Chapter Text
Max Verstappen liked simple things.
Race wins, quiet weekends and his cats.
He did not like drama.
He especially did not like people who made noise before breakfast.
Unfortunately for him, two of those people had decided to orbit his life like chaotic satellites. Namely, Charles Leclerc and George Russell.
He didn’t know how it started. One day he was a world champion with peace and cats. The next moment, he had two rivals who apparently thought “competition” meant “daily emotional disturbance.”
Charles was nice.
Too nice.
He brought food, compliments and emotional stability that Max never knew that he needed but never asked for.
“Good morning!” Charles said cheerfully before qualifying, holding two coffees. “I got one for you.”
Max blinked. “Why?”
Charles smiled. “Because I thought you might need one.”
“I already have one.”
Charles looked offended. “But mine has extra caramel.”
“I don’t like caramel.”
Charles blinked then pushed it toward him anyway. “You will today.”
When Max told Lando later, Lando choked on his juice laughing.
“He’s flirting mate.”
Max frowned. “No, he’s making me fat.”
“That’s flirting for him!”
“Then he flirts with everyone.”
Lando snorted. “No, just you.”
George was different.
George was violence in human form.
He’d bump Max in qualifying, smirk through interviews and walk like he owned every hallway in the fucking paddock.
After one session, George said “You only beat me because I blinked.”
Max said “Then stop blinking.”
George stared then grinned. “You’re impossible.”
Max shrugged. “I’m fast.”
George laughed in a way that felt too soft for how aggressive his words were.
Max didn’t know why his voice got quieter after that.
It was so weird.
By race three, Max realized something strange.
Charles followed him like a golden retriever.
George followed him like an angry house cat.
And somehow both wanted his attention at the same time.
During driver introductions, Charles stood on his left and George on his right.
Charles smiled with all dimples and warmth.
George crossed his arms and glared at him.
Then they glared at each other.
Max didn’t even do anything. He was just standing there existing and thinking on when it’s time to go home because he already misses his cats.
After qualifying, Charles approached him first.
“Good lap, Max” Charles said softly. “You were very smooth in sector two.”
George appeared a second later. “Yeah, except for that tiny slide in Turn 8.”
Charles smiled. “It wasn’t a slide. It was controlled movement.”
George tilted his head. “It was a mistake.”
“It gained him time.”
“No, it didn’t.”
“Yes, it did.”
“No, it —“
Max interrupted. “Why are you two arguing about my corner?”
They both turned to him like twin deer caught in the headlights.
Charles smiled sweetly. “Because we care.”
George muttered “Because he’s wrong.”
Charles rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t know smooth if it hit you in Turn 1.”
“At least I don’t copy someone’s braking points like a student.”
“At least I don’t crash into walls in Baku.”
“That was one time!”
Max blinked. “Okay….. so you’re fighting?”
Charles turned to him instantly, soft voice again. “No, no, mon ami, we are only discussing driving styles.”
George: “Aggressively.”
Charles: “Passionately.”
George: “Same thing.”
Max sighed. “Right. Okay. I think I’ll just go over there.”
Both: “No!”
He froze. “What?”
Charles smiled too fast. “Stay.”
George crossed his arms. “We’re not done —“
Charles shot him a glare. “We’re done.”
George glared back. “Fine.”
They both turned and glared at each other again while Max sipped his Red Bull in confusion.
After the race, Charles congratulated him with a bright smile.
“You were perfect today.”
George cut in immediately. “Except when you locked up on lap twenty-three.”
“That wasn’t a lock-up,” Charles said sharply.
“It looked like one.”
“You look like one.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
“Neither does your hair.”
“My hair — what?!”
Max blinked slowly. “Are you two okay? Do you need a medic?”
Charles took a deep breath and smiled at him again. “We are perfectly fine.”
George muttered “Barely.”
The media noticed.
The fans noticed.
The entire grid noticed.
Everyone except Max.
He found himself tagged in a photo online. Charles looking at him during the podium ceremony while George stood on the other side scowling. The caption read:
Max doesn’t know he’s the main character of a love triangle.
Max sighed. “Internet is stupid.”
When he showed it to Daniel, Daniel laughed for three straight minutes.
“Mate,” Daniel said. “It’s accurate.”
Max frowned. “No. They just argue a lot.”
“That’s because they’re jealous.”
“Of what?”
Daniel blinked. “Of you.”
Max frowned again. “That’s fucking dumb.”
In Monaco, everything went downhill.
Charles invited him for breakfast.
George somehow showed up at the same restaurant “by coincidence.”
Charles smiled politely. “Didn’t know you liked this place.”
George smirked. “Didn’t know you owned it.”
“Max and I always come here” Charles said.
Max blinked. “We’ve been here once.”
“Exactly. Tradition.”
George raised a brow. “Cute. You two have traditions now.”
Charles smiled deadly sweet. “You sound jealous.”
“I’m not jealous.”
“You are.”
“I’m competitive.”
“Same thing.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
Max took a long sip of his orange juice. “Should I leave?”
They both said “No.”
He sat there quietly while they argued about who should pay the bill for his breakfast.
After qualifying, Charles brought him another coffee.
George appeared again with his own.
They both held out cups like rival knights offering gifts to their confused king.
Max stared. “Why are you both doing this?”
Charles smiled. “I like doing nice things for you.”
George shrugged. “I’m just matching his energy.”
Charles’s smile twitched. “You don’t need to match me.”
George grinned. “Clearly I do because you’re overdoing it.”
“I’m not overdoing anything.”
“You literally wrote his name on the cup!”
“It’s called personal touch!”
“It’s called desperation!”
“It’s called —“
“ — romantic delusion.”
Max sighed. “Can I just have my coffee in peace?”
They both fell silent.
Then at the same time.
“Take mine.”
Max blinked. “I don’t need two.”
Charles smiled sweetly. “Then drink both.”
George leaned closer. “Mine’s better.”
Charles: “He doesn’t like burnt coffee.”
George: “He doesn’t like syrup.”
Max: “He likes silence.”
That didn’t help.
Later that night, Max called his mom.
“They keep bringing me food.” he said.
She laughed softly. “That’s nice of them.”
“No, it’s strange. They fight. A lot.”
“Maybe they both like you.”
Max frowned. “Like me how?”
“As in, like-like.”
He blinked. “That’s dumb Mama.”
“Or maybe you’re just blind, schat.”
Max looked at his cats. “Am I blind?”
Then Sassy meowed.
He decided not to think about it.
The next race weekend, he walked into the paddock and immediately spotted Charles waiting with another coffee.
Before he could say a word, George appeared from the other side holding two.
“Morning” they said in perfect unison.
Max groaned. “Oh no.”
They smiled, one soft and one smug.
That was the moment Max realized something important.
He hadn’t just gained rivals.
He’d somehow adopted them.
And they were both emotionally unstable.