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Charles stared longingly out the window of the hospitality, not even pretending that he was paying attention to the debrief going on around him. He’d been stuck listening to the engineers and mechanics argue about the car setup for the last hour, and after the third time he’d tried to interject and been ignored, he’d decided it was easier to just stay quiet and let them argue it out. He knew he’d ultimately get the last say, so until they were ready to hear him out, there wasn’t much he could do about it. Instead, he thought about tonight and where he could go for his own little exercise session on the side. Maybe he could ask Pierre to come with him. It’d been a while since he’d had company and he could use a look out.
That, inevitably, made him think about his last visit with his mother and her incessant nagging about whether he’d kept up with his calming exercises. And if that hadn’t been a pointed reminder of what could happen in the middle of a race if he wasn’t careful, he’d eat his helmet. It had only ever truly been a problem once in his life, and since then he’d been obsessive about his pre-race rituals so he could work off the jitters and keep his emotions in check.
The truth was that Charles was an anomaly, a blip in the genealogy tree of the Leclercs. Since he was born, he’d been able to manipulate the energy around him to do his bidding. At first it had been innocuous things, like turning on the lights in his nursery because he was afraid of the dark or turning on the television when he was bored. As he’d grown, so had his abilities, and he’d soon discovered that, if he concentrated hard enough, he could make things move. Usually, he’d just summon innocuous things like his toy car or his blankie. According to his mother, they’d had no idea of his powers until the fateful day when he’d crashed his tricycle as he rode it down their empty street.
The way Pascale told the story, she hadn’t even known he was playing outside until an invisible force had literally yanked her off her feet while she was washing the dishes and flown her from the kitchen and down the street to where Charles had been stuck under his tricycle, crying and bleeding and calling for her. Pascale had pushed down her initial panic until after she had cleaned up her son and put him down for a nap in her bed surrounded by pillow. She had then rushed down to the living room to call Hervé at work and promptly started hyperventilating on the phone as she’d tried to explain to her husband what had happened. She’d never been more grateful to have married the calmest and most collected human being on Earth as he talked her down from a full-blown panic attack. That evening, they had taken Charles to Hervé’s mother, who had beamed happily when they told her the news that her little grandson had inherited the family’s gift.
“No one knows where the power comes from,” she said as she watched Charles race his toy cars on the carpet. “Grand-mère had it. Maman told me that she mostly used it to grow vegetables in the garden and to tidy up the house.”
Pascale stared at her. “But… What is it exactly?”
She shrugged. “I suppose, to us, it is magic. Apparently, Grand-mère once explained that it was like being able to feel and see the energy around her, and manipulating it to do her bidding. So, if little Charles is hurt and wants his mother, but he can’t reach her, then he will manipulate the energy around him, and her, to bring her to him.”
Pascale gaped at her. “That’s…”
“Dangerous? Terrifying?” She sighed. “Yes. It will be a burden more than a blessing. He will have to learn how to control it. Grand-mère used to have terrible fits of wild magic and once nearly destroyed the house.” She shook her head and sighed again. “At least he’s less likely to be burned at the stake nowadays.”
Pascale had paled at that and Hervé had hugged her tightly and kissed her temple. “Don’t worry. We’ll figure it out.”
After that, growing up had been an exercise in trial and error. Once Charles had been old enough to understand that he was different from the rest of his family, and once he understood exactly how much different, he had turned into a living, breathing ball of anxiety. Lorenzo hadn’t helped when he’d told him once that the men in black would come to take him away if he so much as breathed wrong. Charles had been so petrified that night that someone was going to come and take him away that he’d accidentally burst the bathroom pipe while hiding under the sink. The ensuing panic attack had flooded the bathroom and resulted in Lorenzo getting grounded for two months.
But, by the time he was five, Charles had learned to control his abilities well enough that his father had been comfortable letting him participate in the more competitive go-karting circuits. And that, more than anything, had been Charles’s saving grace. The first time he had gotten behind the wheel was like being submerged in the cool waters of the Mediterranean; everything but the track and the kart beneath him had washed away. His mind had calmed and for the first time since he could remember Charles had felt like he could finally breathe.
Of course, life could never be that easy. Despite his grandmother’s warnings about fits of wild magic, he had never lost control, and this had made him and the rest of the family complacent. But toward the end of the 2013 karting season, Charles had come down with a bad case of bronchitis that had knocked him out for nearly a week and a half, and he’d had to play catch up in both his schoolwork and karting practice. This had started a vicious cycle where he got too little sleep, which affected his ability to concentrate and get things done, and this in turn increased his stress, which then affected his ability to sleep.
So, when he got to the Le Mans karting championship weekend, Charles had been a walking, talking, exhausted ball of anxiety ready to burst. He’d been fidgety all day and nothing he did helped. He’d put on his favorite Spotify playlists to try and drown out his anxiety, but he couldn’t shake the butterflies in his stomach, and his hands had been a weird combination of numb and burning. He’d run into Max a couple of times early on during the weekend, and even though they rarely spoke, the other boy had shot him worried looks and had lingered in his peripheral vision for an unreasonably long time.
It had all come to a head halfway through the race. Charles had been too amped up to focus like he knew he should have during qualifying and ended up somewhere in the midfield. He’d had some hope that he could overtake some of the drivers to try and get a podium, but he’d gotten stuck behind a Russian kid who kept blocking him at every turn. Charles could sense his irritation growing, and just as the kid blocked him again, Charles felt his anger literally explode out of him. His whole body felt like he’d been dunked in ice water and his hands burned as he felt a surge of energy shoot out of him so strongly that it momentarily distorted the air in front of him. Almost immediately the right back wheel of the kid’s kart exploded spectacularly, taking out the suspension and other pieces of the kart with it. The debris came flying toward Charles, who instinctively turned his wheel sharply to the left to try and avoid it. That put him in the way of incoming drivers and before Charles knew what had happened, he was in the barriers, his entire body throbbing and his head feeling like it would split open.
He looked around and saw two other karts nearby, the drivers already out and being escorted by the marshals. He tried to undo his seatbelt, but his hands were shaking, and his vision was blurry behind his visor. He felt the nausea rolling around his stomach and as the last of his residual magic leaked out of him, he gave up on getting his seatbelt off and instead scrambled to get his helmet off. He could distantly hear someone nearby, but the voice sounded like it was coming from underwater, and he pushed away the hands that tried to get between him and the straps of his helmet. Finally, he pulled it off his head, and as soon as it hit the ground, he threw up all over himself. The screams of the drivers and marshals around him only served to worsen his headache and Charles gagged one more time before he slumped back into his seat and closed his eyes.
He felt hands all over him, some undoing his seatbelt, others checking his neck and the back of his head. He whimpered softly when at least three pairs of hands lifted him off the kart and onto the gravel, the hands by his head holding his neck steady.
“Hey,” one of the voices said. “Kid, can you open your eyes?” Charles groaned. “What’s your name?”
“Charles,” he whispered, afraid that anything louder would set him off again. “Dad?”
“Charles, can you open your eyes for me?”
“Where’s dad?”
“Charles.” The voice sounded sterner. “Open your eyes.”
Charles groaned but obeyed nonetheless. “Fuck!” he moaned as the light stabbed into his eyes. He flailed his arms around as he tried to turn on his side, grabbing onto the nearest thing (was that a sleeve?) to help pull himself sideways. He heard yells all around him telling him to stay still, but the noise just made everything worse. He gagged violently as the nausea increased and finally the hands holding him steady turned him sideways like he’d been trying to do just as his stomach cramped and his throat spasmed. He could feel the bile sliding down his cheek and he sobbed softly as he pressed his head into the hands holding his neck steady.
He felt drained.
“Charles, we’re going to roll you onto the backboard so we can take you to the medical center, okay?” Charles sobbed softly at the thought of having to move. “Charles, it’s okay, we got you. Just relax, okay?”
“Okay,” he whispered.
The next few hours were a blur of exhaustion and pain. He vaguely remembered being strapped down onto something hard and placed in what he assumed was an ambulance. The next thing he knew he was in a bed and his father was there, holding his hand tightly and pushing his bangs off his forehead. Despite the pain and nausea, he sighed contently, finally feeling safe. Although the doctors diagnosed a moderate concussion and made him stay overnight for monitoring, he knew they were wrong. When he’d explained to his father what had happened, the older man had pressed his lips into a tight line and frowned.
“Wild magic.”
Charles hummed. “Yeah. That’s what it felt like.”
“I’m sorry, Charles,” Hervé sighed as he ran his fingers through Charles’s hair. “Mamie warned us this could happen, but to be honest, I don’t think I quite understood how dangerous it could be.”
“It’s not your fault, papa. I think… I think my body tried to warn me before. All day I felt so… I can’t even describe it. Like there were ants crawling under my skin. I just couldn’t relax, and it almost felt like something wanted to get out. I should have told you something was wrong.”
“Charles,” Hervé admonished. “You’re still a child and I’m your father. It’s my job to make sure you’re okay.”
“And we’re all still learning about these powers, papa. It’s not like there’s anyone alive that could have told us this would happen. And Mamie’s warning was so vague,” Charles refuted, refusing to let his father take all the blame. “You know what Jules always says.”
His father smiled. “We’ll learn from this and come back stronger next time. Alright, Charlie.” He leaned over and kissed Charles’s forehead. “We’ll figure something out to make sure this doesn’t happen again.”
Except now, over a decade later, here he was facing down the barrel of the same gun. After the last couple of seasons where he had seen his championship hopes slip away due to one strategy blunder after another, the powers that be at Ferrari had finally decided enough was enough and had forced Mattia to revamp the entire strategy team, starting with a new Director of Race Strategy and new race engineers for both himself and Carlos. He almost felt bad when he thought about it, but, truthfully, he’d been relieved when Xavi had been let go; he’d lost all confidence in his race engineer. Last season alone he had defied pit wall orders at least once every couple of races and he’d refused to apologize for calling his own strategies at times. But the new team was good. Luca and he had hit it off almost instantly, and the man had clearly done his homework on Charles and his racing technique. He seemed to understand exactly what Charles needed during a race and he’d made some brilliant strategic calls for him since the beginning of the season.
Of course, like with any new team, there had been some tension at the start of the season while they got used to each other, especially when it came to team orders. But whenever they had needed to do it, the order had been called within a few corners instead of laps. Needless to say, the lack of battles with Carlos on track was a breath of fresh air for Charles after the last suffocating few years where he had found himself more than once under pressure from behind while Carlos refused to yield. He felt bad for the Spaniard, but he’d decided to take a page out of Max’s book and be a little selfish; there was no denying that he was the faster driver this year.
This new dynamic meant that Charles had started the season with a bang and now, almost at the halfway mark, he was thirty points ahead of Max for the championship with eleven races to go. Still too close for comfort, but this was the best position he’d ever been in during a season. Unfortunately, this meant longer debriefs, more time spent with the mechanics testing out the car, more time discussing race strategy with Luca, and more time with Carlos shooting the shit so they could both air out their frustrations about the season and about each other in a desperate attempt to avoid any resentment from building up. It seemed to be working so far because Charles didn’t feel the same tension with Carlos that he’d experienced with Seb. Carlos was still chill and supportive, and although he was angry that he wasn’t doing better, it didn’t seem like he was blaming Charles for it.
And Charles was pretty sure that if Carlos was angry with him, Lando would have had some choice words for him.
But all this meant that Charles hadn’t been sleeping or eating as well as he should have, and he was more stressed out than he’d ever been in his life. He’d woken up that morning feeling like his skin was stretched too thin and like something was desperately trying to crawl out of him. He’d recognized the sensation immediately and spent the thirty minutes before breakfast using his powers to make his bed and fold all the clothes strewn about the hotel room. It had taken the edge off enough that he’d been able to drive through FP1 and FP2 without incident, but by the time he sat down for the debrief he felt worse than when he’d woken up. The ball of anxiety he carried constantly felt a little bigger with every passing race, and he knew he was reaching his breaking point and that he needed to burn off some major magical excess before the next race. Ignoring the team as they continued to argue around him, he opened his chat with Pierre.
Charles
Maggots in 30 minutes?
Calamar
Is it magic time?
Charles
Omg non STFU I told u to never call it that
Calamar
😁 🦑
Charles sighed and closed his eyes, pressing his index and middle fingers to the side of his nose under his right eye as hard as he could; he could feel a migraine coming on. He felt a small nudge on his arm and cracked an eye open to look at Carlos. He was met with raised eyebrows and when Carlos glanced down, Charles followed his gaze and huffed at the packet of pain pills Carlos was jiggling at him under the table. He surreptitiously grabbed the packet and popped two pills, swallowing them with a sip of water. He shot Carlos a grateful smile and watched as Carlos rolled his eyes at the team discussion still going strong around them.
Charles managed another ten minutes before he ran out of patience. “Enough!” he shouted, not feeling any guilt whatsoever when everyone immediately stopped talking and looked at him like a herd of deer caught in headlights. “I really appreciate all the effort, but we’re going with the set-up Ignacio proposed. Considering the weather tomorrow, there’ll probably be high tyre deg and his set-up will help us manage the tyres.”
“I agree,” Carlos said. “And since that’s now resolved, Charles and I will see you all tomorrow.”
Before anyone could say anything, Carlos grabbed him by the elbow and dragged him out of the room. Charles let himself be led all the way down to the lobby and out the door of the hospitality before Carlos let him go.
“Thanks,” he smiled.
“Migraine?” he asked and Charles grimaced. “You should get some rest. Don’t want to have one during quali.”
“Yeah. I just gotta do something with Pierre first, and then I’ll get some rest.”
Carlos nodded and slapped him on the shoulder before he headed off. Charles sighed as he watched him go, his right index and middle fingers coming back up to press against his sinus in a fruitless effort to relieve the growing pressure in his head. He made his way onto the track and walked mindlessly toward where he hoped Pierre would be waiting. The day the Frenchman had found out about Charles’s abilities had been the scariest but also the most freeing day of Charles’s life, and for now he was the only person on the grid who knew. Although, sometimes, Charles suspected that Sebastian might know, or at the very least that the German thought that Charles was hiding something. But Seb had never said anything; he’d just given him this look whenever Charles felt like everything was too much, and the next thing he knew Charles had been talked into some sort of draining physical activity like a 20km bike ride around whatever town they were in that week or a game of football with some of the mechanics.
As Charles approached Maggots, he could see a figure sitting on the grass and he smiled softly. He plopped down next to Pierre and all but threw himself backward onto the grass, spreading his arms and legs wide and letting out a long loud exhale.
Pierre poked him in the shoulder. “So dramatic. Tough meeting?”
Charles closed his eyes. “They just kept arguing about the set up for tomorrow.”
Pierre hummed. “Well, you’ve kept me waiting for 10 minutes, so let’s go Pretty Solider Sailor Perceval. Do your magic.”
Charles groaned and blindly flailed his arm in the general direction of his friend in the hopes of hitting him in the nuts. “Stop calling me that and stop calling it magic!”
Pierre just laughed and Charles smirked at the sound. He breathed in deeply and let his hands splay wide open on the grass. He concentrated on the feeling of the blades under his fingertips and that deep, chaotic energy within him, and let it seep out as he exhaled. He imagined a field of lavender like the ones in Provence where he used to go to with his family when he was younger. He imagined the smell of the flowers and the buzz of the bees as they flew around the fields. He imagined the warm sunshine on his face and the sweat on his brow as he ran across the dry earth. He took in another deep breath and thought about those summer days when everything was easier and his family was still whole.
He heard Pierre’s soft gasp and slowly blinked his eyes open. He turned his head sideways and smiled as all around them the dry, destroyed grass around Maggots had become a veritable field of lavender.
“This will never get old,” Pierre whispered in awe. He raised a hand to touch the delicate flowers in front of him and grinned. “We should make flower crowns.”
Charles laughed. “Sure, why not. Do you still remember how?”
“You dare question my flower crown making prowess? I will let you know that Madeleine was very impressed with the crown I made her.”
“We were ten!” Charles grinned. “No way you still remember.”
“It’s a question of honor now!” Pierre exclaimed as he plucked several stems around them and started weaving them together.
Charles watched him weave the flowers together, and when he was nearly done Charles grabbed a few flowers and concentrated, watching with immense satisfaction as they weaved themselves into a flawless crown.
“Cheater,” Pierre mumbled as he finished his crown and plopped it on Charles’s head.
Charles grinned. “Aw, don’t be bitter Pierre. You can have the magical one,” he teased as he delicately levitated the crown he’d made and plopped it on Pierre’s head.
Pierre touched it gently and hummed thoughtfully. “Can you make it so it does not wilt?”
Charles blinked at him. “Huh. I don’t know.”
“Want to try?”
Charles bit his lip. Pierre sat quietly next to him, letting Charles think it over while he played with the flowers in front of him. Finally, after a few minutes, Charles silently shook his head, his green eyes glowing a little brighter as more flowers bloomed around them. Pierre didn’t say anything, just gave his friend the space he needed.
“It’s…” Charles started but stopped, frowning as tried to put his feelings into words. “It doesn’t feel right.”
“Okay,” Pierre said, no questions asked. Charles smiled at him gratefully. “How are you feeling now?”
“Better,” Charles responded as he shook out his hands. He was still anxious and tired, but he no longer felt like his skin was too small and ready to explode at any second. “Thanks for coming out with me.”
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Calamar.”
Max stared uncomprehendingly at the flowers in the middle of the track. He’d been out getting some air before meeting up with Lando for dinner when he’d spotted Pierre and Charles sitting on the grass. He’d debated going over to say hi but before he could make up his mind the entire area had exploded into a field of lavender, the stems as tall and the flowers as beautiful as if it were the height of the season in Provence.
“What the fuck?” he whispered to himself as he cautiously made his way to the edge of the field and slowly reached out a hand to the blooming flowers. When he touched the stalk, he pulled his hand back as if he’d been burned. “How in the hell?”
The flowers were real. Where before there had been a run-off grassy area now stood an entire field of the tallest lavender blooms he’d ever seen, reaching up to his mid-thigh. He gently touched the nearest flower and plucked it, holding it up to his nose and inhaling its fragrant scent. He looked around but nothing else had changed, just the patch where Charles and Pierre had been sitting. He could faintly hear them talking in French, but he couldn’t make out enough of what they were saying to have a hope of understanding them even with his limited French. He also couldn’t see them amidst the field, but that didn’t surprise him since they’d both been sitting down, and the stalks would be taller than their heads. Max thought about venturing into the field to try and find them but he hesitated.
This… This wasn’t normal. Fields of lavender didn’t just appear out of nowhere. Except that this one clearly had, and since the only other people around were Charles and Pierre, one of them had to be responsible for this. But… that was impossible. How could they even be responsible for whatever this was? But even as he thought this, Max knew this had to have been Charles’s doing. He’d always known Charles was… different. For years now he’d chalked up all the weird things that happened around Charles as stress-induced delusions and a wild imagination. A pen floating in the air next to his notepad, lights flicking out in his motorhome after he’d closed the door behind himself as he walked out into the paddock, spilled water on his polo instantly drying as he waved a hand in front of it.
The replay of a race where a kid’s back wheel had exploded, the air around it shimmering when Max had paused the video right before the accident. A distortion Max had blamed on shitty image quality even though the rest of the video had been perfectly fine.
Max watched with wide eyes as the field somehow grew, expanding another few feet onto the gravel.
Magic Max’s brain supplied, and he nearly snorted at the thought. That was absurd. Magic wasn’t real. Magic didn’t exist. Magic…
“Huh,” he muttered as he stared at the lavender flower in his hand.
His phone buzzed in his pocket and he fished it out, cursing silently at Lando’s text asking him where he was. He looked at the lavender field one last time before he turned around and jogged back to the paddock, the lone flower still clutched in his hand.
“What’s that?” Lando asked when he met him in front of the Red Bull hospitality.
“Nothing. Do you mind waiting a second? I need to do something first.”
Lando shrugged and Max rushed to his driver’s room as the Brit waited for him outside. He grabbed the book he’d started reading last week and delicately placed the flower between the pages. He looked at the book thoughtfully for a second before running back out to where Lando was now waiting while browsing his phone. As they walked to Max’s car, he couldn’t help but fidget nervously with his keys, wondering if he should ask Lando if he knew anything about whatever the hell was up with Charles.
“Spit it out, mate.”
Max startled at his voice and nearly dropped his keys. “What?”
“You clearly got something on your mind,” Lando said as he waved a hand toward Max’s fidgeting. “What up?”
Max bit his lip. “Did you ever notice, I don’t know, weird stuff happening around Charles?” he finally asked.
“Weird stuff? What do you mean?” Lando said as he stopped next to the passenger door.
“I dunno,” Max mumbled as he unlocked the car and got in. “Like…” God, he was going to sound insane. “Stuff you can’t rationally explain.”
Lando raised an eyebrow. “Charles does a lot of weird stuff I can’t rationally explain. Like laugh at your stupid jokes,” Lando teased, and Max couldn’t help the blush that spread over his cheeks.
“Shut up.”
“Or the way he actually enjoys doing these debriefs you two do after quali and races. Totally mental, man.”
“Forget I asked,” Max grumbled as he started the car.
“Or the way he looks at you when you’re not looking, all moony-eyed and––”
“I will throw you out of this car, Norris,” Max threatened and blushed harder when his friend laughed uproariously.
Maybe Max should ask someone closer to Charles.
The next day, Max hesitated as he lingered a few meters away from the Aston Martin hospitality. He’d thought of asking Pierre but figured the Frenchman would tell him to fuck off. And there was no way he could ask Charles about it; if he had magical powers he’d do his best to keep that a secret and he sure as shit would never willingly tell another driver about it. Instead, he thought his best bet was to ask one of Charles’s teammates since hiding anything from teammates tended to be an exercise in futility. Marcus Ericsson probably didn’t know anything; it’s not like he had given two fucks about Charles as a teammate so the chances of him having noticed anything unusual about Charles during the one season they shared in F1 was slim to none. Carlos was a good bet but based on how loud and long Lando had laughed at him when Max had tentatively brought it up last night, he figured Carlos didn’t know anything. Of course, it was always possible that Carlos knew and hadn’t said anything to Lando, but somehow Max doubted that he wouldn’t have even hinted at it to the Brit, even in passing; those two practically shared everything.
That left Sebastian. Usually, Max had no problem seeking out the German driver to ask for advice or just to shoot the shit and reminisce about his days at Red Bull, but this was different. Sebastian was protective of the drivers in general, but even more so toward those he’d taken under his wings. And rumor had it that he had a protective streak a mile wide when it came to Charles, much more than anyone would have guessed based on their contentious first season at Ferrari. But if anyone could win over their rivals it would be Charles, with his dumb humor, and stupid laugh, and the way he just cared.
Max would know.
“Come on, Max,” he whispered as he tried to give himself a pep-talk. “Don’t be a baby. Just, go in there and talk to Seb.”
He took a couple of hesitant steps toward the green monster that passed for a hospitality and stopped before he’d even fully crossed the lane. He groaned at himself as he turned around and walked all the way back to the wall, thumping his head against it and hooking his fingers behind his neck. Where was that renowned Dutch courage when he needed it? If he was freaking out about asking Seb before he even walked in, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to go through with it.
But he needed to know. Last night already felt like a dream and if it weren’t for the lone lavender flower currently drying between the pages of his book, he’d think he’d imagined the whole thing. Except that he didn’t have a good enough imagination to dream up an entire field of lavender suddenly sprouting over the track at Maggots, only for it to just as suddenly disappear overnight; he’d checked first thing this morning when he’d gotten in.
A small cough behind him caused his heartrate to spike as he whirled around, only to come face to face with the man himself.
“Hey, Seb,” Max said as he leaned back against the wall and desperately tried to pretend like it was totally normal for him to be freaking out outside the Aston Martin hospitality.
“Hello, Max Emilian,” Sebastian replied, a small little half smirk on his lips. Max tried to stop himself from squirming at the use of his full name. “Lance said you’ve been pacing out here for the better part of 20 minutes.”
Oh man, I’m so fucked.
Sebastian waited a few seconds before he leaned back on his heels and shoved his hands in his pockets. “Anything I can help you with? I’m assuming you’re not here to talk to Lance. Or to talk to Lawrence.”
Max crossed his arms in front of his chest defensively. “I could be.” Sebastian raised a single eyebrow at him and Max immediately deflated. Fucking dad energy. “I…”
He glanced around and spotted several cameramen and reporters nearby, and promptly clammed up. He couldn’t do this out here, not with so many people around and with so many hot mics just waiting to pick up on their conversation. This was going to be by far one of the most delicate conversations he’d ever had, and he’d be damned if he accidentally outed Charles as a whateverthefuck he was because he didn’t think to move this to somewhere more private. Some of that must have shown on his face because the next thing he knew Sebastian was gently ushering him to his driver’s room.
“This isn’t exactly soundproof, but it’s the closest thing we’ll get to privacy,” the older driver said as he sat down on his couch and motioned for Max to do the same.
Max watched him warily for a second before following suit. He leaned forward and placed his elbows on his knees and stared at the ground between his legs. Silence fell over them as Sebastian gave him as much time as he needed to put his thoughts in order. In the end, Max decided to just rip off the band aid.
“Is Charles magic?”
Sebastian stiffened next to him, and Max watched, bewildered, as he got up and walked to a set of speakers on the other side of the room near the doors. The next thing he knew, Sebastian had plugged in his phone and turned on the most obnoxious screeching German music Max had ever heard.
“What the fuck, mate,” Max tried to shout over the music.
Sebastian sat back down so close to him that he was almost on Max’s lap. “Warn a guy first next time, would you?” Sebastian said, clearly annoyed. He was close enough that Max could hear him without having to shout despite the music.
“What’s with this shit? You trying to rupture my eardrums?”
Sebastian leveled him with an unimpressed glare. “You just asked me if Charles is magic. You really think I’m going to have this conversation without taking some kind of precaution?”
Max blinked at him stupidly. Holy fuck, Charles was magic. Well, that answered his main question, but now Max had about a million follow-up questions. “How…?”
“I’m not stupid or blind,” Sebastian snorted. “He hides it very well, but he has a harder time when he’s tired or stressed out. And trust me, he was plenty of those two things for the two years we were teammates.”
“Floating pens,” Max replied knowingly.
Sebastian smirked. “More like self-heating coffee cups and non-dimmable lights suddenly dimming whenever he had a migraine. It took me awhile to understand what was going on, but there’s only so many excuses your mind can conjure up before you think the hospitality is either haunted or magical. And since everything happened around Charles…”
“He created an entire field of lavender at Maggots last night.” Both of Sebastian’s eyebrows raised at that. “Pierre was with him.”
“Ah, yes. That does not surprise me. I always figured Pierre would know about it. But a whole field of flowers?”
“The flowers were super high, mid-thigh, and as I stood there more of them erupted from the gravel. They were all gone this morning, like they’d never even been there.”
Sebastian whistled softly. “Well, that’s way more intricate than anything I’ve ever seen him do.”
“But, how?” Max asked dumbly.
Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t know. I never told him I knew, but I think he knows that I know.” Max smirked and Sebastian rolled his eyes. “Yes, that old ‘he knows that I know that he knows’ thing. But there were some… incidents, shall we call them?” Max snorted at the word and Sebastian smiled knowingly. “Especially during our first season, that happened while I was nearby. Charles always acted like a spooked cat for days after, so I pretended that I did not notice anything. But he always seemed suspicious.”
“Do you think he uses his whatever it is during races?” Max asked hesitantly. It didn’t really seem like something Charles would do, but Max had no illusions that he would have if he could have gained an advantage.
“No,” Sebastian answered immediately.
“How do you know?” Max challenged.
Sebastian scoffed. “If you truly believe that, then you don’t know Charles at all.”
“Yeah, I know. I just had to ask,” Max shrugged.
“Because you would.” Max shrugged again and Sebastian hummed. “At your age, I probably would have too. It’s what makes Charles a better man.”
“So, what now?” Max asked as he picked at the fabric of his jeans over his knee.
“What do you mean?”
“What do I do with this? I can’t just… Not say anything to him. I know now,” Max said, trying to explain the jumbled feelings in his chest.
Sebastian shrugged. “I don’t know, Max. I chose not to say anything, but that’s up to you. Just, be careful, yeah?”
Max nodded and pushed himself up. “Thanks, Seb. It’s good to know I’m not crazy.”
“Anytime, kid,” Sebastian smiled in response.
Max was acting weird. At first, Charles thought he was imagining things, but four races into the second half of the season and he knew something was up with Max. Charles was (amazingly, incredibly, unbelievably) still leading the WDC with a thin margin of 27 points separating him from Max. Charles had to admit that this season was by far the most fun he’d ever had on track, each of his wins and each of his battles against Max and the other drivers absolutely exhilarating. And although Max had always thrived on competition, now he was acting weird.
It wasn’t anything overt, which was probably why it took Charles so long to catch on. But it seemed like everywhere he went, Max was there, hovering just beyond Charles’s peripheral vision, lingering like he wasn’t sure what to do. If Charles didn’t know better, he’d think Max was nervous; but that was ridiculous. Max was the most straight-forward person Charles knew, unafraid to speak his mind and uncaring about what most people thought. Besides, what was there to be nervous about?
He'd tried to ask him once while they waited in the cooldown room in Spa, but Max had neatly evaded his question and instead he had distracted him by recounting his multiple overtakes from the midfield in excruciating detail. He was in the middle of describing his overtake on Russell for P2 when Charles realized that he’d never gotten an answer to his original question, and by then they were being called to the podium. After that he’d been too busy celebrating his win with the team to care and he’d decided to stop worrying about it. If Max had something to say, he’d say it. Until then, Charles had a championship to win, and he wasn’t going to let whatever was wrong with Max distract him.
Except that now he was thoroughly distracted for reasons wholly unrelated to Max Verstappen. Monza, as usual, was a shit show. The sea of red never failed to put a smile on Charles’s face but this year felt different. He was coming into the race weekend leading the championship and the pressure on his shoulders felt immense. And to make matters worse, he could feel his powers bubbling just under his skin, pulling it taunt over his muscles and itching to get out. He’d been more diligent about using them since his outing with Pierre at Silverstone, but nothing had prepared him for the sheer magnitude of dealing with Monza as a true championship contender.
It seemed like everywhere he went there was someone begging for his attention, be it the fans or the media. And as much as he loved the Tifosi, this level of attention was overwhelming. He’d brought it up with the team on Thursday after it’d taken him an hour to get from the entrance to the hospitality, and they sheepishly admitted that perhaps they should have thought of hiring more security ahead of the weekend. The unfortunate result was that now Charles had several shadows in the form of security guards that were tasked with accompanying him everywhere he went for the rest of the weekend. This meant that he wouldn’t be able to get away long enough to blow off the stress and his powers thrumming just under his skin.
He managed to make it through FP1 and FP2, but as he made his way back to the hotel after another long and tiring debrief, he felt shaky and sick. He’d seen Pierre around the paddock, and every time his friend had shot him concerned looks that Charles had tried to shrug off. So he was wholly unsurprised when he heard a knock at his door just as he was pulling on his boxers after his shower. He’d been expecting Pierre to show up at some point tonight, and to be honest, he was torn about whether he wanted the company. But a second set of knocking made up his mind.
“Hey, Calamar,” he greeted as he finally opened the door and turned his back to his friend, toweling his hair dry as he walked to his suitcase to get a shirt. “Took you long enough.”
Charles paused when a greeting failed to materialize and he nearly tripped over his own feet when he turned around and saw Max standing in front of the now closed door, a faint blush staining his cheeks as he looked at Charles.
“Um, hi,” Max said hesitantly as he waved one hand stupidly.
“Hi?” Charles replied, towel held tightly in his hands in front of his bare chest. “What… what are you doing here?”
“Oh, uh…” Max said haltingly.
Charles watched, fascinated, as his blush deepened. And then he felt his own face heat up as he realized how incredibly rude that sounded. “Sorry, that was…” He stopped and took a deep breath in an almost futile attempt to center himself. “Let me just put on a shirt. Do you want something to drink?”
“No, I’m good,” Max replied as he stayed by the door, his voice a little higher than normal.
Charles watched him over his shoulder as he grabbed a black shirt and slipped it on. “Do you want to sit?”
Max seemed to startle at the words and Charles once again couldn’t help but think about how weird Max had been acting as the man in question quickly made his way to one of the seats at the little table for two at the other end of the room. Charles grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the mini-fridge and handed one to Max as he sat down on the second chair. He took small sips of his water as he observed Max roll his bottle between his hands and frown at it as if it had insulted his mother.
Charles kicked him softly beneath the table to get his attention. “What’s up? You’ve been acting weird for a few weeks. Finally ready to talk?”
“What? I haven’t been acting weird,” Max denied immediately, his frown now a full-blown scowl.
Charles snorted. “Yes, you have, mate.” He grinned as he nudged Max again. “Come on, spit it out. What’s been on your mind?”
Max grumbled something unintelligible under his breath as he twisted open the water and downed a big gulp. He was silent for a while longer, opening and closing his mouth several times as he clearly tried to find the words he needed. “Are you… okay?” he asked at last.
“Am I okay?” Charles parroted back dumbly.
Max groaned and dropped his head against the table dramatically. Charles couldn’t help his snort and hid his smile behind a hand when Max turned his face so he could glare at him with his cheek smushed into the table. “Shut up.”
“You’re the one slumped over the table while asking me if I’m okay. Where’s that even coming from?”
“You’ve just… You’ve had this look all week.”
“A look?” Charles asked slightly taken aback.
“Yeah,” Max said as he crossed his arms on the table and rested his chin on them so he could stare at Charles’s chest. “This like… Pinched expression. You usually only get that when you’re really stressed out.”
Charles blushed furiously and he was really glad Max was too busy staring at his black shirt to notice. Since when did Max pay enough attention to him to know how his facial expressions reflected his mood? Except that… Max had been acting weird for much longer than the last couple of days.
“I feel like I should be asking you that. You’re the one who’s been acting weird for weeks, Max,” Charles threw back.
“I haven’t been weird,” Max refuted again.
“You’ve been staring at me since Silverstone.” Charles smiled as Max’s cheeks flushed bright red. “I know I’m pretty, but you’re not usually that obvious about it,” Charles teased, pleased when the blush intensified. It was always fun to rile Max up.
“Oh my God, you absolute demon,” Max exclaimed, glaring at him. “You’re so fucking vain.”
Charles smirked. “For good reasons, non?”
Max hid his face into the folds of his arms. “For fuck’s sake, Charles.”
“Why have you been weird?”
“I haven’t been weird,” Max denied.
“Max, why are you being weird?”
“I’m not.”
“Max.”
“Charles.”
“Why are you being weird?”
“Stop that.”
“Why are you being weird?”
“Stop asking me that!”
“Max––”
“Because I saw you grow an entire field of lavender at Maggots and I can’t stop thinking about the fact you’re fucking magical, Charles!”
Charles felt his breath freeze in his lungs and his world screech to a halt. “You what?” he asked, voice soft and shaky.
Max visibly flinched at Charles’s tone and sat up so he could look Charles in the eyes. “I was there, on the track,” Max said softly. “I saw you and Pierre sitting together and I was about to go say hi when…” He mimed an explosion and then put his hands on the table. “Lavender everywhere.”
Charles felt the blood drain from his face and a cold sweat break out all over his body. He watched as Max clenched his hands into fists and looked at him silently, as if daring Charles to contradict him. He wanted to, he tried to, but his mouth was dry, and his breath sat frozen in his lungs as a heavy silence permeated the air between them.
“There were other things, too, but the lavender were impossible to ignore,” Max finally said after a few interminable seconds.
“What things?” Charles whispered, his hands shaking as they clenched around his water bottle.
“I saw a pen floating around you once.” Charles inhaled sharply at that, and he thought his heart would burst out of his chest. “And I saw you spill some water on yourself and you sort of,” Max waved his hand in front of himself, “and the water was gone.”
“Oh my God,” Charles exhaled.
“And…” Max hesitated briefly, and Charles saw as he visibly braced himself. “Well, Le Mans 2013.”
Charles felt like he’d been dropped into the icy depths of the Mediterranean in the middle of December. A deafening roar to the tempo of his pulse started in his ears and he could feel his heart jackhammering in his chest as his lungs desperately tried to suck in air, but everything felt frozen. He needed to get out, he needed to move, he couldn’t be here, this couldn’t be happening, this couldn’t be real.
Something deep within him fractured and exploded, and Charles pushed back from the table as his powers violently lashed out of him. He distantly heard something crack and shatter and he felt splashes of water on his skin, but he was too busy panicking to care. He managed to take a couple of steps away from Max, but he only got as far as the wall before his shaky legs collapsed under him. He instantly curled up into as small a ball as possible, hands tucked under his armpits and head pressed against his knees, as he desperately tried to regulate his breathing. He could see dark spots encroaching on his vision and feel the nausea rolling in his stomach as he continued to shake helplessly.
He whimpered softly and flinched violently when Max’s fingertips touched one of his knees and he felt the irrational urge to apologize to Max as he wrenched his hand away.
“Sorry, I’m sorry,” Max soothed, and Charles whimpered again as he felt his heart rate skyrocket.
I’m going to die, I’m dying, I’m dying, I’m dying
“Please, Charles, what do you need? Tell me what to do,” Max said, his voice somehow cutting through the ringing in Charles’s ears.
“Pierre,” Charles managed to croak between desperate gulps of air. “Pierre.”
Charles closed his eyes tightly and tried to control his breathing like his therapist had taught him, but he felt dizzy and hot, and he couldn’t stop shaking. He tried to concentrate on the feeling of the wall behind his back and the carpet under his feet, but the ringing in his ear made it hard to focus. Eventually, a voice started to cut through the incessant noise, and he heard his name being called over and over again in the same cadence of his mother, the consonants soft and soothing against the panic consuming him. He felt soft fingers on his shoulder and flinched violently, but the hand clamped down on it hard enough to bruise, and the feeling of it suddenly felt grounding.
And then the tapping began, a single finger repeating a pattern against his neck: 1-2-3-4, pause, 1-2-3-4-5-6-7-8. Charles automatically started to breathe with it, letting the finger guide him on when to inhale, when to hold, when to exhale. He could feel his breath catch in his throat every once in a while, the panic threatening to bubble over again, but the familiar voice and the relentless tapping encouraged him to breathe past it.
Four in, hold, eight out.
Four in, hold, eight out.
As his breathing evened out, Charles felt his muscles relaxing and he sagged against the wall. He kept his face hidden in his knees but slowly uncurled his arms, one hand flailing weakly next to him as he searched for Pierre, grabbing onto his hand tightly as soon as it slotted into his own. He shivered slightly from the drying cold sweat and let Pierre pull him against his chest so he could rest his head on his collarbone. He felt a warm blanket being draped over him and instinctively buried his face into the fabric. He could feel Pierre’s voice reverberate in his chest as he spoke to someone, but Charles was too exhausted to care.
Eventually, Pierre started to shrug his shoulder insistently and Charles whined softly as it jostled his head uncomfortably. “Stop that,” he mumbled.
“Come on, Calamar. Let’s get you to bed.”
“No,” Charles whined and tried to bury his face deeper into the crook of Pierre’s neck.
“Charles,” Pierre admonished.
“M’tired,” Charles murmured. “And you’re comfy.”
Pierre laughed softly. “But the floor is not. Come on, Lord Perceval. Up you go,” Pierre said as he shifted into a crouch and started to pull Charles up with him.
“Oh my God,” Charles groaned. “You and Carlos are forbidden from hanging out together.”
“Sure thing, Pretty Soldier Sailor,” Pierre teased.
Charles was about to berate Pierre on his terrible sense of humor when a snort that was distinctively not Pierre’s distracted him. He turned his head toward the sound as Pierre pulled him to his feet and blinked owlishly at the sight of Max standing by the small table. For a second he wondered what Max was doing in his room before the memories came flooding back into his sluggish mind.
Max knew.
Charles froze in place, and he could feel his breath hitching in his lungs again as he stared at Max. The man in question sobered up immediately and took a couple of steps back, his back hitting the wall behind him in a futile attempt to give Charles even more space. But distance in this case didn’t matter, and just as Charles started to tremble, a flick to his ear and a punch to his shoulder startled him enough to snap him out of his downward spiral and swing his gaze back to Pierre instead.
“Putain! What the fuck was that for?” he screeched as he covered his smarting ear with a hand.
“Stop freaking out.” Charles fell silent at the order and let Pierre push him down onto the bed as his friend piled the pillows behind his back to help him sit upright against the headboard. “How are you feeling?”
“For real?” Charles asked, utterly unimpressed by the stupidity of the question.
“Humor me, Charles. This was a really big one,” Pierre said as he sat next to Charles’s hip.
Charles sighed and leaned back against the pillows, closing his eyes and concentrating on his body. “Shaky. And a little lightheaded.”
He heard some shuffling and the sound of the mini fridge opening and closing. He opened his eyes when something cold nudged his arm and he grabbed the bottle of water Pierre held for him. He looked over Pierre’s shoulder and watched as Max slowly moved back toward the small table and leaned against it, arms crossed in front of his chest as he seemed to hunch in on himself. Charles made sure to inhale deeply and exhale slowly before he took a couple of sips of the water.
“So, what set you off?” Pierre asked once Charles had handed over the bottle of water.
Charles wiped his hands down his jeans and squeezed his eyes shut. “Max.”
“Max?” Pierre asked incredulously.
A deafening silence settled in the room and Charles sighed when he saw Pierre half turned so he could glare at Max, who, for his part, refused to look up and instead held himself stiffly.
“He knows,” Charles explained, his voice heavy with meaning, and almost smiled when two pairs of blue eyes looked at him at the same time, one incredulously and one warily.
“He… knows-knows?” Pierre repeated breathlessly. Charles nodded. Pierre looked over his shoulder at Max again and exhaled sharply. “Well… That does explain the panic attack.”
Charles snorted humorlessly.
“How?” Pierre asked, and Charles wasn’t sure whether he was asking him or Max.
“The lavender,” Max replied softly, blue eyes back to staring at the floor. “I was at the track when Charles… At Silverstone.”
“Oh,” Pierre said.
“And other stuff, too, but I thought I’d imagined those.” Pierre raised an eyebrow and Max shrugged. “Floating pens.”
Pierre laughed, startling both drivers. “Yeah, he does have a tendency to do that.”
“Um… I don’t know if I should tell you this now or not but…” Max paused and chewed his lower lip nervously. “I don’t want to freak you out more.”
Charles tensed and reached out to grip Pierre’s shirt. “What is it?” Max hesitated and Charles snapped, “Tell me, Max.”
“Sebastian knows too,” he whispered. “I went to him first because I didn’t think either of you would tell me anything, and he’d already figured it out.”
Charles forced himself to inhale slowly at the information. This was okay. He’d already suspected as much, and Charles trusted Sebastian implicitly. He was actually sort of glad that he wouldn’t have to hide anything from the German anymore, that he’d have someone who understood the pressure he was under both as a title contender and a Ferrari driver. And, he supposed, now he could talk to Max too. Even though they were both fighting for the championship, Max understood the pressures too.
Charles focused on the table behind Max as he thought about the turn his evening had taken and frowned. “Why is the table covered in water?” He glanced over at Max and frowned harder. “And why are you wet?” he asked, pointing to Max’s shirt.
Max blinked and looked down at himself with a frown of his own. “You don’t remember?”
“Remember what?” Charles asked with a feeling of dread. When Max didn’t answer Charles tensed because that could only mean one thing. “Did I…?” He trailed off, not sure he wanted to finish that thought.
“When I told you and you panicked, it was like…” Max waved his hands, struggling for words. “It was like this surge of energy just sort of burst out of you? I don’t really know how to describe it. The water bottles exploded. And the mirror shattered.”
“The mirror?” Charles asked alarmed. “Are you hurt?”
“What? Oh, no. It mostly just cracked and then crumbled. No flying pieces.”
Charles whipped his head to the other side of the room and, sure enough, the mirror that used to hang over the dresser was splintered, chunks of it littering the dresser and the floor. Charles felt dizzy just looking at it; yet another reminder of how volatile, how incredibly destructive, his powers could be.
“You should stay in my room tonight,” Pierre said as he gently squeezed Charles’s hand to get his attention. “And we’ll call reception to warn them that the mirror broke so that whoever comes in here to clean it up doesn’t accidentally cut themselves.”
“What am I going to tell them happened?” Charles asked distressed as he continued to stare at the mess that used to be a mirror.
“Tell them there was a bug and you tried to kill it and accidentally smashed the mirror,” Max proposed.
Charles stared at him incredulously. “That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Hey,” Max cried at the accusation. “My sister did that once when she was younger. Totally plausible.”
“And she was how old?” Charles countered.
“Fifteen. And, to be fair, it was a really big spider.”
Charles snorted. “That’ll just make me look like a baby.” Max grinned and Charles immediately pointed an accusatory finger at him. “No. Stop it. I don’t want to hear it.”
“You’re both babies,” Pierre said as he threw a pair of sweats into Charles’s face, laughing as his friend spluttered and cursed him out. “Put that on and your shoes, and then let’s go.”
Charles grumbled but obeyed, and soon enough all three drivers stood outside Pierre’s door, the Frenchman going in as Charles lingered by the door with Max.
“Sorry if I freaked you out,” he apologized sheepishly. “I just… These powers make me anxious.”
“Why?” Max asked. “I think they’re pretty cool.”
“Are you serious? Did you not see what happened in my room?” Max shrugged and Charles frowned at the nonchalance. “Max, what if that happened in a race?”
“It never has,” he countered.
“It did once.”
“That was karting, and you were much younger. You know how to control it now, don’t you?” Max questioned.
Charles bit his lip. “Sometimes it just… builds and…” He mimed an explosion.
“Can you tell when it’s going to happen? Did you know it would happen today?”
Charles stopped at the question and actually thought about it. Yes, he’d known he was reaching his limit. He’d been stressed and anxious all week, and the insanity that followed him during Monza always meant that his powers were harder to control, more likely to explode. It was why he was more diligent about doing his breathing exercises and he sometimes even threw in some yoga during this weekend, anything to get him centered and to push down the anxiety. That had been exactly his plan when Max had knocked on his door and thrown him for a loop. So, yes, he’d know it could happen this week. But that didn’t mean it was acceptable.
Max seemed to know what he was thinking because he sighed at his silence and punched him softly in the shoulder, a blush staining his cheeks at Charles’s raised eyebrows. “Don’t be a dick, mate. I should be the one apologizing anyway. You only had that outburst because I caught you off guard and sprung this on you. In hindsight, I should have probably told you with Pierre already in the room.”
Charles hummed in agreement. “Yes, that might have saved the mirror.”
“Listen, Charles. I know what you’re going through, with the championship. I’ve been there during my first one in 2021. I know what that kind of pressure is like. Come talk to me, okay? Maybe I can help with your magic,” Max said as he reached forward and squeezed Charles’s wrist.
Charles swallowed the automatic don’t call it that and instead looked down at their joint hands. Max’s hand was warm and gentle on his wrist, and he’d be lying if he said he’d never thought about what it would be like to be friends with Max outside the track. They always talked during race week, seeking each other out for their now infamous debriefs, but Charles had never had the courage to seek out Max in their personal lives. This offer, it was tempting, and Charles desperately wanted to take him up on it.
But…
“Thanks, Max,” he smiled and turned his wrist around so he could squeeze Max’s hand in his for a second before he let go and walked into Pierre’s room, softly closing the door behind him.
Max wasn’t sure what he’d thought would happen once he’d been included in Charles’s very select inner circle of people who knew, but it turned out that not much had changed. They texted a little more, and their post-quali and race debriefs took on a hidden layer of meaning, but overall, there wasn’t much difference. In the month and a half since Monza, Charles had never reached out to ask him for help or to keep him company for what Pierre liked to call his “magic sessions.”
Max tried not to feel upset about it. Just because he was excited about knowing Charles’s secret and getting to see him use his powers didn’t mean that the man himself was remotely happy about this turn of events. He’d clearly been keeping a tight lid on his abilities and, based on his reaction in Monza, he’d obviously had no plans to ever share the information with anyone else. But the fact of the matter was that he knew, and he wanted to be there for Charles. But Max supposed that after living his entire life without asking for help, it was probably not something that Charles necessarily knew how to ask.
He was lounging on his couch surfing his Netflix when he got the text.
Charles
Can I come over?
Max stared at his screen for longer than he cared to admit, heart hammering in his chest.
Max
Of course. Do you need my address?
Charles
I got it from Pierre
Max blinked stupidly at the reply. Charles had gone out of his way to ask Pierre for Max’s address. He wasn’t sure what that meant, but clearly it meant something. Max looked around his apartment and winced when he spied the dirty dishes in the sink and the random clothes on the couch. Right. Time for some fast cleaning. He’d be damned if he gave Charles some sort of reason to make fun of his housekeeping skills or, worse, give him that judgmental, disappointed look of his that people liked to make into GIFs.
He'd just thrown the last of his dirty hoodies into the wash when a knock at his door startled him. He wiped his suddenly sweaty hands on his jeans and opened the door, only to be greeted by a couple of plastic bags full of groceries.
“What the––”
“Want a homecooked meal?” Charles asked him as he peered at Max around the bags.
Max opened the door wider and gestured toward the kitchen in lieu of answering, bemused when Charles toed off his shoes without him having to ask. He watched in silence as Charles very obviously inspected his open concept living room and kitchen and turned around to look at him with both eyebrows raised.
“What?” Max asked defensively. “You were expecting a pigsty?”
Charles shrugged. “You’re an eligible bachelor. I was expecting a bachelor pad.”
“Is your apartment the hot mess you expected mine to be?”
“Never. My mother likes to make surprise inspections to make sure I am not living in filth,” Charles explained as he set the groceries on the counter.
Max barked out a laugh at that and leaned against the counter to look over the tomato sauce, basil, a package of fresh pasta, pancetta, and ground meat. “Oooh, pasta alla Bolognese?”
“Nice accent,” he teased, and Max stuck his tongue out at him. “Hope that’s okay.”
Max nodded enthusiastically and then frowned when Charles started fidgeting with the groceries, his eyes looking everywhere but at Max. “What’s wrong?”
“Well…” Charles hesitated, biting his lip. “Do you mind if I cook with, you know…” He wiggled his fingers slightly and Max felt his jaw drop. “I mean, it’s totally okay if you’re not comfortable with me using my powers. It’s freaky, I get it. I’m sorry I asked. I just thought—”
“Charles,” Max interrupted forcefully. “I would love to see you use your powers.”
“Really?” Charles asked hopefully.
Max nodded. “Yes.”
Charles smiled beatifically and Max won a hard-fought battle to stop his cheeks from flushing bright red at the sight. Charles shifted his attention to the groceries on the counter and as his brows furrowed slightly in concentration and his tongue peaked out between his lips, Max had to stop from visibly reacting as everything in his kitchen suddenly seemed to come alive. He watched as the burner under the cast iron on the stove switched on and the pancetta dropped into the pan. The fridge opened by itself and out came flying an onion, which Charles easily caught in his hand. He looked at it intensely and the next thing Max knew, the onion was peeled, cubed, and browning in the pan with the rendering pancetta. The beef was next, and as the pan sizzled, the saltshaker ground a couple of times over it before the meat stirred around.
A small cough caused Max to whip his head around so he could stare at Charles in awe.
“Too much?”
“Are you fucking kidding me?” he asked incredulously. “That’s fucking brilliant. What else can you do?”
Charles let out a relieved laugh and smiled. “You’ve been hanging around Lando too much. Brilliant?”
Max shrugged. “I can’t help it. British slang is catchy.”
“Where are your pots?” Max pointed his finger at one of the cupboards and grinned when it opened by itself and one of his pots gently flew to the running sink and then set itself down on another burner that lit up by itself. Max followed Charles to the stove and divided his attention between Charles’s furrowed brows and the water he was staring at, and startled when a few seconds later the water started to boil.
“Wow. That’s really handy.”
“Yah,” Charles said, and Max frowned when he realized Charles almost sounded like he was out of breath.
“Are you okay?” he asked as he placed his hand on Charles’s forearm.
Charles nodded. “Some things take more energy to do than others. Boiling and freezing things is much harder than it looks.” Max stared at him silently and Charles huffed out a soft laugh. “It’s physics. There are a lot of molecules to agitate, and I have to be careful to do it just right or else, well, let’s just say the end results are not pretty.”
Max grinned. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience.”
“Ask my mother about it sometime,” Charles grinned, and then promptly blushed bright red as Max’s grin widened.
“I’m not sure she’d rat you out. Maybe I should ask Arthur,” Max teased.
“Absolutely not! He would be insufferable.”
“Isn’t that the point of younger siblings?”
“Do not even,” Charles said as he pointed an accusing finger at him, and it took all of Max’s considerable self-control not to laugh in his face.
Max leaned silently against the counter and watched as Charles finished preparing the meal. Once the plates were set, Max grabbed a bottle of red wine and waggled it in front of Charles, raising his eyebrows meaningfully until Charles huffed, annoyed, and waved his hand at the bottle and caught the cork in his hand.
“Happy?”
“Extremely,” Max said as he poured the wine in the glasses. He gestured for Charles to sit and hummed appreciatively as he took his first bite. “Damn, Leclerc. You’ve been holding out on me.”
Charles laughed as he dug in as well. “Pretty sure the Tifosi would revoke my honorary Italian citizenship if I didn’t know how to make at least one pasta dish.”
“Fair enough,” Max grinned. A comfortable silence settled between them as they ate, but as Max poured them a second glass of wine, he silently braced himself for the question he wanted to ask. “So, do you not like to use your powers?”
Charles grimaced at the question and Max winced as his eyes shuttered. He already regretted asking but this question had been burning a hole in the back of Max’s brain since Charles’s reaction during Monza. He clearly didn’t want anyone to know, and he’d been almost apprehensive when he’d asked Max if he minded Charles using his powers to cook their meal. He’d looked comfortable doing it, but that didn’t mean that he liked doing it.
“You don’t have to answer,” Max finally said once the silence had turned oppressive. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
“No,” Charles interrupted him, placing a hand on his forearm. “It’s just… I’ve never had to really talk about it. For a long time, my family were the only ones who knew, and Pierre found out when we were twelve.”
Max stayed silent as Charles looked down at his hand resting on Max’s forearm. He could feel a blush spreading over his cheeks and his heart beating wildly in his chest at the touch, but he stayed as still as possible, hoping Charles would leave it there. He watched as Charles’s brows furrowed in thought and he sighed softly.
“It’s not that I don’t like to use them,” Charles started. “I guess it’s that I don’t trust them.”
“What do you mean?”
“They feel… out of control.”
Max thought back to that night in Monza and how the water bottles had exploded and the mirror had shattered. He thought back to that video from Le Mans and the back wheel of the kart exploding and causing four crashes, one of which was Charles. But then, he also thought back to that night in Silverstone and the field of lavender, to the pens he’d seen floating into Charles’s hand, to his shirt drying with a wave of his hand, and to tonight as Charles cooked them a perfect pasta dish.
“How often have you lost control?” he finally asked. He had a feeling he knew the answer.
Charles’s face scrunched up and Max squashed the thought that it looked adorable. “More than none.”
“Charles,” he admonished softly.
“It’s dangerous Max. You saw what happened during Monza. That mirror could have flung shards at us, or something worse could have exploded. You could have gotten seriously hurt.”
“So could you.”
“I know. That’s my point.”
Max paused as he considered the man in front of him. He’d never admit it to Charles, but Pierre had started a group chat with him and Seb after that night in Monza, and he’d explained to them as much as he understood about Charles’s powers. Based on what Pierre had said, it seemed to Max that Charles’s problem wasn’t really one of control over his power but of control over his emotions. The two times that he knew of when Charles’s magic had gone wild with disastrous results, he’d been emotionally compromised. At Les Mans, Charles had admitted to Pierre that he’d been exhausted, anxious, and angry, and at Monza Charles had been in the middle of a panic attack after Max had dropped a hell of a bombshell on him.
“Have you considered that maybe the root of your problem isn’t your powers, per se, but your emotional state?” Max asked absently.
Charles inhaled sharply at his words and Max nearly swallowed his tongue. He hadn’t meant to say that out loud, or to say it so casually. Fuck.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Like what, Max?” Charles asked, guarded.
Max let out a frustrated sigh. “It’s just… I only know of two times you’ve lost control, Les Man 2013 and Monza. And, at least in Monza, you weren’t exactly in control of your emotions, Charles.” Max watched, bemused, as Charles flushed bright red at his description of his panic attack. “Maybe your powers go wild because your emotions go wild. And the more you repress your emotions, the more you feel out of control, and so the more likely your powers are to explode.”
Charles fell silent at that, his gaze far away as he stared at his hand still laying on Max’s forearm. Max stayed still for a couple of minutes before deciding that Charles might need longer than he could sit still. He slowly extricated his arm from Charles’s hand and busied himself clearing out the dishes and starting the coffee. He’d just finished brewing the second cup of espresso when he heard Charles let out a deep exhale.
“Even if you’re right,” he started and Max forcibly stopped himself from grinning at the admission, “I’m not sure what to do about it. I’m not exactly the calmest person in the world.”
“You’re way calmer than me,” Max shrugged. He decided to ignore Charles’s snort. “And I don’t know if it’s about you having to be calm all the time. I think it’s about you not repressing what you’re feeling to the point where it just… blasts out of you.”
Charles hummed softly but didn’t say anything as he took a sip of the espresso. Max didn’t push him, enjoying the silence between them. He’d been hoping Charles would seek him out more after Monza, that he would feel comfortable coming to him to talk about his championship run and the stress that went with it. But maybe he shouldn’t have been so passive about it. After all, they’d barely been friends before Monza, and just because Max now knew his deepest secret didn’t mean Charles would be fine sharing his feelings.
“I’m here for you,” Max’s mouth said before his brain had time to stop it. Charles raised his eyebrows and Max decided to throw caution to the wind. “I know we’re not really friends, but I’d like us to be. I know what it’s like, being in a true championship fight like we are in this year. I know you probably don’t believe me, but I want to help you.”
“Why?”
Max chuckled. “Do you really have to ask?”
“Indulge me, Max,” Charles said as he sipped his espresso.
“I’ve done it both ways, Charles. I’ve done it the really fucking hard way and the really fucking easy way. It’s really fucking boring the easy way. Less stress, sure, but really boring.” Max shrugged. “It’s more fun this way, battling it out with you on track. Reminds me of karting.”
Charles smiled. “Those were fun times.”
“Yeah, now that we’re in F1.”
Charles laughed. “Touché.” He put the small cup back on the island and twirled a lazy finger around the rim. “But, looking back on them, even when I was so mad at you that I wanted to hit you, I was still having fun.”
“You never felt like you’d explode with me?” Max asked curiously.
Charles paused briefly, his eyes far away as he thought back to those times and shook his head. “No. I never felt out of control, even at my angriest and most frustrated,” he huffed out, amused.
Max’s stomach erupted into butterflies and he couldn’t have kept the goofy grin off his face even if he’d tried. “Glad to know I was always safe.”
Charles flushed bright red at his words and Max had a moment of confusion before he realized how Charles could have interpreted them. He opened his mouth, ready to take them back, but stopped before he could say anything. He may not have meant it in the way Charles had clearly interpreted it, but he wanted to be Charles’s safe haven. He wanted to be someone Charles could depend on, could come to, could be with without fear or worry or stress. And he wanted Charles to know that.
“I mean it, Charles,” he said instead as he gripped Charles’s hand. “I’m always safe.”
Charles was officially freaking out and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself. This race could be it, it could decide the championship, and he could win it all with one race to go if he managed to win and get fastest lap. Or if Max didn’t finish second and he won. Or if Max… He could feel his powers just under his skin churning wildly like the ocean in a hurricane. He picked up his phone for the fifth time in an hour and stared at his chat with Max for a long minute before turning the screen off again.
I’m always safe.
Charles groaned loudly and threw his phone on the bed. What kind of asshole just said something like that? He stared at the ceiling for a few seconds before groaning again and grabbing his phone.
Charles
R u in ur room?
Queen Bee
Want to try that again, but in English?
Charles
Ok boomer
Queen Bee
When I was your age, we respected our elders.
Charles
Fine. Can I come over?
Queen Bee
No.
Charles
Please.
Queen Bee
Will you behave?
Charles
Yes, dad
Queen Bee
I don’t like your tone, but I’m a forgiving father. Room 906
Charles rolled his eyes as he grabbed his hoodie and made his way out of his room and to the ninth floor. He tried not to fidget too much but by the time he stood outside room 906 he could feel his heart trying to beat out of his chest.
Fuck, get a grip Charles. It’s just Seb.
Before he could talk himself out of it, he knocked on the door and took a step back when it opened immediately.
“Were you just waiting there?”
Sebastian grinned at him. “I just wanted to see if you were gonna chicken out.”
Charles gave Seb the stink-eye as he pushed his way into the room and threw himself back onto the bed, his arms spread wide.
“Good to know you’re still as dramatic as ever.” Charles gave him the finger. “If you’re going to be rude you can leave.”
Charles groaned and pressed the palm of his hands into his eyes. “Sorry.” He felt the bed dip next to his hip and a finger poke him in the ribs. Charles reacted automatically, shrieking softly and squirming away from the probing digit. “Stop,” he glared at the German.
Seb raised his hands in surrender and settled back against the headboard, stretching his legs so he could nudge Charles’s thigh with his foot. “Well?”
Charles bit his lip and stared at the ceiling for a few seconds as he felt his hands get clammy. Seb nudged him again and he took a deep breath as he closed his eyes. “Max said you know.”
He felt Sebastian still next to him. “Yes.”
Charles opened his eyes and willed his heart to slow the fuck down. “I feel like I’m going to burst out of my skin,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so nervous about a race before.”
Sebastian grabbed his wrist and tugged him up until Charles lay sprawled on his chest, Sebastian’s arms holding him as Charles listened to his heartbeat. “I was a nervous wreck before my first deciding race. But you have to drive the race, Charles, not the occasion.”
“What if I lose control? What if something happens and someone gets hurt?”
“Has that happened before?”
“Once,” Charles whispered. “In 2013.”
He felt Sebastian’s chest rise and fall a couple of times. “Are you better at controlling your magic now?”
Charles cringed. “I hate it when people call it that.” Sebastian chuckled underneath him. Charles sighed. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So, what are you worried about?”
“What if I’m not good enough?”
“Charles.” Sebastian’s voice had an edge to it that Charles hadn’t heard since they were teammates. It was the tone of voice he used whenever Charles had said something particularly stupid, usually about himself. “You deserve this championship.”
“That’s not––”
“It’s exactly what you’re thinking. I know you, Charles,” Sebastian said. “You’ve fought tooth and nail for this. You deserve it.” When Charles didn’t respond, Sebastian nudged his shoulder. “Hey.”
“I heard you. It’s just, sometimes, it’s hard to believe it, you know? I’m so close I can almost taste it. But what if I fuck it up?” Charles whispered, almost afraid to put the words out into the universe.
“I have a theory.”
“You and everyone else,” Charles grumbled.
Sebastian pinched his side and Charles yelped. He hit the older driver in the stomach in retaliation and he was unreasonably gleeful when he heard him gasp. “Brat.”
Charles chuckled against Sebastian’s chest. “And yet, you still love me.”
Sebastian grunted but didn’t deny it. “Well, if you still want my opinion,” he started, clearly trying to get them back on track. “I think your… whatever you want to call it, is tied to your emotional well-being. So, the more centered you are, the more likely you are to be able to control it.”
Charles sat up at that and looked at Sebastian incredulously. “Have you been talking to Max?”
Sebastian’s eyebrows shot up to his hairline. “No. Why?”
Charles hummed thoughtfully. “He had the same theory. He thought that the more I repressed my emotions, the more unstable my powers became and the more likely they were to go wild.”
“I guess Champions think alike.”
“Oh my god, I hope I never get as big-headed as you two when I finally win this championship,” Charles complained, but Sebastian was pleased to see a small smile pulling at the corners of his lips.
“We’ll find out on Sunday.”
“You really believe that,” Charles said as he picked at the bed cover nervously.
“I believe in you, Charles. I know you’re gonna clinch it on Sunday.”
“No pressure,” Charles laughed.
Sebastian smiled. “No more than you were already placing on yourself. There’s nothing to be worried about. You got a great team supporting you, a great car, and you’ve never driven better.”
Charles inhaled deeply and let it out slowly. He could feel his nerves settle a little, Sebastian’s words and encouragement always a soothing balm to his occasional bouts of self-doubt, but he could still feel his powers crackling under his skin.
I’m always safe.
He frowned as he thought about Max’s words, about the soft look in his eyes and the warm feeling of his hand as he said them. Maybe it wasn’t just the race that he was nervous about.
“I think I like Max,” he said absentmindedly, and then blushed furiously when he heard Sebastian choke on his own spit as he belatedly realized he’d said that out loud. “Fuck.”
“Charlie?”
“Fuuuuuck,” Charles whined as he curled forward so he could hide his face in the bed covers.
Sebastian chortled as he tried to pull Charles back up unsuccessfully. “You’re not an ostrich, Charles. Hiding your face won’t make you invisible.”
“Oh my God,” Charles said emphatically as he continued to shrug off Sebastian’s hands and tried to flip part of the bed cover on top of his head so he could hide properly.
“For fuck’s sake, Charles. You being magical is way more shocking than you being in love with Max,” Sebastian griped as he pulled the cover away from Charles.
“What?!” Charles screeched as he sat back up and stared at Sebastian incredulously. “I am not in love with him!”
Sebastian snorted. “Yeah, ok, sure. Keep telling yourself that.”
“I’m not!” Charles yelled as he grabbed a pillow and waved it around.
“And I’m not a four-time world champion. Listen, Charlie,” Sebastian said as he snatched the pillow from Charles before the younger man could use it to either bash it over Sebastian’s head or suffocate himself. “I’m sorry. I thought you’d finally had an epiphany.”
“I just said I liked him! You’re the one who jumped to love.”
“I’m not blind, Charles. I’ve seen the way you look at him. And you’re different around him. You’ve always been intense,” Sebastian said as he held the pillow in his lap. “But when you’re with him, you’re more relaxed. You smile more, you laugh easier. You’re always reaching for him, a slap on his shoulder, a hand on his back. I’ve seen you flip his cap off as you walked by and then run away with it. That’s basically the equivalent of pulling pigtails in the playground.”
Charles startled at that. “I didn’t think anyone was around when I did that.”
“You’re lucky the camera crew was too busy filming Daniel’s shenanigans,” Sebastian laughed, and Charles blushed as red as his car’s livery. “Maybe you’re not in love with him yet, I don’t know, but you’re awfully close to getting there.”
Charles was silent for a second before he found the courage for the only question he wanted answered. “You think he feels the same way?”
“You really need me to answer that?” Sebastian asked, but the grin pulling at his lips and Max’s words from that night as he looked at him with his bright blue eyes were answer enough.
Max was freaking the fuck out and he wasn’t entirely sure what to do with himself.
It felt safe to say that since their dinner at his house, he and Charles had gotten closer. They texted with more frequency, they face-timed, and they’d even met up for coffee a couple of times. To Max’s surprise, most of their conversations had been about life in general, like how Arthur was doing in F2, how Victoria had called Max at one in the morning to remind him of their mother’s birthday, and what they were bingeing on Netflix. But Max was glad that Charles was also opening up about F1, like the pressures of the championships, how both Charles and Carlos felt like they had the weight of history on their shoulders, and how grateful Charles felt to have Carlos’s steady and unshakable presence next to him.
Max knew Charles almost felt guilty about that last one, like it was a betrayal toward Sebastian that he felt more at ease with Carlos next to him than the German. But Max understood. He didn’t think he’d have been able to win his championships with Daniel as a teammate. When he’d entered the world of F1, Daniel had been a pillar for him to lean on, someone who guided him through the trials and tribulations of the start of his F1 career. Even as competitive as Max was, he didn’t think he would have been able to compete against Daniel for the championship. There had still been a little too much hero worship on his part, and he didn’t think he’d have been able to use him like he’d need to so he could get to the ultimate prize. Checo and he didn’t have that history. They got along okay, and they were good teammates, but they didn’t place each other on a pedestal and they both knew their places within the team.
Besides, Max knew Sebastian didn’t care. He knew the German thought Charles would be right behind Max, breaking all the records, and he knew the Sebastian was glad that he and Charles had such a close relationship despite their contentious first season at Ferrari.
Which lead Max to where he was now, staring at his phone and his chat with said German driver.
Vettel
Please forgive Charles if he starts acting weird around you.
Max
??
Vettel
He’s had an epiphany.
Max
About what?
Vettel
You. And him. And the two of you.
Max
WTF does that even mean?
Vettel
Hopefully you’ll find out soon.
Just, you know, don’t freak out if he’s freaking out.
Max
You’re freaking me out!
Vettel
Sorry not sorry😝
What the effing fuck did that even mean? Max stared at his phone for a few more seconds before pulling up another chat window.
Max
SOS
Honey Badger
OMW!!
Max threw his phone on his bed and sighed in relief. Thank fuck he could always count on Daniel. He paced anxiously around his room and yanked the door open as soon as he heard the first knock. Daniel blinked owlishly as the door suddenly vanished from under his hand and grinned devilishly as he got his first glimpse at Max.
“You are having a right proper freak out,” he commented as he pushed past Max and into the room. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”
Max thrust his phone in Daniel’s face and held it up until the Australian took it. Max watched silently as Daniel’s eyebrows furrowed and then raised up to his hairline as his eyes widened. “Well then.”
“Right?” Max said anxiously as he grabbed his phone back and stared at his texts with Sebastian. “That’s so fucking cryptic!”
“I mean, yes,” Daniel started and then shrugged. “But also, no. Charles is, like, the poster child for anxiety. He’s probably just freaking out because he might claim the WDC this weekend, and as his closest rival in the points, he’s likely to act weird around you.”
Max bit his lip in thought. That could be it, he supposed; Charles being anxious about winning the WDC this weekend with one race to go in the season. But it seemed sort of weird for Sebastian to warn him about Charles freaking out over the WDC. Max honestly thought he and Charles were way past the point of being awkward around each other over F1 stuff, especially when they could be freaking out about secret magical powers instead. Plus, after the last few weeks, Max felt like they’d unlocked a new level in their friendship and he was pretty sure that Charles was more likely to seek him out to talk about whatever was bothering him than to ghost him, or ignore him, or whatever it was Sebastian thought he might do this weekend.
“I don’t know, Danny,” Max ventured as he flipped his phone in his hand. “I think Charles and I are more likely to talk about that kind of stuff than freaking out about it.”
Daniel hummed contemplatively. “Yeah, I guess you are each other’s emotional support rivals for a reason.”
Max snorted. “More like friends.”
“Ooooh,” Daniel grinned as he sat on the bed and crossed his legs. “Has the relationship leveled up?”
“Fuck off,” Max groused as he lightly punched Daniel on the shoulder and sat next to him. “We’ve just been hanging out more.”
“I noticed.”
“You have?” Max asked, surprised.
“When my best friend starts ditching me, I notice. I’ve seen you two sneaking around the paddock with your heads bent together like you’re secretly plotting to cover the Mercedes garage in TP. Which would be an awesome prank, by the way, and I want in whenever you decide to do it.”
Max blushed to the roots of his hair. “Oh my God, we do not sneak around! We’re not a pair of teenagers going behind our parents’ backs.”
“Oh no, we are still in denial, then,” Daniel said pitifully.
“In denial? About what?”
“About your crush on Charles,” Daniel said as he patted Max on the knee. “It’s okay, man. I can be your sounding board if you need to talk it out.”
“My—Wha– Crush?! What crush? There is no crush! I don’t have a crush!”
Daniel sighed and looked at him sideways with the most disappointed stare he could manage. “Max.”
“No!”
“Max, seriously.”
“There is no crush!”
“Max, stop it. This is just embarrassing. We’ve known each other for way too long for this bullshit.”
“It’s just Charles,” Max tried to say harshly and cringed when it came out breathless.
“I know, mate,” Daniel responded sympathetically. “It’s just Charles.”
Max stared at Daniel with wide blue eyes and gulped audibly in the sudden silence. “I don’t… He doesn’t even—”
“Max,” Daniel said, exasperated.
Max licked his lips and fell backward onto the bed with a groan, hiding his face behind a bent elbow. “Yeah, okay. Fine. Yes.”
“Yes?” Daniel asked excitedly.
“I fucking hate you,” Max whined. “Urgh! Fine! Yes, I like him. Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” Daniel grinned.
Fuck,” Max groaned.
“So, are we leveling-up this relationship now?”
“Daniel!” Max snapped at his friend as one blue eye peaked out from under his forearm.
“Okay, okay. So, you’re friends now. When did this happen?”
Max sighed. “Monza? Or at least that’s when we started talking more.” Max hesitated for a moment, wondering how much he should tell Daniel, but immediately dismissed the thought. If he couldn’t tell Daniel, who could he tell? “He came over one night and cooked us dinner. And we’ve face-timed a few times and gone out for coffee just to talk, you know? About life and stuff, not just F1.”
“Whoa!” Daniel cried. Max felt a pair of hands on his shoulders and suddenly he was sitting up on the bed facing Daniel’s wide brown eyes. “All this just the two of you?”
Max blinked at him stupidly. “Yes?”
“Let me get this straight. For the last few weeks, you and Charles have been going out for coffee, and face-timing to talk about life, and on at least one occasion he came over to your house and made you dinner from scratch.”
“Um, yes?” Max said, not really following where Daniel was going with this.
“Mate. You’ve been going on dates with Charles Leclerc.”
Max stared at him dumbly for a couple of seconds before he scoffed. “No, mate.”
“Uh, yes, mate.”
“Daniel.”
“Max Emilian.”
“Stop that, Danny.”
Daniel shrugged. “Sorry, Maxy. I call ‘em like I see ‘em. You’ve been going on dates with Charlie.”
“I absolutely have not.”
“Okay, let’s recap. You and he started talking more during Monza for some mysterious reason that you neglected to mention and thought I wouldn’t notice.” Max tried to deny that last part (because it was true) but Daniel thrust a finger at his face that shut him up before he could even open his mouth. “You’ve been face-timing, meeting up for coffee, and he came over to your house and cooked you dinner. And you two are basically inseparable in the paddock.”
“That’s not even true,” Max mumbled and shrunk at Daniel’s glare.
“Carlos sent me a picture of the two of you playing footsie behind the Ferrari hospitality.”
“Oh my God!” Max exclaimed, his face bright red at the implication. “We were playing football!”
Daniel grinned devilishly. “I know. But your face just now was pretty priceless.”
“I hate you so much,” Max groaned as he punched Daniel in the bicep.
“Hey! I need this arm to drive this weekend!” Daniel complained as he scooted a few inches away. “Also, if you keep abusing me, I won’t tell you what I think Charles is freaking out about.”
“Fine. I’m sorry. What is he freaking out about?” Max asked and he just barely stopped himself from hitting Daniel again when he grinned at him victoriously.
“Based on new information I have just obtained, mainly the fact that you two have been going out on dates but are clearly too stupid to realize it, I have a new theory on our boy Charlie.”
“They were not dates!” Max denied. And before Daniel could tease him about his knee-jerk reaction, he plowed on, “Whatever, man. What’s this brilliant theory?” Daniel smirked and drum-rolled on the bed for a few seconds. “Daniel!”
Daniel laughed at Max’s exasperation. “I think he’s just realized he likes you too.”
Max choked on air and he was pretty sure his heart skipped a beat.
“Think about it, Maxy,” Daniel continued like he hadn’t just shattered Max’s brain. “Seb texts you to tell you that Charles had an epiphany about you two and to warn you that he may start acting weird and freaking out around you. And you’re positive this has nothing to do with racing. So, I think he may have finally realized that he likes you too.”
Max would be lying if he said the thought hadn’t crossed his mind. Charles was a flirt and he liked to tease, but Max always got the impression that he did it slightly differently with him. When he was with Alex or Pierre he tended to be over the top and ridiculous, batting his eyelashes and hanging off them like an octopus. But with him, it was gentle touches to his shoulders and to his back to get his attention, green eyes sparkling and soft lips smirking as he teased him while they played FIFA, a soft hand on his forearm as they talked that day in his apartment, and softer fingers brushing against his own as they walked by the harbor with their coffees.
Max bit his lip and tried to tamp down the hope surging in him. “Do you… Do you think he knows that I like him?”
Max was pathetically grateful when Daniel gave him a soft look at his question instead of outright laughing in his face. “Mate, you’re not exactly subtle. I’m pretty sure half the drivers on the grid have on-going bets about when you two will get together.”
Max laughed at that and pushed Daniel until the Australian lay sprawled on his side. When Daniel didn’t laugh with him or retract his statement, Max sobered up and stared at him incredulously. “You’re not joking.” Daniel grinned unapologetically and shrugged. “Huh. And what did you bet?”
“Why? Are you going to rig it so I win?” Daniel asked, a huge grin lighting up his face.
“Depends.”
“On what?”
“On whether you bet that we’d get together at all.”
Daniel laughed. “That’s George’s bet. He doesn’t think either of you will ever get your heads out of your asses.” Max chuckled at that. If it hadn’t been for Seb’s texts and Daniel’s assurances just now, George might have won that bet. “I bet you’d get together on the night Charles wins the WDC this year.”
Max raised an eyebrow at that. “That’s pretty cocky of you.”
“I figured he’d be riding high on confidence and adrenaline, and finally muster up the guts to kiss you.”
“Do you only win if he kisses me?” Max asked curiously.
Daniel sighed. “Alas, yes. We all had to be very specific about the circumstances of how and when it would happen. And I didn’t think you’d work up the courage to do it this season.”
“Hey,” Max complained half-heatedly, although he couldn’t find it in himself to outright deny the statement. Instead, he hummed thoughtfully. “Well, I guess we’ll just have to see how this weekend goes.”
Charles could barely contain his excitement as he got out of his car after he parked it in front of the P1 spot. It was his 10th pole position of the season, and he’d managed it with just over one-tenth of a second ahead of Max. He pulled off his helmet as he walked to the stand with his things and grabbed the water bottle waiting for him, sipping it slowly as he watched Max shutting off his own car. He’d spent several hours the night before thinking about his conversation with Sebastian, and the only conclusion he’d really come to was that he didn’t have the time to freak out about it this weekend.
That didn’t mean he’d managed to hide his pleased flush when Max pulled him forward into a hug after he’d grabbed his hand for a shake.
“Fuck mate, I was so close to getting you,” Max laughed. “I had a snap of oversteer at that last corner.”
Charles grinned. “Lucky for me, then.”
“How’re you feeling about this weekend? Good?” Max asked, his smile wide but his eyes serious.
Charles couldn’t help the warm feeling in his chest at the question. He knew instantly what Max was really asking and, for the millionth time since Monza, he couldn’t help but be glad that Max had found out about his powers. “I was kind of a mess last night, but Seb talked me off the ledge.”
Charles watched, fascinated, as Max’s face went through several emotions lightning fast before settling on a half-worried, half-amused sort of expression. “So, you’re good?”
“As good as I can be on a championship deciding weekend,” Charles replied with a shrug.
“You know you can come talk to me, right? About anything,” Max said as he squeezed Charles’s bicep.
Charles smiled softly at the Dutchman and squeezed the wrist of the hand holding onto him. “I know, Max. Thanks.”
Max nodded and, after one more squeeze, walked off to give his interview. Charles watched him silently, smiling as Max explained what had happened in his last lap and promising to do his best in tomorrow’s race.
“You’ll win it tomorrow.”
“Holy fuck!” Charles exclaimed as Carlos’s voice startled him enough to ratchet up his heart rate. “How are you so sneaky?”
Carlos snorted. “If you stopped making heart-eyes at Max for half a second you would have heard me coming.”
“Heart-eyes?” Charles scoffed as he unsuccessfully tried to stop himself from blushing. “What are you, fifteen?” Carlos raised an eyebrow at him, and Charles felt his face get impossibly redder. “Oh, look at that, I gotta go do my interview now!” Charles said as he decided that retreat was the better part of valor and speed-walked away before Carlos could reply.
Except it apparently wasn’t. He could see Max and Carlos chatting in his peripheral vision during his entire interview, and at one point he nearly had a heart attack when he turned his head and caught Max’s bright red flush as Carlos leaned in towards him, a shit-eating grin on his face as he kept glancing at Charles.
Fuck fuck fuck. What was Carlos saying to him?
The rest of the interview was a blur and he hoped to God he hadn’t sounded like an idiot. He had to force himself to walk casually back toward Max and Carlos, and not-so subtly separate the two by inserting himself between them as he all but dragged them toward the FIA back-drop for the post-quali group picture. He couldn’t help leaning slightly closer to Max as the photographer took the picture and he repressed a smile when Max’s hand squeezed his race suit as the blond took a step back.
“You know where to find me if you need me,” Max said softly.
Charles nodded and watched him walk away, his eyes momentarily straying a little too far south before a cough behind him had him whirling around to come face to face with a smirking Carlos. Charles blushed, again, and felt sweat gathering around his hairline.
“Pole picture,” Carlos reminded him as he pointed behind him with his thumb toward the waiting crowd.
“I know,” Charles laughed awkwardly as he nodded to whichever celebrity the FIA had found for this weekend. He could see Carlos hovering on the side, his eyes practically burning a hole in his face as he waited patiently for them to be done. They fell in step with each other as they made their way back to the Ferrari garage.
“So,” Carlos said once they were far enough away from everyone. “You and Max, huh?”
“What about it?” Charles asked, trying desperately to sound casual and refusing to look at Carlos.
“Charles,” Carlos admonished.
“We’re friends, so what?”
Before Charles knew what was happening, Carlos had grabbed him by the elbow and pulled him into some sort of alleyway. Charles leaned back against the wall as Carlos glanced around, making sure they were alone.
“You know you can tell me anything, Percy.”
“I hate it when you call me that,” Charles grumbled, but he didn’t bother to suppress his smile at Carlos’s grin.
“Come on, Lord Perceval. You and Max. Don’t bullshit me. I’m not blind.”
Charles sighed. “There’s nothing going on.” Carlos raised an eyebrow and Charles rolled his eyes. “Carlos, there’s nothing going on. We’re just friends.”
“Since when do friends check out each other’s asses?” Carlos asked and chuckled as Charles, for the third time that hour, turned as bright red as his race suit. “You two have been hanging out together a lot more lately.”
Charles shrugged. “Like I said, we’re friends.”
“Charlito,” Carlos admonished softly.
“Look, Carlos, even if I––” Charles trailed off, his fingers twisting around themselves as he glanced around the small alcove Carlos had pulled them into. “Even if I did like him,” he continued softly once he was sure they were alone, “I don’t have the time or the mental capacity for this right now.”
Carlos hummed. “That’s fair enough. Just make sure not to go easy on him tomorrow just because you like him,” he teased, and took evasive action when Charles tried to swat his head.
“Fuck off. Like I’ve ever gone easy on him,” Charles grumbled.
“I guess not,” Carlos said. “But, hey, seriously.” Carlos waited a couple seconds until he was sure Charles was paying attention to him. “If you ever decide you’ve got the time, I got your back.”
Charles smiled. “Thanks, mate.”
“I’m pretty sure the whole grid’s got your back. Except maybe George. I think he’s betting that you two will never get together.”
“I’m sorry, what?” Charles asked bewildered. “What betting?” Charles watched, fascinated, as Carlos’s eyes widened and his face slowly flushed red as he realized what he’d said. “Are people betting on whether Max and I will get together?!” Charles all but screeched.
Carlos coughed uneasily, but Charles could see that he was trying to hide a smile behind his hand. “Don’t worry about it, Percy. You don’t have time right now,” Carlos grinned.
“Oh, you fucker,” Charles growled, and he yelped when Carlos turned and bolted from their hiding place, hightailing it back to the Ferrari garage before Charles could say anything else. “Carlos! Get back here and tell me the truth, cabrón!” he yelled as he gave chase.
Except that before he could get to him, Charles was cornered by Mia and dragged to the press pen where he spent the next several hours answering an avalanche of questions about the car, the race pace Red Bull and Mercedes had shown during free practice and qualifying, and how he was feeling about tomorrow’s race and whether he was nervous that it was his first chance to seal the championship. Every time he felt his nerves acting up, he glanced to his right, and the sight of Max looking at him with a small smile on his face instantly calmed him.
He thought it best to not think about why, exactly, Max had that effect on him.
He tried to get some answers out of Carlos after the press conference but the Spaniard somehow managed to evade him until Charles was dragged into meetings with his race team late into the night. After that, he decided to give up and get some much needed rest. Except that as soon as he was in bed, he could feel his nerves getting the best of him again, and this time there was no Max around to distract him. He tossed and turned for a few minutes before he gave up and grabbed his phone from the nightstand.
Charles
You awake?
Max
Barely. What’s up?
Charles bit his lip. He really shouldn’t be bothering Max like this the night before a race.
Charles
It’s stupid. Don’t worry about it. Good night.
Charles startled when an incoming face-time call lit up his screen and he groaned and buried his face in his pillow. He lifted his head long enough to accept the call and promptly buried it again.
“Charles? You okay, there? Need me to come rescue you from your pillow?”
Charles huffed, his face still buried in his pillow. “I’m sorry I woke you up.”
Max laughed at him. “I told you I was awake.”
“No, you said you were barely awake.”
“Well, now I’m totally awake. What’s wrong?”
Charles sighed. “I just… I’m so fucking nervous, Max.”
“It’s just like any other race, Charles.”
“That’s what Seb said,” Charles replied.
He turned his head slightly to the side and looked at Max’s image on his phone. His hair was a wild mess and he was wearing a white T-shirt that did nothing to hide the muscles underneath it. His blue eyes were staring at him so intently that Charles nearly buried his face back into the pillow just to hide from them.
“Maybe you should listen to us, then,” Max replied, lips pulling into a small smile. “We’ve got several World Championships between the two of us. I think we know what we’re talking about.”
“It’s just that it doesn’t feel like any other race. It feels so much bigger than me.”
“Charles,” Max said softly.
“It’s suffocating,” Charles whispered, a confession he could barely get out.
“Charles, listen to me.” Charles watched as Max licked his lips and took a deep breath as he thought about his words. “I know it feels overwhelming and like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. I know it feels like everyone is expecting the impossible from you. And it is, and they are. But––Charles. Look at me,” Max said when Charles squeezed his eyes shut and hid his face back in his pillow. There was a moment of silence until one green eye peeked out from the pillow and looked at Max’s image on the phone. “This championship. You’ve got to win it for you. Not for Jules, or your dad, or Ferrari. It has to be for you. That’s how you win tomorrow.”
In the silence that followed, Charles breathed in the conviction of Max’s words. He let them wash over him, clearing his mind from the worry and the anxiety he’d been carrying with him since it became clear that this could be it, that this year could be his for the taking. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, feeling his body and mind relax with it.
“Thanks, Max,” he whispered, a smile pulling at his lips.
Max smiled back. “Ready to kick some ass tomorrow?”
“And take some names while I’m at it.”
Max let out a bark of laughter. “Don’t think I’ll go easy on you, Leclerc.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Verstappen.”
“And I want a nice, clean race from you, too. No blasting me off the track when I overtake you at the start.”
Charles laughed at that, and he didn’t miss the proud twinkle in Max’s eyes. He was pretty sure this was the first time he’d ever joked with someone about his powers, and he didn’t feel an ounce of anxiety when he replied, “I make no promises. Sometimes things just go wild during a race.”
Max snorted at the terrible pun. “Good night, Charles.”
“Night, Max,” Charles replied. “And thanks.”
“Anytime.”
Max hung up before Charles could say anything else. And despite the blush now staining his cheeks, when Charles finally closed his eyes to go to sleep, he felt like the calm surface of the Mediterranean on a hot summer day.
Max wished he’d had some time to talk to Charles in private before the race. There had been something in his voice and in his eyes when they’d talked last night that sat uncomfortably in the pit of his stomach. The fact that Charles had talked to Sebastian the night before, and then had still felt the need to call him for reassurance about today, made it abundantly clear to Max just how anxious Charles was about this race.
He nodded distractedly at his engineer as he watched Charles speaking to Luca from the corner of his eyes, his face set into the sort of grim determination that was only present when he was desperately trying not to think of anything else but the upcoming race. Max was all too familiar with that face and the knot in his stomach only grew as Charles nodded along with whatever his engineer was telling him. Max watched him for a few more seconds, and just as he was about to tune back into whatever GP was telling him, he looked down and noticed Charles absentmindedly picking at his cuticles. Max’s anxiety ratcheted up at the nervous gesture and he was half a second away from marching over to Charles when a finger poked him in the shoulder, forcing him to glance back at GP.
“What?” he asked, irritated.
“Are you paying any attention to what I’m telling you, or are you too busy undressing Leclerc with your eyes?”
Max choked. Then he coughed so loudly that half the crew came running to him either with their hand raised to pat him on the back or holding out a water bottle.
“What the fuck, GP!” he wheezed in between his coughing.
GP shrugged unrepentantly. “I’m not wrong.”
“Fuck you,” Max said as he took a swing from one of the proffered water bottles. “I was not… Doing that,” he defended himself lamely.
“Uh huh,” his engineer replied. “Listen, I don’t really get it because, you know,” he said, gesturing vaguely towards his chest, “But also, I get it because, you know,” he said as he waved his hand over his face. Max raised an eyebrow because what? “Just, not ten minutes before lights out, okay? I got shit I gotta tell you, and I need you to listen to me.”
“I’m going to pretend that you didn’t just say any of that,” Max said, glaring at him. “What am I supposed to be listening to?”
Max forced himself to focus on what GP was telling him about the high winds they were expecting during the race as he got in the car and pulled on his gloves. He gave his engineer a thumbs up as the man slapped his shoulder and then glanced at the back of Charles’s Ferrari sitting on pole. He wasn’t a religious man, but he couldn’t help sending a small, tiny prayer into the universe that his gut feeling was wrong and that today’s race would off without a hitch.
And then, before he knew it, it was lights out and away they went. Max felt the jolt in the car as he sped down the straight toward Turn 1, but he could immediately tell that Charles had managed a perfect start as he came out ahead of him at the turn and sped off toward Turn 2. Max grinned under his helmet as he gave chase, and for the first few laps they battled it out, Max never quite close enough to pull the overtake.
“Lap 10, Max,” GP’s staticky voice told him over the radio.
“Copy,” Max grumbled as he eased off and stopped actively pursuing Charles.
“Manage the tyres.”
“Yeah, yeah. I know,” Max responded.
Things were silent for a bit as Max sped through the snaking curves until his radio crackled again, “Leclerc ahead 3.1 seconds, lapping at 12.7. You are lapping 13.5. Sainz 6.2 seconds behind you.”
“Copy.”
Max frowned. Charles was already almost one second faster than him, and as much as he wanted to catch up, he also didn’t want to destroy his tyres so early in the race. He’d just have to see how the strategy played out and if he could manage the undercut. But just as he was rounding Turn 18, Max felt the car slide out from under him as a sudden wind gust snapped the car off the track. He reacted instinctively, slamming the breaks as he turned the steering wheel with the car to control the spin.
“Fuck!” he yelled as he rightened the car and sped back onto the track.
“You okay, Max?” GP asked him.
“Fine. Fucking wind gust.”
“Copy.”
“You weren’t kidding.”
“We’re expecting them for the duration of the race.”
“Gap to Leclerc?”
“9.4 seconds. Sainz behind you 1.5 seconds.”
“Awesome,” he growled sarcastically.
He pushed the car a little faster as he tried to put more distance between himself and Carlos, but he could tell that the spin had fucked up his tyres, maybe even given him a flat spot. The car was vibrating more than it should have been and he could tell that he’d lost some grip on the turns. That would mean an earlier pit than they’d planned, and with Charles so far ahead and Carlos so close to him, his hopes for an undercut were gone.
“Fuck,” he said and flipped on the radio. “Tyres losing grip.”
“Copy,” GP replied.
Max kept his head down as he made his way around the circuit, somehow managing to increase the gap between himself and Carlos, but GP’s voice in his ears kept reminding him that Charles was comfortably ahead of him. When he got the call to box, he was both relieved and angry that he’d have to make the tyres last longer than he’d planned, but at least this meant he might have a chance to catch up to Charles before he pitted for his tyres.
A little more than halfway through the race and Max finally got his chance.
“Leclerc is boxing. 15 seconds ahead of you. Mode push.” Max gritted his teeth and did as he was told, taking the corners faster than he probably should have and hoping the winds didn’t push his car off track again. As he passed the pitlane, he could hear the smile in GP’s voice as he said, “P1, Max. Leclerc exiting four second behind. Medium tyres.”
“Copy.”
Things were quiet for a couple of laps and when his radio crackled, Max already knew what GP was going to tell him. “Leclerc with fastest lap.”
Max smirked under his helmet. Bring it on, Charlie, he thought savagely as he sped through the corners and down the straights. Come and get me.
Charles gritted his teeth and cursed under his breath. He hadn’t managed to put enough distance between himself and Max before he’d had to pit, and the asshole had taken the lead. He’d been secretly hoping for a Grand Slam to mark his first championship but he put it out of his mind immediately so he could concentrate on catching up to Max. He’d thought by now he’d have already managed it, but Max wasn’t one of the best drivers in the world for nothing.
“How is he so fast?” he grumbled.
“We have time. 15 laps to go.”
“Copy.”
“You have fastest lap.”
Charles smirked and felt the unmistakable jolt of his powers coursing through his veins. But, this time, they didn’t feel like an out-of-control hurricane; instead, they felt like a shot of pure adrenaline, electrifying in a way he’d never felt before, sharpening his senses and focusing his mind. He let the rest of the world bleed away as he concentrated on nothing but the winding track ahead of him.
“Five laps to go. Time to Verstappen 1.5 seconds.”
Charles forced himself to breathe and concentrate as he came out of the turn and pushed the car faster on the straights to try to gain on Max’s Red Bull before it disappeared again out of sight as he took the next corner. He followed in Max’s wake as he snaked around the track, and he cursed under his breath as a sudden wind gust forced the car a little wider on the turn than he’d been aiming for.
“Winds are kicking up again.”
“Copy. Verstappen also complaining of drivability.”
Charles didn’t bother replying and instead focused on catching up to the Red Bull ahead of him. Except that as Max took the next corner, Charles could tell immediately that he was going a little too fast, and that he’d been a little too late on the brakes, which hopefully meant he’d come out of the corner a little too wide. But instead of gleefully getting to watch Max lose those few precious tenths of a second so that Charles could catch up to him while he struggled on the kerbs, Charles watched in horror as Max’s wheels locked up and he was suddenly careening toward the barrier at 200 kilometers per hour.
Almost on instinct, Charles’s powers sought out the spinning Red Bull and pulled, as if he’d grabbed hold of someone’s forearm to stop them from crossing a busy intersection. He clenched his teeth and tightened his hold on his steering wheel at the sudden lurch that vibrated through his body as the Red Bull came to a sudden stop, and then he was speeding past Max, forcing himself to breathe through the panic and the nausea and the black spots dancing in his vision.
He felt drained, his hands trembling where they gripped the steering wheel, but the adrenaline from the race kept him going. He wanted to know how Max was, he wanted to know if he’d made it out of his car, but he couldn’t spare the strength or the focus to ask Luca. Instead, he poured everything he had left into the car, into his drive, into getting to that checkered flag.
“Yellow flag in Sector 2. Verstappen is inching back onto the track but falling to P12,” Luca told him, and thank God for him.
Charles forced a tight “Copy,” through his clenched teeth.
The rest of the race was a blur. The edges of his vision were a staticky black that waxed and waned across his sight and the nausea in his stomach was a rolling thunder that threatened to bubble up into his mouth at any second. He drove the last laps almost on muscle memory alone, breaking a little early at the sharper turns, bumping over kerbs he should have been able to avoid, and managing to catch the wheels from spinning out as he came out of the corners a little wide. He ignored Luca’s concern over the radio as the gap between him and Carlos shrunk.
“Final lap. Russell on softs for fastest lap. Carlos P2 six seconds behind.”
“And Max?” Charles asked, his voice strangled as he forced himself to swallow down the bile.
“P11, Albon 1.5 seconds ahead of him. His tyres are likely shot,” Luca replied, and Charles could hear the undercurrent of excitement in his voice. If Max finished outside the points and Charles managed to hang on for this one final lap, he’d be World Champion even if Russell got fastest lap.
He knew he should be concentrating and making sure that he didn’t make any mistakes on the most important lap of his life, but the fact of the matter was that if someone were to ask him about this last lap, he wouldn’t have been able to tell them anything about it. He was past the point of exhaustion, past the point of scraping the bottom of the barrel and he was instead halfway through the rotten wood. Where his powers usually resided, it was like a gaping void had opened up; like he’d used every last bit of himself to stop Max’s car from hitting that barrier in what could have been a horrific crash. His eyes stung from the sweat dripping down his face, and his stomach rolled as everything but the dark gray of the asphalt passed him by in a nauseating smudge of colors that looked like a distorted rainbow.
He could hear the crowd screaming from the grandstand, Luca counting down the turns. He’d never wanted to be out of the car as much as he did right now. When he crossed the checkered flag, Luca was screaming in his ear, counting down the drivers behind him until Albon crossed in P10 in front of Max by three tenths of a second.
“Charles!” Luca screamed and Charles felt his breath hitch. “You are the World Champion!”
The words echoed in his ears like a voice reverberating in a canyon, and despite his exhaustion Charles felt like a bolt of lightning had shot down his spine. He could hear himself screaming with joy, thanking the team and Carlos, praising them for an incredible season. His hands shook on the steering wheel and his eyesight blurred from the tears, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He thought of Jules and his father, whose pride, belief, and love had been with him at every race, and he barely managed to stop a small sob at the thought that they’d never get to see this; that they’d never know he’d done it, that he’d accomplished this dream they had shared together.
When he finally pulled into Parc Fermé and up to the P1 sign, he couldn’t move. He wanted to get out of the car, and throw his arms in the air, and screamed himself hoarse. He wanted to run to his team who were yelling his name by the sideline and throw himself at them. But his whole body was shaking, trembling like a leaf in a storm, and he couldn’t even tell if it was because of the pure elation coursing through his veins like wildfire or because he had nothing left to give. He’d barely managed to undo his seatbelts and disconnect the steering wheel when strong hands closed around his shoulders and shook him excitedly. He could hear Carlos’s muffled voice screaming his name as other hands pulled up the cockpit surround.
And then he was being pulled out of the car and yanked into Carlos’s chest, his teammate’s arms the only things holding him up.
“You did it!” Carlos screamed as he shook him like a ragdoll. “Fucking World Champion!”
Charles didn’t have time to reply before Carlos turned him around and shoved him toward the waiting Ferrari crew. He stumbled the few steps to the edge of Parc Fermé and then he was in the middle of a sea of red, the crew screaming and cheering his name. He tried to say something to them, but his mouth was dry and his throat felt tight around the lump of an emotion that he couldn’t name.
He was vaguely aware of Carlos pulling him away from the celebration and dragging him toward the post-race interviewer who was patiently waiting for him with a microphone in her hand. He felt detached from his body as he tried his best to answer the interviewer’s questions, but the roaring sound of the crowd around them made it almost impossible to hear even his own thoughts, much less her questions about the race and how he felt.
And then he was being ushered away and towards the cooldown room. But as the adrenaline started to fade, every ache and pain roared back to life, and he felt the nausea rising even as he broke into a cold sweat. Before he could even think of veering off toward a bathroom, he all but collapsed on his knees and threw up on the floor. He vaguely heard voices around him shouting in alarm, but they were muffled beneath the sound of his blood pounding in his ears. He felt hands gripping his shoulder trying to pull him up, but he pushed them away so he could curl into himself and press his sweaty forehead on the cool floor.
Charles flinched when a hand came to rest on the nape of his neck, but he relaxed slightly when it squeezed the tight muscle, helping to ground him. He thought he might have made a small, whimpering noise, but he couldn’t be sure anyone had heard him amidst the chaos surrounding him. He squeezed his eyes shut and curled up a little tighter, riding the nausea and the pounding headache. He forced himself to breathe through his nose and groaned when the fingers on his neck began to dig into his coiled muscles. As the noise began to die down, the fingers receded only to be replaced by a hand carding through his hair, blunt nails scratching his scalp.
“Charles?” Carlos called softly. Charles grunted in response. “Can you sit up?”
Charles thought about it for a few seconds and shook his head once.
“What if we help you?”
Charles blinked his eyes open at the new voice. “Seb?” he asked, his voice hoarse.
“Yes, Charles,” Sebastian answered, and Charles heard his racing suit creaking as he crouched next to him.
“Are you on the podium, too?” Charles asked, confused.
“No,” Sebastian said, and Charles could hear the smile in his voice. “I just came looking for you to wish you congratulations, but instead I found you passed out in a pool of vomit.”
“Hey,” Charles whined indignantly. “I didn’t pass out.”
“Charles, the doctor is on her way,” Carlos interrupted them as he continued to run his fingers through his hair.
Charles shook his head at that. “No.”
“Charles, you just collapsed and threw up all over the floor. You don’t have a say in this,” Sebastian stated categorically.
Before Charles could think of a way out of seeing the doctor, he heard footsteps coming their way and sighed softly. He stayed curled up on floor, breathing slowly through his nose and trying to ignore the smell of his vomit a few inches away.
“We’re here.” Charles blinked, confused, at Lando’s voice. “Oh, shit.”
“How is he?” a feminine voice with a distinctive accent asked.
“He’s responsive. Sort of,” Sebastian replied, and Charles stopped himself from whimpering when the hand in his hair disappeared.
“Mr. Leclerc?” the woman said, her small hands touching his forehead and moving down so she could press two fingers into the side of his neck. “Can you tell me how you’re doing?”
Charles grunted. “Charles. Not,” he swallowed a couple of times as the bile rose in his throat. “Not Mr. Leclerc.”
“What are you feeling, Charles? Besides nausea and cold sweat.”
“Headache. Dark spots. Tremors.”
“Did something happen during the race?” she asked, and Charles wasn’t sure how to respond.
He must have stayed quiet a little too long because the hand was back on his neck, squeezing it gently. “No,” he finally croaked out. “Nothing happened.”
“Lando, could you get Charles some water?” the doctor requested, and Charles heard footsteps echoing away from them. “Okay, Charles. I think you’re dehydrated. We’ll get you some water and add some electrolytes to it. I’d prefer to get you to the hospital for a full check-up and an IV––”
“No!” Charles said even as he craned his neck up to glare at her. Judging by her utterly unimpressed look, he guessed he looked pathetic. “No hospital. No IV.”
“I don’t really think that’s up to you, Charles,” she replied coolly.
“I can’t… The podium,” Charles stuttered and looked at Sebastian wildly. “I can’t miss it.”
Sebastian and the doctor looked at one another and they seemed to have a silent conversation while Carlos sat down next to Charles and helped him sit back up so he could lean against him. Charles sagged into Carlos and rested his head on his shoulder, watching as Sebastian raised his eyebrows and the doctor glared at him. The silent fight was interrupted when Lando ran back with a couple bottles of water. The doctor sighed loudly and held out her hand for one of them, twisting it open and shaking some powder into it.
“All right, Charles. If you drink both these bottles and manage to keep the water down, then I’ll allow you to go on the podium and to participate in a shortened press conference before having someone drive you to the hospital to get checked out,” she said as she handed him one of the bottles.
“Fine,” Charles replied sullenly as he started to sip the water.
“I’ll make sure he goes,” Carlos reassured her.
“I don’t need a babysitter.”
“Shut up and drink your water,” Sebastian said, cutting off any sort of fight before it could even start as he leaned against the wall next to Carlos.
Charles glared at him but did as he was told, sipping the water slowly to make sure he wouldn’t to hurl it back up. The last time he’d gotten this sick from using his powers he’d ended up passed out and stuck in the hospital overnight, so he was counting this as a win. He blinked owlishly at Lando as the Brit sat down on his other side and nudged him with his shoulder so he’d look up just in time for him to take a selfie of the two of them.
“You better not post that on social media,” Charles said, trying to glare at him but giving up when it just made his headache worse.
“Ye of little faith!” Lando exclaimed, one hand dramatically covering his heart. “Max wants to know how you are.”
“Oh,” Charles replied and took another sip of his water. “Is… How is he?”
Lando looked at him with an expression Charles couldn’t name. “He’s really pissed off with you for some reason. He told me to tell you,” Lando looked down at his phone and read, “I’m going to kick his ass so hard the next time I see him he’s going to forget he’s not French.”
Charles groaned and leaned his head back against the wall. “Fuck.”
“Charles?” Sebastian crouched in front of him, scowling. “Why is Max angry with you?”
Charles refused to answer him and instead drank more water.
Sebastian glared at him. “Charles. What did you do?”
Charles stared at the ceiling and took another sip of his water. He could feel Sebastian’s stare burning a hole in his face as Lando and Carlos shifted uncomfortably on either side of him. He could almost pinpoint when Sebastian finally worked it out just by the shift in his body language as he leaned further into Charles’s personal space and his hand came to rest on his clammy forehead.
“Shit. Do I need to get Pierre?”
“No,” Charles answered as he let his eyes fall closed. “I’m fine. I just need a few more minutes.”
“Charles,” Sebastian admonished softly.
“I’ll be fine,” Charles amended.
“We should get to the cooldown room,” Lando interrupted as he looked up from his phone. “Sky Sport’s started throwing around conspiracy theories about why we’re taking so long to get there.”
“Are any of them about Charles and me having celebratory sex?” Carlos asked and Charles nearly snorted water up his nose.
Lando cackled. “Not yet, but you know it’s only a matter of time.”
“Fuck you both,” Charles snarled as he glared at them, too tired to hit them.
Thankfully, Sebastian was the best and did it for him, hitting both of them in the arm. “Enough of that.” Charles beamed at him. “We all know Charles only has eyes for one person,” he said, winking at Charles.
Charles kicked him in the shin as hard as he could, which, sadly, was not hard at all. “I hate you all,” he grumbled as he finished the first bottle of water.
Sebastian laughed at him and ruffled his hair. “Think you can get up now?” he asked as he handed Charles the second bottle already cracked open.
“Help me up,” he said after he’d taken a couple more sips and handed the bottle over to the doctor.
He let Carlos and Sebastian pull him up slowly, but he still had to lean against Carlos for a few seconds as his blood rushed down and his vision grayed out. He rode it out until everything settled again and then he pushed himself upright, standing still for a second to make sure that his legs would support him. He felt a little shaky still and the headache was still pounding against his temple, but the nausea had abated to a manageable level for now.
“Okay.”
“Are you sure?” Carlos asked even as he grabbed Charles’s elbow to support him.
“Yeah. Let’s get this over with.”
Max was going to fucking kill that goddamn asshole. As soon as he’d braked going into the turn, he’d known he’d fucked up. He’d felt the tyres lock up and the back of the car slide out from under him, and he’d known he was going to hit the barriers, that this was going to be the end of his race and the end of his championship.
And then the car had lurched to a stop so unexpectedly that Max had thought his neck was going to snap despite the HANS. He’d lost several seconds to shock, his breathing erratic while his mind still waited for the painful impact against the barriers. GP’s voice in his ears asking him if he was okay had snapped him out of his daze and he’d immediately understood what had happened.
He’d immediately realized that Charles had happened. That he’d used his powers to stop his car from crashing out.
“That fucking asshole!” he yelled on the radio as he restarted the car. “I’m going to fucking kill him!”
“Max? Are– are you okay?” GP asked again.
“How are my tyres?” he asked instead as he engaged the car and forced it back onto the track.
“Shot to hell, but you should be able to finish the race. You’re in P12, Magnussen two seconds ahead of you. Zhou P13 three seconds behind.”
“And Leclerc?”
“P1, Sainz 8 seconds behind him.”
Max grit his teeth and focused on catching up to Kevin and finishing this god forsaken race. After three turns, Max could tell that GP had been overly optimistic about both the tyres and his ability to finish the race on them. The grip was practically non-existent and his pace about as good as Albon’s Williams. But he pushed the car as hard as he could, and as GP announced the final lap, he found himself within striking distance of Kevin’s Haas. In a move that impressed even himself, he managed to overtake the Hass from the outside of turn 11 and defend his position until he cruised underneath the checkered flag.
“That’s P11, Max. Congrats on finishing the race, mate.”
“I’ll take it. Could have been a lot worse,” Max replied. “And Leclerc?”
“He’s added his name to the list of greats.”
Despite his anger at his idiocy, Max couldn’t help but smile and chuckle at the news. “Congratulations to him.”
“I’ll be sure to pass the message along to Ferrari.”
Max parked his car and exited as fast as he could. He knew he probably wouldn’t get a moment alone with Charles until whatever after-party Ferrari threw to celebrate his first World Championship, but he was still hoping he’d be able to catch him before he went to the cooldown room so he could at the very least make sure he was doing okay. But by the time he managed to get to the front, the only people left were some of the other drivers and the journalists. Max made a tactical retreat into the weighing room before any of the soul sucking vampires managed to corner him and he stood in line behind Esteban. He took his helmet off and stared at the television screens that were replaying the race highlights.
He couldn’t help his wince when he saw his car hurtling toward the barriers only to come to an abrupt stop.
“That was a lucky save,” Daniel said from behind him, startling Max so badly he nearly dropped his helmet.
“Fuck, Danny,” Max cursed as he put his hand on his chest.
Daniel grinned unrepentantly. “So, how did you manage to do it?”
“Do what?” Max asked, frowning.
“That save, mate. I’ve never seen an F1 car careening that fast toward a barrier not only stop before shunting but then going on to finish the damn race.”
Max scowled at the statement. Daniel was only the first person to ask him that; Max knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that this was going to be the number one question he’d have to answer for the next few hours, both to the press and at the Red Bull post-race debrief. Except that he had no idea what to say.
Even if Max didn’t understand the how, he knew the why; he knew the real reason he was standing here in the weighing room, perfectly fine and healthy, and not in a hospital nursing a concussion or a broken bone.
But there was no way he could tell the truth or explain any of it.
So instead, he shrugged and tried his best to look nonchalant. “I have no idea. I guess I got lucky.”
Daniel looked at him askance. “Uh huh.”
“Maybe I have a guardian angel,” Max smirked, just to see the disgusted look on Daniel’s face.
“Fine, don’t tell me. Not like I could pull it off in my McLaren anyway,” he grumbled.
Max couldn’t wipe the smirk off his face, Daniel’s grumpiness carrying him through the weigh-in and into the press pen where he met up with his press officer. He gladly accepted his phone and watched as his notifications blew up on his screen, most of them from friends and family asking him if he was okay. He quickly shot off a couple of texts to his mother and sister and ignored the rest. He glimpsed a television on the other side of the room and watched the empty cooldown room with a frown.
“Where are the podium winners?” he asked Vicky.
She glanced at the television and frowned too. “I don’t know. They all left Parc Fermé a while ago.”
“Who else is on the podium besides Leclerc?”
“Sainz and Norris.”
“Lando? Really?” Max asked, pleasantly surprised.
Vicky smiled. “P3.”
“Nice,” Max smiled back, happy that Lando had managed to snag that podium. He glanced down at his phone and opened his chat with Lando, hoping the Brit would have gotten a hold of his phone despite it usually being off limits until after the podium ceremony.
Max
Hey. Please tell me you managed to talk someone into giving you your phone.
DJ Norris
Ofc. Busy now
Max
Why is no one in the cooldown room?
Max watched anxiously as three dots appeared and disappeared over and over in the chat box, as if Lando wasn’t sure what to tell him.
Max
LANDO! Just tell me what’s going on. Where are you guys?
DJ Norris
Charles is sick
Max stared at the words uncomprehendingly for a few seconds before their meaning truly sunk in. Fuck. Fuck. That goddamn fucking asshole.
Max
That goddamn fucking asshole I’m going to fucking kill him. Where are you?
DJ Norris
Um, okay. Not sure how to react to that
Max
Where are you?
DJ Norris
Getting some water. Already got a doc
Max
A doctor? Fuck! What’s wrong with him?
DJ Norris
He collapsed on the way to the cooldown room and threw up. He still hasn’t gotten back up
Max
You tell that asshole that I’m going to kick his ass so hard the next time I see him he’s going to forget he’s not French.
DJ Norris
Am I missing something? Did something happen during the race between you two?
Max wasn’t sure what to say to that. Yes, Lando was most definitely missing something, and yes something most definitely had happened between the two of them during the race, but Max couldn’t actually tell him what.
Max
Who else is there?
DJ Norris
Carlos, obvs, and Sebastian somehow managed to sneak in
Not sure how and I sure as shit am not going to question his methods
Max sighed, relieved. At least there was someone with Charles who knew. He was about to reply when Vicky snagged his phone from his hands and glared at him.
“You have a press corps waiting to talk to you. You can text whomever later.”
Max snatched his phone back from her hand and grumbled a disgruntled, “Fine.” As predicted, the press mostly had two questions for him: What had happened on lap 66 and how had he managed to avoid the barriers. He answered both questions in much the same way he’d answered Daniel when he’d asked him, that he’d lost the rear and that he must have had a guardian angel watching over him. Neither answer was a lie, and it got him some chuckles and goodwill from the journalists.
As he navigated the press, he kept one eye on the television, waiting to see when the podium winners would show up, and it seemed that he wasn’t the only one. The longer it took for anyone to appear, the more questions he started getting from the press asking if he knew what was happening. The answer to that question was a lie so he just shrugged his shoulder whenever someone asked him.
He was nearly done with his press duties when Lando finally showed up, closely followed by Carlos who led Charles directly to the scale and then to one of the highchairs. Max sucked in a breath as he got his first glimpse of the Monégasque. He was paler than usual, his hair matted to his forehead, and, if Max focused closely, he could see fine tremors in the hand holding the water bottle. Lando took Charles’s helmet from Carlos and set it on the number 1 podium before he went to weigh himself, followed by Carlos.
“Huh, wonder what’s wrong with Charles,” Lewis said from next to Max, startling him and nearly giving him a heart attack.
“What the fuck is up with you people and sneaking up on everyone?” he complained as he tried to get his heart to calm down.
Lewis raised an eyebrow and smirked at Max. “Maybe if you stopped staring at Charles’s a––”
“Nope,” Max interrupted, smashing his entire palm in Lewis’s face and grinning when the older driver laughed at him as he pushed his hand away. “You and Daniel need to stop talking to each other.”
“Sorry, mate. You’re not subtle at all.”
“So I’ve been told,” Max groaned, but their brief levity died quickly as he watched Charles close his eyes and swallow repeatedly, like he was trying not to throw up. “Have you seen Sebastian?”
Lewis looked around the press pen with a frown. “Not since the end of the race. Why?”
Max hummed distractedly as he looked around for the bright green of the Aston Martin race suit, giving Lewis a distracted “Gotta go,” once he spotted who he was looking for. He sidled up next to Lance and smirked in satisfaction when the Canadian startled as badly as Max had when Lewis had done the same to him.
“What the hell, man!”
“Do you know where your teammate is?” Max asked without preamble.
“What?”
“Sebastian. Do you know where he is?”
“No. He took off a little after the end of the race and I haven’t seen him since. But you might want to ask Britta. If anyone knows, it’d be her,” Lance replied as he pointed toward a corner of the press pen.
“Thanks,” Max said absentmindedly as he made his way to the blonde standing unobtrusively in the corner, frowning at her phone.
“Hey, Britta,” Max said but stopped in his tracks when he was met with narrowed, icy blue eyes.
“Finally. Come on, let’s go,” she said gesturing for Max to follow her out.
Max blinked stupidly at her retreating back before jogging to catch up to her. “What’s going on? Where are we going?”
“The hospital.”
Max stopped in his tracks and he felt like someone had just reached into his chest and squeezed his heart. “What?” he whispered, horrified.
Britta glanced back when she realized Max was no longer next to her and walked back to him, grabbing him by the elbow to get him moving again even as she gave him a sympathetic look. “Sebastian told me they’ll be taking Charles to the hospital after the press conference.”
“What?” he shouted this time, unable to stop himself.
Britta shushed him and glanced around to make sure no one had heard him. “Sebastian said the doctor wanted him to go right away, but he insisted he was fine and couldn’t miss the podium.” Max snorted; he would have done the same and Britta looked at him knowingly. “Exactly. So instead, she allowed him to go on the podium and give a shortened press conference. Sebastian and Carlos will drive him there, but Sebastian figured you might want to a ride.”
“Thanks, Britta.”
She smiled at him and winked. “No problem.”
Charles rested his head against the window, eyes closed, as Carlos and Sebastian whispered between themselves in the front seats. The two bottles of water and the power bar Sebastian and the doctor had forced on him had given him just enough energy to celebrate his championship-winning podium and bask in the spray of the sweetest champagne of his career. He’d then somehow survived what felt like the longest press conference of his life as the nausea and fatigue returned and he’d had to endure a never-ending stream of questions about his race, his win, and what had happened prior to the cooldown room. But even his flagging energy and the barrage of questions couldn’t dampen his smile because he’d done it; he’d won his first WDC and nothing and no one could take it away from him.
As he let the rumble of the car and the purr of the motor relax him into a semi-wakeful state, his mind wandered back to the race and that moment when Max’s rear had locked and he’d skid off the track, his Red Bull hurtling toward the barrier. He hadn’t really thought about it at the time, but now, in the safety of the car with Sebastian and Carlos, he relived those seconds of panic, that moment when he knew that he couldn’t let Max crash even if that meant he would ruin his own race. He felt his breath hitch as he thought about that and what that said about him and his feelings toward Max.
Before he could start to overthink it, the car stopped and he squinted his eyes open to glance at the entrance of the emergency room. He groaned when he saw two nurses, one of them with a wheelchair, waiting for them just outside the doors.
“Do I have to?” he whined pitifully.
Carlos turned around to look at him as Sebastian exited the car. “Sorry, Lord Perceval. I got my orders.”
Charles sighed as Sebastian opened the door and helped him out and onto the waiting wheelchair. He rested one elbow on the armrest and pulled his black hoodie further down his forehead to hide his face, hoping no one would recognize him or Sebastian as he was wheeled through the ER and into a private room. Sebastian stayed with him as he transferred over to a bed and once again closed his eyes.
“The doctor will be by shortly,” the nurse who had been pushing the wheelchair said. She hesitated briefly as she was about to leave before saying softly, “Congratulations on your championship,” and closing the door behind her.
Charles groaned softly the moment she was gone as he turned to lie on his side. He listened to the sound of a chair scraping across the floor and Sebastian’s soft humph as he sat.
“So,” Sebastian said, and then paused to see if Charles would respond. When it became clear that he wouldn’t, Sebastian sighed and put a hand on Charles’s forearm. “How are you feeling?”
“Like I got run over by a truck,” Charles murmured.
“Do you need to throw up?”
“Not right now.”
Sebastian cringed. “That’s not very encouraging.”
“Better than the last time this happened,” Charles replied and winced slightly. He hadn’t meant to give that much away, but he supposed the cat was already out of the bag with Sebastian.
“You want to tell me exactly what happened? I’m assuming you’re the reason Max isn’t in the bed next to yours and is, instead, pacing somewhere in the waiting area,” Sebastian replied, leaning back on the uncomfortable chair.
Charles opened his eyes and winced at the brightness. “Max is here?”
Sebastian chuckled at the hopeful tone. “Yes, but he’s stuck outside until the doctor says you can have more visitors.”
“Why are you here, then?”
Sebastian raised an eyebrow. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No,” Charles cried and reached out instinctively to grab hold of Sebastian.
He winced when he realized what he’d done, but before he could curl up and die from embarrassment, Sebastian leaned forward again and grabbed hold of his hand. “I was joking, Charles. I wouldn’t leave even if they tried to kick me out,” Sebastian reassured him.
“I’m sorry,” Charles replied shyly.
“No, don’t be. I shouldn’t have joked about it. But can you tell me what happened?”
Charles sighed softly and closed his eyes again, turning his face slightly so he could bury half of it into the pillow as he remembered the track and watching Max lose control of his car. “I’m not… I’ve never done this on purpose before.”
“Done what?”
“Use my powers during a race.”
“I know,” Sebastian said softly. “I never thought you had.”
Charles smiled at the vote of confidence. “I knew Max was going to lock up.” Sebastian raised an eyebrow at that, and Charles huffed. “I’ve been driving against him for more than half of my life, I can tell when he’s pushed the car too far and taken a corner too fast.”
“Fair enough,” Sebastian conceded.
“I just didn’t expect him to lose the rear completely. I just… I saw him spin out and I reacted instinctively. I sort of… I don’t even know how to explain it.”
Sebastian hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve never seen you get sick from using your powers before.”
Charles sighed. “You’ve only seen me doing little things before. Stopping a car going over 200 kilometers per hour from crashing…” Charles stopped for a second as a he rode out a wave of nausea and let out a deep breath as it passed. He felt Sebastian’s fingers squeeze his hand and he smiled tightly at the German. “I’ll be okay.”
Sebastian looked at him skeptically. “It’s been several hours, Charles, and you don’t look any better.”
“I know. It’s going to take a couple of days. It’s like I used everything I had to stop Max’s car and now I’m running on empty. Everything is just… fucking terrible.”
Charles could tell Sebastian had more questions than he was willing to answer, but before he could ask any of them, the door opened and a small, dark-haired woman in a white medical coat entered the room, her gaze on the clipboard in her hands.
“Hello, Mr. Leclerc. I’m Dr. Goldstein and I’ll be your attending for now. Would you prefer to speak in private?” she asked as she glanced at Sebastian.
Charles’s hand automatically clenched around Sebastian’s. “No. I’d like for Seb to stay, please.”
She nodded at him. “Of course. May I examine you?” she asked, and when Charles nodded, she smiled at him and began the physical examination.
Charles dutifully allowed her to palpate his neck and press on his abdomen, answering her questions about his past and current symptoms and glaring at Sebastian whenever he decided to chime in with additional symptoms or descriptions of what had happened after the race. He didn’t need or want to stay at the hospital, but Sebastian was clearly aiming for him to be admitted overnight.
“Stop that,” he whispered at one point, glaring daggers at the older driver.
“Don’t be an idiot, Charles,” Sebastian replied airily, and Charles blushed at the small smile tugging at the doctor’s lips as she pretended not to hear them.
“Well, Mr. Leclerc,” the doctor said, drawing their attention away from each other. “You’re exhibiting several symptoms of dehydration. We’ll get you started on Ringer’s lactate and draw some blood for testing. Depending on those results, we’ll discuss our next steps.”
“Can I get out of here by tonight?” Charles asked hopefully.
The doctor smiled blandly at him. “I can make no promises before I see the results of the blood test. But based on your medical history and my examination, I think there’s a good chance we can release you to rest in your hotel tonight.”
“Thank you,” Charles responded, trying and failing to suppress his grateful smile.
“A nurse will come by to get you set up, and you’re free to stay in your clothes if you’d like. The nurse will also give you some paperwork so you can designate who may visit you during your stay.”
“Oh, okay,” Charles said softly, not expecting that last part.
The next hour felt like an eternity. Charles declined to put on the hospital grown and closed his eyes while the nurse drew his blood and set up the IV. He provided the list of visitors allowed in his room and then sent Sebastian out with the nurse so he could bring Carlos and Max over. He pretended not to see Sebastian’s amused little smirk and, honestly, he didn’t really care anymore; he just wanted to see Max and make sure he was okay.
Charles heard them before he saw them; the cadence of their voices, three different but familiar accents mingling together, announcing their presence long before they reached his room. He opened his eyes when he heard the door open and drank in the sight of Max in his usual Red Bull shirt and cap. He looked fine, maybe a little frazzled around the edges, but otherwise okay.
“Max,” he greeted him, a smile tugging at his lips.
Max, for his part, stopped just inside the room and stared at Charles on the hospital bed. He wasn’t sure what he looked like to Max, but he doubted it was anything good. He felt gross, with his hair matted from the sweat and the bags under his eyes likely contrasting starkly with his pale skin. But the longer Max stared, the more Charles could feel the heat in his cheeks spreading down his neck and to his ears.
“Charles,” Max finally whispered, and Charles could see his hands clenching into fists.
Oh shit.
“You goddamn fucking moron!” Max exclaimed and took five long strides to reach the bed. “What the fuck were you thinking, you goddamn demon spawn!”
“Maybe we should go,” Sebastian mumbled as he grabbed Carlos’s arm and tried to pull him toward the door.
“Oh no, we should definitely stay,” Carlos said as he took out his phone and turned on the camera.
Charles reeled back momentarily in the face of Max’s fury, but then his adrenaline kicked in and he could feel his own anger rising. “What the fuck is your problem?”
“You!” Max shouted, poking a finger at Charles’s chest. “You’re my fucking problem. What the fuck is wrong with you? Were you trying to get yourself killed?”
“I was trying to save you, connard,” Charles growled, smacking Max’s finger away. “And clearly I succeeded since you’re up and talking and not crushed against a barrier, dead.”
Max made some incomprehensible sound before he threw his hands up in the air. “Charles! You’re in a hospital.”
“Yes, obviously. And you are not,” Charles replied disdainfully.
Max stared at him silently for a few long seconds before he seemed to deflate as his anger bled out of him. He leaned forward so Charles was forced to look into his eyes, both hands clenched around the bed railing. “I don’t want you to save me at the expense of your health,” he whispered.
Charles sucked in a sharp breath and forced himself to calm down as he realized that Max wasn’t mad at him; he was worried about him. Max, perhaps more than anyone but his family, understood how physically draining his powers could be on him. Charles had told him about what had happened at Les Mans, and he’d seen how exhausted Charles got after using his powers for difficult tasks. And while Charles had always been afraid to hurt other people with his powers, he hadn’t realized that Max had been worried about Charles hurting himself in the process. That he’d worried that Charles would be the one crashing into the barriers because his powers would have left him exhausted and sick.
And even though he hadn’t crashed, Charles knew that it had been nothing short of a miracle that he’d managed to finish the race. Because Max had been right to be worried; he had been sick, and he had been exhausted, and, although he’d never admit it to anyone, he had no recollection of the last few laps of the race.
Charles reached out and pried one of Max’s hands off the railing so he could hold it in his own. “Max,” he said seriously, green eyes staring intently at him. “I’m fine.”
“Charles,” Max murmured, his voice hoarse and broken.
“Hey. I’m going to be okay.”
Max stared at him, blue eyes searching his own, and cataloguing his face as if to make sure that everything was as it should be. He saw from his peripheral vision Max’s other hand come up and felt the tips of his fingers brushing against his cheek, the rough pads sweeping under his eyes and into his hair, pushing a few strands back and off his forehead. He felt as fingernails scratched against his scalp and circled around his head only to rest at his nape, a grounding pressure more substantial than the bed underneath him.
Charles sighed softly and closed his eyes. He let Max push his head forward until their foreheads rested together, and Charles hummed contently when he felt blunt fingernails digging into his neck muscles. He felt Max’s hand squeeze his and automatically opened his eyes a sliver to glance at Max through his eyelashes.
“Can I kiss you?” Max whispered, his breath brushing against Charles’s face and causing goosebumps to break out across his skin.
“My breath is terrible,” Charles whined. “I’ve thrown up more times than I can count.”
Max chuckled even as his fingers brushed the short hairs at the back of Charles’s neck. “I don’t care.”
Charles smiled and nodded minutely, and Max didn’t wait for him to change his mind. He leaned in the last few inches between them, soft lips meeting chapped ones in a sweet and delicate kiss. It was over just as quickly and Charles blinked his eyes open, smiling widely at the sight of Max’s flushed cheeks and pleased grin.
A loud wolf-whistle startled them, shattering the moment. Charles’s head snapped to the side, and he glared at Carlos and Sebastian, both of whom were looking at them with wild grins lighting up their faces. Charles could feel his blush spreading across his cheeks and down his neck at their expression and he felt Max’s hand tighten on neck.
“What the fuck, mate,” Max grumbled. “A little privacy, maybe?”
“You’re the ones making out in public,” Carlos shrugged unapologetically.
“This is my hospital room,” Charles groused. “It’s hardly public.”
“And it’s hardly our fault you forgot we’ve been here this whole time,” Sebastian cut in diplomatically, his grin widening as the blush on both Max and Charles’s faces intensified. “But I guess congratulations are in order, now?”
“Oh my God,” Charles whispered as he let his forehead rest on Max’s shoulder to hide his face. “You need to leave. Right now.”
“Will you and Max be celebrating your Championship in style?” Sebastian leered and Charles nearly choked on his own spit.
“Oh!” Max exclaimed softly and pulled Charles’s face from its hiding place, both hands coming up to cup the Monégasque’s cheeks. “You’re a World Champion!” he cried, smiling from ear to ear, and leaning forward to kiss Charles again.
Charles blinked for a moment at the quick and easy kiss and smiled. “You forgot, didn’t you?” he teased.
“To be fair, I was too busy being pissed off at you for the stunt you pulled,” Max shrugged.
“So, is someone going to explain to me how Max not crashing into the barriers is somehow Charles’s doing?” Carlos asked as he leaned one hip against Charles’s hospital bed and glared at the two younger drivers.
Charles paled at the same time that Max flushed bright red, and both drivers turned to look at Sebastian with identical deer-caught-in-the-headlights looks. Carlos shifted his gaze to the German, who looked exasperated.
“Don’t look at me. This is your decision,” Sebastian said as he pointed a finger at Charles. “But, for what it’s worth, you should tell him. He may have already figured it out.”
Carlos stared at the three men around him with a frown, eyes narrowed as he clearly tried to work something out. “Does this have something to do with Charles’s…” He trailed off and gestured vaguely in the air and then to all of Charles.
Charles sucked in a loud breath. “My all of what?”
“Two months ago, you were frowning at a cold mug of tea and a few seconds later it was steaming,” Carlos said and watched, a little worried, how Charles’s face paled further.
“Wow,” Max said as he turned to look at Charles, squeezing his neck to try to stave off a panic attack. “You really are terrible about keeping this a secret.”
Charles flushed, at both the comment and the weight on his neck. “I didn’t think anyone was around.”
“Well?” Carlos asked as he crossed his arms over his chest.
Charles glanced nervously at the closed door, and Sebastian cracked it open and then closed it again, giving Charles a thumbs up. “Coast is clear.”
“I…” Charles hesitated, unsure what to say. The first and only time he had ever actually told anyone was Pierre when they were twelve, and his best friend had seen Charles fish the football out of the harbor. He had no idea how to actually explain what he was and how his powers worked.
“Charles can do magic,” Max interjected after Charles had glanced at him for the third time in as many seconds. He waited a beat to see if Carlos would say anything, and when the Spaniard only raised an eyebrow in response, he squeezed the back of Charles’s neck again in the hopes of grounding both himself and Charles. “I guess the best way to describe it is that he can manipulate the energy around things, and some things are harder to do than others. Stopping a car careening toward a barrier is obviously one of those harder things.”
Carlos glanced from Charles’s pale face to Max’s serious expression and hummed thoughtfully.
“You can’t tell anyone,” Charles said anxiously.
“Who else knows? Besides the obvious,” he asked, gesturing to Max and Sebastian.
“Pierre and my family.”
Carlos nodded. “Okay.” Charles smiled, relieved. “Besides, I owe you one. You two just won me a lot of money.”
“What?” Charles, dumbfounded.
“Oh, fucking hell,” Max groaned at the same time and pulled out his phone. “Urgh!” he groaned louder as he unlocked it and stared at the barrage of texts from Daniel and Lando.
Charles leaned over his shoulder and raised both eyebrows in surprise. “Why is Daniel calling you a traitor? Is that a hand grenade emoji?”
Carlos laughed uproariously. “You knew?” he asked Max incredulously.
“Only since Friday night!” Max defended himself.
“What did you know?” Charles asked suspiciously. When Max squirmed uncomfortably, he directed his stare to his former and current teammates. “Is this about whatever bet you wouldn’t tell me about after qualifying? That was real?”
“And enriching,” Carlos confirmed. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, gentlemen, Sebastian and I are going to go collect my winnings.”
“You’re in the betting pool?” Charles asked, looking at Sebastian with a disappointed look.
“Oh no, do not look at me with those sad eyes of yours. I am not part of the betting pool,” Sebastian replied. He waited a few moments, and once Charles looked properly chastised, he grabbed Carlos’s elbow and started ushering him through the door. He turned back just before he closed the door and winked at Charles. “I’m the bookie.”
Charles threw his pillow at him and watched as it immediately smacked into the floor, getting nowhere close to the now closed door. “Those assholes.”
“Hey,” Max said after a few seconds, one hand trailing up Charles’s arm and brushing against his cheek to get his attention.
Charles looked at him and smiled stupidly. “Hey.”
“Wanna make out some more now that we’re finally alone?” Max asked with a shit-eating grin and beamed when Charles laughed out loud.
“We haven’t even gone out on a date yet and the romance is already dead.”
Max shrugged. “Not my fault you’ve got one of those face.”
Charles looked at him unamused, but the glint in his eyes and the small twitch of his lips betrayed him. “What kind of face would that be?”
“The kind I wanna make out with all the time.” Max secretly preened when Charles’s serious façade broke, and he grinned so widely his dimples formed two deep divots in his cheeks.
“Only if you go find me a toothbrush,” Charles replied and pushed Max away from him.
“What?” Max asked confused.
“My breath stinks, Max. The faster you go find me a toothbrush, the faster we can make out.”
Max grumbled but rummaged in his pocket for a second before he pulled out a packet of mint. “Does this work instead?”
Charles snagged the packet and popped in one of the candies. “Good enough, yes. Now come over here,” Charles said as he grabbed the front of Max’s shirt and pulled him in for another kiss.
Max woke slowly, overheated, and to a strange weight pressing on his bladder. He blinked his eyes open and frowned when he realized that his vison was obstructed by a mop of wild, brown hair. And then he smiled stupidly when he remembered the day before. Charles had come over as soon as he’d landed from Abu Dhabi and kissed him like his life depended on it, slamming Max into the side table and knocking over a couple of knick-knacks. Max had tried to gently steer them to his bedroom, but he kept getting distracted by Charles’s lips on his neck and his hands on his ass. They’d eventually managed to fall onto his bed and proceeded to spend the next hour making out like teenagers before the jetlag had caught up to them and they’d fallen asleep mid-kiss.
He felt a slight weight moving around the bed and looked to the side only to come face to face with Sassy’s judgmental stare. He narrowed his eyes and grunted softly when she headbutted him repeatedly. He tried to ignore her so he could enjoy the feel of Charles in his arms a little longer but had to stifle a yelp when she suddenly lunged and bit his nose.
“Stop moving,” Charles grumbled as he snuggled closer to Max and tightened his arms.
“Sorry, schatje. But I gotta get up,” Max sighed as he tried to untangle himself from Charles’s arms.
“No,” Charles whined as he tightened his hold on Max to stop him.
“Charles,” Max whined back. “I gotta pee.”
“But you’re comfortable,” Charles grumbled as he loosened his hold slightly. “Just five more minutes,” he tried to compromise.
“Not even five more seconds,” Max said as he finally managed to pry off Charles’s arms from around him and slipped out of the bed. He paused momentarily to take in the sight of Charles looking up at him with his eyes half lidded and his hair a disheveled mess and pushed down the urge to jump back into bed and kiss him stupid.
Instead, he hurried to the bathroom to take care of business and brush his teeth while he was at it. He rummaged around his vanity until he found an unopened toothbrush and smiled when he paused to look at the two toothbrushes side by side. He peeked back into the room, but when he realized that Charles had fallen back to sleep, he decided to get coffee started and to feed the demons that inhabited his apartment.
He'd just sat at his kitchen island with a cup of coffee, scrolling through cringy websites claiming to have the perfect first date ideas, when he heard his shower turning on. He wanted to take Charles somewhere special, somewhere they could be alone and not have to worry about fans or paparazzi, but he also wanted to stay local. They were both jetlagged and tired from a long season, and Charles was still coming down from the high of winning his first World Championship. If last night was any indication, he was bound to crash halfway through the day.
He was so engrossed in his thoughts that he failed to notice when the sounds from the bathroom ceased and were replaced by the sound of footsteps walking towards the kitchen. He nearly jumped out of the stool when fingers ghosted across his nape, his whole body breaking out into goosebumps from the single touch. He turned around to glare at Charles’s back as he made his way to the espresso machine, but his brain screeched to a halt when he got a look at him. He was wearing one of Max’s orange hoodies and a pair of sweatpants slightly too big on him. His hair had been towel-dried and it was starting to curl up at the back.
“Like what you see?” Charles asked as he turned his head slightly to look at Max from the corner of his eyes.
Max swallowed and cleared his throat. “You look good in orange.”
“I look good in anything,” he asserted as he steamed the milk for his latte.
Max laughed as he slunk out of the stool and wrapped his arms around Charles’s waist, burying his nose in the damp curls. “You’re so fucking vain,” he said as he kissed the skin in front of him. He smiled when he felt Charles shiver at the touch.
“It’s not vanity if it’s the truth,” Charles shrugged as he leaned back into the embrace.
Max opted to nuzzle the back of his neck instead of replying. He closed his eyes and breathed in the scent of his soap and shampoo mingling with Charles’s smell, and he couldn’t help tightening his arms around the warm body in front of him. He felt Charles’s silent laughter and grinned, content with the knowledge that they were already so at ease with each other even though this thing between them was brand new. He finally let go and moved back to the stool when Charles shifted to do the same.
“Thanks for the toothbrush,” Charles said as he sipped his latte. “You do know I have one in my bag, right?”
Max blushed bright red and shrugged. “Well… In case you need it. When you come over again…” he murmured awkwardly.
Charles beamed brightly at him and Max felt his face flush even redder at the sight of his dimples. “So, any plans for today?” Charles asked after a few moments of silence.
Max cleared his throat and nodded slightly. “I was hoping we could go out. On a date.”
Max hadn’t thought it was possible for Charles’s smile to get wider, but clearly he’d been wrong because it was now blinding. “I would love to,” Charles said as he laced his fingers with Max’s. “Where do you want to go?”
Max groaned. “I don’t know, and the internet is of absolutely no help. I wanted to stay local but also somewhere private so we don’t have to deal with anyone.”
Charles hummed softly as he thought about that and then smiled. “I think I have an idea.”
Two hours (and another shower) later, Max stood next to a giddy Charles as he stared at the empty track. “We literally just finished one of the most exhausting seasons of F1 and you want to go karting?” he asked incredulously.
Charles grinned unrepentantly. “You love it. Don’t even try to deny it.”
“But I can’t hold your hand while we’re karting,” Max whined and promptly flushed; he hadn’t meant to say that out loud.
“Aw, chéri,” Charles cooed as he grabbed Max’s hand and kissed the back of it. “That’s so cute.” Max’s blush intensified. “I promise you can hold it after.”
Max looked out at the track and around themselves skeptically. “Why is it so empty?”
“I know the owner. It’s technically closed right now, but he said we can use it.”
Max hummed thoughtfully and turned to look at Charles only to find him already looking at him. “Yeah, okay. But on one condition.”
“What’s that?”
“You should use your powers to fuck around the track.”
“What?” Charles exclaimed and Max could see the anxiety setting in.
“Charles. You deliberately stopped my car as it barreled toward the barriers. You clearly have more control over them than you think. Imagine how much fun we could have if you use them a la Mario Kart!” Max said excitedly. “You could give yourself a boost, or put ice on the track––”
“Max!” Charles cried out, scandalized. “That’s dangerous!”
“Yeah, okay,” Max conceded. “No ice. But come on! It could be so much fun.”
Charles looked over the indoor track for a second before he nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”
Max beamed. “Yeah? But only if you’re comfortable with it. This is supposed to be a date. You’re supposed to have fun, not be all anxious about it.”
“No, no. Let’s do it. I’ve never… Well, you know. But we can try it,” Charles said a little more confidently.
“And if you start to feel unwell or you start getting anxious, we’ll just stop and then, I don’t know, go get gelato or something.”
“We should get gelato anyway,” Charles smiled as he made his way to the storage area to grab the helmets.
“It’s December,” Max countered as he grabbed one of the proffered helmets.
“And?”
“It’s cold out.”
Charles raised his eyebrows. “It’s never too cold for gelato, Max.”
Max huffed, amused, and stuck the helmet on his head. “Yeah, okay. We’ll go get gelato after I trounce your ass.”
Max did not trounce Charles’s ass. It turned out that Charles could do some really awesome things with his powers when he finally let go and started having some fun. He started off small, like giving himself a boost so he could overtake Max on a straight. When Max caught up to him a couple laps later, Charles smoothed out a small section of the track just as Max passed over it, causing him to bang against the barriers as his rear slid out. He also somehow managed to raise a bump on the circuit that Max managed to avoid at the last second, and to decrease Max’s engine output just as he was about to overtake him. Max shouted obscenities at him with every obstacle he created, but he grinned under his helmet whenever he heard Charles cackling with glee.
Charles finally called it quits after an hour, slowly bringing the kart back in and removing his helmet. He stayed seated as he waited for Max to finish his lap and then grinned at him once his own helmet was off. Max scanned him closely, and although he looked fine, he could see small lines of fatigue stretching around his mouth and eyes.
“I’m fine,” Charles said, heading off the inevitable question.
“You sure?”
“I’m not used to it, you know? Deliberately using my powers so much. It sort of feels like exercising a muscle for the first time.”
Max hummed thoughtfully. “There’s an idea. Maybe the more you use them, the easier it’ll become to control them.” Charles looked at him skeptically. “We have all of winter break to figure it out,” Max shrugged as he got out of the kart and stopped by Charles, holding out his hand.
“I guess,” Charles said as he accepted the help. Max tightened his fingers around the hand when Charles made to let go. “Softie,” Charles whispered fondly but he squeezed back and entwined their fingers as they returned the helmets and closed up the karting track.
Max then drove them to his favorite gelato place and rolled his eyes when Charles ordered a scoop of Stracciatella.
“What?” Charles questioned when he saw the gesture.
“That’s so pretentious.”
“What?” Charles cried indignantly. “It’s gelato, Max. How can a flavor be pretentious?”
Max was about to reply when Charles rolled his tongue around the gelato, the tip of it dipping into the soft top so he could scoop some into his mouth. Max felt his blood split in two, half of it rushing to his face and half of it to his dick, and promptly turned around so he could order his own plain chocolate gelato and not have to look at Charles’s smirking face.
“Come on,” Charles said as he grabbed Max’s bicep and pulled him out of the gelateria and toward the pier.
“Where are we going?” Max asked as he let himself be pulled along, enjoying the extra warmth and pressure of Charles’s hand on him.
Charles didn’t reply. Instead, he let his hand slide down Max’s coat and tangled his fingers with Max’s, winking at him when Max grabbed his hand more solidly and squeezed it. Max stopped paying attention to where they were going, and instead split his focus between his gelato and Charles’s warm hand in his. He tuned back in when Charles slowed down and pulled Max down on a bench. He looked around and noticed they were in a more secluded part of the marina, the boats in front of them more modest than the usual Monaco luxury yachts. While nothing in Monaco could ever be described as run down, this part of the marina was clearly not for the millionaires living in the principality.
“This is my favorite spot,” Charles said softly as he bit into the last of his gelato and cleaned his hands on his napkin. “I used to come here a lot when I was younger, when I just wanted to be alone.”
“Is it always this empty?”
“It’s a lot busier in the summer, but for the rest of year it’s mostly quiet.” Max watched the boats swaying in the water and tried to imagine a younger Charles coming here, by himself, when the world got too loud. “It’s where I told Pierre about my powers.”
Max turned to look at him then, and relaxed when he saw the amused grin tugging at Charles’s lips. “Yeah?”
“It was a total accident. We were playing football and the ball went into the water.” Charles laughed. “His face when I made it float out of the water.” Charles tried to mimic his friend and Max burst out laughing, because even though it was a terrible impersonation, he knew exactly what face Charles was trying to pull.
“That must have been a shock for him.”
“It was a shock to both of us. I hadn’t meant to do it, and after I did, I had a panic attack.”
Max grabbed Charles’s hand and Charles leaned against him, sliding down the bench slightly so he could rest his head on Max’s shoulder. They stayed like that for several minutes, both silently watching the boats swaying in the lapping water. Max felt Charles inhale deeply and turned his head so he could rest his lips against his scalp.
“Thank you,” Charles said into the comfortable silence.
“What for?”
Charles wiggled a little so he could get closer to Max. “For being there for me this season. You finding out about my powers turned out to be one of the best things that happened to me. I don’t know that I could have won the championship without you there.”
“Charles,” Max admonished softly, but stopped when Charles pulled back so he could face him properly.
“No, Max. I mean it. Since I was old enough to understand that I was different, I’ve always been so afraid that I would hurt someone. I’ve always felt like I was stuck in a vicious cycle of anxiety and explosive release. Pierre and my family tried to help whenever they could, but I never really let them. I think I was too afraid.”
“Of what?” Max asked before he could stop himself.
Charles pressed his lips into a thin line. “Of how out of control my powers made me feel. It was easier to not think about them so that I could tell myself that I was in control and that I knew what I was doing. I didn’t want to admit it, even to myself, how little I understood them.”
“Charles,” Max said softly, unsure how to respond.
“Max, you have to realize that in all these years, you’re the only person who’s ever gotten me to stop and think about how my powers might work and how I could use them safely. My family and Pierre have helped me manage them, but you’ve helped me understand them. I don’t think you can appreciate how much of an impact that’s had on me. So, thank you.”
Charles leaned over then and kissed him softly, one hand coming up to rest on the side of Max’s neck. He pulled back just far enough so he could look Max in the eyes and smiled. “You’ve made me realize that these powers aren’t something I should fear. They can be fun too.”
Max closed his eyes against the sting of tears, and he leaned over so his forehead rested against Charles’s own. He inhaled deeply to get himself under control and smiled softy. “You’re special, Charles, and not just because of your powers. You make me a better person, and I…” He swallowed the lump in his throat and inhaled slowly. “I am so lucky to have you in my life.”
Charles smiled and pecked him on the nose before pulling away. “Come. I’m getting cold,” he said as he got up.
Max snorted. “You’re the one who wanted ice cream.”
“First of all, it was gelato, not ice cream, you heathen,” Charles said disdainfully. “Secondly, I think it’s time to go home now. I really need a nap.”
“Oh,” Max said and tried not to look disappointed at that. He’d known that Charles wouldn’t last long, but he’d been hoping they could have made it to lunch at the very least. “Yeah, of course. Do you want me to drop you off?”
Charles looked momentarily surprised by the question before he frowned. “Are you… I thought…” He clammed up then and crossed his arms over his chest looking hurt.
Max blinked at the sudden change in his mood. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Charles replied curtly, looking at the ground.
“Charles,” Max said exasperated, tugging on one of Charles’s hands so he could twine his fingers in it. “You were fine just a second ago, and now you’re clearly upset. Did I say something wrong?”
Charles shrugged and still refused to look up. “I just thought…” He bit his lips and glanced up at Max. “I thought you’d want to cuddle.”
Max’s eyes widened in surprise, and he squeezed Charles’s hand automatically. “Of course I want to cuddle.”
“Then why are you kicking me out?” Charles asked looking confused.
“You said you wanted to go home,” Max explained.
“Yes. To cuddle.” Charles replied, and Max felt a wave of relief when he realized where they’d gone wrong.
“I thought you meant you wanted to go back to your house to sleep. I didn’t think you’d meant my house.”
“Oh!” Charles exclaimed and smiled slightly. “Why would I want to go back to my place when all my things are at your house?”
“I…” Max started, but then quickly decided that explaining the nuances of English words wasn’t a battle worth waging when they were both jetlagged. “You’re right. Let’s go home and cuddle.”
“And sleep. And after that, I will take you to my favorite restaurant,” Charles said as he pulled on Max’s hand and led the way back to the car.
“It better not be rabbit food, Charles. We’re on vacation and I want something fatty and salty.”
“Ye of little faith,” Charles replied, rolling his eyes. “Trust me, you’ll love it.”
Max looked at Charles’s bright and carefree grin in the winter light and smiled stupidly as he let himself be pulled along back through the streets of Monte Carlo.
I think I already do.