Chapter Text
Charles is wearing three pairs of socks and pacing across the floor of his apartment like a man being hunted by thoughts. The radiator hisses faintly near the window, but he’s still cold, wrapped in one of his oldest Ferrari fleeces, sleeves chewed at the cuffs, collar frayed from years of late nights and early flights and pit wall stress. His apartment smells like burnt espresso and sorrow.
He’s got his laptop open on the kitchen island, four tabs of data open, one half-written Google Sheet labelled “Verstappen 2026” with six angry cells in bright red, and a little cartoon frog post-it stuck on the side of the monitor that says “BREATHE!” in Arthur’s handwriting. He is not breathing.
He’s working. Sort of. Whimpering is probably the more accurate word. Not crying. Crying would imply emotional excess. Charles is efficient. Charles is a Ferrari race engineer. He’s just emotionally ventilating at a moderate pace while muttering violently at Excel.
He’s been on the phone with Fred for twenty-seven minutes.
“No, I’m not being dramatic,” he says, dragging a greasy hand through his hair. “You’re being dramatic. You’re sending me a—an animal. A chaos demon. A gremlin with horsepower.”
Fred, on the other end, sighs. Long-suffering. The kind of sigh that sounds like it’s been passed down through generations of Team Principals.
“He’s a four-time world champion, Charles,” Fred says, calmly.
“I don’t care if he’s a seven-time karate belt,” Charles hisses. “He called me ‘calculator boy’ in 2012. I still remember. He spat on my shoelace once.”
“You were racing. In go-karts.”
“He called me a ‘diploma merchant’ because I went to uni.”
Fred sounds like he’s smiling now. “You are a diploma merchant.”
“I have three degrees and a Le Mans trophy,” Charles snaps. “And I’m respected. I’m the—Ferrari’s—listen, I am the engineer equivalent of an heirloom tomato. You do not hand me to Max Verstappen like I’m some kind of adjustable wrench.”
“You’re more like a torque sensor,” Fred mutters. “Tightly wound.”
Charles gasps. Betrayed.
He walks across his apartment, phone wedged between his shoulder and his ear, stepping over the half-disassembled brake calliper sitting by the couch. His living room is a shrine to chaos-by-design: neat chaos, of course, very methodical, but still… intense. Technical manuals were piled on the floor by the TV. Gearbox models on the dining table. WEC posters on the walls—not just Ferrari ones either, but the Porsche he raced for that one glorious summer before Ferrari put a collar on him and declared him their golden boy of engineering cars instead of driving them.
There are half-assembled Lego sets on the coffee table. A Bluetooth oscilloscope next to the kettle. Two laptops. An empty energy drink can balanced perfectly on a 3D-printed camshaft.
“I’m quitting,” Charles says brightly.
Fred barks a laugh. “You’ve said that every December since 2020.”
“Well, this time I mean it.”
“You’re the one who signed the contract until 2028.”
“I was emotional. Carlos had just given me a Christmas mug that said ‘#1 Engineer’ and I was vulnerable.”
“Didn’t you break thet mug?”
Charles looks across the room to the shattered remains on the sideboard, which were plastered together (badly). “Irrelevant details.”
Fred groans. “Charles, please.”
“No! No please. You are ruining my work-life balance, Fred. I was going to go skiing with Arthur.”
“You hate skiing.”
“Yes, because I think gravity is annoying. But I was willing to try. Who knows, maybe I could even learn to love it.”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
Charles kicks the side of his desk. It hurts. He ignores the pain. “I was willing to be happy, Fred. I had Carlos. We had a rhythm. A dynamic. He understood me.”
“You screamed at him in Silverstone.”
“He called me ‘madame’ over the radio and then brake-checked a McLaren. It was a valid reaction.”
Fred’s laugh is mean now. He’s enjoying this. Bastard.
“You survived Vettel,” Fred says.
Charles brightens. “Seb was a dream. He read German poetry into his comms and once told me I had ‘noble energy.’ I would have let him euthanise me.”
“You had daily arguments about tyre strategy.”
“Exactly. Intellectual tension.”
“And you cried when he left.”
“I’m crying now and Carlos is still technically around. In a RedBull, nonetheless.”
Fred pauses. “You said this call was about next year’s sims.”
“It is.”
“You’re forty minutes into threatening to resign.”
Charles drops onto a kitchen stool like a ragdoll. “I am spiralling. But also, I’m working.”
He slams his palm on the laptop. “I made him a spreadsheet. I gave him colour coding. I—do you see this?” He flips the camera on and waves it at his screen. “This column says Verstappen Driving Style: corner aggression tendency delta. Do you think I made that for fun? Do I look like a clown to you, Fred?”
Fred is silent. Calculating. Then: “You’re the only race engineer who’s ever made a driver a Spotify playlist.”
Charles tilted the phone slightly so that Fred could see it clearly. “It was curated!”
“You titled it ‘Push Mode Emotional Support.’ Charles.”
Charles points at the camera. “And it worked.”
He gets up again. Starts pacing. His house creaks around him like it’s used to this. There’s an old Ferrari-branded beanbag by the window where he once fell asleep reading gearbox data. His fridge is stocked with oat milk and electrolyte packs. There’s a pile of printouts on his kitchen counter labelled “WEC 2022: Aero Setup Retrospective” that he refuses to throw away.
He is an engineer. Through and through. He is optimized. He is maximised. He is efficient. He is a very sexy database in human form.
And Max Verstappen is going to destroy him.
Fred cuts into his spiralling again. “You knew Carlos was leaving, Charles. You have known since midseason. So why are you being so dramatic about it?”
“I knew he was leaving, I didn’t know he was being replaced by a sentient middle finger.”
“You and Max are professionals. You’ll figure it out.”
“I once watched him throw an axle shaft into a trash can and shout ‘this is why Charles has no friends.’”
Fred pauses.
Charles keeps going. “He nearly reversed into me at a karting event.”
“That was probably an accident.”
“He laughed after. Laughed.”
Fred sighs. “You don’t hate him.”
“I do.”
“You don’t.”
“I will burn the factory down before I call him ‘champ.’”
“You’ve already added him to the data server.”
“I was being polite.”
“You gave him your updated tire wear sim scripts.”
“I wanted to see if he was dumb enough to crash the model.”
Fred chuckles. “You know what your problem is?”
Charles glares at the wall. “Is it Max Verstappen?”
Fred says, “No. You’re too good at your job. That’s your problem.”
Charles rolls his eyes. “Disgusting.”
Fred softens. “You’ve been with us a long time.”
“I’m the prince of this team. I’m not planning on letting down Ferrari.”
“You’re the feral prince of this team.”
Charles swallows. “I just—I don’t know if I can do this.”
Fred pauses. Then, quietly: “You can.”
Charles is silent. The radiator hisses again. His espresso machine beeps in the corner like it’s mourning him.
Fred adds, “And if you don’t, Max will end up corrupting the entire pit wall.”
Charles closes his eyes. Breathes in.
Then exhales like a man walking into battle. “Fine.”
“You’ll come to Maranello next week?”
“...Yes.”
“You’ll finish the new sim model?”
“Yes.”
“You’ll stop calling Max a demon gremlin to the interns?”
“...I make no such promises.”
Fred hangs up.
Charles stares at the ceiling. Then looks at the post-it frog. Then down at his laptop. His spreadsheet flickers under the kitchen lights.
He mutters, “Heavens help me.”
Then opens a new tab. Tumblr. Just to vent. Just to scream into the void with strangers who don’t know he’s Charles Leclerc. Just a Ferrari fan. Just a guy with too many thoughts and a racing-shaped hole in his heart.
He logs into @lordperceval.
And begins to scroll.
It’s comforting in a sad, rot-your-teeth-out way. Tumblr is Charles’ personal sanctuary-slash-hall of mirrors, a place where he can scream into the void without being percieved.
He scrolls. The dashboard blooms with agony and drama and unhinged motorsport takes in Helvetica Neue.
🔁 @lapdogdeluxe
engineer x driver dynamics are the last true love stories.
like what do you mean “box now”? what do you mean “i trust you”?
say that to me on one knee next time
#charlos #leclerc #sainz #pitwallromance #i miss them
He likes it. No comment.
🔁 @ferraribitch69
me looking at the 2026 lineup like:
🙃🔫
#charlosdivorce #ferrari #f1 hates me personally
Liked.
🔁 @mechanicallyyours
all i’m saying is if i had an engineer who gave me custom data sheets color-coded by mood and also spotify playlists to match my driving style
i wouldn’t leave for red bull. that’s all.
#carlos #charles #charlos #charlesleclerc #emotionaldamage
Reblogged from @lordperceval with tags:
“loyalty is a setting on the steering wheel actually”
Scroll.
🔁 @formula1feelings
carlos: [breathes]
charles: that’s an airflow imbalance and you’re ignoring the tire delta
i miss them your honor
#charlos #ferrari #2025era
Like.
🔁 @f1cringeconfessions
confession: i genuinely think charles leclerc has the sexiest voice on the pit wall
he could tell me to pit and i’d do it out of instinct
this is a cry for help
#leclerc #engineer #helpme #charlos #f1tumblr
Charles likes it. Then unlikes. Then likes it again. Then keeps scrolling.
🔁 @scarlotto
me looking at the 2026 grid like it’s a group project i didn’t sign up for
#max to ferrari? #carlos to red bull? #charles crying in the break room? #me too bro
Like.
🔁 @tifositantrum
the way charles always sounded like he was feeling things when he spoke on the radio
like no one else does it like him. man says “we are checking” and i start sobbing
#charlesleclerc #raceengineerera #charlos
🔁 @fuelandfeelings
no thoughts just charles leclerc yelling “PUSH NOW” in a completely broken voice at carlos in monza
i will never emotionally recover from that.
#charlos #ferrari #2024moments #iconic
Like.
🔁 @drivemyheart
unpopular opinion but i think replacing carlos with max is going to end in fire.
and not the good kind.
and not the dramatic sexy kind.
the “i dropped a toaster in the bathtub” kind.
#2026season #charlesdeservespeace #maxverstappen
Reblogged with a simple tag:
“finally a correct take”
🔁 @erswhore
me: i’m fine
also me: charles doesn’t have carlos anymore. he’s alone on the pit wall. he’s going to have to stare into verstappen’s eyes and say ‘box now’ without screaming
i’m not fine
#charlosdivorce #charmaxhellincoming #f1tumblr
Like.
🔁 @pitwallghost
max verstappen doesn’t deserve the way ferrari is going to romanticize him
that’s a charles privilege
#you heard me #charlesleclerc #protecthim
Like.
🔁 @gearshiftgay
i think about charles leclerc’s hands more than i think abt charles leclerc
anyway i miss charlos
#charlos #charlesleclerc #sharlhelpme
Paused. Scrolls back up. Likes. Keeps scrolling.
🔁 @brakesandbreakups
carlos sainz being ferrari’s comfort driver and then leaving feels like a dad going out for milk
and now the stepdad is max verstappen.
this sitcom sucks
#charlos #charmax #2026ishell
Reblogged with a note:
“it’s not a sitcom it’s a horror show with paddock access”
🔁 @softforferrari
okay but what if charles is the problem. what if he’s too emotionally intelligent and scared people away. what if he loved carlos too well
what then
what then
#charlesleclerc #charlos #pain
Charles doesn’t like this one. He keeps scrolling.
🔁 @radiowifey
remember when carlos said “i trust you” and charles paused for three seconds before saying “then push”
i’m chewing drywall
#charlos #ferrari #heartattackinitalian
Reblogged. Tagged:
“we peaked”
🔁 @maxverhell
i think ferrari just wants to watch the world burn. and i support them. but they’re starting with charles and i don’t support that
#charmax #charlesleclerc #carlossainz #2026grid
Like.
🔁 @tifosisoulmates
new theory: charles will go completely feral by the second race and i personally can’t wait
#feralprince #charlesleclerc #letemfight
Reblogged. Added:
“this is the only prophecy i believe”
🔁 @tryingtears
the comms are gonna be insane this year.
charles: “we are reviewing”
max: “what the fuck is reviewing”
10/10 entertainment
#charmax #f1 #italianscreaming
Like
🔁 @biasforbrakes
if charles leaves ferrari i will eat my steering wheel
#charlesleclerc #engineerprince #longlivethecrown
Reblogged. Tagged:
“he’s not going anywhere. he’s built into the foundation”
🔁 @sparkplugshakespeare
you think you love someone? try being the voice in their ear at 300km/h
charles leclerc invented intimacy
#charlos #engineerbrain #f1poetry
Reblogged. Comment:
“this is my thesis actually”
He keeps scrolling. It doesn’t feel better, exactly, but it feels like something. Like a scream turned into comfort. An internet-formed church of strangers who somehow get it. Who speak fluent grief in language of cars.
Then his phone buzzes. WhatsApp.
It’s Carlos.
A photo. Snow-covered street. Oscar and Lando are making goofy faces, posing like idiots beside a red rental car. The caption just says:
"tell maranello i’m thriving 🇨🇦❄️🫶"
Charles stares at it.
Then immediately throws his phone onto the couch and faceplants into his hands.
Then immediately picks it back up because Charles doesn’t have shame.
🐎 Carlos Sainz
tell maranello i’m thriving 🇨🇦❄️🫶
🐢 Charles
you’re DEAD to me
oscar looks like he just discovered snow
lando’s making the same face he made when he dislocated my elbow in 2011
🐎 Carlos Sainz
he SAID he was “doing a celebratory leap”
he LEAPT INTO YOU CHARLES
🐢 Charles
i needed surgery.
you werent there carlos. You dont know what happened
anyway
what do you want carlos.
🐎 Carlos Sainz
to rescue u from ur apartment where u’ve clearly been inhaling espresso grounds raw
come to canada
🐢 Charles
i have WORK carlos.
we don’t all get to go do snow angels with the WDC and the WDC runner-up
i have to be at maranello in 3 days
i have to finish the verstappen behavior protocol sheet
i had to make a behavior protocol sheet
🐎 Carlos Sainz
just write “he’s annoying” and call it a day
come here. you love canada. remember 2018?
🐢 Charles
i remember getting altitude sickness and crying into a poutine
🐎 Carlos Sainz
you cried because arthur beat you at mario kart
🐢 Charles
he used tilt controls. he’s a fraud.
anyway, not coming.
professional things to do. ferrari needs me. maranello is calling. la commedia è finita. etc.
🐎 Carlos Sainz
okay dramatic opera boy
🐎 Carlos Sainz
also
just saying
we’re making fondue
and oscar just said
“this would be better if charles was here to explain how cheese works on a molecular level”
🐢 Charles
i WILL cry
i have explained casein protein to you all 18 times
i showed you a cheese structure diagram
oscar took NOTES
🐎 Carlos Sainz
and we framed them
🐢 Charles
you're all morons
🐎 Carlos Sainz
hi 🧡
🐢 Charles
what.
🐎 Carlos Sainz
how are you bb 🥺
need a warm babyboy to cuddle you?
ur so cute when you spiral
send spreadsheet pics 😍
🐢 Charles
carlos.
i’m going to kill you.
🐎 Carlos Sainz
hehe 😚
come to canada, brain genius
i can make you a steamy data analysis
🐢 Charles
.
.
.
ok who took your phone
🐎 Carlos Sainz
👀
🐢 Charles
oh my goodness it’s norris
🐎 Carlos Sainz
guilty 😈
🐢 Charles
WHAT THE HELL LANDO
🐎 Carlos Sainz
i miss your nerd voice
come join mclaren. we’ll give you a seat-shaped beanbag. the good kind. memory foam.
🐢 Charles
i have SEVERAL beanbags thank you very much
🐎 Carlos Sainz
ours are papaya coloured 💅
and come with two world champions materials on them
🐢 Charles
you are flirting with me to poach me. you think i don’t see this.
what does oscar think
🐎 Carlos Sainz
oscar thinks you’re hot and smart. he just said so.
🐢 Charles
im reporting this entire group to HR
🐎 Carlos Sainz
what HR. this is the WDC + WCC household now. we ARE HR.
also. also. we have an espresso machine that does latte art now
🐢 Charles
what the fuck
🐎 Carlos Sainz
you’re the foam on my flat white 🫶
🐢 Charles
this is deranged
also you literally tried to pour an entire monster energy into your moka pot in 2022 you’re not allowed to talk to me about coffee
🐎 Carlos Sainz
i have grown
and i want you to see that
with your beautiful ferrari eyes
🐢 Charles
im going to maranello
im going to kiss the factory floor
and then i’m going to bury myself inside the wind tunnel
becoz im loyal to my ferrari and u guys can suck it.
🐎 Carlos Sainz
but canadaaaaa
🐢 Charles
NO.
incoming call: “🍯 Oscar Piastri”
🐢 Charles
why is oscar calling me what’s going on
did he set fire to something again
🐎 Carlos Sainz
pick up bb 💅
🐢 Charles
NEVER call me that again
charles hesitates. then sighs. answers video call.
Oscar is there first, smiling like he didn’t just finish a historic season. Messy curls, oversized hoodie, holding what looks like a saucepan full of cheese. Very normal. Lando is right behind him, leaning into frame like a gremlin, grinning way too hard.
“Charles!” Oscar says brightly. “We miss you.”
“We don’t even work at the same team,” Charles mutters.
“Yeah, and whose fault is that?” Lando says.
“Stop trying to seduce me into papaya,” Charles says. “I’m loyal.”
Lando raises an eyebrow. “Loyal to who exactly? because Ferrari just fed you to Verstappen like a baby lamb.”
“I will not be baited,” Charles says. “I am mature.”
“You cried because I used Comic Sans in a Twitch overlay,” Lando says. “That’s not maturity.”
“IT WAS A DATA CHART! AND YOU ARE IN ASSHOLE FOR BRINGING THAT UP!”
“We love your charts,” Oscar says sincerely.
Charles goes quiet.
lando grins. “Just say the word and you’ll be chief engineer at McLaren. full perks. Oscar in a bowtie. me shirtless. think about it.”
Charles, blankly: “what the fuck is this team dynamic.”
Lando winks. “Irresistible.”
Charles ends the call. immediately. throws his phone onto the couch again, and groans into the floor.
He will be normal about none of this.
He groans, rolls halfway onto his side and blindly grabs his phone again. His thumb hovers over the little green WhatsApp icon like it personally betrayed him. Which, it did.
He was going to open Tumblr. That was the plan. Escape to the soft fanfiction underworld where everyone thinks he’s just a passionate Italian fan with too many opinions and a suspicious amount of insider knowledge. But first—
“Fine,” he mutters aloud. “What did Arthur want.”
He opens the group chat.
🧠 RACE BRAINZ 🧠
(Participants: Charles, Arthur, Carlos, Sebastian)
(aka the one sacred space where Charles is just slightly less likely to commit keyboard violence)
He scrolls back to earlier that morning, because he’d been too busy fake-crying into a gearbox schematic to check. Arthur had sent:
👶 Arthur
GUYS
GUYS
EVERYONE SHUT UP
LOOK WHAT I FOUND
Attached: a grainy screenshot of a 2017 Karting Championship YouTube video.
The freeze-frame? 13-year-old Max and 14-year-old Charles in mid-shove, helmets off, both red-faced and screaming in Dutch-French chaos while an official tries to separate them. Charles’ hair is doing a truly awful flop thing. Max looks like a feral cat who just lost a fish.
👶 Arthur
LOOK AT U TWO
UR ENEMIES TO LOVERS CODE
U’VE BEEN FERAL SINCE BIRTH
🐎 Carlos
he has a point
this is like the prequel to 2026
a cinematic universe
👶 Arthur
"Lestappen: Origins"
👑 Sebastian
What’s lestappen?
👶 Arthur
Leclerc+Vestappen
🐎 Carlos
As someone who had to tolerate Max in his rookie yrs,
Ik a thing or two abt lestappennn
👶 Arthur
fam is it real????
🐎 Carlos
Wouldn’t you like to know, weather boy.
👑 Sebastian
I don’t get what is going on, but I respect the hustle.
👶 Arthur
if you they don’t kiss in the garage by race 3 i’m crying
🐢 Charles
what the FUCK is going on here
👑 Sebastian
good morning charlie. did you eat breakfast.
🐢 Charles
DO NOT GOOD MORNING ME.
did you all forget i WORK here. i am going to be VERSTAPPEN’S engineer. i am going to be STUCK with him for an ENTIRE SEASON
i’m not kissing anything unless it’s the maranello and my own grave
🐎 Carlos
he’s panicking again
it’s happening
👶 Arthur
deep breaths charlie. breathe in data, breathe out despair
👑 Sebastian
you’re doing amazing sweetie
🐢 Charles
i will replace all your server data with rickrolls
🐎 Carlos
too late. lando already did that to my red bull sim server
i opened a file called “cold tire delta - monza” and it just screamed “NEVER GONNA GIVE YOU UP” at 130db
👶 Arthur
i’m still laughing
🐢 Charles
i am quitting. i am becoming a monk. i will live in the hills and repair old radios. don’t talk to me ever again.
👑 Sebastian
does the monastery need a driver. i still have my helmet.
🐢 Charles
I HATE YOU ALL
👑 Sebastian
that’s the spirit ferrari prince 😌
👶 Arthur
Shouldn’t we add max to the grp tho?
Since hes the soontobe charles-victim
🐎 Carlos
I think Charles is gonna be the victim in this scenario
🐢 Charles
NO ONES ADDING ANYONE INTO THIS GRP
👶 Arthur
But this group is dedicated to every driver who has ever had you as their engineer
🐢 Charles
DO.NOT.ADD.MAX
Unless you want to be disowned.
👑 Sebastian
You are very aggressive.
Leave that to Max. You should be the Vettel to Max’s Webber.
👶 Arthur
Did you just refer to yourself in third person
👑 Sebastian
Indeed
🐢 Charles
I’m blocking all of you. Goodbye.
🐎 Carlos
he’s spiralling but it’s fine
he just needs a warm blanket and a torque map
👶 Arthur
or like. idk. a hug from max
🐢 Charles
🧍♂️
👑 Sebastian
beautiful silence. the rage is ripening
🐢 Charles
i am closing this app.
i am unfriending everyone.
i am becoming a pigeon.
🐎 Carlos
u said u were gonna be a toaster last time
🐢 Charles
pigeon toaster hybrid. apex predator. do not test me.
👶 Arthur
max doesn’t stand a chance 😭😭😭
🐢 Charles
IF YOU TAG ME IN A SINGLE MORE FAN EDIT OF ME AND THAT MAN I WILL EJECT MYSELF FROM THIS CHAT INTO SPACE
👑 Sebastian
love wins 😌
👶 Arthur
hm
simply lovely indeed.
Charles exits the chat so hard he almost deletes the app by accident.
Then, in his final act of feral self-care, he reopens Tumblr.
He is ready.
He is armed.
He is emotionally unstable.
Time to scroll.
Charles adjusts his weight under the blanket like a sentient tortilla and opens Tumblr again. He’s under a mountain of fleece, holding his phone two inches from his face like it’s his lifeline. His brain is warm soup. His heart is cold ravioli. But he is coping.
He’s back on @lordperceval—his Tumblr alter ego, the chaotic Ferrari fan who lives to scream into the void and make unnecessarily poetic meme tags about car setups. No one knows he’s Charles Leclerc, Ferrari race engineer. On this account, he’s just a vaguely Italian guy with passion, bad grammar, and high-level access to pit wall gossip that everyone assumes is just fanfiction.
He scrolls. Likes a post about Ferrari livery redesign rumors. Reblogs a gif of Carlos kissing his trophy in Monza 2024 with the caption “i can fix him (but why would i want to. he’s perfect)” and the tag #weweresomethingdon’tyouthink?
He’s just about to go full meltdown in the tags of a post about Leclerc Family Curse Theories when he sees it.
@franzhermann has posted.
🔁 @franzhermann
i know everyone’s panicking about carlos leaving and max joining ferrari but like.
can we take a second to appreciate how completely insane it is that charles leclerc is going to be in max’s ear all season
that’s the enemies to soulmates pipeline right there
max: "box now?"
charles: "you deserve to suffer."
peak romance
#charmax #feralfamily #ferrari #teamradioisforeplay
Charles stares at it.
He scrolls down.
There’s another one from earlier that day:
🔁 @franzhermann
sometimes i think about charles leclerc being a literal genius who chose not to be a driver just to give arthur a chance
and now he’s ferrari’s secret weapon with the soft voice and the murder spreadsheets
i want him biblically
#charlesleclerc #engineerbrain #yesiamnormal
Charles physically drops his phone onto his chest like it just confessed to arson.
“Oh my goodness,” he mutters.
Then picks it up again, because of course he does.
He scrolls through the rest of @franzhermann’s blog.
It’s a wonderland of Ferrari thirst, chaotic text posts, and alarming Charles Leclerc brainrot.
“charles leclerc speaks like he’s defusing a bomb and also like he’s in love with the bomb”
“his hands. his VOICE. i’m not normal about it and i never will be”
“the way he says ‘we are checking’ makes me want to write a sonnet”
“he wears button-downs like a man who’s hiding something. probably a doctorate and a devastating secret”
Charles clutches his own face.
This person is in love with him.
Well. With the idea of him. Which is arguably worse.
Or better?
Or—
He opens the DMs.
And against every single molecule of better judgment, he types:
lordperceval:
i think your takes on charles leclerc are very strong
and by strong i mean. emotionally damaging
respectfully. i feel wounded.
Typing...
A response comes back almost immediately.
franzhermann:
IFIHBJVCDUHIJKN
LORD PERCEVAL HAS ENTERED THE CHAT
hello?? i am your HUGEST fan. you’re the only person on this hellsite who knows how to tag properly
you once said “charles leclerc is the last romantic left in motorsport and that’s concerning” and i haven’t emotionally recovered
Charles makes a sound. A little strangled inhale. Panic? Flattery? Existential collapse? Unclear.
He types again:
lordperceval:
your blog is unwell. i feel spiritually threatened in the best way
who hurt you. was it ferrari. it was ferrari, wasn’t it
franzhermann:
ferrari has been hurting me since 2012 and i say thank you every time
but also. i just think about charles a lot. like. a lot. like. unhealthy amounts
lordperceval:
you don’t say
franzhermann:
he’s just so. weird and sharp and quietly unhinged and employed
it’s hot
Charles short-circuits.
lordperceval:
you are being so bold for someone i now fear
franzhermann:
i’m not even in my final form
anyway i’m glad you’re here because you’re one of the only ones not posting charmax hate right now
people keep acting like charles is going to explode or something and it’s like??? he’s a professional??? he’s just going to quietly lose his mind and do a perfect job while secretly plotting his revenge
Charles inhales so hard he nearly swallows his own tongue.
He replies:
lordperceval:
i think he dreams in tire compounds and trauma
franzhermann:
YES. YES EXACTLY.
do you think he ever sleeps? i feel like he goes into hibernation mode and wakes up with a new data file and a fresh vendetta
lordperceval:
he’s like a squirrel. if the squirrel also had three degrees and a revenge plan
franzhermann:
oh my goodness
marry me
Charles chokes.
Then, slower:
lordperceval:
you talk about him like he’s a tragic romance novel protagonist
franzhermann:
that’s because he is
like imagine being brilliant and beautiful and soft-voiced and forever in the background while drivers get the glory
and he does it with grace
and a little bit of homicide energy
he’s literally peak fiction
Charles stares at the screen, heart hammering like he’s just done a double shift on the pit wall.
Someone out there thinks he’s literary.
Someone out there thinks he’s the main character.
He wants to die. He wants to live forever. He wants to frame this conversation.
Instead, he types:
lordperceval:
i think you are unwell in the most beautiful way
and i would like to subscribe to your charles newsletter
franzhermann:
it’s daily. it’s feral. it includes at least three poems about his voice
lordperceval:
i’m already crying
Charles is screaming. Quietly. Internally. In Italian.
He’s lying horizontal on his couch, blanket burrito pulled tight, phone balanced dangerously on the edge of his chest, staring wide-eyed at the DM thread with a total stranger who is, somehow, more obsessed with Charles Leclerc than Charles Leclerc is.
And that is saying something. Because Charles is Charles Leclerc.
And this? This is unhinged soulmate behavior.
franzhermann:
i’m so serious
you’re like the only other person here who understands the Vibes
like. the man could read an engine error code and i’d be halfway to proposing
Charles lets out a strangled wheeze.
What is he supposed to do with that? Frame it? Print it out and eat it like communion?
He responds.
lordperceval:
bold of you to assume he isn’t already married to the error codes
i bet he reads fault logs like love letters
franzhermann:
oh my
yes
exactly
he’d be like “the cylinder misfired once in lap 14” and i’d be like “yes baby tell me more”
i want to know what haunts him. i want to be what haunts him.
Charles makes a noise that can only be described as a muffled aaAAHHH. He kicks his legs. His blanket shifts dangerously. His phone nearly slides off his chest and into the shadow realm. He grabs it with both hands like it's the Holy Grail.
He types with shaky fingers:
lordperceval:
do you… talk about everyone like this
or is charles leclerc just your roman empire
franzhermann:
he’s my roman empire
he’s my carthage. my waterloo. my battle of thermopylae
i think about him before i fall asleep and when i wake up and sometimes when i’m refilling the windshield wash fluid at work
lordperceval:
you talk about him like he’s a religion
franzhermann:
he’s not a religion. he’s the reason i believe in one.
Charles screams again, this time into the crook of his arm. He's blushing so hard he feels like his skin is glowing.
He lies there for a few seconds, heart rate completely out of control, before finally replying.
lordperceval:
okay wait
pause
you refill windshield fluid for work??
franzhermann:
oh lol yeah
i work at a gas station
i do the cash register and sometimes check tires
it’s not glamorous but it pays for my f1 merch addiction
lordperceval:
i respect that. you are the economy’s backbone
franzhermann:
what about you?
you give off barista energy. or like. architect who cries about curb design
lordperceval:
close
i work at an ice cream shop
we do like 47 flavors and i hate half of them
franzhermann:
that’s incredible
do you judge people based on their orders
lordperceval:
ruthlessly
if you get mint chip i assume you want to start fights
if you get lemon sorbet i assume you are clinically pure of heart
franzhermann:
charles leclerc is 100% a lemon sorbet man
soft. mysterious. would cry during a dog movie
Charles lets out a long, high-pitched whimper and hides under the blanket.
It’s not just that he’s being complimented. It’s not just that someone is saying he's brilliant, soft-voiced, mysterious, basically a tragic romance protagonist with hot hands and weaponised trauma.
It’s that they mean it.
This stranger—this gas station German F1 tumblr person with too much power—genuinely thinks Charles is this grand, poetic thing. A quiet force of genius and emotional gravity.
It’s too much. It’s everything.
He pokes his head out of the blanket again and types, slowly:
lordperceval:
i feel like i should learn your actual name before i marry you for your metaphors
franzhermann:
lmaooo fair
i’m franz
not my real name but that’s what i go by here
you?
lordperceval:
perceval
also not real. just very attached to dramatic knights and heartbreak
franzhermann:
ok wait
that’s so hot
lordperceval:
you’re one to talk
franz sounds like a guy who composes symphonies and also threatens people with fencing swords
franzhermann:
this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me
do you wanna like. message forever
talk about charles and cars and ice cream classism
lordperceval:
i literally never want to stop
Charles stares at the screen.
His hands are buzzing. His cheeks hurt from smiling.
He doesn’t know what this is—some kind of tumblr-induced emotional fever dream, probably—but for the first time since he found out Max Fucking Verstappen was joining Ferrari, Charles feels like the ground under him isn’t tilting sideways.
Someone sees him.
Well—not him. But the weird, quiet, brilliant, caffeinated, deeply romantic ghost-version of him.
It’s enough. For now.
He sinks back into the couch, tucks the blanket around his shoulders like a coronation robe, and types one last message before locking his phone:
lordperceval:
okay but seriously
if charles leclerc ever says “box now” to max like he used to say it to carlos
i’m going to ascend the astral plane
franzhermann:
if he says “box now” with emotion
i’m going to buy a ring and propose
Charles laughs again, hand pressed flat over his chest like he’s trying to keep his heart from doing a somersault. He’s warm. And not just because he’s blanketed and burrito’d in three layers of fleece and emotional repression. No. He’s warm like someone just handed him the exact shape of his own weirdness and told him it was beautiful.
He presses the phone to his chest and closes his eyes.
Outside, it’s raining over Monaco in soft waves. Inside, it’s just Charles, a dented couch, the ghost of espresso past, and someone on the internet who thinks he’s made of poetry.
Max Verstappen may be coming to Ferrari.
Carlos may be gone.
Maranello may call in three days and demand another spreadsheet on “aggressive overtaker response mitigation.”
But right now, he has a blog called @lordperceval.
And he has a friend named @franzhermann who says things like:
“charles leclerc dreams in tire compounds and trauma.”
And maybe—just maybe—he doesn’t mind being a little haunted, if someone out there is haunted back.
He lets the quiet take over, and lets himself drift.
For the first time in weeks, Charles Leclerc sleeps easy.