📍 POV: Max Verstappen
Max Verstappen didn't do butterflies.
He did precision. Lap times. Race strategy. Efficiency.
But none of that explained why his pulse kept spiking every time Charles Leclerc so much as walked past.
It was Bahrain. Season opener. Clean slate. And yet there Max stood, helmet in hand, jaw clenched, pretending he wasn't scanning the Ferrari garage from across the paddock. Pretending he hadn't watched Charles's FP2 replay four times last night under the guise of "technical analysis."
He told himself it was just rivalry. Data. Curiosity. But the truth?
Charles looked... unfair.
Sunlit curls, glinting shades, a swagger in red. He leaned against the barrier like the desert heat didn't apply to him.
And then—he turned.
Eye contact. A smirk. A raised brow. A slow, mocking little wave.
Max tripped over a loose cable on the tarmac and swore violently.
Behind him, Checo laughed. "Smooth, lover boy."
"Shut up."
POV: Charles Leclerc
Charles saw Max trip.
And he smiled.
Because of course he did. Max had been staring at him like a confused labrador since media day. Like he wanted to kiss him or launch him into a wall. Maybe both. Honestly, Charles wouldn't blame him.
He adjusted his sunglasses and offered a casual wave, because it was fun—messing with Max. It made the tension easier to swallow.
Especially here. In Bahrain. Where the season restarted and the pressure returned. Where no one knew that under the fireproofs and quiet smirks, a literal crown waited.
No one except Pierre. And Pierre knew better than to ever breathe a word.
Charles wasn't just a Leclerc.
He was Monaco's ghost prince. Hidden in plain sight. And he had no intention of letting that secret out—not now, not when things were finally under his control. He had his drive, his plan, and Max Verstappen?
Just another distraction he refused to lose to.
POV: Pierre Gasly
Pierre had known for a long time. Since they were sixteen and Charles casually mentioned a "national guard training" like it was physio. Since he saw Charles step into a ballroom with a grace that had nothing to do with racing and everything to do with royalty.
And Pierre? He zipped his mouth shut and threw away the key.
But now?
Now he had to watch his best friend play aloof while Max Verstappen spiraled into an emotional sandstorm.
It was hilarious.
He leaned against the Alpha Tauri garage andtexted the group chat.
GRID CHAT: FIA Therapy Lounge
(name changes weekly)
Pierre: max just tripped because Charles waved at him. Please respect my joy
Yuki: He's down bad and it's race 1
Lando: I give it 3 races before he's writing poetry in parc fermé
George: I started a spreadsheet for this
Carlos: Charles is so chill about it too. i saw him sipping an iced coffee like it was scripted
Oscar: why is no one talking about how hot Charles looked in that shot?
Ollie: who gave him the right
Isack: literally Ferrari's real power unit is just Leclerc's face
Pierre: he's glowing. max is combusting. this is cinema
Max: shut up all of you
Charles: I'm just here to race
Kimi: sure
Alex: they're in denial. it's delicious
Lance: who's bringing popcorn for quali?
POV: Oscar Piastri
Oscar had been on the grid long enough to know what tension looked like.
But whatever was happening between Max and Charles? It was different. It was subtle—like invisible static humming in the air between them. The kind that made you nervous even from the other side of the garage.
He sipped his water and watched Max glare at the timing screen after FP3, then immediately glance toward Charles again.
And Charles?
Charles was leaning against a table, flipping through his notes like he hadn't just taken P1.
Oscar looked at Lando. "They're gonna kiss or kill each other."
Lando shrugged. "Both. Maybe at the same time."
INSTA STORY DUMP
@charles_leclerc
📍 Bahrain GP
[📸] Moody pit lane sunset. Caption: "reset." [📸] Iced coffee + notebook. Caption: "studying... or not." [📸] Red race boots, feet up. Caption: "calm before quali."
@maxverstappen1
📍 Bahrain GP
[📸] Steering wheel close-up. Caption: "Ready." [📸] Mirror selfie in the RB garage. Sunglasses. No smile. Caption: "Focus mode." [Likes include: @charles_leclerc ]
QUALIFYING DAY
Max finished P2. Charles took pole.
Again.
Charles peeled off his helmet, sweaty curls sticking to his forehead. The Ferrari garage erupted. Fans screamed. But Charles? Charles just looked over at Max with that same maddeningly calm expression.
"You always this slow on Saturdays?" he said coolly.
Max walked closer, still panting, adrenaline high. "You got lucky."
Charles raised a brow. "Or maybe I'm just faster."
Their eyes locked. Everything slowed. The noise faded.
Until—
Pierre (shouting from the crowd): "Kiss or fight, lads. Just decide already!"
GRID CHAT: FIA Therapy Lounge
Pierre: i regret NOTHING
George: crowd reaction was louder than the pole celebration
Yuki: sexual tension in HD
Oscar: who knew shade could be so romantic
Max: i will unplug the entire grid
Charles: aw. mad?
Max: 😐
Isack: this is the best season opener ever
Kimi: did anyone see max SMILE during the cooldown room?
Lando: he was smiling like a guy who just found out his crush has a playlist of his radio messages
Alex: do you have that playlist?
Pierre: bro i made it.
YOU ARE READING
COOL DOWN LAP
FanfictionMax Verstappen doesn't do distractions. Especially not ones that come in the form of Charles Leclerc - all curls, calm stares, and the kind of smile that makes Max forget his brake markers. Cool Down Lap is a slow-burn love story wrapped in fireproo...
