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Chapter Text

Charles Leclerc played the piano with the most beautiful and heartbreaking melody he could imagine, as if his soul knew exactly what Persephone felt when forced to spend half the year with Hades.

He thought of Max.
His Max—if he could still call him that.

He had never thought the person he hated most in all of F1 would end up being the one his heart loved.

He only remembered…

Flashback

Austria, 2022.

Charles and Max fought for first place as if they were the only two drivers on the track. Three overtakes. Three times Charles got ahead of Max… and in the end, pole was his.

He got out of the car expecting the worst. He knew Max never took defeat well.

But when he saw him…

He wasn’t furious. At least not in the expected way.

Max looked majestic.
Maybe it was his eyes—so blue they could rival Poseidon’s, the god who painted the sea with a single stroke.
Or maybe it was his hair—blonde, but with shadows so deep they looked like light and darkness fighting for dominance.
Or his smile—the one that could captivate anyone. Even him.

“Hi, mate. Good race,” Charles said, testing the waters.

Max frowned. Of course, the media didn’t call him Mad Max for nothing.

“Spare me the speech, Leclerc. Do you want me to congratulate you? Applaud you? That’s what your fans are for. But fine, if that’s what you want… congratulations. Goodbye.”

He turned his back.

“No one turns their back on me,” Charles said, grabbing his arm.

Big mistake.

Max spun around, furious, and without a word dragged him into an empty room. He shoved him against the wall and lifted him slightly by the lapel of his jacket.

“What the hell is your problem? You take victory away from me, and now you come in here like you expect everyone to kneel before you. I’m not one of them, Leclerc,” he spat through gritted teeth.

Charles closed his eyes. He expected a punch. He’d defend himself, of course… but he didn’t want to. Not with Max.

“And now what? Where’s the brave man who shines for the media? Look at you. Alone. Afraid. If your fans saw you like this…”

Max laughed, sarcastically.

“What the hell is your problem, Verstappen? Why are you like this?” Charles burst out, and when he opened his eyes, tears trembled on his green lashes.

Something shifted in Max.
Seeing him cry… broke him.

He wasn’t supposed to feel anything for him. Not for Charles.

And yet, there he was. Pressed against him. Staring at him. Wanting him.

His gaze fell to his lips. He thought of tasting them, just once. Like Eris’s golden apple: you knew that once you tasted it, there was no going back.

But Charles noticed, and quickly pulled away.

“Charles… I… I’m sorry. Good race. Enjoy the party. See you.”

He gave him a clumsy pat on the shoulder and left. Without looking back.

“Max… I…” Charles whispered, but it was too late.

All he had left was the image of those eyes devouring him with their gaze, and the tremor in his chest.

He didn’t hate him.
Maybe… he loved him.
And one day, they would talk about it.

End of flashback

Charles still carried that moment in his mind. He didn’t understand why Max treated him like that: as if one day he wanted him… and the next he didn’t exist. He was tired of playing cat and mouse. He promised himself he would confront him, that he would never cry again. Not because of him.

As he thought about it, he kept playing the saddest song he could on the piano. If someone in the paddock or a fan happened to hear it, they would surely cry. Charles played, letting each finger caress the keys with the same delicacy with which autumn turns into spring.

That day, he had an important race in Monaco, his city, and he wasn’t going to let Max ruin anything.

He finished playing, stood up, and went to find Leo, his dog. He stroked him tenderly, lifted him into one of his Ferraris, and set off for the paddock. But as he drove, a memory attacked him.

The very one he had been trying to bury.

Flashback

Charles was at the post-race party, celebrating his victory. Vodka, laughter, some members of the paddock, friends like Pierre, Carlos, and Oscar… but someone was missing. Someone who, although he shouldn’t have cared about, he did.

He left the party, looking for some silence. He dialed a number.

“Hello, Dany? How are you?”

“Charles, what a surprise! I’m fine, and you? But tell me, are you sure this call is for me?”

“I know it’s not my place, but… do you know anything about Max?”

Daniel Ricciardo sighed on the other end.

“He hasn’t answered since the race. You beat him fair and square, but he’s upset. Give him time.”

“I know, Dany… but I need to see him. Could you give me his address?”

“Well, Charles… if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you and Max…” He stopped. “Alright. You’ll do what you think is right. I’ll send it by text. Take care.”

Charles hung up, unsure what to think. But as soon as he received the address, he hailed a cab.

He arrived at the hotel. The security guard recognized him instantly and let him in with a nod. Charles nodded back in thanks.

Now he was standing in front of room 33. That number didn’t surprise him. He knocked twice.

“If it’s housekeeping, I already said—” The voice stopped when he saw who was at the door. “Charles Damned Leclerc.”

Max couldn’t believe it. As if ruining his race wasn’t enough, now he was here in his space. And even drunk, Charles looked perfect. Like Apollo’s laurel or Medusa before the myth: hypnotizing, dangerous.

And worst of all, it only took that damn smile and those dimples to disarm him.

“What are you doing here? You’re drunk. Wrong room,” Max said sharply. “Leave, Leclerc. I don’t want to see you.”

He tried to close the door, but Charles was faster and slipped in.

“Damn, you really are stubborn,” Max growled. “Which part of I don’t want you here don’t you get?”

He shoved him. Not hard… or so he thought. Charles stumbled, fell, and scraped his knee. From the floor, with red eyes, a few tears slipped out.

Max instantly felt guilty. He had gone too far. Again.

“Charles, I—”

But Charles was already on his feet, opening the door to leave. He didn’t get far. Max grabbed his arm, pulled him back inside, and pushed him gently against the door.

His breath collided with Charles’s lips.

“I don’t get you, M-M-Max,” Charles stammered, half-drunk and wounded. “I came to see you because you weren’t at the party. I missed you. And now you push me… hurt me… and you expect me to stay? What is it…?”

He didn’t finish.

Because Max kissed him.

A clumsy, intense kiss.
A kiss that tasted of ambrosia and repressed desire.

His lips felt as if Aphrodite herself had blessed them. It was intoxicating, addictive, like a forbidden plant—once you tasted it, you could never stop.

Charles’s heart raced, dopamine and oxytocin flooding his veins.

He felt alive.
He felt… loved.

And then Max pulled away.

“Max… why?”

Max didn’t answer. He took him by the shoulder, led him to the bed, and covered him with a blanket.

“Charlie… you’re drunk. Sleep. You won’t remember any of this. And I hope you don’t. It’s better this way.”

He kissed his forehead. Charles tried to say something, but his eyelids were already too heavy.

Morpheus received him in Max’s arms.

And that night, for the first time in a long time, he slept in peace.

End of flashback

Chapter Text

Now, as the memory replayed in his mind, Charles watched the sunlight up the beautiful streets of Monaco. He still didn’t understand why Max never wanted to accept his feelings. That had been the only moment Max had ever shown vulnerability with him. Max always claimed Charles was too drunk to remember, but that was a lie—he hadn’t been that drunk. He had simply chosen to let it go. If Max wanted it to stay a secret, who was he to beg? He knew Max could treat him like royalty one day and like nothing the next.

By now, Charles had arrived at the Ferrari motorhome, looking—like always—impeccable. His shirt and pants matched the green of his eyes. He was with Lewis, going over the race plan. The team wanted to run softs the whole race, with both mandatory stops on that compound. Charles listened carefully until someone caught his eye in his peripheral vision. The cause of all his problems. And, unfortunately, he looked incredible. If Charles didn’t remember how much of an asshole Max could be, he would have kissed him right there, touched him everywhere, until he forgot how to breathe.

Emm… better not think about that, he muttered to himself as Max’s eyes met his. He ignored him. It hurt—unsurprising, but still, it hurt. Even so, Charles wouldn’t let that ruin his day. Today, he swore, would be the best race of his life. He left Leo in the motorhome and went to get ready.

Charles was now behind the wheel of the SF-25. It was tough; the car wasn’t fast this year, and the McLarens were far ahead. He made both mandatory pit stops and still led the race. Behind him came Lando and Oscar. Weirdly, Max wasn’t close, not like usual. But Charles stayed focused—until the final corners, when he saw flames. A car had hit the concrete. The crash was brutal. Charles only wanted to know one thing: who it was.

—Hello, team, who crashed? —he asked, fear already coiling in his stomach.

—Charles, we’re being told it was Max in the Red Bull. A tire failure sent him into the wall —the radio answered.

Charles couldn’t breathe. His world was burning down, like Troy in flames. Tears blurred his vision.

—Brian… tell me how Max is —he asked, desperate.

—Charles, just finish these last two laps. I’m checking now —Brian’s voice tried to sound calm, but Charles was hyperventilating.

—Brian! I need to know how he is! —he shouted.

—Charles, they’ve pulled him from the car. He’s in the ambulance. And before he passed out, he said your name. Once you finish, the ambulance will wait to take you to the hospital. Don’t worry about the press—we’ll handle everything.

Charles took the last corner. He won the race. No celebrations. No joy. He jumped out of the car and ran straight to the Red Bull paddock.

—Where is he? —he asked, seeing the grief written across everyone’s faces. Like Icarus falling into the sea for flying too close to the sun—that was how Charles felt. He wanted to fly straight to Max, even knowing it would destroy him.

—Charles… hi, I… —Christian walked up to him, eyes dark with sorrow—. He’s over there, in the ambulance.

Without thinking, Charles hugged him briefly, then ran.

Now he was standing before Max. Injured. Unrecognizable. Charles wanted to lock him away somewhere safe so nothing could ever hurt him again. Max was stable, but critical. Doctors moved around him in a frenzy. Charles couldn’t stop remembering the last time they had spoken, after that night.

Flashback

It was Monaco, after several races. Time had passed since that night, but Max had never mentioned it again. Not even the fact that they’d slept together. God, he’d even magically appeared on the sofa the next morning, pouring out lies Charles knew weren’t true.

But today, Charles was done pretending. He knew Max’s address by heart. He drove his Ferrari there, heart pounding at what he’d say. Max, I remember everything? Max, why are you like this? Why do you hate me one day and love me the next?

He knocked twice. Footsteps inside.

—Who is it now? If it’s crazy fans, I’ll call the police, and if it’s Jehovah’s Witnesses, I’m not interested —Max muttered before opening the door. His face froze when he saw Charles. He slammed it shut immediately. Fucking Leclerc. He thought he’d left everything clear in Austria, yet here Charles was.

Charles stood on the other side of the door, speechless. Maybe he should leave. Pretend nothing happened. But he couldn’t.

—Max, hi —he said, when the door opened again.

—I’m sorry, Charles. Forgive me. I don’t know what happened… Do you want to come in? Water? Coffee?

—No, I’m fine. How are you? —Charles asked, holding his gaze.

—Fine, as much as I can be. Playing FIFA. And you? What are you doing here?

—Max, I know you said not to talk about Austria, but I need to know what you think. What do you feel? I want to understand you.

—Charles —Max raised a hand—, if you came here to talk about that, I’ll politely ask you to leave.

—And if I don’t want to? What then? Will you hit me? Just because I want to talk about something you don’t even dare to face?

Charles didn’t finish. Max punched him in the face, knocking him to the ground. He had never expected that from him. Hit him—just for wanting to talk?

—I told you I don’t want to talk about this. So, leave —Max growled, stepping closer.

Charles stood, punched back, and sent Max crashing down. He straddled him, pinning his wrists against the floor.

—I’m not moving. You can try to throw me out, but I won’t go until we talk —Charles hissed, leaning closer than he intended. Their thighs brushed—provocative, dangerous.

But Max was stronger. He flipped them easily. Now he was above Charles, faces inches apart. Charles couldn’t stop the flush in his body.

—You come into my house, pull this shit, and on top of that… you’re hard for me? You only bring trouble, Leclerc. Looks like I’ll have to teach you a lesson —Max’s voice was dark, unfamiliar.

And then he kissed him. Fierce. Slow. Passionate. As if Charles were some relic of Olympus. Charles thought he was dreaming. His lips were addictive, divine. But then Max pulled away, fixed himself, and sat down on the sofa, leaving Charles sprawled on the floor.

—Max… we should talk about this. Whatever it is. Don’t shut me out again.

—I’m sorry, Charles. That was my mistake. It won’t happen again. You should leave. Don’t come back.

Charles stared at him in silence. It wasn’t worth begging anymore. He walked out, straight home. Straight to the piano. To play something as sad as he felt.

End of flashback

And now, here he was, sitting in the ambulance next to Max, on the way to Monaco’s hospital. Watching him, as if his gaze alone could protect him, as if staying at his side would be enough to make it all end well.

He knew Max was fighting inside. He always had, even when he refused to admit it. And still, Charles loved him. No… he was in love with him. He loved his awkward silences, his rare laughter, his clumsy way of pushing away the one person who cared for him most. He loved him even when he shouldn’t. He needed him like air after a long cry—desperately, urgently, fearfully.

At the hospital, nurses made Charles wait while Max was rushed into emergency surgery. Charles barely noticed anything until a familiar voice broke through.

—Victoria —he whispered, as Max’s sister entered, pale and trembling, tears streaming down her face.

—Charles… I can’t… —she broke in his arms, sobbing—. What have the doctors said?

—Nothing yet. He’s critical, still in surgery —Charles answered, voice shaking—. I was about to get some coffee. Do you want something?

—Water’s fine, thanks.

Charles returned with coffee for himself and a bottle of water for her. They sat together in silence, in that strange limbo where time doesn’t move and every second drags like an eternity.

—Charles —Victoria spoke at last, voice fragile but steady—, I know it’s not my place, but… You love Max, don’t you? It’s in your eyes. In the way you reacted. And why else would he say your name before passing out? You love him, right?

Charles lowered his gaze, a single tear slipping free.

—Yes, Victoria. I love him. But I don’t think he feels anything for me. One day, he talks to me like I’m his everything, the next he treats me like I’m nothing. I don’t know how to handle it anymore.

—Oh, Charles… —she whispered, resting a gentle hand on his back—. After this, you two will have plenty of time to talk. And he’d better realize it, because if he doesn’t, he’ll have to deal with me.

They couldn’t continue. A doctor stepped into the hallway, pulling down his mask with a grave expression.

—Family of Max Verstappen?

Charles and Victoria shot to their feet.

—I have good news and bad news —the doctor said. —The good news is that the multiple surgeries were successful. Max is now stable, and with time, his physical injuries will heal.

He paused, throat tightening.

—The bad news… is that he’s in a state of brain death. I’m very sorry.

Two words. Brain death. They struck like lightning. Charles collapsed into a nearby chair, burying his face in his hands, sobbing with shaking shoulders. Victoria held him as best she could, though she cried just as hard.

—However —the doctor continued—, there is one more thing. An experimental therapy, still in early trials, is being developed in Greece. It has shown some promising results. At the moment, its success rate is around fifty percent. I know it’s a difficult choice, but if you wish to consider it…

Charles lifted his head, eyes red but burning with the smallest flame of hope.

—I’d do anything for Max. Anything.

Victoria nodded through her tears.

—I know my brother’s is in good hands with you, Charles. The way you love him… It’s like Orpheus and Eurydice. You’d go down to the Underworld for him.

—Good —the doctor said. —All I need is a signature. The helicopter is already on its way to transfer the patient—and one companion—to Greece. They’ll explain the procedure there.

—I accept —Charles said without hesitation, heart hammering in his chest. If there was even the slightest chance of bringing Max back, he would take it. Even if it meant challenging the gods themselves.

Chapter Text

Charles couldn’t remember ever visiting Greece before. It was even more breathtaking than the photographs — waters so clear they reflected not only your face but something deeper. The sky burned with an intense blue, streaked with green and gold, as if the gods themselves had painted it. This was truly the cradle of myths. In his mind, Charles felt at home: he imagined himself at a piano, playing melodies whispered by sirens.

The trip had been shorter than he’d expected. During the entire helicopter ride, Charles never let go of Max’s hand. He sat beside him, watching the man he loved lying still, what medicine now called brain death. He couldn’t process it; his thumb kept tracing the back of Max’s hand, the curve of his knuckles, as if his touch alone could call him back.

When they landed, a medical team was waiting. They led Max to a kind of stone-built clinic — a cave where, by some strange mercy of the landscape, a wide river ran through, swallowing light as it passed. The water murmured in low tones; sometimes Charles thought he heard cries, though perhaps they were only echoes of his own grief. The room where they placed Max was filled with plants — Rosaceae like roses and cherry blossoms, Solanaceae like mandrake and belladonna, ivy climbing the walls like garlands — an incongruent garden in a place meant for healing.

Those species told Charles that this was far beyond conventional medicine. Something half-forgotten mixed in his mind, but he decided not to chase the memory.

In one corner stood an old piano, its inlaid designs resembling frozen swirls, as though winter itself had been trapped inside its wood. Charles gazed at it in silence — it reminded him of Boreas, God of the north wind: harsh, relentless, and yet a guardian in his own ferocity.

Soon the doctor entered, followed by a woman with a calm, almost sacred composure — someone who seemed to carry both knowledge and the weight of ancient rituals.

—Hello, Charles. I hope you’re holding up —said the doctor, shaking his hand. I’m truly sorry for what you’re going through. We have an experimental treatment we could attempt. This is Priestess Kipride; her work has shown remarkable results.

—Oh, dear, a pleasure —she said with a warm smile, embracing him gently. I’m so sorry for what’s happening. As you can see, we use many plants whose medicinal history reaches back to ancient times. Tell me, do you know the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice? It’s celebrated today, in fact.

Charles thought she spoke with the wisdom and calm of someone who’d lived through centuries.

—Yes —he answered, trying to recall the story. I read it once.

—Wonderful. Our method is not conventional —it’s botanical and ritualized, but there’s no trickery. Everything depends on you. And… I think there’s something more than friendship between you and Max, isn’t there?

Charles looked down and said nothing.

—I’ll take that as a yes —she smiled—. Here’s how it works: we’ll prepare an infusion of poppy, mandrake, belladonna, and a touch of ivy, all in controlled doses. It also has mint to soothe. It’s not lethal, but it’s strong; its effect can reach very deep. You’ll drink it here, beside Max —she looked at the rocks surrounding them—. If you wish, you can play the piano while it takes hold; it will help you connect with Max’s body and soul, the way only plants know how. Then we’ll do something similar with him —I’ll explain the next step if you agree. —What do you think? —she asked, with the calm tone of someone reciting an ancient legend—.

—Before that, I’d like to talk to my friends —said Charles.

He opened a group chat with all the drivers —including his brother Arthur— and, without thinking twice, called them on video. Once they were all connected, he told them everything: Max’s critical state, the diagnosis of brain death, the experimental treatment in Greece, and the ritual proposed by the priestess.

—You really have to drink something weird and play the piano? —said Lando, incredulous—. And if it doesn’t work, do they give you a refund, Charles?

—That’s… basically it —Charles replied, shrugging. Don’t start, Lando; they recommended it.

—Mate, that’s the craziest thing I’ve ever heard… but if anyone would do it, it’s you two —said George. You’re gayer than Pride month itself. Or Achilles and Patroclus. I swear!

The call burst out laughing.

—Want my opinion? —said Oscar—. If the person I loved was like that, and someone offered me a chance to bring them back, I’d take it in a heartbeat. And if you survive, I’m marrying you two myself.

—Well, squid —said Pierre—. For once, I agree with these idiots, even George. Max salivates over you like you’re a steak.

More laughter.

—He’s right, Charles —added Carlos. A friend who doesn’t even follow F1 saw a clip of you two and asked if you were dating.

—Charles —Arthur cut in, more serious—. You have my support. And I know that Max “I don’t like Charles” Verstappen is head over heels for you. I’d do it too.

—Remember when Max called him Charlie? —said Lewis, and everyone cracked up.

—Or when, after arguing with me, he saw Charles and winked at him? —added Esteban.

—Or when he poured champagne all over him in Austria and Charles looked like he was in a gay porno? —Ollie laughed so hard he nearly choked.

—And Miami 2024 —Lando jumped in— when Charles got the trophy and Max stared at him like he was undressing him right there on live TV!

Charles laughed until his chest hurt… then hung up. Those idiots would keep laughing for hours, but they were right.

He went to speak to the priestess again.

—I accept —he said firmly. I love Max, and I’ll do whatever it takes to help him.

—That’s the spirit, darling —she said—. The infusion’s ready; it smells like roses and sea salt —she placed a glass on the piano—. Play, if you want; we’ll be right here.

Charles sat down and began to play a melody so beautiful and sorrowful it seemed to tear the air apart. As he played, he lifted the glass to his lips and drank. The taste was strange —sweet and bitter at once, as though it carried something ancient.

Soon, reality began to fade. The edges blurred, sounds grew distant, and light itself faded away.

There were no screams, no pain —only deep, endless silence. Something wrapped around him softly, like a dark river pulling him along without resistance. It felt like crossing an invisible threshold: one moment, he was there, and the next, he was floating in a dream with no beginning or end.

When Charles opened his eyes, the temperature had dropped sharply. Everything around him was still… or almost. The air carried a heavy, withered scent, and from far away came the sound of laments echoing through endless caverns. He felt suspended in a place where the world no longer existed.

He looked around and saw a dark river at his feet, its waters swallowing what little light remained. A name surfaced in his mind —something ancient he’d once read in a forgotten myth: Styx.

He stood up slowly and noticed he was wearing a red suit. At least I’ve got style, he thought. If it were blue, I’d actually die —though not literally.

In his hands rested a harp —delicate, heavy, eternal. It needed no introduction. According to legend, it had once belonged to Orpheus himself.

Before him stretched a vast, unreal landscape, woven from shadows and mist, so silent and immense it seemed to have no end. And he knew, deep in his bones, where he was: he had descended into the Underworld.

It was like walking inside a myth, as if Orpheus’s lyre now echoed in his own chest —only his Eurydice had Max’s face. The unsettling thing was that even without having ever set foot there, a path unfolded clearly before him, as though someone had drawn it for him —the inevitable road to Hades’ palace.

How to describe it? There was no sky, only a dense red-stained darkness, as though blood itself had soaked through the air. Souls wandered, screaming, trapped in eternal punishment. A place where time did not exist —only suffering.

And there, standing before Charles, was the great three-headed dog: Cerberus, guardian of the Underworld and the palace of Hades. Each head snarled, baring fangs sharp enough to tear a body apart in seconds.

There was no time to waste.

Charles took a deep breath, stepped forward with resolve —and just as Cerberus prepared to lunge, he began to play the harp. His fingers brushed the thin strings with the same tenderness one might use to touch Aphrodite’s hair —soft as cotton.

The notes lifted into the air, suspended like ancient perfume. Each melody reached deep into the creature’s soul. Slowly, Cerberus’s growls quieted. His eyelids grew heavy… and at last, he collapsed, asleep.

Charles had won his first victory. He could go on now.

The realm of eternal torment awaited.

Chapter Text

After crossing the Tartarus, Charles walked toward the great palace that stood before him. If the legends were true, Hades lived there, deep within his palace, and to reach him, one first had to pass through the mist that surrounded it. They said that mist had the power to awaken forgotten memories, and only by facing them could one move forward.

Charles didn’t hesitate. He stepped forward, entering the thick fog that soon seemed to take hold of his mind—forcing him to remember…

Flashback

Charles was still at Sauber, and Max at Red Bull. They had just crashed on the track. Max was furious, and although Charles apologized—as the gentleman he always was—it wasn’t enough.

While Charles was being checked in the paddock hospital for a few minor injuries, the door burst open.

—So this is where you are, Leclerc —Max said, furious, grabbing him by the collar and pulling him slightly off the seat, that rage only Mad Max could hold.

—Ow! You’re hurting me, Max —Charles muttered, pained.

—I don’t care, Leclerc. You ruined my only chance at winning that race! What the hell is wrong with you?!

Max leaned closer, their bodies almost touching. Charles tried to push him away with a weak shove.

—I told you I was sorry, Max! You’ll have more chances. I didn’t mean it. What’s wrong with you?

But Max was blinded by anger. And then he made a mistake.

—I don’t understand how you’re even here, in F1… If Jules were still alive, he’d be disappointed by what you’ve become. Or even your father.

The silence grew thick as lead. Charles looked at him, eyes trembling, and tears began to fall from his green eyes.

Max knew immediately he had gone too far. Jules. His father. Those two people were everything to Charles.

—Charles, wait— he tried to stop him, grabbing his arm, but it was too late. Charles ran out, not looking back.

—Enough! —Charles shouted in the middle of the fog. He regretted it in the end! Don’t you see?!

The memory shifted.

Charles was running through the Sauber paddock, tears streaming down his face like Achilles mourning Patroclus. He rushed into his motorhome, grabbed a glass of water, and tried to stop his shaking hands.

He knew that everything he did in F1—beyond his passion—was to make his two guardian stars proud: his father and Jules. Maybe he had lied to his father, since he wasn’t yet at Ferrari… but he would get there, for them.

Someone knocked on the door. Probably someone from the team.

—Coming! —he shouted, wiping his tears with the back of his hand.

But no. It wasn’t who he expected.

—No, no… —he whispered when he saw Max, trying to close the door in his face, but Max was faster. He pushed inside, closing the door behind him.

—Charles, please, let me explain…

Charles stepped back until his back hit the wall, avoiding his gaze. He needed space. He couldn’t look at him.

—You’ve gone too far, Max! You know this dream is also for Jules and my dad! They’re watching over me from above, and you dared to use their names like that! You’re unforgivable—get out and don’t—!

But he didn’t finish. Because he felt arms around him. Max was hugging him, stroking his hair—just like his father used to when he was a child. And in that instant, all his walls collapsed.

They both sank to the floor of the motorhome, and Charles cried on Max’s shoulder. He felt safe, protected… something he hadn’t felt in a long time.

Max was the storm, yes. But he could also be the rainbow after it.

—Charles… I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have exploded like that. I never should’ve mentioned Jules or your dad. Please forgive me. I… I know that wherever they are, they’re proud of you. Just like I am.

Charles didn’t know what to say. He lifted his head—and made a mistake: he met Max’s eyes. Those blue eyes, deeper than Poseidon’s sea. Then, inevitably, his gaze fell to Max’s lips. Why did Aphrodite tempt him like this?

He wanted to kiss him. But he stepped back just in time. Max stood up and offered him a hand to help him rise.

—I hope one day you can forgive me. See you, Charles —Max said, walking out the door.

And Charles… he knew he’d already forgiven him the moment he hugged him.

End of flashback

The mist cleared. As if the memory, once faced, finally allowed him passage. Before him, the gates of Hades’s palace opened. And Charles didn’t hesitate—he entered.

He couldn’t quite describe it. The palace was terrifying, yet it carried a particular scent… one that only the god of the Underworld could bear: death, rusted iron, despair. Corpses hung from the ceiling. Bones were piled in corners, and Hades’s beasts prowled above, watchful.

—So, I see Aphrodite has sent another mortal. I wonder what it’s for this time —said a deep voice. A man descended slowly down a metallic staircase. It was Hades. In his human form, he had a long beard, black hair, and eyes red as Tartarus’s flames.

—Excuse me… —Charles murmured.

—Yes, you heard me, boy. So, what will it be today? —said Hades, sitting on a throne that emerged from the void.

—Sir… the love of my life is dead… partly. And a priestess told me you could help me.

Hades looked at him curiously, then at the harp Charles carried.

—I see… But unfortunately, that harp will be of no use against me. I’m not like Cerberus. Come with me.

He led him into a dark hall filled with musical instruments. Charles glanced around—until he saw it: a piano.

—I’ll let you try to convince me —Hades said—, but you’ll have to play one of these instruments. Choose.

—The piano, Charles replied without hesitation.

—Very well then, mortal. Whenever you’re ready.

Charles sat before the piano. It was unlike any he had ever seen—ancient, ornate, as if forged from the secrets of the world. He closed his eyes and thought of a song he’d heard days before. He had never sung in public, except once, when Lewis had mentioned it to the press. But this time, he would for Max.

He began to play. Each note flowed with an almost supernatural delicacy. His fingers floated over the keys as if caressing Aphrodite’s hair. And then, he sang:

Tides thrash inside, baby, I'm high octane
Fever in a shock wave
My core vibrates in an opium haze
Yet you think we're the same...

The melody filled the room. Charles closed his eyes, thinking of Max. His Max. His “good-looking boy.” Maybe unreturned, maybe impossible—but real to him.

The skyline falls as I try to make sense of it all
I thought I'd uncovered your secrets, but turns out there's more
You adored me before...
Oh, my good-looking boy…
My good-looking boy…
My good-looking boy…
Oh, my good-looking boy…

When he finished, there was a long silence. Hades didn’t move, astonished.

—This is… the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. You must have loved him deeply. For that, I’ll grant you a chance to see him again—and maybe, to set things right.

Hades rose from his throne, a faint melancholy in his gaze.

—Only Orpheus ever made me feel this way. That’s why… I’ll let you take your beloved’s soul. But remember: you cannot look back. If you do, you’ll lose him forever. Do you understand?

Charles nodded silently.

—You may leave in peace, mortal. Good luck. And remember: until you reach the surface, do not look back.

Charles began to walk. And though he couldn’t see him, he knew Max’s soul followed behind him—silent, faithful… just as he had always been in his dreams.

Chapter Text

Charles kept walking through the Underworld, already leaving Hades’ castle behind, and felt a faint touch on his back, whispers behind him. He knew that Max’s soul, although unable to communicate with him, could hear him and was following him.
Charles swore he had heard a voice behind him, but he couldn’t turn around. Not now, not after everything he had done.
He kept moving forward, crossing the Tartarus once again while Cerberus remained asleep, until he saw a light in the distance. He didn’t hesitate: he ran toward it.
And then… everything went dark.

Charles opened his eyes in the hospital, disoriented. The first thing he noticed was that he was no longer in the cave: there were no rocks, no smoke, no distant echo of an underground river. Only a white room, spotless to the point of unreality. He was sitting in a chair. Next to him, Max remained motionless, sunk in the silence of brain death.
Had he dreamed it all? Was that hospital, among the rocks, actually an entrance to the Underworld? And who was that priestess?
The door opened, and a doctor entered.
—Doctor, hello… Do you know where Priestess Kipride is?— Charles asked quickly, convinced he had to tell her what he had lived through, that there was still one more step left.
The man looked at him seriously.
—Priestess Kipride? I’m sorry, Mr. Leclerc, there’s no priestess here. I remind you that you’re in a hospital.—
—But… there was an experimental therapy, in Greece…— Charles murmured, dazed.
—Mr. Leclerc, you suffered a minor fall. Let me check your vital signs,— the doctor said while adjusting the cuff on his arm. After a few seconds, he added firmly:
—No one with that name has been here, nor has there been any experimental treatment.—
Charles fell silent, trapped between doubt and certainty. Had it all been a product of his mind?
Then, when he looked toward the window, he saw her. The same woman. But she was no longer wearing the disguise of an old lady—Kipride was Aphrodite. Radiant, young, impossible to ignore. She smiled at him, winked… and disappeared in a shimmer of light.
—So… what Hades said…— Charles whispered, as if at last the pieces began to fit together.
—All right, Mr. Leclerc. Maybe it was just a small bump, but you seem stable said the doctor before leaving, leaving him alone with Max.
At that moment, the heart monitor began to beep.
And Max… opened his eyes.

As if Hypnos himself had released him from his domain, Max woke up. He slowly sat up and, as he did, he hummed:
—You adored me before
Oh, my good-looking boy…—
While looking straight at Charles. That… confirmed everything. It was all real. Charles had saved him.
—Mr. Verstappen is awake!— the doctor shouted, quickly calling the nurses.
—It’s a miracle,— he added. —We’ll need a few days of observation, but… Mr. Verstappen, do you remember your name and who you are?—
—Yes. I’m Max Emilian Verstappen, Formula 1 driver for Red Bull Racing.—
—Perfect,— the doctor nodded. —We’ll leave you two alone for a moment.—

—Hi, Charles,— said Max softly, sweetly, looking at him with puppy eyes as he extended his hand. —I remember everything, Charles. Hades, the harp, you… Thank you for doing all this for me.—
—Max, I love you more than Poseidon loves the sea,— Charles whispered, moving closer. —I did it because I couldn’t let you go.—
—But… if you want something with me, Max, it has to be something serious,— Charles continued, sadness in his gaze as he caressed Max’s face. —Not like before—no more treating me one day like your greatest treasure and ignoring me the next out of fear. Love is also courage, not just desire.—
He brushed his cheekbones gently, swallowing hard.
—And that’s why… even if it hurts, I’m saying goodbye, Max. Because loving also means letting go,— Charles said as he stood up. —Goodbye… forever.—
And he ran out of the room, leaving him behind.
—Charles, wait!— Max shouted desperately, watching him disappear through the door. —Fuck… fuck!— He hit the bed in frustration.
He knew he had ruined it. That he had hurt him too many times. And still… Charles had loved him enough to descend into the Underworld for him.

While Max remained sunk in thought, Charles boarded his private jet back home. Monaco. Maybe he would drink that wine he had been saving for a special occasion. Or maybe he would lock himself with his piano, as he did when the world hurt too much. The only thing he knew was that he needed to get away. To breathe. To heal.

The Monegasque Sea shimmered under the sunset light when Charles arrived at his apartment. The city was the same… but he wasn’t. He had crossed the Underworld, faced his own demons, and rescued the man he loved. Now, as he drank a few glasses of wine, he knew he couldn’t rescue him from himself.

However, while that happened, someone very close to Charles was at the hospital with Max.
Max was still regretting when he saw a familiar figure at the door.
—Seb?— he said in surprise, seeing Sebastian Vettel in front of him. —What are you doing here?—
—I came to see you, Max. And Charles. The fact that you woke up is a miracle,— Sebastian said, sitting on the chair beside his bed.
Max couldn’t help it. He began to cry uncontrollably. He had never cried like that, except for that time his father left him at a gas station for not finishing first.
—Seb… I…— Max stuttered before Sebastian hugged him tightly. —I made a mistake. Charles told me he loved me… and that’s why he had to let me go. And now he’s in Monaco…—
—Max,— Sebastian said calmly, —I know you and Charles like each other. Well, the whole paddock knows. You’re not that subtle, to be honest. I’m not here to judge you or scream at you for what you did before. I know you’ve made mistakes—even terrible ones—but you still have a chance. Apologize. Be honest with him. Show him who you really are.—
Sebastian sighed before continuing.
—I don’t need to know why you acted like that. We all have our inner demons, but at least let him know you love him. And you’d better do it—or I’ll kick you out of this hospital room,— he added, smiling.
—Thank you, Seb,— said Max, wiping his tears. —I didn’t know that you… or the others… knew.—
—Come on,— Sebastian said, standing up. —I talked to the doctors. They’ll let you go. I’ll take you myself. It’s up to you to decide what to do.—

On Sebastian’s private plane, Max saw the sky again, the clouds… the world. The trip wasn’t long. When they arrived, Seb helped him into the car, heading toward Charles’s apartment.
Max was nervous. He didn’t know what to say. But he remembered what Charles had told him: to use his heart.
Seb parked and got out with him. He asked Max to wait behind while he knocked on the door.
Charles opened it. His shirt was wrinkled and wet, and his eyes were swollen.
—Seb… hi,— he said, clearly drunk. —What are you doing here? I have nothing to offer you.—
—I’m here because you’re not okay, Charles. You need to talk to Max. Fix things.—
—There’s nothing to fix with him. Now, if you’ll excuse me…—
Charles was about to close the door, but Sebastian stopped it with his foot. Then he grabbed Max by the shirt and pushed him inside the apartment. He closed the door behind them, leaving them alone.
—Max? What are you doing here?— Charles asked, stunned.
—Please… let’s talk. I need to explain everything that happened. Why I acted the way I did,— Max said, walking with him toward the room.
—All right…— Charles said, sitting on the bed while Max sat in the other corner. —What do you want to say?—
—Charles, I’ll be honest… I was afraid.—
—Afraid? Of what, Max?—
—Of what people might say if we were together. Of disappointing others… of disappointing myself.—
—So I embarrass you?— Charles said, raising his voice. —I didn’t expect anything from you, Max, and you still managed to disappoint me.—
—Charles, wait… You know my relationship with my father is complicated. I know he no longer controls me, but he still affects me. He left me at a gas station when I was a kid, remember? He always showed disgust toward people who loved someone of the same sex. And I…—
—Max, I’m sorry. It’s too late for this. Do you know how hard it was? That one day you kissed me, and the next you ignored me as if I didn’t matter. I’m sorry, Max, better find someone who satisfies you.—
—Don’t you see I don’t want anyone else?! I want you!— Max shouted, crying as he collapsed to the floor.
—I’m sorry, Max. It’s too late for that,— Charles said, getting up and walking to the door to let Max leave. He knew it was what was best for his heart. He helped him to his feet.
—Max… It’s too late. As I told you, I loved you. Deeply. I expected the same in return. Not what you’ve been doing since we met,— Charles said with a sad look, small tears in his eyes, and a dim smile.
—Charles, please… don’t do this. I know I was an idiot, that I made mistakes. I know that with a few simple words I can’t undo everything I did, but be sure of one thing: I love you. I love you as much as Orpheus loved Eurydice… or as much as you and I love this sport, F1,— Max said, kneeling. —Charles, I don’t know what else to do. I love you. I let myself be influenced by my father’s thoughts. Many things happened, but seriously… I want us to have a new beginning. Charles, please,— Max was now crying heavily, —please, give me another chance to make things right. I know that deep inside your heart, you still keep me, even if you say you don’t. I’m sorry, Charles.—
Charles stopped. He had never seen Max like that. Something inside him broke. He knelt in front of Max and took his face in his hands, forcing him to look at him.
—Max… what you did hurt me. A lot. It’s not easy to forget…—
—Charles, I…—
But he couldn’t finish. Charles kissed him.
And it was as if the sky exploded in fireworks. As if Helios himself had crossed the firmament with his golden chariot.
Max felt himself melting. He returned the kiss, slow at first, until their tongues met in their own rhythm, an intense dance, as if they were racing together toward the most important finish line of all.
They had to pull apart for air.
—I forgive you,— Charles said, resting his forehead against his. —But that doesn’t mean I forget. So, tell me, Max… what do you want?—
He led him back to the room and sat on his lap, their bodies brushing against each other. The friction below made Max moan softly.
—You know very well what I want, Charles,— he whispered before kissing him harder, lifting him, and falling with him onto the bed.