retire from Formula 1. This year has been the most exciting but also the most exhausting of my life. Winning the championship was a dream come true, but it also made me realize it’s time to close this chapter and start a new one.’

You paused, letting your words sink in.

‘This wasn’t an easy decision. Formula 1 has been my life for so many years that I barely remember what it was like before. But I also know I want other things. I want time for myself, for my family, to explore who I am outside of this sport.’

Your voice wavered slightly, but you kept going.

‘I want to thank my team, my teammates, my rivals, and, of course, the fans. Without your support, none of this would’ve been possible.’

When you finished, you turned off the camera and fell onto the bed. It wasn’t immediate relief, but there was something freeing about putting an end to that chapter.

The video was released the next day and, as expected, caused a storm. The media debated your decision, fans flooded social media with messages of support and gratitude, and some even expressed disbelief.

Charles sent you a text:

“I saw it. I’m proud of you. You’ll do amazing things, no matter where you go.”

And Max, who had avoided talking to you since the last race, also sent a short message:

“You were the best. I always knew it. I hope you find what you’re looking for and that you forgive me.”

Even though his words were few, they left a lump in your throat.

That night, while staring at the stars from your balcony, you realized that, even though the future was uncertain, you were ready to face it.

Weeks passed since your decision, and life finally seemed to find its rhythm. The constant noise of racing and the pressure to be the best slowly faded. But deep down, you felt like something or someone was still missing.

Your house, now quieter than ever, became your sanctuary. You spent those days focusing on yourself, resting, discovering what you truly liked outside the track. But even in the peace of your own thoughts, Max lingered in your mind. He wasn’t a constant thought, but you’d remember him, especially when news of his breakup with his girlfriend started circulating. That, unexpectedly, stirred something in you, a knot in your stomach.

Late one night, your phone buzzed. The name on the screen made you hesitate for a second. Max.

The message was short, direct.

“Can I see you? I need to talk to you.”

You didn’t think much about it. You knew this conversation needed to happen eventually. You’d been avoiding it, but now it felt like the universe was putting it in your path.

You agreed to meet at your house the next day, and when the door opened, there he was. Max, with that intense, direct gaze that had known you for years. Now, though, there was something different something more vulnerable.

“Hi,” he said, his voice softer than usual.

You invited him in, and he settled on the couch like it was his own home. The silence between you was heavy, filled with unresolved emotions.

“I don’t know where to start,” he began, with a nervous smile.

“Neither do I,” you replied, sitting across from him.

The two of you just sat there, watching each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Finally, Max spoke.

“Breaking up with her... wasn’t easy. I knew it wasn’t fair, but I couldn’t keep lying to myself. The truth is… I never stopped thinking about you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and a lump formed in your throat. You didn’t know what to say. Max, always so sure of himself, seemed completely different now.

“Max... I don’t know what you want me to say. We’ve been on such different paths. You… always so focused on F1, on competing… and me too. Things were never easy between us, and now… I don’t know if any of this makes sense.”

He nodded, understanding what you meant.

“I know. I’ve been an idiot. I thought I could keep everything under control, but in the end… I lost what mattered most.”

He looked at you intently, and in his eyes was a sincerity that made you question everything you’d been thinking until that moment.

“But that doesn’t mean I forgot about you. It doesn’t mean I don’t care about what we had. If anything, it’s taken me time to realize that… maybe there’s something here we never really figured out.”

You stayed silent, processing his words. The tension was thick, but something in his voice made you want to listen, even though you knew the situation was complicated.

“And what is it that you want, Max?” you asked, your voice a bit shaky.

“I don’t know,” he admitted with a small, sad smile. “I’m not asking you to forgive me or to go back to what we had. But I think… we should at least try. Not now, not right away, but… maybe we can see what happens, without the pressures of F1, without everything that kept us apart.”

You got up and walked to the window, staring outside without really seeing anything. Max watched you from the couch, waiting for your response. The atmosphere between you had shifted somehow, and for the first time, it felt like you had both let go of the fight to always be the best.

You turned to look at him.

“I’m not sure I’m ready to start something new. After all, I made the decision to retire for a reason, Max. I’ve spent so much time on F1 that now I need to rediscover myself. And I don’t know what I want.”

Max got up from the couch, slowly approaching you.

“I get it. I’m not expecting it to be easy, or for everything to be resolved right now. But I want you to know I’m not pressuring you. I just… wanted you to know that, no matter what happens, I’ll be here. And if someday you decide what we had is worth another shot, I’ll be ready to try, no matter the past.”

A deep silence followed his words. You knew there was still so much to figure out between the two of you, but something about his attitude, about his willingness to wait, struck a chord within you.

You didn’t say anything else. You walked toward him, and for a moment, words weren’t necessary. The look in your eyes said it all. Still, there were no promises, no certainties just a silent understanding that, maybe, the future could be different. Maybe even together.

“We’ll see what happens,” you finally said.

Max nodded, not pushing, knowing that time would have to decide the course for both of you. And with that response, the future remained suspended between you, open, uncertain, but carrying a possibility that hadn’t existed before.

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