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We can do the tango, just for two,
I can serenade you and play on your heartstrings.
---
Dan and Max have been friends for nearly a decade. He’s seen his best friend punch a creep's face, kiss a really pretty model with way too much tongue, cry when everything is just too much. They’ve been through thick and thin, and Dan thinks it’s made them both better people. The point is, Dan knows Max. So when he calls Max on one of the more boring holiday breaks it doesn’t take him more than a second to realise that something is wrong.
Max’s face appears on his phone screen just a little too red, and his hair is too spiky to be bed hair. “Yo.” He grins, and Dan is immediately tempted to wave away any of the strangeness as a symptom of the clear exhaustion advertised in his voice.
“Hey man!” Dan bounces off Max’s weak smile as he always does, it's obvious to anyone why he's been nicknamed a Golden Retriever by his disgruntled agency. “How's the holiday treating you?”
For a split second he swears Max’s eyes flick off screen, something like a quite humorous huff catching in the phone mic. “Pretty okay.”
“Is that it? I thought you were doing parachuting and stuff!” Daniel pouts, slumping into his sofa pillows.
“We did!” Max’s eyes spark to life for a moment, Dan feels his own grin grow, he knew there was something odd!
“We?”
Max sputters for a moment. “Well, like, my sister tagged along.”
“Isn’t she scared of heights?”
“It was a dare.” Max’s shrug looks a bit too forced, Daniel compartmentalizes it easily. Then he hears rustling off-screen and suddenly Max looks a bit more red.
“Really? And she actually did it?”
“Would you believe it?” His voice sounds just a little breathless. “A-anyway, what have you been up to?”
Daniel is all too happy to talk about himself, even with his boredom, he can’t deny that interesting things are still happening. It’s just that his particular brand of chaos is sadly not present. He lets his brain switch to autopilot, his mouth running off wherever it pleases. But he can’t help but notice that Max is weirdly distracted.
He’s squirming, and his voice catches at random moments, then there’s the fact that his eyes keep darting just beneath his phone. Is he even listening?
“-And so that’s when I saw Christian murdering a puppy-”
“Mhm, sure.” Max murmurs out, eyes glazed over like he’s ill.
“You aren’t even listening to me!” Daniel huffs, sulking like an infant.
Max turns an even brighter red in embarrassment, humiliated at being caught. “I-I’m trying, don’t get me wrong!”
“Are the cats harassing you again? Dogs are better, you should know this by now!”
Max suddenly looks like he’s about to burst into laughter, and it wasn’t even one of his good jokes. Something is clearly going on with his friend, where is his signature eyeroll? But then suddenly Max is glowing pink again, biting his lips in a barely-disguised attempt to keep his mouth closed.
“Okay, what’s going on?” Daniel leans closer to the scream, raising a poignant eyebrow and trying to read Max’s expression. “You’ve been acting weird, are you ill or something?”
“I-it’s nothing.” He tries, but it’s not convincing anyone. It’s breathless, desperate and if Dan didn’t know better he would think that he’s horny.
“Sure it’s not.” Daniel doesn’t even bother trying to hide his scepticism, and Max can only glare at him in reply. “You are the worst liar on earth.”
He fully expects Max to growl at him or something, but then something dark flashes on screen, and Max’s eyes widen to the size of coins.
“I need to go-” Dan isn’t sure if it’s just a glitch in the software but he swears he hears faintly familiar laughter echo around Max’s room, then neat braids, and distinctly fashionable fabric.
But before he can ask the screen has gone completely dark.
“Okay.” Daniel is left staring at the black screen suspiciously. “That was weird .” He wonders aloud.
That's only the start.
---
Brad wakes up early one random Thursday morning and prepares for a regular day. It’s the summer break, a few weeks of blissful peace. Except it’s never that simple. There's a meeting scheduled every afternoon, and then he has to micromanage a very moody Max, who would really rather just be left alone on his rare few weeks off. But Brad still has to find him every few days and, this Sunday, warm and sunny, he’s sitting in an over-expensive Café waiting for Max to finally arrive.
Max has always been mysterious with what he does on his holidays. He’s proud of it, too, replying to any email sent right before his holiday with a curt ‘Don’t bother contacting me until I’m back’. Brad is curious, of course he is, but he knows he’s never going to figure it out.
(He and Dan had tried many many times, but after Max caught them snooping through his luggage they thought it would be best to just give up.)
There’s no more time to be introspective though, because he’s quickly distracted by an unexpected arrival. A clean sleek black Mercedes rolls up to the café and for a second Brad prepares himself to meet some kind of celebrity. Instead, to his disappointment and begrudging surprise, Max himself crawls out of the passenger seat.
It’s achingly familiar the way his back is strained, his jacket slung loose over his shoulders. But what is different is that Max is fucking smiling .
Through all his years with the temperamental Dutchman he has never interrupted Max’s holiday and earned a smile . He just watches in barely-disguised awe as Max strolls casually into the shop. (He's not even stomping!)
For a second Brad genuinely thinks he’s got the wrong guy.
But then a messy blonde shock of hair springs directly into view, and a familiar brittle Dutch accent breaks through the white noise of the café.
He can't stop himself from asking. “What the fuck has got you so smiley so early in the morning?”
He half-expects Max to snap, to argue that he isn’t being smiley at all, and that Brad has no right to speak to him like that. Instead Max just laughs. He feels like he's in another dimension.
“You never swear.” Max pulls a thermal flask from his pocket that looks horridly out of place. A part of Brad’s brain notes that the bottle is somehow familiar. “Who attacked you?”
Brad watches completely astounded as Max takes a long sip.
“What is that?”
“What?”
“What are you drinking?”
“Uh.” Max glances into the bottle absentmindedly, as if he had forgotten he was even holding it. “Tea, I think.”
“You think? You hate trying new things, since when have you liked tea ?”
“S-since-” Brad watches as Max’s eyes blur, as if remembering something, then his pale complexion turns pink. “S-since always.”
“Right,” Brad’s eyebrow is lifted so high it’s almost painful. “Like you always smile, practically skip everywhere and drive in a blacked out Mercedes, owned by our biggest competitor.”
Max has the decency to look sheepish, clasping his hands tightly around the flask. “Sorry, I had to get an uber.”
“Your perfectly fine custom car that's worth five times more than my paycheck car isn’t available?”
“I wanted to go incognito.” Max snarks back.
“Of course you did.” He lathers his words in sarcasm.
He waits for Max to explain the weirdness of everything, but it never comes. Max just sips at the flask and looks anywhere but Brad. At this point it just feels like Max is playing with him, he’s never going to figure out these mysteries.
“What did you want, anyway?” Max gets right back onto topic. Even with a tiny smile still on his lips he’s still blunt to a fault.
Brad is drawn back into the world of driving and chaos, and it’s all too easy to complain about their newest regime. His suspicion is forgotten within a few minutes, but it’s not completely gone. In a few years he’ll rack his brain one evening and realise that stupid flask didn’t belong to Max at all. The implications of that would keep him up for the rest of the night.
---
Charles is sitting at the stupid press conference table and wishing more than anything that he was literally anywhere else. The droves of men with receding hairlines, dandruff scattered across sagging shoulders. Why does it always have to be so damn depressing?
The only hope of a distraction is hinged entirely on the fact that this particular conference has more than the usual three drivers. This time nearly half the grid has been enlisted, and Charles can already tell nobody is remotely enthusiastic about being here. He can see the reporters squirm in the seats, reassessing their questions as they see how irritated all the drivers seem to be.
He watches as Lewis takes his seat near the back, stationed strategically with his friends. Charles, unfortunately, is not really among them. They’re friendly, sure, but not quite friends. Still, when Lewis catches Charles’ eyes on him he gives a bright smile and a wave.
Instead Max sits next to him near the front with a subdued smile, one that’s reserved for friends when he’s being swarmed with cameras. It’s a strange thing to notice, but Charles swears his hair is even more messy than usual.
“You good?”
“Yeah.” Max clears his throat. His lips look slightly too red, is he wearing lip balm?
Charles wants to ask, but then the lights flicker on and he hears his mic beep obnoxiously. The interview has started.
The questions are as probing and uncomfortable as usual, but they aren’t the worst. Most of the drivers grit their teeth and try to stay polite, a few digs make their way into answers but it doesn’t get much worse. Charles is scared he’s going to fall asleep. But then, halfway through the interview, something goes wrong.
“Hi, question to Hamilton?” The tired Brit raises his head, Charles can see the moment the reporter meets Lewis’ eyes, shrivelling up slightly. The rest of the drivers try to hide their laughter.
“Go on.” Lewis gives his prize-winning smile, but it’s just a bit too sharp, a few too many teeth.
“Uh, right.” The reporter awkwardly clears his throat. “How do you feel about this year's competition? Is it harder with the car’s performance, with your teammate close to out-performing you? A-and we were wondering if any of this disappointment might be a factor in your retirement next year?”
The silence is deafening.
If there’s one thing Charles learnt quickly on the grid is that because there are only twenty there is something between them. They fight on the track, of course, and occasionally off it too, but there is a sort of respect. One that is very very rarely seen by the cameras. This is one of those moments.
The drivers come together.
While Lewis carefully tries to school his expression back into something completely neutral, Seb lifts his hand. His smile is wide, cheery, like he’s about to make a joke, but his eyes are set with protective ice. As he opens his mouth to quip, though, something strange happens.
Max speaks up, with none of Seb’s hidden animosity. He’s just angry. “That’s a stupid question, you know.”
The entire conference somehow becomes even more quiet. First, Max barely ever speaks in front of camera without prompting, he’s made his distaste of interviews more than obvious. Second, Max and Lewis are arch-enemies , no amount of respect could ever make them speak up for each other.
“You can’t just ask questions like that, that’s just fucking rude.” He continues, eyes narrowed. “Lewis isn’t going to fucking retire, it’s just a bad year, and what the fuck does George have to do with this?”
A few of the drivers actually chuckle in disbelief, a few nodding in surprised appraisal. It’s Lewis’ reaction that’s the most interesting to Charles.
There’s no surprise, just something warm in the way he relaxes.
Huh.
“I second that.” Seb grins, the bloodthirsty look in his eye has died down a little.
“Yep, Max has got the right idea.” George adds on.
Lewis leans back easily, a real smile creeping up his face. Charles knows it feels good to be defended without even having to ask, even if from an enemy.
“No comment.” Lewis announces, the snickering from the drivers only becomes louder.
The reporter looks horribly pale, shuffling out of the room as the surrounding crowds glare at him viciously.
Serves him right.
The rest of the interview goes well, after that. The only change is that the questions are far less pointed, and Lewis is politely ignored. The fact that Max stepped up for him first isn’t something Charles forgets, though.
“What made you do that?” He asks Max as soon as they tug their mics off.
“That reporter had no right to ask a stupid question like that.” Max glares at the space where the man had been sitting.
“Still, I never thought I’d see a day where you’re the first person to defend Lewis Hamilton.”
Max goes a bit red, glancing at the Brit who is now animatedly discussing something with Seb. “Yeah, well, things change.”
Charles watches as his lips curl into a small stupidly soft smile, it's so quick and subtle that he’s half-convinced he hallucinated it.
“What are you smiling for-”
“-So, why does your car suck?”
It’s a low blow, and Charles immediately forgets that he’d seen Max watch Lewis Hamilton with a smile that bordered on fond. Instead he pouts and starts batting Max on the arm, complaining that at least he had a better attitude than him.
Well, at least the interview ended up being more interesting than normal.
---
Christian is trying very very hard not to mention it. But it’s right there. It’s way too early in the morning, at a boring meeting on a free weekend, and everything is as it should be. Except the Golden Boy himself is sitting innocently in his seat with a damn obvious bruise at his collarbone.
Christian is trying , for christ’s sake, to ignore it.
Unfortunately the rest of his team does not have his practised discretion, they barely make it thirty minutes before a bug-eyed intern points at Max’s neck.
“What’s that on your neck?” He’s a new kid, fresh-faced and way too curious, probably a bit too starstruck with Max sitting awkwardly before him.
The meeting grinds to a painful halt and Christian is very much considering a fast retirement. The whole team watches in anticipation as Max’s hand slowly reaches up to his neck, as if only remembering the bruise that’s nearly as big as his fist is blooming against his skin.
“Fuck.” Max hisses, rubbing his fingers across the welt. For a short moment he glares at thin air, murmuring a few more Dutch swear words. Christian can’t be bothered to scold his crude language. “Uh, I got bitten by a mosquito?”
Christian lifts an eyebrow and finally raises his voice. “Must have been a damn big mosquito.” Max shrinks a little in his seat, Christian is almost pleased because really, does Max really think he’s that stupid?
“Oh yeah.” He gulps, giving the team a shaky grin. “It was as big as my hand.”
“Right, in England ?” It’s almost hilarious how Max’s eyes widen in barely-contained panic. Along with the obvious strange occurrence, he’s also being oddly expressive today. “Max, I’ve been living here most of my life, if there was a mosquito that big I would have moved as far away as possible.”
“Maybe it was a really rare one? Y’know some kind of mutated beast?”
Max’s sheer underestimation of Christian’s intelligence is almost insulting.
“Look, I get that you’re a young man.” He can sense the poor intern regretting his choice of bringing this up, the awkwardness is making him shrivel up. “But we have a certain conduct that should still be maintained.”
Christian hates himself more and more as the words slip from his mouth, but he has to say it. Because he has standards, and no matter how many trophies Max has won them, he never wants to have this conversation again.
“Next time at least try to cover up any… evidence from the previous night.”
Max is practically glowing red, like a very flustered light bulb.
“Now,” Christian summons his best glare and directs it onto the rest of the staff, including the cringing intern. “Let’s try not to mention our personal lives in these meetings again.” He folds his hands tightly against the table, even with his relatively short height he knows he’s still intimidating them back into silence. “Is that understood?”
He’s only satisfied when everyone gives an awkward agreement, watching Max's frantic nod with a particularly beady eye.
He tries to repress the knowledge even when the meeting gets back on track. The revelations harass his brain, because in a way Max is like his son and seeing something like that is honestly traumatising. The only question is: who did it?
---
Kelly will forever be glad that Max and her broke up on good terms. They didn’t have to make drama, feed stupid rumours to tabloids. Instead one day they decided it was easier to simply not be together. It’s not awkward, then, when she and Penelope turn up unannounced at his front door.
She rings the doorbell and tries to stop herself from impatiently tapping her heel against the polished flooring. For a quick moment Kelly thinks she hears a yelp, and what sounds like rampant scuffling, but she dismisses them as Sassy and Jimmy. The rascals still haven’t grown up.
The door swings open and P marches in like she owns the place, Max leaning against the doorway with tousled clothes. He must have just woken up.
“Hey P.” His voice sounds a little off, maybe he’s under the weather? Day-after-day of press work is bound to wear down on your health, she would know.
“Hello Maxy!” She waves a gummy hand in his face before disappearing round the corner, leaving Kelly standing outside the door.
When Max’s attention turns back onto her he smiles softly, Kelly really missed this man and his surprisingly soft heart. “Mornin’ Kelly.”
“It’s afternoon.” She grins, eyeing him up carefully. There’s something off about him, and as she walks past him into the kitchen she tries her hardest to understand, until something clicks. “How long were you up last night?”
“What?” Max has the audacity to look surprised, as if it isn’t clear as day that he’s just rolled out of bed.
“C’mon Max.” She ruffles his hair with a smirk. “You only woke up just now, you must have been busy last night.” It’s teasing, and she fully expects Max to roll his eyes and move on like he always does. This time Max noticeably stills. “Something’s up with you.” Her eyes narrow, and Max physically squirms in discomfort.
“No?” Max’s voice is a few octaves too high to be telling the truth.
“Are you asking a question?” She helps herself to a cup of coffee, laughing softly. Max still passes her the mug she brought him ages ago out of muscle memory, even with his sudden flustered demeanour old habits remain.
“Shut up,” Max manages to shake himself out of it, pouring himself a suspicious tea-looking concoction. Strange. “I just woke up, I’m tired.”
“Course you are.” Kelly chuckles warmly, bringing the coffee to her lips. “You never were a morning person, especially after a busy night.” She wags her eyebrows and immensely enjoys the way Max nearly spits out his drink.
“W-What are you even doing here?” He’s trying to get back onto his feet, how cute.
“I was wondering if you could look after Pen for a bit, I’ve got a last-minute meeting and I can’t get a babysitter.”
Max is suddenly the same Max as always, and gives an exasperated huff. “Couldn’t you have just texted?”
Kelly does not feel the least bit guilty. “I was in the area, I didn’t want to waste my mobile data.”
In the past few years Max’s apartment has become a consistent pitstop for many people, drivers included. Kelly knows he’s not that bothered at all, he’s more than used to it by now.
“Well tough.” Max finally musters enough energy to roll his eyes. “I’m busy today.”
“Oh?” She watches in amusement as Max pales, suddenly aware of the pit he’s buried himself in. “ Busy , you say?”
He really tries to glare her into silence, it never works. “It’s none of your business.”
“Sure it’s not.” She shrugs him off, her smirk growing. “But I’m still nosy-”
“Where is P?” Max sips desperately at his mug, trying to give himself an excuse not to answer Kelly’s meddling questions.
“She practically owns your house, she’s probably searching for her toys in your closet.”
Max freezes up again, and Kelly nearly straight-up asks him if he’s okay, but then P appears with a fluffy bunny beside them, her face suspiciously emotionless.
“There are no shirtless men hidden in Max’s closet.” She answers robotically, Kelly is too tired to try and understand why her daughter is acting like a puppet. She doesn’t even notice the way that Max nearly facepalms.
She shifts her gears with a grin. “Of course there isn’t, it’s Max’s house afterall.”
“You were just bullying me about that.” He huffs indignantly, but she pays him no mind, leaning over to press a quick kiss on his cheek.
“It’s okay Max, I know you deleted Grindr last year.” She pats him on the shoulder with faux sympathy. “It's very manly that you stayed up last night watching sappy romance films again, next time tell me so I can host a movie night or something.”
She lets Penelope crawl into her arms and simply enjoys the sound of Max’s offended spluttering. He’s always been too easy to tease.
Max has always been predictable, and even with the strangeness about him it’s probably nothing. It’s Max, he’s a strange one, and Kelly loves him fiercely because of it. She’s caught him watching cheesy rom coms too many times in the middle of the night to be surprised.
“I’ll see you soon Max!” She waves before she disappears out the door, leaving Max blinking in a mix of confusion and deep relief.
“What the fuck just happened?”
---
Seb has been in the racing game for a damn long time. He’s seen a lot, too. Bloodthirsty rivalry that tears people apart, soft heart-eyes hidden under the veil of camera shutters, and so many stupid practical jokes on poor team principles. He really has seen everything. In many ways he thinks nothing could surprise him. But fate loves throwing him curveballs. He’s wandering over to Lewis’ motorhome, ready to harass him into a long, hard drink at his apartment (at their age clubbing has finally gone out of fashion). It’s been a relatively long week. He’s still mumbling aloud about engine upgrades when he swings open the door, prepared to swamp Lewis off his feet in one of his overpowered bear hugs.
But that’s not what happens.
In the last few months the rumours of Max Verstappen’s sudden strangeness had exploded across the track. Seb had always enjoyed being a collector of meaningless gossip, and at the time he’d thought the rumours of surprise love-bites, strange arrivals and a sudden protective streak was just a phase, like many things were.
When he sees Max sitting inside Lewis’ motorhome everything slots into place and he regrets ever brushing it under the rug.
“Oh.” Seb thinks he could punch himself, he cannot believe he hadn’t figured it out earlier. Because it’s not just the fact that Max Verstappen is in Lewis Hamilton’s motorhome in casual clothes, but it’s the glaringly obvious bright love-sick spark in his eye. A particular spark he’s seen too many times. “You’re fucking Lewis.”
“W-What?” Max’s face goes redder than Charles’ racing suit, his voice breaking so much it’s actually hilarious. “N-no.” Seb’s grin reaches both his ears, he knows he’s hit the nail right on its head.
He swings an arm around Max’s stiff shoulders. “I could recognise that smitten look anywhere, I’ve seen my fair share of Lewis-obsessed nutters.”
“Nutter? I’m not a nutter -”
Seb gestures simply to the fresh flowers slumped on Lewis’ desk, a bouquet of pristine carnations and honeysuckle all wrapped up in an expensive satin bow.
Max looks like a child with his hand caught in a cookie jar. “It’s our anniversary.”
“Ah,” Sebastian cannot believe he missed this. “More than just fucking, then.”
The door swings open before Max can come up with a good excuse, not that Seb would ever believe it.
“Hey Max, you ready for dinner?” Lewis’ slacks are artfully styled, and his braids are drawn up into a quick ponytail. Sebastian watches as Max actively perks up at the sight of him.
How on earth was Seb so oblivious?
When Lewis catches sight of Sebastian on his sofa he turns statue-still, it’s almost comedic, quickly glancing at Max almost as a reassurance. “Hey.” He grins, and it’s just a bit too bright to be natural. Sebastian knows him too well.
“Evenin’ Lewis.” Sebastian’s lips fall all too easily into a smirk. “Something you forgot to tell me?”
Lewis seems to relax a little at Sebastian’s casualness. “Maybe.” He settles easily at Max’s side, the casual brush of their thighs is sweet, and Seb can tell they’ve been at this for a long time. “You surprised?”
“I knew you were busy with someone.” He grins. “I can’t believe I missed Max’s pining though.”
“Oh?” Lewis’ eyebrows raise, when he looks over at Max he turns a bright red.
“You should have heard the rumours.” Sebastian fiddles with his thumbs, his brain is already whirring with schemes. “Max Verstappen with hickeys turning up in meetings, the sudden protectiveness over his rival, oh and don’t forget the heart eyes .”
For Lewis it looks like Christmas has come early. “Really?”
“ Shut up Seb.” Max tries to bury his face into his hands, but Lewis catches him, deft hands gently pushing Max to meet his eyes.
“Is it true?”
Sebastian has always seen Max as good-natured, but a little standoffish. Too much bark, too much bite, but when Lewis looks him in the eyes he practically melts. Watching him mumble “Maybe.” with a soft flush on his cheeks feels like Seb is in another universe.
Lewis has tamed the lion.
“I love you.” Lewis presses a tender kiss to the corner of Max’s lips, and Sebastian feels satisfied.
He’s known Lewis for longer than most, they’d been rivals and briefly lovers. He’s seen him fall in love, but never like this. It’s so glaringly obvious that the two of them are basically forever, even if Seb can’t explain how he knows.
When they finally part Max’s eyes are glassy, and it’s like all his edges have been sawed off. “Love you too.”
Sebastian feels like he’s intruding, the pair of them are so wrapped into their own world. They don’t even notice that he slips away, trying to hide his sudden manic laughter at the realisation that he worked it all out.
“No one is going to believe me.” He huffs a laugh once he’s far enough away, staring up into the air as he replays everything he’d seen. “Ah well.”
His smile is a soft one, one that’s exclusive to those moments where he’s seen something incredible.
“Best of luck Lewis.” He’s serious for just a brief moment, praying for his best friend’s happiness under his breath. But then the moment is gone and he grins deviously.
As he whistles loudly on the way back to his car he plots how best to embarrass the pair, does Dan know? He could really do with a partner in crime.
---
I’d like for you and I to go romancing,
Say the word, your wish is my command.