Unbroken Hopes|| Charles Leclerc X Max Verstappen(Lestappen)Wildest Dreams Book2 The last battle begins

Abu Dhabi. The scene of so many championship finales, and now it was the center of the most intense, personal fight between two men who shared a home, a life, and their hearts. But on this Saturday evening, all that was pushed aside as they prepared for the final showdown of the season. Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen—husbands, yes, but also the fiercest of competitors—were locked in a battle for the Formula 1 World Championship.

It had been a week filled with tension, both at the track and at home. They had tried to shut out the noise, to focus on themselves, but now it was Saturday. The day that would set the stage for the final race of the season. There were only two points separating them, and every lap, every millisecond, could mean the difference between victory and defeat.

The sun was beginning to set over Yas Marina Circuit, casting long shadows across the track. In the Red Bull garage, Max was strapped into his car, his mind calm, his focus razor-sharp. Across the paddock, in the Ferrari garage, Charles was doing the same. They had traded blows all weekend, topping practice sessions, each one taking turns being fastest. The balance between them was so fine that it seemed no one could call who would come out on top in qualifying.

As the cars rolled out for Q1, the tension in the air was palpable. The fans, the teams, and even the media knew they were witnessing something special—a battle that had been brewing all season, and now it had come down to this.

Max set the fastest time in Q1, narrowly edging out Charles. But in Q2, Charles responded by going quickest, putting his Ferrari on top of the timesheets and sending a message to everyone, including Max. They both knew that Q3 was what really mattered. The final session. The ultimate test.

As the cars lined up in the pit lane for the final shootout, the seconds ticked away on the clock. Both teams, Red Bull and Ferrari, were waiting for the right moment, calculating the perfect time to send their drivers out to make the most of the track conditions. The tension was so thick you could almost feel it pressing against your chest.

Max was the first to go out. His banker lap was solid, enough to put him on provisional pole. But the times were close—too close. Charles followed, delivering a blistering lap that put him just behind Max. It wasn’t enough yet, but the gap between them was a hair’s breadth, and it was clear Charles had more to give.

The minutes ticked down. Max and Red Bull made the call to go out for the final push lap with two minutes left on the clock. Charles and Ferrari waited, watching the data, finding every inch of the track where they could improve. When the time was right, Charles was sent out last, determined to snatch pole away from his husband.

Max was already flying through his lap when Charles exited the pits. Sector one went purple for Max—he was pushing to the limit. But as Charles attacked his lap, it was clear he was giving everything. The first sector turned purple for him too. He was faster. The mini sectors in the second sector started to go purple as well, and Charles could feel it—*this was it*. His car was hooked up, every corner precise, every throttle input perfect. He could almost feel pole position within his grasp.

But then, suddenly—yellow flags. Double yellow.

“*No, no, no!*” Charles screamed into his helmet as he was forced to lift, his dream lap evaporating before his eyes. He slammed his fist into the steering wheel, his frustration boiling over. He knew what this meant. His shot at pole was gone.

“Fuck!” he shouted, his voice filled with a mix of anger and despair. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not today.

His race engineer, Brian, tried to console him. “P6, Charles. You’re P6. I’m sorry, mate. There was nothing you could do.”

Charles took a deep breath, trying to calm himself, though his heart was racing. He thanked his team through gritted teeth, apologizing that the result wasn’t a reflection of the fantastic car they had given him.

As he drove back to the pits, the disappointment weighed heavily on him. He had been so close. So close to putting himself in the best possible position to fight for the championship. And now, starting from P6, it felt like his chances were slipping through his fingers.

In the Red Bull, Max crossed the line, securing pole position. His engineer, Gianpiero, celebrated with the familiar “simply lovely”, congratulating him on another brilliant lap. But Max’s first question wasn’t about his own performance.

“And Charles?” Max asked, already knowing the answer would sting.

“P6,” GP replied. “Yellow flags in the final sector.”

Something twisted in Max’s chest. He had pole, yes, but Charles… *Charles should have been there too.* He had seen the sector times. If Charles hadn’t been forced to abort, he would have taken pole. Max knew that as surely as he knew his own name.

As Max pulled into parc ferme, he saw the familiar sight of his car being parked behind the P1 sign. But his eyes were drawn to the other side of the pit lane, where Charles’s Ferrari was being wheeled into place. He watched as Charles climbed out of the car, his body language speaking volumes. He looked defeated, his shoulders slumped, his steps heavy.

Max wanted nothing more than to run to him, to wrap him in his arms and tell him that this wasn’t over. That they still had everything to fight for. But he couldn’t. Not yet. Instead, he had to settle for making eye contact with Charles from across the way. Charles gave him a thumbs-up, but Max could see the disappointment in his eyes, even through the visor.

In the post-qualifying interviews, Max tried to stay composed. He was happy with his lap, of course, it was the best position to be in during a tight championship fight.

but the joy of securing pole was muted. His thoughts were with Charles, and as David Coulthard approached him with the microphone, Max made sure to mention it.

“Max, another pole position here in Abu Dhabi. It’s the perfect place to start your final push for the title. How do you feel?” Coulthard asked.

Max took a deep breath before responding. “Yeah, of course, I’m happy with the lap. The car felt great, but… honestly, Charles would’ve been on pole if he didn’t get caught in the yellow flags. His lap was incredible until that point. His sectors were faster than mine.” He paused, glancing up at the screens that showed Charles’s P6. “It’s a shame because he deserved to be right up here. But tomorrow is the race, and you never know what can happen. I’m sure he’ll be in the fight.”

Coulthard raised an eyebrow, sensing the tension in Max’s words. “You sound more like Charles’s fan than his competitor right now. Are you already thinking about tomorrow?”

Max let out a small chuckle, but his smile didn’t fully reach his eyes. “I’ve always said Charles is one of the best. I’ve known it since we were kids. Tomorrow is going to be tough, but I know he’ll come through. There’s still all to play for.”

The interview moved on to the other top drivers, but Max’s mind stayed on Charles. The post-qualifying duties felt like a blur as he went through the motions—posing for photos, answering more questions in the media pen, and attending the press conference. Each time, he downplayed his own performance and focused on Charles. It didn’t go unnoticed, especially by the fans and media who were picking up on it too. Ofcourse the fight was almost over, but Max much rather preferred an equal fight.

Back in the paddock, Max finally had a moment to breathe, but the weight of the situation was still heavy on his shoulders, wondering in what state he was going to find his husband. He found Charles near the Ferrari hospitality area, leaning against his rented red Ferrari. Charles looked up as Max approached, his face softening slightly, though the disappointment still lingered in his eyes.

“Hey,” Max said softly as he came to stand next to Charles.

“Hey,” Charles replied, his voice quiet.

Max studied his face for a moment, seeing the mix of emotions swirling there. “You did everything you could today,” Max said, leaning against the car next to him. “You were on for pole. I saw the sectors.”

Charles let out a long sigh, rubbing his temples. “Yeah, well, I didn’t finish the lap, did I?” His frustration was still evident, but there was also a deep sense of defeat in his tone.

Max placed a hand on Charles’s shoulder, squeezing gently. “Tomorrow’s what matters. You’ve started further back and won races before. This isn’t over.”

Charles looked over at him, his eyes reflecting a swirl of exhaustion and hope. “I know, Max. I know. But it’s just… it’s frustrating. I’m tired of being the almost guy.”

Max turned, fully facing him now. “Charles, you are not the ‘almost guy.’ You’re a world champion in the making. You know it. I know it. Hell, everyone knows it. It’s just about getting the right circumstances.”

Charles shrugged, his eyes drifting to the horizon. “I don’t know. It feels like no matter how hard I push, something always goes wrong. A penalty, a bad pit stop, or in this case, yellow flags.”

Max frowned, seeing how much this was getting to him. “Look, I get it. I really do. But you can’t control everything. You’ve been driving better than ever these last few races. I don’t care what happened today—tomorrow is your race. You’re good enough to win it, and you *will* be fighting for the championship until the last lap.”

Charles didn’t say anything for a moment, just looking at Max. Then, finally, he let out a small laugh, though there was a hint of bitterness in it. “I’m not sure why I’m telling *you* all this. You’re my biggest rival right now. I shouldn’t be unloading my insecurities on you.”

Max smirked, his blue eyes gleaming in the fading light. “Maybe because I’m also your husband and you trust me more than anyone else. And I’m telling you—you’ve got this. Forget today. Tomorrow’s all that matters now.”

Charles smiled weakly, feeling the knot in his stomach loosen slightly. “Thanks, Max. I needed to hear that.”

“Good” Max smiled back at him. “But bet your ass on it that I’m going to fight you for it” Max gave him a playful nudge.

“Now, how about we get out of here? We’ve got a long day tomorrow, and I’m pretty sure a warm bath and some time away from the paddock will do you some good.”

Charles nodded, his mood lifting just a little. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They climbed into the rented Ferrari, the familiar purr of the engine filling the quiet night air as they made their way back to the hotel. The drive was mostly silent, but it was a comfortable silence. The kind they shared when words weren’t necessary.

When they finally arrived at the hotel, Max turned to Charles as they parked. “Tomorrow, no matter what happens, I’m proud of you. Just so you know.”

Charles looked at him, his heart swelling at the sincerity in Max’s words. “I’m proud of you too, Max. You’ve been amazing this season. I… I just don’t want to let myself down. Or you.”

Max shook his head. “You won’t. You couldn’t.” He reached over and squeezed Charles’s hand before they headed inside.

That night, they soaked in the warmth of the bath, their bodies tired but their minds still racing with thoughts of tomorrow. But for now, they found peace in each other’s company. The weight of the championship battle was still there, but it was softened by the quiet comfort of being together.

As they drifted off to sleep, both knew that tomorrow would be the defining moment of their season—maybe even their careers. But whatever happened, they would face it together.

Tomorrow, they would fight.