Max and Charles

The night was dark and dense, and here, in a place where racing had never been allowed, 15 people had gathered to go for a drive. No, not even that. To destroy the competition from within and win. Frankly, Charles didn't know anyone here. He thought he didn't know anyone. That fucking Verstappen. He'd hated him ever since they'd been in the same class. They'd never been friends. They were too different. Different interests, different families, different secondary genders, different smells. While Charles smelled vaguely light and expensive, Max smelled like horseradish, a sign that he was truly best left alone. He tasted slightly bitter, so bitter that the Monegasque never missed an opportunity to tease him and point out his "vomit-like" odor. Charles was an omega, Max an alpha. Perhaps that was another reason for their mutual dislike. After school, Leclerc thought he'd be able to shake off the presence of that Dutch bastard, but of course he couldn't. Three years after graduating from school, he again sees that insolent grin that he wants to wipe off his face once and for all.

The only things that make him happy right now are two things: 1) They didn't seem to have been found, and 2) Max didn't seem to have noticed him. Or maybe he did, but decided to ignore him. Charles wasn't about to think or understand what was going on in this man's head.

The race began. After 10 laps, Charles was just a hair behind Max and wasn't about to give in. No fucking way. Never. But he still got the better of him. He managed to cut him off on the last lap and was clearly happy with his first place, unlike the Monegasque. He was now very angry with the Dutchman. Especially angry after Verstappen's aside, "Let's talk about school days. "