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Charles was running. The sun was burning brightly, and a light breeze made the crops to his right move slightly. He could feel the warmth of the sun on his skin, the breeze on his face, he could hear the wind in the trees and the call of a bird in the distance. He wasn’t thinking about anything, really, he didn’t know why he was running but he felt pure joy at it. He could smell the sea, it couldn’t be too far away. He had no idea where he was.
This made him stop in his tracks. How did he get here? He looked at his bare feet, standing in the grass. How had he not felt the ground under them? This wasn’t, this couldn’t be real. He shook his head, and the scenery faded away into complete and utter darkness. Slowly, very slowly, he became aware of the fact he was dreaming. Reality crept into his subconscious, uninvited and unrelenting.
Then, he was awake. He still kept his eyes closed but he could hear, he could feel his surroundings. There was a steady beep cutting into the low constant murmur of the AC. He was lying on a bed, blankets pulled up to his chest. He could feel a dull ache on the back of his left hand, and his head was pounding. A foreign weight was on his right hand, warm and solid. Someone else’s hand, he thought. He surmised that he was in a hospital, and it was probably his mom, or one of his brothers. He must have had an accident, to be in here. He couldn’t remember anything, though. The last thing he remembered doing was watching TV at his flat, during winter break. No races in sight, in which he could have injured himself. He must have hit his head, which would also explain the pounding. Dread filled him. Why didn’t he remember? How much didn’t he remember?
He forced himself to open his eyes but the room was so bright that he immediately had to close them again, pain shooting up to his temples. He groaned slightly, which caused the hand on his to stir. He took a deep breath and braced himself, lifting his eyelids once again. The pain became worse immediately, but this time, he was stubborn. He blinked a couple of times as his surroundings became clearer, and then he was finally able to take them all in. He’d been right, he definitely was in a hospital room. It was small, and he could make out a door, probably leading to an ensuite bathroom. He turned slightly to his right, where the hand was still clutching his, and looked directly into Max Verstappen’s face, scrunched up with worry but also something else – relief? - , mouth open, his startingly blue eyes red-rimmed and hair unkempt. It took him a couple of moments to process. What was Max of all people doing here? Why was he holding his hand? The urge to move his hand away from him was suddenly overwhelming, and just as he was about to do so, Max spoke.
“Charles, oh my god, you’re awake”, he exclaimed, letting go of his hand but, to Charles’ horror, bringing it up to his face instead, cupping his cheek. Charles couldn’t do anything but stare at him. He was so confused by Max’s presence that for a moment he forgot to be confused about why he was in the hospital in a first place. Max’s touch was very light but Charles wanted to recoil from it. This wasn’t something they did. They tolerated each other when they had to, sure, but Charles sure as hell wouldn’t sit around and wait in Max’s hospital room if the roles were reversed. Let alone touch him in such an intimate way? He jerked his head away from Max’s hand, wanting to get his hand off him. The sudden motion caused his head to throb with overwhelming pain, and he could feel the bile rise in his throat. He was vomiting, then. It felt like he wasn’t able to breathe in enough air, all the while retching and coughing. He was gasping for air and throwing up at the same time, and the pain in his temples seemed to stab through his very brain tissue, piercing his thoughts and every fiber of his being. He could vaguely feel hands holding him up but he wasn’t able to hear anything anymore, just a shrill ringing sound. His grip on reality was waning once more, and it wasn’t long before all he knew was debilitating pain and darkness that swallowed him whole.
The next time he came to, his perception of reality seemed dulled down. The pain was still there, but it was low and constant, bearable. They had probably given him some medication. It almost felt like a dream again, but Charles was pretty sure that it wasn’t, seeing as he was in the same room as before. The ringing in his ears grew fainter, and he was able to hear the heart monitor’s beeping sound again. Max was still there, too. He was silently crying. In his numb state, Charles didn’t even wonder why, he just acknowledged him as part of his surroundings, as much as the blond woman in a lab coat, probably his doctor, and the nurse who was trying to clean up the mess he’d made of the bed. He took another look at Max, who was in his Red Bull racesuit – God knows why. Something about his appearance tugged at his brain. Something was wrong, but his drugged mind couldn’t pinpoint what it was. He looked at the doctor, who had just finished writing something on her tablet. The nurse, apparently done with her task, handed him a plastic cup with water, and Charles took it, slowly bringing it up to his mouth. The cool liquid felt good and soothed his throat.
“Hi, I’m Dr. Robinson. We gave you something for the pain, so if you’re feeling a little hazy, that’s normal. Can you tell me your name, please?”, the doctor said, half smiling at him.
He opened his mouth but when he tried to speak only a hoarse sound came out. He cleared his throat and tried again.
“Charles Leclerc.”
She nodded.
“Right, Mr. Leclerc, do you remember what happened?”
He shook his head no. In his peripheral vision, he registered a slight movement from Max but decided to not pay it too much attention for now.
The doctor sighed. “Well, that’s to be expected. You had an accident during the race, which I assume you must have gathered yourself by now. You hit the barriers at high speed, which caused quite an impact, and we had to surgically reduce the swelling of your brain. Our recent tests show no signs for worry, however. You just need some rest.”
In his medicated state, Charles didn’t really feel anything, so he just took this information in, nodding once.
The doctor took some steps towards him, pulling a flashlight out of her lab coat in the process.
“Can you follow the light with your eyes for me, please?”
When she shone it into his eyes, he winced, the pain growing a little stronger but still manageable. He heard a sharp intake of breath from Max. After he had moved his eyes from left to right and back for a couple of times, she seemed satisfied and put the light back into her pocket.
“Great. Okay, can you tell me the date?”
Charles scrunched up his forehead. This was a hard one. He knew, because he didn’t remember the race, or even the season starting, that he didn’t know the correct answer.
“The last thing I remember is being at home. It was at the beginning of January, and I …”, he admitted, trailing off at the end.
The doctor didn’t show any reaction to this besides deepening her frown a little and starting to scribble something on that tablet of hers. When Charles saw Max move again, he turned to him. Now that he’d admitted his lack of memories, he might as well lay all the cards on the table.
“What exactly are you doing here, then?”, he asked. There was no emotion behind it, not in his numbed-out state, just genuine confusion. Max’s face fell instantly, and Charles couldn’t fathom why, or bring himself to really care. He thought he could see hurt on his face but wasn’t sure.
“I… uh… you, you don’t remember me?”, Max replied, voice rough and pitchy.
“I know who you are, Max. I just don’t know why you’re here? Did you have anything to do with the accident?”
That got the doctor’s attention, and she cut in before Max could say anything.
“Mr. Leclerc, January of what year?”
Even in his state, dread started to grow in the pit of his stomach. It was faint, like background noise, but it was there. This was not, could not be normal. Why would they be asking him a question like that? How much had he forgotten?
“2020”, he said quietly, looking from Max to Dr. Robinson and back. The reaction was immediate. To be fair, the doctor did her best to keep her composure, but Charles could definitely tell that she was shocked. Max, on the other hand, looked absolutely devastated. Charles didn’t think that he’d ever seen him look like that. He realized then that a lot must have happened in the time he’d forgotten. He knew, he could tell from Max’s face, that Charles meant a lot to him. But that wasn’t the case in his reality. He didn’t think that Max ever particularly liked him.
“It’s not 2020 then”, he concluded, reading the room. The doctor took a steadying breath.
“I’m afraid not. It’s 2024.”
Charles was glad they’d given him strong medication. He didn’t know how he would have coped, had he been fully connected to his emotions. Like this, he only felt slightly sad, and worried.
“Okay, well, amnesia is not uncommon after the brain has suffered an injury like yours. So, first, I have to reiterate that you’re okay, your body will heal, with time, and so will your mind. I know it must feel disorienting, but your memory should come back. It’s, however, hard to give you an exact timeline. Usually it’s a couple of days, but it could be weeks or even months. It’s hard to predict.”
He slowly nodded, waiting for her to go on.
“I would like to have a word with Mr. Verstappen outside, and we will be right back with you, okay?”, she said, indicating to Max.
Charles frowned but nodded. Why was Max involved in his health care, anyway? Was he his emergency contact or something?
Max seemed frozen in his chair for a moment, before snapping back to reality. Wiping at his eyes, he gave Charles one last look, and a tight-lipped smile, before pushing himself up and following the doctor out of the room. The nurse was still there, giving her best impression of a hopeful smile and taking the plastic cup out of Charles’ hand. His mind was reeling.
4 years. He’d forgotten 4 years. What could have happened in that time? Everything, and nothing. Why was Max here, and not his family? Or Pierre? Joris? For a second, he was filled with anxiety about what could have happened to them, who could have died, for them to not be here. He firmly pushed the thought away. Probably, they weren’t in Europe, or something. It almost made him laugh, the realization that he didn’t even know which continent they were on. Judging by her accent, Dr Robinson was English, but that didn’t have to mean much.
“How long have I been asleep, then?”, Charles asked the nurse.
“Hmm, you were in surgery for quite a bit, and then in the IC unit for a little while. It would say it’s been like 5 or 6 hours?”
She clearly was English, too, so maybe it’d been Silverstone? He wondered if anyone else was involved in the crash. They were bound to fill him in soon, hopefully.
He thought about Max’s appearance a bit more. He’d still been wearing his racesuit, which meant that he’d been here the entire time. Or at least, from directly after the race. He’d definitely cried, which was weird. Charles realized with a start what had been weird about Max’s appearance, too. He was older. Four years, to be exact. The same Max, but still different. He thought about the way Max had held his hand when he woke up, the tears he’d cried, his hand on Charles’ cheek. Objectively, Charles knew what it looked like. Max wasn’t a super touchy person, and to be touching Charles like that, … well, they definitely had to have been close. But how close, exactly?
Charles couldn’t really imagine having started anything with Max. Back in 2020, which was his now, he mostly thought of Max as a thorn in his side. He knew that he could be nice if he wanted to be but the memory of Austria 2019 was still fresh in his mind. His maiden win, taken from him. And to think that they went from that, to friends, to maybe even more?
Charles was bisexual. The problem here wasn’t that it was a man waiting at his bedside. The problem was that it was Max fucking Verstappen. It just couldn’t be true, could it? Maybe, just maybe, Max had something to with the accident after all, or felt guilty for some other reason – Charles wouldn’t put it past him, the way he remembered him driving -, and that was a reasonable enough explanation for him being here, behaving the way he did. In any case, Charles didn’t really want him here. He wanted his mom, or Lorenzo, or Pierre. Pierre must have been at the race, too, so why wouldn’t he be here?
The door opened, and Dr Robinson came back in, followed by Max, a wary expression on his face. The doctor pulled a chair next to Max’s, and indicated for him to sit down, too.
“Amelia, you can leave, we’ve got this”, she said to the nurse, who scrambled out of the room. Charles adjusted his sitting position so that he could face Max and the doctor better. He didn’t say anything, waiting for them to speak.
“Sorry about that, Mr. Leclerc, Mr. Verstappen and I just had to be on the same page before deciding on which information to tell you. I’m sure you’ll understand that we can’t tell you too much at once, because overwhelming you, or bombarding you with traumatic information will set you off again and hinder your healing process.”
Traumatic information? So there was traumatic information in Charles’ past that he wasn’t privy to? He briefly thought about Jules and Papa.
Max cleared his throat, then, but didn’t look into Charles’s eyes. He was very pale, and looked nervous, even.
“I, uhm, I know that you probably won’t believe this, because I know that we didn’t really like each other back in 2020, but, uhm, we’re engaged.”
So there it was. A part of Charles had expected this, accepted it, even. Another part wanted to scream, or run, or just go back to sleep. They were apparently waiting for him to say something.
“I figured as much”, Charles admitted. “I don’t… I can’t remember, though”, he added.
Max sighed and finally looked into his eyes. They really were startingly blue. For a moment it looked like Max was about to take his hand, but then he thought better of it, and settled for a small smile.
“Yeah, I was kinda being obvious, wasn’t I?”
Something about the way he said it made Charles feel sorry for him. He chuckled a little and said: “Yeah.”
“Well, okay, Dr Robinson and I agreed that I fill you in on the most important points, and then she’ll talk you through how your recovery will go, is that okay with you?”
Charles would really rather have anyone else fill him in, but he was too polite to say so.
“Okay, so, we, uhm, got together back in 2022. Well, you don’t need to know all the details, but uhm, we kinda started a thing, when you won, in Austria.”
Austria. Why was it always fucking Austria, with them?
“We got engaged a couple of months ago. I know it probably sounds insane to you now, but I swear to god, it’s pretty amazing, this thing we have… had…”, he corrected himself.
Charles frowned. He could feel the pain medication wearing off a little. As he was feeling less numb, more and more dread settled in his stomach. For him it was like a nightmare, like he fell asleep one day in winter break, and woke up with one of his least favorite people on the planet, having promised him to be together forever.
“Well, anyway, you still race for Ferrari. You’re actually doing really well, this year.”
Charles couldn’t help but be a little offended at that. He had been doing well in 2019, too, but Max’s phrasing implied that he hadn’t been doing well before, so what the fuck did that mean? He couldn’t help but notice that Max didn’t say anything about himself. He wondered if he’d managed to become world champion. Probably, he did. He didn’t like the guy, but he knew him.
“We were at Silverstone, when it happened, during the race. I, uhm, I haven’t been able to watch the footage, but there was some hydraulics issue, and you… well, you were in the wall. I didn’t see it happen – but they told me it was you, and I, well, I couldn’t go on, so uhm, I figure I might have accidentally told the whole world that we’re together. I mean, I didn’t explicitly say so, but I figure it was pretty obvious. They didn’t know before.”
He cringed at this and looked visibly upset and guilty. Charles had a hard time processing that he was engaged to Max Verstappen, so he didn’t really know what to do with the fact that he’d been outed to the whole world. The implications … the races in the Middle East … There’d been a reason why Charles hadn’t been out in 2020, and now, Max had just gone and as much as told the entire world. He started feeling faintly sick again.
Max seemed to be able to read his thoughts, and tears started to build up in his eyes again.
“I’m so sorry, Charles, really, I don’t know how I could have been so stupid. We worked really hard to protect your privacy, but I don’t know, when they told me that they had to get you out of the car, that you weren’t conscious, my brain … short-circuited. I don’t even know exactly, what I said, but I was crying, definitely, and me just DNFing the race at that point, just driving my car into the pitlane and leaving, it was probably pretty obvious. Our teams and some of the other drivers knew, it would have been impossible to maintain the ruse otherwise… so nobody dared to give me any shit, they even had someone drive me to the hospital you’d been airlifted to, soo… yeah. Sorry. Anyway, I called your family and let them know you’re okay, Arthur was here, though. Once we knew you’d be okay he went back to give some interviews to get the press to back off, and to get your stuff, I reckon he’ll be back soon. I was gonna send my jet for your mom and Lorenzo but yeah, Dr Robinson will tell you, but we’re going home to Monaco soon, anyway, so they’ll just meet you there. Pierre had to finish the race, but I spoke to him on the phone earlier. He’s gonna be here, soon.”
Charles was glad that someone he actually knew was going to come. If anything, he needed Pierre to confirm that Max wasn’t playing some big prank on him. Although, in his heart, he knew that he wasn’t.
Dr. Robinson took over from Max, voice steadier than his.
“We will keep you here for one night longer, just to be sure you’re okay, but from our side we think you’re stable enough for the transport home, and it’ll definitely help you recover being in more familiar surroundings. Mr. Verstappen here has assured me he will be there with you all the way. We will slowly ease you off the pain meds, so you will start feeling more weak and… vulnerable. But that will get better soon. As I said, you’re physically fine, but you do have some hematoma from the crash, so I expect your body to feel sore for a couple of days. Then, there’s the matter of the incision from your surgery. You need to keep the wound clean, I have given Mr. Verstappen instructions on how to deal with it. You just need to take it slow, for a while, alright? I recommend that you do not look at your phone, or any screens, or anything Internet-related, for a while. Do you have any questions?”
Charles really didn’t know what they expected him to say to that. He had a million questions and didn’t want to ask any of them. He was eyeing Max warily. For lack of a better thing to say, he settled on:
“Did you shave my head?”
Max laughed, and it wasn’t the worst sound in the world.
______________________
It turned out, only a small part of his hair had had to be shaved, and Max told him it was hardly noticeable, but Charles didn’t really trust him. It was a lot, him being there. Whenever Charles looked at him, he felt guilty about what was mirrored in his facial expressions, and the way he wasn’t feeling the same thing at all. Max tried to put on a brave face, be reassuring, but Charles, even in 2020, knew him well enough that he was immensely worried. He couldn’t imagine what it was like, having your fiancé not remember you. At the same time, he just couldn’t imagine a world in which they were together, going on dates, meeting each other’s families, being engaged, having sex? Charles had to stop himself physically shudder at the thought.
Charles had asked Max to go back to his hotel, to finally change out of his racesuit, or to get some sleep, but Max refused to do so. Pierre was bringing him a change of clothes, he said. Charles wondered if he’d picked up that Charles didn’t ask for Max’s sake but rather his own. He wanted him gone. He contemplated just saying so, but felt that was unfair to Max, and decided he had to had at least some faith in past-Charles and his decisions. Maybe his memories would return soon, and this would all be over.
A while after Dr Robinson left, Amelia, the nurse, came back, a tray in hand, encouraging him to eat some food. The memory of vomiting all over the bed still fresh in his mind, Charles didn’t really think he could, and Max, tentatively, almost embarrassed, offered to spoon-feed him, which he vehemently declined. The prospect of Max feeding him made him pick up the spoon himself and shovel a couple of mouthfuls of soup into his mouth. Surprisingly, he felt less sick after that, and Max seemed relieved that he’d eaten something. As Dr Robinson had said, they were decreasing his pain meds, so the pain in his head came back, becoming a constant background noise in his mind. Whenever he moved, it increased, and Max screwed up his face every time Charles winced. He wasn’t really talking, though, and Charles didn’t really know what to say to him either. The whole situation was messed up, to say the least.
They sent in a physical therapist next, a guy called Luke, who forced Charles to get up. As soon as he was standing, the pain increased tenfold, the ringing in his ears overshadowing the sounds in the room. He felt like he was going to throw up again, or maybe pass out. Also, he’d known his head hurt, but he hadn’t really expected his whole body to feel so incredibly weak. He could barely take a step before he had to stop again, breathing heavily, held up by Luke on one side and Max on the other. It was embarrassing, really, and Charles was very aware of the feel of Max’s grip on his waist and arm. He wanted to shuffle away but didn’t have the strength to do so. He walked around the room two or three times, and it got slightly better. His knees were trembling, sure, and he was almost wheezing, but the dizziness had gotten less.
“I think we’ll try and let him walk without help now, alright?”, Luke said, gesturing to Max, who let go of Charles and took a step back. He didn’t say anything but bit on his bottom lip, watching Charles. Luke also let go of him, but kept his hand hovering next to his arm, ready to catch him should he stumble. Charles was determined not to but had a hard time keeping himself upright. He just stood there for a minute, breathing heavily, slightly swaying from left to right, before taking a tentative step forward. He managed to not fall, but still, it wasn’t pleasant. How was he meant to survive the plane ride to Monaco?
“Can I … uhh, can I use the bathroom?”, he asked Luke, who nodded, took him by the arm again, walked him over, and basically sat him down on the toilet before giving him some privacy. It was embarrassing, but frankly, Charles didn’t think he could have born it if it was Max instead of Luke, helping him. After, he was finally allowed to lay down again, and he was so exhausted by the whole ordeal that he fell into a dreamless sleep immediately.
He was woken up by voices conversing in a low tone, and, he realized after a second, in French. It was Pierre and Arthur, and the relief Charles felt at seeing some familiar faces that he actually liked was almost palpable. He glanced around the room, and Max was still there, as well, sitting on a chair in the back. It looked like he was asleep, and Charles found that he didn’t mind him too much, then. All the worry he’d seen on his face before had been replaced by a peaceful expression. He looked better, too, having changed out of his racesuit into a plain white T-shirt and black joggers. It made Charles feel less guilty about Max’s state, and he was glad for it.
When Pierre and Arthur realized that Charles was awake, they stopped talking, staring at him in awe for a second, before pulling him into a tight hug.
“Oh Charles, I’m so glad you’re alright.”, Arthur said.
It was amazing, really, how much older Arthur looked. He remembered a teenager, but before him was a man. But still, it was the same Arthur. Pierre hadn’t changed too much, and Charles smiled at them brightly.
“Max told us about the amnesia”, Pierre started, prompting him to say something.
“Yeah, it’s crazy. I remember enjoying the winter break, in 2020, and suddenly I wake up, it’s 4 years later, and I’m engaged to him”, Charles replied, gesturing to Max. He wondered how much French Max understands, and was careful not to say his name as to not get his attention. But Max really did look like he’s asleep, and didn’t give any indication that he’d heard him.
“Yeah, how are you … dealing with that?”, Pierre asked, chuckling nervously.
Charles almost laughed. How was he supposed to deal with that? How was anyone?
“I don’t know, man. I can’t, like, see it, at all. How did that happen?”
This time, it was Arthur who answered.
“Honestly, when you told us, none of us were surprised. I don’t think you realize this, but you were obsessed with him. Had been, for a while, even when you were teenagers. And then you guys were glued to each other in the paddock, all the time, and everyone could see it, except for you two idiots. Then you actually got together, and thought you were being sneaky, but you two were so obvious, really. I mean, I don’t think the public actually believed it, but everyone else, they kinda knew… and after today, well, Max basically confirmed it, for everyone.”
Charles turned this information over in his mind. He didn’t think he was obsessed with Max, at this current point in time, at all. But yeah, it was probably true that he thought about him more often than his other competitors. But that was to expected, with them racing each other all the time, no? He thought about Max post race, on the podium, hair messy and balaclava lines on his face, skin flushed and grin on his lips, showering him with champagne. It did something to him, that mental image, and maybe, just maybe, he could see how he could, at least physically, find Max attractive. But that really wasn’t enough basis for a relationship. He pushed the thought away and instead focused on the other piece of information Arthur had spoken about, gnawing on his lips.
“How did… what did everyone say, how did they react?”
Pierre and Arthur exchanged a look, and it was Pierre who answered.
“Max, he was a wreck, honestly. I’ve never seen anyone, anything like it. So, I don’t know, a lot of the first reactions were sympathy for you both. Everyone was really relieved that you were okay, of course, and I guess that invited questions about your relationship. We dodged them as best as we could, but of course the press is curious. Honestly, it’s good material – Max gave them quite a show, so, you know, they’re bound to make a story out of it … Well anyway, I got the impression that most of it is positive. A lot of the drivers have spoken up for you. But it did invite some criticism as well, and questions about how races in countries like Saudi Arabia will be handled in the future. Stuff that honestly, I can’t even think about right now, but yeah, it’s set off an entire thing.”
Dread pooled in Charles’ stomach. It was one thing, being engaged to Max, but it was another thing to come out to the entire world. He’d kept it secret for a reason, and he absolutely didn’t want to be a poster child for gay rights, or something, for F1. He wasn’t Seb, or Lewis. He just wanted to race, and Saudi Arabia was not going to let him to do that if he was with Max. It wasn’t just Saudi Arabia, even, it was Mexico, Hungary, Qatar, the UAE, … He felt sick again. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Charles, don’t worry, the FIA will handle it. Max is a three-times world champion, so they have to let him race.”
Charles looked up at this. Not one, or two, but three world championships? Almost every single fucking year that he’d forgotten, Max had won. It was hard not to be bitter about it. What about him, what had he done in those years?
Arthur seemed to realize that he’d made a mistake when Pierre elbowed him, and a hand shot up to his face.
“Merde, Charles, sorry. I wasn’t supposed to tell you that.”
Charles sighed and shrugged.
“It’s fine. It’s all fucking fine, really.”
Arthur touched his shoulder at that, in what Charles assumed was meant to be a comforting gesture. It didn’t help. He knew they felt for him, but he was in this fight alone. Well, Max was also in it.
“Have you talked to Maman? Lorenzo?”, Charles asked, deflecting from the topic.
There was some reaction in Arthur’s face that he couldn’t quite place. Something was wrong, but Arthur carefully schooled his face into a neutral expression before answering. What was going on?
“Yes, they’re both really glad you’re okay, too, of course. And they will see you back home.”
What wasn’t he telling him? He looked at Pierre for answers, but he wouldn’t look him in the eyes, staring out of the window.
Suddenly, Max stirred, which didn’t go unnoticed.
“Look who’s back in the land of the living”, Pierre said, switching back to English, while Max was blinking his sleep away. There was a genuine smile on his face, this time, and Charles gathered that Pierre and Max must have grown closer in those 4 years, too. Of course, they had. The days of them being teammates long forgotten, they now were something else. The people he knew, considered his friends and family, Max knew, too, of course. Charles wondered if he knew Max’s family and friends as well. He had met his sister, Victoria, before, but it’d just been a brief exchange. She had seemed nice enough. What about his dad, though? He remembered him from their carting days, a stern presence, ever watchful and focused on his son’s career. He’d often pitied Max, back then, because Charles’ dad was never screaming at him for making a mistake. He wished his own dad were here.
____________
Pierre and Arthur left, after a while, they had flights and appointments to get to. Charles was supposed to leave the next morning, anyway, so they just promised to visit in Monaco. Max, of course, stayed. When Charles woke in the middle of the night he found him staring at him, hand in his hair, petting him gently. Had he been crying again? When he realized that Charles was awake he pulled his hand back, quickly, and looked away.
“That’s a bit creepy, Max”, Charles said then. He was going for humor, but it didn’t really take, and honestly, he didn’t really like Max touching him, even if he could appreciate how difficult it must be for him, too.
Max wiped at his eyes with the back of his hands, and then fixed his gaze back on him.
“I know, I’m sorry. I just… I thought I’d lost you. I thought you were dead, and it felt like I was gonna die, too. Like my heart was ripped out, or something, I don’t know.” He laughed humorlessly, and brought his hands back up to his face, apparently to try and stop himself from shedding any more tears, or having Charles see.
He sighed. “I love you, Charles, so much, and I’m so sorry for putting this on you but I just… I thought you were dead, and I’d never get to tell you again, so I just have to say it, and I just had to… make sure it wasn’t a dream, that you were actually okay.”
It hit Charles like a punch to the gut. Of course, Max had been nothing but sincere the whole day but he just couldn’t put this Max and the Max he knew together. There was no way his Max and this Max were the same person. He felt immense guilt at not being able to say it back, because Max looked completely and utterly broken, in that moment, and Charles just wanted him to feel better. He knew how, and he just couldn’t.
“Max, I… I’m sorry, I..”, he started, and broke off, because there wasn’t anything to say to that.
Max seemed to understand. “Oh Charlie, I know you don’t feel the same way, now. I don’t care. And if your memories never come back, and you never remember us, I don’t care at all. If I have to love you from afar, for the rest of my life, but you’re alive, and you’re happy, then that’s good enough for me. I don’t care, at all, you being, existing, is enough, I swear”, he said, quietly, softly, but firmly. Like he’d thought about it before.
It broke Charles’ heart, hearing that, shattered it to a thousand pieces. It was probably the most beautiful thing anyone had ever said to him and he could feel tears well up in his eyes. It was also exactly the right thing to say because it took some pressure of him. There was no way he could reciprocate feelings that big, and Max was acknowledging that. He smiled sadly and reached for Max’s hand. Max seemed surprised, at first, but took his hand, slowly caressing his thumb over Charles’ knuckles, and smiled back, quietly. They sat like that, for a while, moonlight illuminating their joined hands. Charles fell back asleep, with Max still watching over him.
__________
The morning was hectic, to say the least. Dr Robinson came back in, discharge papers in hand, and wished him well. Charles shook her hand. He was feeling very anxious about going outside, facing the press that was sure to be waiting, about flying, about going home to a flat he didn’t remember, about being alone with Max, being dependent on Max. He almost wished he could stay in the hospital longer. At the same time, he was really looking forward to seeing his brother and his mom again. Max was going to push him out in the wheelchair, because there was no way he wanted the reporters to see how frail he actually was, and his walk was quite … unsteady. The car would be waiting for them, and all he had to do was get himself up and into the car, which would then drive them to the airport. The stairs to the plane were another thing everyone was worried about. “I will help you”, Max had promised, and Charles wanted to say, I don’t want you to help me, I want to do it myself. But he knew he wouldn’t be able to, so he just gritted his teeth. Charles had seen himself in the bathroom mirror, yesterday, and knew his hair did look bad. He didn’t really want any photos of his scar in the news, so he asked Max to give him a cap to cover it. He thought it was a joke when he handed him his own, the Red Bull branded one, but he just shrugged apologetically.
“I don’t have any Ferrari caps, sorry, and our bags are already on their way to the airport.”
Charles sighed and put it on. The world already knew he and Max were together, so how much worse could this be? The cap still felt foreign on his head, and he almost felt branded as Max’s possession or something. Never mind that, however, it was the least of his worries.
A nurse bustled in and made sure Charles ate something for breakfast, and had his medication for the flight, and then it was time to go. Max helped Charles into the wheelchair, and somehow, the embarrassment had gotten less, like Charles was getting used to letting Max help him. When he thought about their midnight conversation, however, pink crept back into his cheeks, and he wondered how Max could be so calm and collected, like he hadn’t put his heart on a silver platter for Charles. Maybe it was just how they were with each other. Maybe he was used to it. But Charles sure as hell wasn’t.
The first moment outside was wonderful. It was almost like in his dream again, the warm air against his face, the sun on his skin. He took a deep breath and felt a bit lighter. Then, reality set back in, and he noticed the shouts of the reporters, the cameras flashing. He was used to it, of course, but usually he wasn’t this vulnerable around them.
“Charles, Charles, how are you feeling?”, they were screaming. “Since when have Max and you been together? Are you going to get married?”, and “What are your plans for racing next year, now that everyone knows you’re gay?”
That wasn’t even the truth, per se, and Charles made a mental note to ask Max about his sexuality, because he remembered that Max had had girlfriends as well. Were those for PR? When had Max realized that he was attracted to Charles? To men in general?
Neither Max nor Charles bothered to acknowledge the reporters in any capacity, instead focusing on the task at hand. When they reached the car, Charles stood up and immediately got dizzy again. Max’s hands, of course, immediately flew to his sides, holding him up, and Charles cursed himself. What a good shot that would make, on the cover of some stupid magazine. Three times world champion has to carry boyfriend to car, the headline would read, because he couldn’t even do that. He heard Max murmur something in soft Dutch, probably to soothe him, and he had to stop himself to not flinch away from it, because that would make even worse headlines. The press didn’t know that he didn’t remember, and Charles really wanted to keep it that way. Once in the car, his head was pounding again, and his breathing was strained. Max got in beside him.
“You made it, worst part’s over”, he said, and Charles huffed. This was only the start, really, and it would be so long before he was home. Charles didn’t even have the energy to say anything, and Max thought better of it, sighing and leaning back.
Max did end up carrying him onto the plane because Charles almost threw up when attempting to take the first step. He really hoped their apartment in Monaco didn’t have any stairs. Max told him to not be silly, and then picked him up bridal-style, which was horrible. A tiny fragment of Charles marveled at how easily Max picked him up, was able to carry him without any effort at all and wondered just how many times he’d done it before. The overwhelming majority of him, however, was mortified, and just prayed that there weren’t any paparazzi around. Max was holding him to his chest, and it was like Charles could feel Max’s skin burn through his clothes, where they connected. Max’s arms and hands under his knees and on his back, Charles’ side pressed to Max’s strong chest, Charles’ arms around Max’s neck. He had to focus on breathing normally. Max set him down, gently, and buckled him in, which was officially too much for Charles, who had been nothing but humiliated since yesterday. He huffed in annoyance, and Max shrank back, for a split second looking like a wounded animal.
“Charles, just let me help, I don’t mind”, he said, trying to mitigate.
“Well, I do”, Charles replied, turning his head away from Max, refusing to meet his gaze. He heard Max sit down opposite him, and they didn’t say anything after that. He really, really needed to be kinder to Max but today he just couldn’t find it in himself. The whole ordeal was deeply humiliating, and where Max was strong and steady, Charles found his own weakness and frailty reflected.
When they finally reached Monaco, Charles was too exhausted to even care about the apartment or notice anything about it. He didn’t even care about Max carrying him anymore, he was just glad when he was on the bed, their bed, which he didn’t remember. He let Max tuck him in, because his arms wouldn’t move anymore, and blessed sleep reached for him, pulling him under, making him forget.
______
Max wasn’t there when he woke up and Charles breathed a sigh of relief. Alone, at last. He was bound to be around, in any case, but Charles felt like he could finally breathe. He looked around the room. It was weirdly domestic. There was a half-read book on his nightstand, right next to a frame with a photo of his family in it. He turned to the other side, Max’s side, which had not been slept in. Charles felt a bit bad, banishing Max from his own bed, but he didn’t think he would have been able to cope with Max being there, so he was glad. On Max’s nightstand there was a photo of them, taken on a beach he didn’t recognize. Max was smiling into the camera, and Charles had his arms around him, kissing his cheek. He stared and stared at it. How could this be him, in the photo? They both looked very happy, and he felt a low tug in his belly. Like he was missing something he didn’t know he had had. He wished he could be the man in the picture again. On the wall, there was a big print of a blue and a red car, side by side. Charles laughed breathily. How could he have said yes to having something so corny in their home? Unbelievable. Past Charles had made some questionable decisions. Through the window, he could see the harbor, and he felt oddly comforted. Sure, this wasn’t the home he remembered, but it was Monaco, where he grew up, where he and his family had lived their entire lives. He was grounded here, his roots were here.
The pain was better, today, but as soon as he pulled himself upright, it crept back in. He really needed some medication but there was none to be found in this room. He was going to have to get up, and get it himself, or get Max, which he refused to do. He sat up on the edge of the bed, and waited for the dizziness to go away, before standing up and slowly taking a few steps in the direction of the door. It was fine, at first. He tried to breathe evenly, to keep the dizziness at bay. The ache in his temples was bearable. He was almost at the door when the ringing in his ears came back, once more, and his vision slowly faded to black. No, no, no, not again, no. He tried to blindly reach for the door, or anything to hold on to, really, but there was nothing. The pain increased tenfold, and he was sure he was going to throw up again. He couldn’t do anything to stop it. He fell forward, hit the door with a loud thud, and slumped down. Lying on his side on the floor, his sore body protesting against the pain, he was dry heaving. Then, Max was there again.
“Oh god, Charles, what happened”, he exclaimed. Unnecessarily so, as if it wasn’t completely clear what had happened. He was on his knees next to Charles, and cradled him into his arms, like he was a toddler. Charles couldn’t do anything to protest, just let himself be held, until the pain ebbed away, and he regained his vision. He was breathing heavily, still, and didn’t have the strength to move away, so they just sat there, Charles in Max’s arms. Max was doing the thing again, where he murmured in low Dutch into Charles’ ears, as if Charles would be able to make anything of the weirdly broken vowels, the sounds formed in the back of his throat.
“Ibu…profen”, Charles pressed out, teeth gritted against his own exhaustion.
Max reacted immediately.
“Oh right, sorry, I was gonna bring you your medication later, I thought you’d sleep longer. I’ll get it for you, just let me get you back to the bed first”, he said, his tone making it clear to Charles that he was beating himself up for what he considered to be a mistake. But Charles didn’t really think it was Max’s fault. If anything, it was his own, for being so fucking weak.
Max hoisted Charles up, having the decency to not carry him but rather hold him up by his arms and his side, and walked him over to the bed, before shuffling out of the room. Charles leaned his head back, and cursed himself. No matter what he did or tried, it always ended the same way. Max having to help him, guide him back. It was like he was taking one step forward, and two steps back. He had never felt so helpless, so utterly dependent on someone else. He wished it wasn’t Max he was dependent on.
Max came back, a glass of water in one hand and a bottle of pills in the other. He looked awfully guilty, gnawing on his bottom lip. He held his bearings out to Charles and took a step back, looking unsure of himself. He watched as Charles gulped the pills down and emptied the glass. It looked like he wanted to sit down next to him but didn’t want to intrude. It was starting to really become difficult, hating Max, when he was being so different to what Charles used to think he was like. Maybe hate wasn’t the right word for it, anymore. It was resentment, probably. There he was, the world champion, and here he was, the cripple who couldn’t even do the simplest things anymore.
“You look like you’re beating yourself up”, Max said, and Charles was taken aback at how easy it was for Max to read what he was thinking. It was an odd thought that Max knew him that well, and he didn’t know Max at all.
“Yeah, well, it’s hard not to”, he said, looking somewhere behind Max. “You know, this is your bed, so you can sit down if you want to.”
Max looked almost delighted, and Charles could feel the bed move when Max sat next to him, leaning back on the headboard.
“I didn’t want to … intrude”, he said, waving his hands awkwardly by way of explanation.
“Yeah, thanks, but it’s okay. Like I said, it’s your bed.”
Max looked at him and seemed to be contemplating something, as if hesitating to say it.
Charles sighed. “Just go ahead and say it, whatever it is.”
“I… I think I should sleep here. I mean, I know you probably don’t want me to, but I would just like to be here, if anything happens, like it just did, you know.”
He was right, Charles really didn’t want him to. But logically, it made sense, Charles wouldn’t have fallen if Max had been here. And also, he felt like he couldn’t deny him a place in his own bed.
“Yeah, okay”, he agreed quietly, and Max hummed.
“Thanks, you’re a champ.”
Charles laughed drily. “No, you’re the champ, I guess.”
Max’s head whipped around. “Who told you?”
“Arthur. Accidentally.”
“Uhm, well, yeah…”, Max admitted, cringing slightly, like he was embarrassed by his success.
“Congrats”, Charles said, trying to sound sincere, but he did feel bitter about it.
“Thanks”, Max replied quietly.
“How did that work, for us I mean? Wouldn’t I have been bothered by your success?”, Charles asked, intrigued now.
Max looked at him with an oddly fond expression.
“No, Charles, I don’t… you were great about it. And, you know, you’re great. You’re an exceptional driver. It would have been you, probably, in 2022, if things hadn’t happened … your team, … well, you were leading the championship, anyway, your team made some … blunders. So, yeah, it was frustrating for you, but it really wasn’t about you and me. At one point, it was more you versus Ferrari’s strategy mistakes than you versus me.”
Huh. Charles really didn’t know what to do with that. He decided to change the topic, to something else that had been on his mind.
“If we’re engaged, why aren’t you wearing a ring or anything? Why aren’t I?”
Max’s face softened.
“I am, actually. It’s just, on my hand, it would be… well, I suppose, it doesn’t matter anymore, but we were hiding it from the public, so...”
He pulled out a necklace from under his t-shirt. A ring sat on its end. Charles, transfixed, took it in between his fingers. It was simple, silver, and still warm from dangling on Max’s chest. He had that feeling again, where he was longing for a time he didn’t remember.
Max had tears in his eyes, but looked determined not to cry. He just watched Charles turn the ring around in his fingers.
“So I suppose I asked, then?”, Charles said after a while.
“You did”, Max confirmed. He was obviously reminiscing about the moment, and it tugged at Charles’ heart, seeing his wistful expression.
“Hmm”, Charles said, which seemed to snap Max out of it.
“Anyway, do you want some breakfast? It’d probably help with the dizziness.”
Charles found that he was hungry. He felt better now that the pain meds had started to work, and he did want to see the apartment.
“Yeah, breakfast would be good. And maybe you could show me the rest of the flat later?”
Max nodded eagerly, getting up from the bed and coming back around to Charles’ side.
“I, uhm”, he stuttered, “do you need me to… help you?”
Charles gritted his teeth. Today, he would be nicer to Max, who had been nothing but nice to him. Also, he really did not fancy falling back down.
“Can you just take my arm or something? I’ll try and walk but I really don’t wanna fall again.”
Max looked relieved and nodded, waiting for Charles to get up out of the bed and closing his hands around his biceps. They slowly made their way into the hallway, which was white and unassuming, with a shoe rack near the door and a couple of pictures on the wall. The living room had a built-in kitchen and was right next to the bedroom. It was… really great, actually. It had a big window front, allowing a view over the harbor, and a glass door that led out to a balcony. The room was very bright and friendly. Outside, there was some gym equipment and a table, and Charles could almost see it, them sitting there, in the sun. The living room itself was quite big, with a big TV and couch, but also a giant bookshelf. Was Max a reader, or was Charles? He didn’t use to be, back in 2020, but maybe he’d changed.
Max led him to the table and made him sit down. Charles put his elbows on the table and put his head into his hands, watching Max getting bowls and plates out of the cupboard and carrying them to the table. He was balancing a huge carton of cereal under his chin, and humming to himself, not focused on Charles for once. It was oddly endearing. Max also brought rolls and bread, butter, cheese, and a glass of Nutella. He gave the table a once-over and nodded, satisfied, before looking at Charles again.
“Do you want anything else? Pancakes? Eggs or something? I can make you whatever you want.”
“Thanks, Max, but this is perfect.”
To show that he was grateful he grabbed a roll and cut it up, spreading Nutella on it.
Max sat down opposite him and smiled at him.
“What?”, Charles asked.
He laughed. “Nothing, I just knew you were gonna go for the Nutella. Some things never change.”
Part of Charles was annoyed again at the fact that Max seemed to know so much more about him than he knew about Max. But he had promised himself to be nicer to Max, so he tried not to show his annoyance.
“Hmm, what do you usually go for then?”
“Ahh, you see, I’m Dutch, so it’ll be bread and cheese for me.”
That made sense.
Charles took a bite and thought about how to keep the conversation going. Max clearly wasn’t going to initiate anything, and Charles knew it was because he didn’t want to force any specific topic on Charles. It had to come from him, he had to lead the way. He gnawed on his lips and took a moment to study Max’s face. He looked almost happy, like this. He looked relaxed, like he belonged here.
“Do you… miss the Netherlands? I mean, you moved here so young. Would you say Monaco is your home, or the Netherlands, or Belgium even?”
Max had a weird look on his face, then.
“My home is wherever I can be with you, Charlie”, he said softly. Charles tried not to be too intimidated by the ease with which he had uttered such a big sentiment. He found that he didn’t mind the nickname. After a moment, Max added: “But sometimes I do miss speaking Dutch. I mean, it’s not like we both don’t speak English fluently, but you know how it is, sometimes the words don’t come to you, or you’re a bit slower than in your native language. Sometimes, I say things in a way, and I just know it would have been more eloquent, or funnier, in Dutch, you know?”, he says with a smile.
Charles nodded. He did know. More than Max, he kept stumbling over English pronunciations, or colloquialisms. He had always been impressed by how quick Max was in his second language. Or third? Charles knew that Max gave interviews in fluent German, too. He wasn’t really sure about the order in which he’d picked them up.
Max was still smiling, but he looked deep in thought.
“You know, in these years we’ve been together, and before, I wonder if there’s some small shred of you I will never be able to know, just because there’s no English concept you can translate it to, from French. Or if I’m a slightly different person when I speak Dutch?”
Charles hummed. “The burden of trilingualism, I know it well”, he said, ironically.
Max laughed out loud. It was genuine, and something in Charles was delighted at having succeeded in making Max laugh.
“Ah, yes, you’d know, Mr. the-whole-of-Italy-loves-me. Tesoro mio, some people wake up from head injuries like yours and suddenly speak a different language. Imagine if you’d woken up speaking Dutch, but you just had to go ahead and forget our entire relationship.”
Charles laughed, faking offence at the statement. In fact, he liked that Max was making light of their situation. That he had stopped taking everything so gravely, that all he looked at Charles with was worry.
“When did we move here? Or did I move in with you?”
He didn’t recognize the apartment, but he’d never been to Max’s place before 2020, so he didn’t really know.
“You moved in with me, last year. You asked me, right after I’d won the championship.”
That was interesting. Past Charles apparently really hadn’t begrudged Max the championship.
Max seemed to be able to follow his line of thought.
“It was one of the best nights of my life. You were so happy for me, and I just felt so lucky to have you.”
Again, the ease and maturity with which Max talked about stuff like this left Charles dumbfounded. Had Max always been like this, and he just hadn’t been able to see it?
“When did you become so… open?”, Charles asked.
Max laughed.
“I’ve always been honest, but I don’t know, once we’d figured out our relationship, it was always cards on the table for me, and for you, too. I know you probably feel like you can’t talk to me, now, but you can, because you have before, if anything is on your mind.”
Charles hesitated.
“Okay, well, thanks. What do you mean, figured out our relationship?”, he asked, narrowing his eyes.
“Uhm, well, it was, …. physical at first. A friends with benefits type of thing, if you will. We both said that we were gonna keep it casual, so when I realized I was in love with you, I didn’t say anything about it. Basically, we kept horsing around for a couple of months before realizing that we both wanted the same thing, which was an actual relationship. Thank god for alcohol, right? You told me you loved me, and then threw up all over my shoes.”
He laughed, a bit awkwardly. Charles had some second-hand embarrassment about the scenario. He really was the master of love declarations.
“You said it was in Austria, right?”
“Oh yeah, you won, and you were so happy, and I was so happy that you were happy.”
He suddenly stood up and shuffled around the room, before pulling a framed picture out of the bookshelf and handing it to Charles. It was them, on the podium, Max showering him with champagne. They really did look very happy. How could he have been this person, years ago?
“We went to the afterparty together, and then to my room, to play, uhm, FIFA, but yeah, I kissed you, and you didn’t hate it, so…”, Max continued, scratching his neck, getting flustered towards the end.
“Hmm”, Charles said, once again because he really didn’t know how to process this.
“I think”, he said, after contemplating it for a bit, “that if my memories don’t come back soon, I should see a therapist. I don’t know… how I’m supposed to deal with these feelings, or the lack of them.”
It was a big step for him, a leap of faith, admitting this to Max. Max bent over to him and pressed a kiss to his forehead.
“We will find you the best, my dear”, he mumbled.
Then he realized what he’d just done, and how Charles had stilled in his chair. “Oh god”, he said, visibly cringing, “I’m so sorry, that was instinct.”
He took a step back from Charles and his relaxed expression from before had been replaced by guilt and worry again. Charles shook his head a little to snap him out of it, the feel of Max’s lips on his skin, the tenderness of the gesture.
“It’s fine”, he said, but it wasn’t, really. He knew that Max hadn’t meant any harm, but he was mortified.
They finished their breakfast in silence.
_________
Max showed him around the flat, later. It was nice enough, and Charles could see how he had contributed to it. He remembered some of the clothes, the furniture, the pictures, and stuff from 2020. For some pieces of décor, he could definitely see that he was the one who had bought it. Some others, though, he wondered how he’d tolerated them.
The trophy room was … something. Max didn’t really want to talk about it too much, but Charles marveled at the sheer amount of trophies in there. Max admitted, in a low voice, that only five of the wins were his. So, three more after Monza. A bit disappointing, but not too bad. Charles wondered if any of them ever felt as special again as that win in Monza did. Charles also stared a bit at the three world championship trophies. One day, he would add one - no, strike that, several - of his own to this insane collection.
“God Max, exactly how many records did you break during the time I’ve forgotten?”, he asked, in genuine awe, and Max ducked his head. “A couple”, he mumbled, and Charles shook his head unbelievingly.
When they were done with the tour of the apartment, Charles said that he wanted to shower. He felt unclean and it was a very unpleasant feeling.
Max contemplated this.
“Yes, Charles, but I can’t… I can’t leave you alone. You can’t even properly stand right now.”
Charles’ face fell when he realized what Max meant.
“No”, he said vehemently, “no, we are not doing that.”
Max cringed. “Yes. Charles, you’ll hurt yourself.”
He couldn’t bear the thought of it. Showering together. He couldn’t imagine anything much more intimate.
“Fuck, I’m so sorry, Charles, but I have to insist”, he mumbled apologetically.
Charles wanted to strain against his grip, but Max was already walking him over to the bathroom. He’d been steadier, earlier, but the apartment tour had exhausted him again, and he stumbled halfway to the bathroom. Max caught him against his chest, and Charles gritted his teeth together.
“You let me go to the toilet by myself”, he pointed out, still trying to bargain.
“Yes, but you can sit on a toilet, and I made sure you got there in one piece.”
“Then get me a chair or something.”
Max sighed.
“Charles. You won’t be able to take your clothes off. You won’t be able to climb into the tub. I’m so sorry but we have to do it like this.”
Charles didn’t know what to say to that.
Max led them into the bathroom and made him stand opposite him, still steadying him with a soft grip around his arm.
Charles closed his eyes briefly, and tried to brace himself for the utter humiliation which he was about to receive.
“Lift your arms”, Max ordered calmly, and Charles did so. The pain instantly shot back up his temples, but he would bear it this time. Max pulled his shirt over his head and Charles suddenly felt very self-conscious about his body. He looked down and saw that despite how weak he felt the muscles were still there. That made sense, he supposed, he’d been an athlete up until two days ago. It did make him feel slightly better. His body was littered with bruises now, however, in varying shades of pink, blue, purple, and green. He could make out where exactly his seatbelt had been. He felt kind of detached from his own body, looking at the canvas of his skin.
He heard a sharp intake of breath from Max. He’d reached out and his fingers hovered over Charles’ chest, where the worst of the bruises were, but he seemed to have realized his mistake and pulled his hands back.
“Don’t say anything”, Charles warned. He didn’t think he would be able to take any more of Max’s pity.
“Yeah, sorry”, Max said, and pulled his own shirt over his head. Charles didn’t want to look but Max’s hard shoulder muscles were right in his line of sight. Oh my god, he thought.
“Okay, now let me help you with your pants”, Max said. He kneeled before him and tugged at his waistband. Charles almost would have laughed if the situation hadn’t been so fucked. He shuddered when Max’s fingers made contact with his skin and flinched back.
“Sorry, sorry, Charles, I’m trying not to touch you too much. I just have to… get your pants off, sorry”, Max apologized. Charles’ legs wobbled.
“Put your hands on my shoulders, it’ll steady you”, Max ordered, and Charles complied. Max felt warm under his icy fingers. He could feel the strong muscles beneath his fingertips. His heart was beating very fast, and he felt faintly sick.
“Okay, I’ll just do it fast, okay?”, Max warned, and Charles nodded, closing his eyes. He felt his pants and boxers being pulled down. “Lift your legs, one after the other. Okay, got it. I’m standing back up, keep your hands on my shoulders, though.”
Charles kept his eyes closed until he heard the rustle of clothes which meant that Max was naked, too. He should feel better, now that the playing field was leveled, but he really didn’t. He opened his eyes, again, and found himself staring directly into Max’s eyes. Fuck, how were they so blue? He bit his lip, and very pointedly did not look down.
“Hard part done”, Max soothed, even though it was a lie. “You can take your hands off my shoulders, now, I’ll take your arm again, alright?” Charles nodded once and complied. Max walked him over to the tub and guided him over the edge. He had been right, once again. He wouldn’t have been able to make it, alone. Once they were in the shower, Max turned it on, testing the temperature before guiding Charles under it. Despite the awkwardness of the situation, the hot water felt good on his clammy skin. It felt like he could wash the sickness away.
He felt a bit bad for Max, standing just outside of the reach of the water, naked and obviously cold, but there was nothing he could do about it. Max handed him some shower gel, and Charles started to wash his body with it. When he bent over to do his legs, however, he almost stumbled again, feeling dizzy and slightly sick.
Max pulled him back up and held him at his waist, waiting for a couple of moments to give him time to settle. “I’ll do your legs, okay?”, he said, guiding Charles’ hands back to his shoulders. Charles winced at the prospect.
“Fuck, Max”, Charles cursed. He was on the verge of crying. He didn’t remember a time in his life when he’d ever felt so helpless.
“I know, I know, it’s hard. Just close your eyes again, and let me do the rest, I promise I’ll do it as quickly as I can, and then we can get you back to bed, and I’ll leave you alone.”
Charles tried to even out his breathing. He just had to get through this, survive this, and then he would get to sleep again, forget about all this for a while. He closed his eyes.
In the darkness that followed, he tried to detach himself from the fact that it was Max’s hands gently running up and down his legs, Max’s head so close to his crotch, the sound of Max’s breathing, Max’s hands in his hair, coaxing his head back so that he could work the shampoo into it. Max didn’t say anything anymore, which helped maintain the illusion, and Charles almost enjoyed the way he massaged the shampoo into his skull. He wondered, once again, how often they’d done this before. Max, as promised, made quick work of it, and turned the faucet off. Charles opened his eyes again and found himself opposite a very wet Max whose soaked hair was hanging straight, dark and heavy with water.
Max guided Charles out of the bathtub. He handed him a big towel and made him sit down on the toilet lid. Charles was shivering at the sudden cold.
This time, Charles didn’t look away when Max dried himself off and put his clothes back on. Max didn’t seem to mind. He didn’t really feel anything beyond embarrassment, and at this point, he was kind of numb to it. He wondered if it should make him feel anything, the sight of Max’s penis, his abs, his body. He just felt despair at his complete and utter inability to do anything on his own.
When Max was done, he walked over to Charles, obviously wanting to help him back into his clothes.
“There, we’re almost done. It wasn’t so hard, was it?”, he said, trying for an almost cheerful tone, which didn’t ring true.
And Charles, Charles couldn’t pretend anymore, not even for Max’s sake.
“Yes, it was”, he bit back, “you know it was. Everything is so hard, and I don’t even know you, and I can’t do anything without you.”
He finally did cry, then. He sat on the toilet, naked, only covered by a big towel, sobbing, bawling his eyes out, and Max kneeled in front of him, pulling him into his chest. Oddly enough, even though Max, and their forced closeness, was the root of all his troubles, he didn’t mind it this time. He let himself be held, listening to the steady flow of low Dutch in his ears, and cried the tears away until they finally stopped.
“Sorry”, he said, sniffling, once he had gotten some of his composure back. Max shook his head, smiling benignly.
“You have nothing to be sorry for, Charlie.”
Charles gnawed on his lip. He turned it over in his mind, the way Max called him Charlie when he wanted to be extra gentle. Nobody else really called him that. Most people he was close to spoke French or Italian, anyway, and it was just Charles for them, pronounced the Monegasque way. Like before, he realized that he liked being called Charlie. A part of him wanted to be this Charlie, the one that Max so intimately knew.
“It’s not true, you know, that I don’t know you. I do know you, I just don’t know us”, he said, trying to convey his emotions.
“It will come back.”
Charles saw that Max really believed that. He didn’t know where his unwavering faith came from, but it was comforting.
He let himself be helped back into his clothes and guided to the bed. He was exhausted, once again, by the whole ordeal. It was fascinating, really, how much sleep the body needed after an accident like that. Soon, he was asleep again, and this time he dreamt of running in the meadows again.
_________________________
The first night Max slept in the same bed as him, it didn’t take Charles long to fall asleep. But it was a light kind of sleep, and when he woke up in the middle of the night, he was confused at first. He lay completely still, breathing evenly, and listening to his surroundings. Then, he realized why he’d woken up. Max was crying. Very silently, to not wake Charles up, but Charles could hear him sniffle, and he could feel the mattress move when small sobs wracked his body.
Charles just lay there, for a while. He didn’t know what to do with it. It was his fault that Max was crying, but he couldn’t do anything about it, couldn’t be who Max wished him to be. He felt very guilty about it. Charles briefly wondered what time it was, how long Max had been lying there like that. He didn’t show any signs of stopping.
Charles moved his neck very slowly and glanced over to Max. He was curled up on his side of the bed, maintaining as much distance as possible, and his body was turned away from Charles. It tugged at his heart, the way he tried so hard to give Charles as much space as he could. And yet, it still wasn’t enough. He couldn’t watch it.
“Max”, Charles said into the quiet, and Max whipped around, looking at him.
“Fuck, Charles, sorry, did I wake you?”, he said, voice strained, wiping at his eyes.
“I don’t mind”, Charles hummed quietly.
Max didn’t say anything, and really, what would he be saying? In the dim light Charles could see that he was embarrassed, however.
“Why are you crying?”, Charles said, even though it was obvious to him.
“I… uhh, I don’t know, it’s just been a lot, you know?”, he said, vaguely. Max obviously didn’t want to put the blame on him.
“Yes, it has”, Charles agreed, and then added, “I’m sorry, Max.”
Max shook his head. He was still crying.
“No, don’t say that. If anything, I’m sorry for putting this on you. I should be… stronger.”
Charles couldn’t bear it. He’d seen Max mad, he’d seen Max happy, but he’d never seen him so broken. He wanted it to stop. Because Max was the strongest person he knew, and if Max was broken, what did it mean for the rest of them? But Charles, he wanted to comfort Max.
“You’re allowed to cry”, Charles said, “and it doesn’t mean you’re weak, okay?”
Max smiled through his tears.
“I know. You taught me that. You’re the strongest person I know, and you taught me that it was okay to cry.”
Huh.
“I was just thinking the same thing about you. That you’re the strongest person I know, I mean”, Charles admitted. It was easier, talking about this stuff, in the darkness, when he wasn’t privy to Max’s every reaction. When Max could only half see him.
Max laughed but he was crying harder again, too.
Charles reached out and gently laid one of his hands to Max’s face.
“Ssh, Max, it’ll be alright”, he said soothingly, but there was no real conviction behind it.
Max leaned into his touch and closed his eyes, like he was savoring the moment. They both knew Charles didn’t really mean it, not like Max wanted him to, but it was nice to just pretend for a bit.
“It’s hard, the way you’re the same person, and not the same person at all. I don’t know how to be us when it’s only half real like this”, Max admitted quietly, and fixed Charles with his gaze. Charles moved his fingers on Max’s face an infinitesimal amount, tracing the lines of his cheekbones.
“It’s the same for me, you know. Where it’s you, but it’s also not you.”
Max sighed.
“Maybe we just have to remember that at our core, we’re the same people, memories or not”, he offered but Charles shook his head.
“I do think that my memories, my experiences, shape who I am as a person. I would be a different version of me if Jules hadn’t died. I wouldn’t have the drive I have, I think. If my dad was still alive, I would be different, too. Happier, probably, less serious? I just wish I remembered the version of me that knows you, us, so well.”
“You’re right, of course. But for the record, I like this version of you. It’s just hard to not grieve for what we had.”
Charles’ thumb was still stroking over Max’s cheek. Part of him wanted to flinch away from the conversation. It was kind of like the shower, only this time he wasn’t outwardly naked. This time, it was his innards which were laid bare. But he did trust Max enough to be careful with them.
“I grieve for what we had, too. We must have been quite happy, from what I’ve seen, and been told.”
“We were happy. We just have to have faith that it’ll come back. And in the meantime, it should be enough that you’re okay. I’m so lucky that you’re alive”, Max said, and laid his hand on top of Charles’. He looked at him, waiting for a reaction. Charles didn’t want to ruin the moment, so he lay still, and just let it happen, even though it was insanely intimate. All the boundaries they’d had, they were breaking them down, and Charles wasn’t too sure how he felt about it.
“Please stop crying, Max”, Charles said, “Tout ira bien, je le promets.”
Max smiled at the sound of the French.
“Je le ferai, il faut juste lui donner du temps”, he said, and Charles marveled at the way his mouth curled around the French vowels, how his consonants were just a bit too harsh, how he didn’t get the melody quite right, but close enough. He wondered if he could speak any Dutch? If so, he’d forgotten.
They lay like that, for a while, and Max was still crying, silently, but it was getting less. Charles fell asleep again, his hand still curled under Max’s, on Max’s face.
__________
The next day, they didn’t talk about what had happened during the night. Charles did feel a bit better, and for the first time, went a whole day without throwing up.
He spent most of the day sitting on the chair outside on the balcony, which was a nice change of scenery. Max still wouldn’t allow him any electronics but from there he could watch the boats in the harbor and the stream of people in the streets, which kept him occupied for a while. Max left Charles to it and did a workout in the living room. It took quite some work, maintaining physiques like theirs, and Charles’ fingers itched for the day that he would feel well enough to join Max. He really wasn’t suited to this sedentary lifestyle, but he also really didn’t want to throw up again. He knew he’d have to take it slow, and him being able to sit there, alone, was actually a step forward.
Max cooked pasta for them and Charles was surprised to see him know his way around the kitchen so well. He remembered from interviews that Max rarely did any cooking or household chores but that didn’t seem to be the case anymore. He also gave Charles a photo album to flick through. It was mostly old pictures, from his childhood, and Charles stared wistfully at the ones where his dad was embracing him. On the last pages, however, there were newer photos, too, from races, with friends, but mostly with Max. He found out that he’d won the Australian Grand Prix in 2022, apparently, which was a pleasant surprise. The photos with Max only confirmed what he already knew to be true. They were happy together and had had a great life. It was them on yachts, them embracing, kissing each other. A very cheeky one was of a stolen moment in what appeared to be his driver room, where Max was standing behind Charles, arms slung around his chest, his mouth pressed to Charles’ temple. He wondered who had taken it. Then again, he remembered Max saying that most people knew already. It was weird, thinking about the other drivers, the engineers, the mechanics that he knew so well, and they knew this whole thing about him that he didn’t remember. His self-sabotaging streak wondered if any of them were secretly homophobic, or just hated him for loving Max, of all people. When he turned the page over, there was another one from racing. Max and Charles were holding Max’s world championship trophy in between them, like it was their child, and both kissing it. Charles chuckled when he saw it, and Max smiled when he looked over his shoulder to see what he was laughing about.
Charles’ doctor came by in the early afternoon and asked him a couple of questions. He didn’t learn anything new. He was just supposed to wait for things to get better, and after a while, his memories would come back. The doctor also gave him a prescription for some more pain medication and something to help with feeling sick all the time. The best remedy, however, he said, was to avoid sudden motions and overexertion.
Pierre showed up, later, and Max took the opportunity to file out of the apartment. He said he was going to the pharmacy to get his medication, and get some groceries, but Charles hoped he would take some moments for himself, too.
He didn’t tell Pierre much about the intimate moments he had shared with Max because he wanted to keep them private, so he just said that Max had been good, but it was hard.
He quite enjoyed it, slipping into easy conversation in French with Pierre, and asked a bit about how he had fared in the years that he’d forgotten. Charles gathered that Pierre really didn’t like Esteban and had to hold back his laugh. He was pleasantly surprised to hear that Fernando Alonso was back on the grid but shocked to find out that Seb wasn’t anymore. It was even more shocking news that Seb had left Ferrari before leaving F1 altogether, and Charles wondered what had happened that Seb had become so disillusioned with them. He supposed he was a part of it, anyway, because he’d been quite the competition for him, back in 2019. Pierre assured him there was no bad blood between him and Seb, though, and Charles felt relieved. He made a mental note to call him soon. He would love to hear what Seb made of all this.
Pierre also told him that Lorenzo and his mom would visit tomorrow. “They would have called you but you’re not allowed to have your phone, you know, and your mom had a very important appointment, today”, he said. Charles thought it was a bit weird, that his mom hadn’t come to see him instantly, but decided not to question it too much. There probably was a good reason for it. Maybe they had grown apart in the years that he’d forgotten? No, Charles couldn’t imagine that that would be it.
When Max came back, bags in hand, Pierre took it as his cue to leave, and Charles stood up and embraced him.
“You look better”, Max observed when he saw Charles standing there, on his own, and Charles agreed that he was.
“I’m so tired, though”, he said with a sigh.
“Yeah, Dr Robinson said that you were gonna need lots of sleep, so that’s normal. Let’s get you to bed then.”
_________
This time, Charles slept through the night. If Max cried again, he didn’t hear it. However, when he woke up in the morning, he felt disoriented. Something was different. With a start, he realized it was the fact that Max was pressed to his back, breathing into his neck, arms firmly around his stomach. Charles froze. He could feel the heat radiating from Max’s body, and his even breaths tickled on his skin. Max was obviously still asleep, and Charles didn’t dare to move, mortified, so he just stayed there, trying to not notice the outline of Max’s body pressed to his. One of Max’s hands had slipped under Charles’ T-shirt and was cradling his belly. It was an odd sensation, and Charles had to suppress a shiver at the realization. Max had big hands. His hand covered almost all of his stomach. Charles didn’t know what to do with it. He just stayed there, lying still, for what felt like ages.
Charles felt the exact moment Max finally woke up. His breathing pattern changed, his head moved away a bit. At first, he seemed to not get what he was doing, and then suddenly, he was alert, and backed away from Charles. He felt cold, where Max’s hand had been.
“Fuck, sorry, I was asleep”, Max was cursing behind him, still struggling to move further away from him. Charles rolled around to face him, gnawing on his bottom lip. Max’s complexion was blotchy, and he was obviously embarrassed. Charles couldn’t help but be endeared by it.
“I know you didn’t mean to”, Charles said, slowly.
Max screwed up his face.
“No, I didn’t. I’m an idiot. I don’t… want to touch you unless you want me to.” He looked very solemn, then.
Charles just sighed.
“It’s okay, Max, it wasn’t too bad.”
Max still looked very guilty.
“Next time just shove me off, okay?”
Charles conceded, and Max got up and opened the blinds.
______
Later, at breakfast, he saw that Max was watching him, deep in thought. That wasn’t unusual, per se. Somehow, Max was always watching him, waiting to catch him should he fall. Still, it felt different.
Charles carefully chewed the bite of the Nutella roll he’d just taken, staring back at Max, who didn’t really react.
“Max”, he said, when he’d swallowed, “what is it?”
The way Charles had broken the silence seemed to startle Max, and he rearranged himself in a more upright position. He seemed to be contemplating how to say whatever he wanted to say.
“So, your mom is coming today”, Max started carefully. Charles furrowed his brows.
“Yeah, and Lorenzo.”
What was it with them? He knew everyone had been acting weird whenever they’d spoken about them.
Max sighed, looking very uncomfortable.
“I need to tell you something.”
Charles felt dread rise in his lower body.
“Okay…”, he said, “so say it.”
Max seemed to brace himself, and then said it very quickly, like he just wanted to get it over with.
“Pascale, she’s very sick. She has… stomach cancer, stage 4, she doesn’t have very long.”
Charles dropped his roll and stared at him, dumb founded.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry that you have to hear the news, again, like it wasn’t bad enough the first time”, Max was rambling, unable to cope with Charles’ silence.
Charles’ ears were ringing again. No, he thought. No, this couldn’t be happening again. This had to be some kind of terrible joke. No fucking way. Why wouldn’t anyone have told him? Well, the answer was obvious, of course, to protect him. Pierre, Arthur, Max, they all had known, and they all had let him believe that his sorry excuse for an existence was his biggest problem.
While he did already feel the heavy weight of sadness tearing at his heart, his first reaction was anger. How could they have not told him? And Max - Max had made him trust him, only to betray him like that. Charles moved his chair away from the table, anything to get further away from Max.
Max interpreted it all wrong, of course, and stood up quickly, coming around the table. He made a move to touch Charles’ shoulders, but Charles shook him off.
“What the fuck, Max? How could you? How could you keep this from me?”
He was shouting, and Max flinched back, mouth open.
“I’m so sorry, it was all too much, I …”
“You trapped me here, playing your little games, getting me to trust you, all the while my mom was dying?”, he screamed, and stood up, moving further away from Max.
“No, no, I wasn’t playing any games, I’m so sorry”, Max said frantically. He’d started crying.
And of course, it was too much for Charles. He felt the nausea again, how it rose from his stomach to his throat, and he was stumbling towards the bathroom, once again. Because no matter how healthy he felt, it was always going to come back around to this, his body reminding him of his weakness. Max was following him, but Charles was too fast for him, this time, and shut the bathroom door in his face, locking it, before heading towards the toilet and retching up whatever he’d just eaten. He heard Max talk to him from outside the door, but he couldn’t actually understand anything, there was too much noise in his head.
When it was over, he felt terrible. He leaned back, exhausted, but head blissfully empty. It wasn’t like he didn’t know what was happening, it was just too much to process, right now, so it was just floating over his head, not fully manifesting itself in his feelings yet.
The longer he waited, the more he realized it, though. The first thing that came to him was that he should not be feeling angry at all. Sadness took ahold of him, then, and he started crying. Utter desperation had him in its unforgiving claws, and he was weeping on the bathroom floor. He was crying for how he would be an orphan, how his baby brother would be one. He was crying for how he’d treated Max. He was crying for himself, how he’d lost precious time with his mother, and how he couldn’t even remember the time they’d had together for the past 4 years. He was crying for the way she cut his hair, how his name sounded coming out of her mouth, how when she looked at him, she saw remnants of his father. Most of all, he was crying for her, how unfair it was, that someone like her should be taken, and someone like him would go on existing.
He didn’t know how long he was lying there but at some point, there were no tears left to cry. Max had stopped talking, too, but Charles knew he would still be waiting outside the bathroom door. He picked himself up and flushed the toilet, walked over to the sink, mechanically brushed his teeth, gulped down some water.
He felt numb, then. He didn’t even bother to wipe at the tear stains on his cheeks, only blew his nose once, and then moved to open the door, slowly.
As predicted, Max was there, sitting on the floor opposite the door, looking up at him with big, red-rimmed eyes.
“Sorry”, Charles said quietly, but he didn’t feel able to do anything else, say anything to him. There were no words, not for this, not in any language he knew. He just turned around and walked shakily to the bedroom, and he could hear Max following him at a certain distance.
He laid down on top of the sheets, staring at the ceiling, and Max got into the bed next to him. He didn’t say anything or attempt to touch him again.
Charles thought about telling him to leave him alone, but he found that he didn’t really care whether he was here or not. This wasn’t really about them.
He felt horribly exhausted from the vomiting spell and the crying fit after, but he actually enjoyed how the pain had a hold of his limbs, was pressing his body down, how his temples were pulsating. It felt like he deserved it somehow. He just breathed, in and out, and stared at the ceiling.
After some time, Max got up again, left the room, and came back with a glass of water and some ibuprofen which he held out wordlessly. Charles made no move to take them.
“Come on, Charlie”, Max said quietly, almost begging. Charles shook his head slightly.
Max sighed and sat down on the edge of Charles’ side of the bed, then. Charles could feel him brush against his leg, but he didn’t move away. Max moved tentatively, probably not wanting to upset him. He brushed some strands of hair from Charles’ forehead where beads of sweat had pooled. His hand felt cool. Charles let it happen. Max then pressed his hand against his forehead.
“Charles, you’re burning up. You don’t look good. Take your medication, come on”, he begged softly.
Charles knew that there would be no deterring him, so he sighed and pulled himself up so that he was leaning against the headboard. Max smiled encouragingly and held the cup and pills out to him once more.
“Good boy”, he said while watching Charles swallow the tablet and emptying the glass.
“I don’t know how…”, Charles started and broke off almost immediately. There really were no words.
Max smiled sadly. “I know, it’s not fair. They will be here, in an hour, though, so I don’t think you’ll want to meet them in your state.” He gesticulated vaguely towards Charles’ face, swollen and red from crying.
“No, you’re right. I’ll get up once the meds start working”, Charles acquiesced. The thought about it for a bit, and then added: “Since when… when was she diagnosed?”
Max was still looking at him like he was scared he was going to break any moment.
“Three months ago.”
“And how is she, exactly?”
Max sighed. “Depends on if she’s doing chemo or not. She still has some hope that chemo might help with … but nobody is really optimistic. They caught it way too late. Anyway, when she’s not doing chemo, she’s okay, mostly. Not well, of course, but she can still walk around, spend some time with friends and family, …”
“Okay, well, that’s good. How long exactly does she have, still?”
“Hard to predict. I mean, at this point, it would take a miracle, but you know how she is… anyway, they gave her 6 months when she was first diagnosed. She said she wanted to hold on a little longer, so she can watch you become world champion.”
Charles cringed at this. He had no idea how he was faring.
“Is that… realistic?”, he said, tentatively.
Max laughed a little.
“Oh yeah, you’re definitely still in the running. Like I said, you’re an exceptional driver, and your team has been fucking up less lately. I don’t really know, though, if she can outlast the diagnosis. I’m not a doctor. You didn’t think she would, however, but maybe that’s just from what you experienced with your dad.”
Charles felt like crying again but just rubbed at his temples instead.
“Yeah, it’s just, I saw how he suffered, in the end, and… when I said that I probably didn’t want her to go through that, too.”
“Only time will tell. But you have to remember that your mom was there when your dad died, too, she knows, and she still wants to hold on a little longer. And mindset does go a long way in a situation like that.”
“When my dad died, I lied and told him Ferrari had signed me for F1”, Charles said, still feeling somewhat guilty at the memory.
“Yes, and Ferrari did end up signing you, and look how well you’ve been doing. I’m sure he’s proud”, Max replied quietly.
_________
The meeting with his mom went rather well, Charles surmised later. Did she cry when she saw him? Yes. Did he cry when he saw her, so much more frail and tired than he remembered? Also yes. But it still felt almost normal, being with his family. He wasn’t acutely aware of the lack of memories when he was with them. The most important thing was, he thought, that Maman’s spirit wasn’t broken. Arthur and Lorenzo had come, too, and they spent the afternoon on the balcony, eating ice cream. Max gave them space, but not after his mom had pulled him into the biggest hug, and he’d chatted to his brothers for a bit. It was weird, seeing them this close, even if Charles had expected it. They didn’t even really talk much about his mom’s illness, or Charles’ amnesia. They talked about people they knew, about childhood vacations, about his father, about how Monaco had changed. He felt happy with them.
When it was time for his mom to leave, she hugged him tightly, and he breathed in the scent of her hair, trying to memorize it. He closed the door after them and went to find Max on his sim. Max didn’t realize that Charles was standing behind him and Charles watched him quietly for a while. He was completely focused, teeth gritted and eyes wide and alert. Max really was uniquely talented and had honed his skills to perfection. Charles found that he didn’t feel bitter about it anymore. He was in awe of it.
Max only noticed him after finishing his race.
“How did it go?”, he asked, getting up from the seat.
“It was nice”, Charles said.
Max smiled at him.
“That’s great. You know, I’ve been thinking, and I think you can have your phone back. Maybe not for hours at a time, but yeah, just have a look at the photos. I don’t think it’ll overwhelm you. You should probably post something on Instagram, too. People have been worried. Let them know you’re okay.”
It wasn’t at the forefront of Charles’ mind, but it made sense.
“Yeah, okay”, he agreed.
“I’ll get it, then. It’s in the drawer of my nightstand.”
Charles laughed. “Wow, you’re really good at hiding stuff.”
“Well, I did hide the fact that I was bisexual until you went and drove yourself into a wall, so…”, Max replied, and Charles laughed at the bluntness.
They went back on the balcony and Max handed him the phone in an almost celebratory manner.
“Dah dah dah dah”, he mimicked fanfares, and Charles chuckled, taking ahold of the phone. It wasn’t the one he remembered possessing, of course. The lock screen was the picture of the red and blue cars again. Subtle, he thought. It unlocked at the touch of his finger, and he stared at the hundreds of messages and calls he had received. There was no way he was going to be able to reply to them all. Charles had always enjoyed curating his Instagram account, so he had a look at his feed. No real sign of Max, of course – except for when they played Padel together, apparently? Lots of Ferrari red, and yachts and … “Wait what? … Did I… release a piano song?”, Charles said, absolutely flabbergasted. He’d always played piano, but it had never been that serious.
Max laughed his bright laugh again. “A couple, actually. My little Mozart.”
Charles still couldn’t believe it. Who was he?
“What the fuck”, he said, lacking a better response.
Max laughed even louder. “There was a point when you were higher in the iTunes charts than in the championship standings.”
“No way. You’re taking the piss.” What the hell?
“It’s funny because it’s true.” Max was wheezing now, and Charles hit him playfully.
“Stop it, Max. Why didn’t you stop me?”
“They’re actually really good, Charles. And you needed something to distract you from Ferrari’s mistakes.”
Charles still stared at him disbelievingly but decided to let it go, for now. He was going to listen to them later.
Max was still laughing, and Charles needed to give him something else to focus on.
“Okay, so, can you take a photo of me just sitting on the chair here, sun in my face?”
He was surprised at how quickly Max got what he wanted from him. He’d probably played Instagram boyfriend many times before. The lighting was really nice, and he was satisfied with the picture.
“And… I want one with you, if that’s okay with you? Or do you not want to publicly confirm it?”
Max looked oddly touched.
“Well, I pretty much confirmed it without your consent, anyway, so I’m not really in the position to … bargain here. I’ve talked to my team about this – before the accident and after – and the main PR strategy they’d agreed on with Ferrari was keep it on the downlow but be honest from now on.”
“What does that mean?” Charles furrowed his brows.
“Honestly, I don’t know. No public kissing and stuff like that. But you know, I think that’s bullshit. I don’t wanna be half out. And honestly, we’re both in the position where our teams need us more than we need them, so I say we do whatever we want.”
Charles hummed his agreement.
“So, yes to the Instagram post with you?”
“Definitely. What do you want me to do? I’ll even repost it on my story”, Max joked.
They settled on an honest selfie with both of them grinning in the frame. Charles had his chin on Max’s shoulder, and Max was wearing a Ferrari cap, while Charles was wearing the Red Bull one. It wasn’t subtle, and it wasn’t intimate, and they looked genuinely happy. Their teams were probably going to give them shit about the team clothes, but Charles thought it was cute, and Max thought it was hilarious. He kept the caption simple, too.
“just wanted to let everyone know that I’m okay and recovering well. thanks to everyone who reached out, I really appreciate it. @maxverstappen1 even let me borrow his cap”
It received thousands of likes in seconds. The fans were immensely excited to hear from him and to have Lestappen, as they called it, confirmed in a more official way than Max’s gut-wrenching team radio. It really shouldn’t be that important to him, with all the other stuff going on, but it made him very happy, seeing all the support. Even Max scrolled through the comments and liked a couple of them, smiling to himself.
Charles busied himself catching up with some of the messages he’d received. He opened his Notes app and made a list of people he wanted to call in the next few days. Then, he scrolled aimlessly through the gallery. It didn’t overwhelm him anymore. He was smiling at all the happy memories he’d made in the past years and hoped he’d be able to actually remember them again, soon. Pictures were fine, but he wanted the scenes to come alive in his mind.
Max held out his hand after a while.
“Phone privileges revoked for the day”, he said with a trace of irony, and Charles didn’t feel too bad about it.
_______
In the next few weeks, they settled into an easy routine. Charles had started driving on Max’s sim but it was really hard because the car was very different to what he was used to. Still, he was determined to get better, in order to be a step ahead when he was actually going to start training again. He only needed Max’s help rarely anymore, his feet became steadier, the dizzy spells became less frequent.
He had started doing easy workouts again – yoga, mostly, and light exercises with weights. It was nothing like the workout regime he was used to, and he could almost feel the muscle he had built with years of training wane, but he was doing his best, and that had to be enough for now.
He had listened to his piano tracks and couldn’t help but be impressed by himself. 2020 Charles hadn’t been able to play that well, and when he tried, he found he couldn’t. It was apparently more than muscle memory.
Once Charles was getting better, Max started to be less worried all the time, and Charles found him very pleasant to be around. He was funny and wickedly smart, yet still kind, focused but not only on one singular thing, and Charles kept discovering things about him that he would never have believed to be true. Like the fact that he could name all countries of the world in alphabetical order. Or that he actually was an avid reader. That he was good at a whole range of other sports besides racing, as well.
His family and friends came around to visit more often and even though they were overshadowed by his mom’s illness, they were still good times. He was happy, mostly.
He still grieved for the person he’d been, and sometimes wondered if his memories were ever going to come back. He needed them. But Max told him to be patient, and he didn’t have much of a choice in the matter. He still had bad days, when he was so sick that he could hardly move and when he was crying for himself, and his mom. Max was always there, and more often than not found the right words. Charles didn’t flinch away from him anymore.
The more he started to like him, the worse he felt about the obligation he felt he’d trapped him in. Max was stuck in an engagement to a boyfriend who didn’t love him, or want him, in a non-platonic way. Charles sometimes thought he could be falling him love but he didn’t really know if it was true, or he just wanted it to be true because it was expected of him. Max never put any kind of pressure on him, steadfast in his conviction that time would heal everything, devoted to Charles in a single-minded kind of way, and endlessly patient. It made it worse, somehow. Max was being so good, and he deserved someone better than Charles, who wasn’t right in the head, who couldn’t love him the way he wanted to.
Charles approached the topic carefully. He just said that if Max wanted to leave, or even simply find someone else to …. satisfy his needs with, that he would understand. Max wanted to hear none of it, resolute in his devotion to Charles once more.
Charles knew how stubborn Max was, so he let it go and resolved to be just as patient as Max was being. He just needed to have faith.
Max convinced him to go for a walk on the promenade, a couple of days after his mom’s first visit, and Charles thought it was going to be horrible. They were surely going to meet people who would recognize them, and then they would probably notice how Charles wasn’t the Charles he’d been before. Or ask inappropriate questions about them. “I will do the talking, if you don’t know what to say”, Max reassured him, and Charles agreed. He did feel very uncomfortable in public at first, and took Max’s hand, which helped a bit. But it turned out to be fine. It was nice, getting to stretch his legs and walk around the streets he knew so well. All the fan interactions they had were friendly, and Charles made sure to take some time for all of them. A young girl made Max sign her Ferrari cap, which made Charles laugh. He knew Max didn’t like the attention too much, however, so they headed back, after a while.
“That wasn’t too bad”, Max said when they were back in their flat.
“No, it wasn’t”, Charles agreed.
_________
When it happened, one morning, Charles’ brain was too hazy to feel embarrassed about it. He’d dreamed about Max. Max’s hands on his body, Max’s lips on his. When he woke up, his head was turned to Max’s who was still asleep. He studied him, focus different than before. He took a long look at his lashes and his strong jaw, his pink and slightly chapped lips. His hair, which sleep had messed up. Charles let his gaze glide lower, to where the outline of Max’s strong body was visible through the sheets. Desire pooled in his lower body. He wanted him, he realized with a start. He licked his lips, mesmerized at the thought of what they could be doing.
As if Max had heard his thoughts, he opened his eyes, to find Charles staring at him, transfixed. He looked confused at first and blinked a couple of times.
“What?”, he said, voice still heavy with sleep. Charles let his gaze flick over Max’s body again.
“I had a dream about you”, Charles said, in a low tone.
“A dream”, Max repeated, still not catching on. He looked at Charles, really looked at him, and Charles could see, in his eyes, the moment he understood. “Oh, it was that kind of dream.”
He ran his eyes down Charles’ body.
“You’re hard”, he stated, matter-of-factly. He seemed very alert now. Charles’ brain wasn’t functioning properly. Why wasn’t he embarrassed? His desire for Max was overriding every logical thought, in that moment.
“Do you… uh… want to…”, Max started and broke off, clearly trying to still give Charles the upper hand, not wanting to pressure him.
Charles stretched out his hands and placed them on either side of Max’s face, thumbing over his cheekbones. Max closed his eyes and sighed heavily, contently. Like he’d been waiting for this for weeks. Which he had.
Charles leaned forward, inching closer to Max’s face, and pressed their lips together in an almost tentative kiss. For him, this experience was new, so as much as he wanted to snog Max’s face off immediately, he felt like he had to go slow. Max kissed back, and it was so good. Max rolled his body over Charles’, bracing himself on his elbows, deepening the kiss, pushing his tongue into Charles’ mouth. Charles let him and groaned at the contact. He slid his hand under Max’s T-shirt, and briefly felt the ring dangling there. This was everything he wanted, but he still needed more. He needed friction. He bucked his hips towards Max’, who was still hovering over him, causing Max to moan into his mouth. But Max, he was still oh so careful, refusing to put too much weight onto him, and Charles wanted his body flush to his, so he rolled them over, pressing his upper body to Max’. Max hooked his legs around his waist, and Charles moved lower, kissing Max’s jaw, the crook of his shoulder, his clavicle. He began sucking there, teasing, and Max groaned.
“Fuck, Charles, I’ve missed you so much”, he pressed out, and tangled one of his hands in Charles’ hair, while the other one was working blindly to get his shirt off. A shudder went through Charles’ body at the feel of Max’s fingers on his stomach.
“Yeah?”, Charles prompted and pressed another sloppy kiss to Max’s wonderful pink mouth, chasing Max’s tongue with his own. He wanted to touch every bit of skin of Max’s he could reach, and his motions became almost frantic. He could feel how hard Max was and reached down to cup him through his boxers, resulting in a pleasured hiss.
“Charles, please”, Max forced out under him, and Charles ground his hips against Max’s, who was now tugging at his shirt with both of his wonderful big hands.
Charles briefly wondered why they hadn’t been doing this the whole time. It was amazing. Breathtaking. Until it wasn’t.
Charles sat up, straddling Max, and pulled off his t-shirt. The sudden motion caused pain to shoot into his temples, and he winced. Max’s hands immediately flew away from where they were groping his hips, and the heat in his gaze was replaced by fright.
“Charles, what is it?”, he said, just as Charles got off of him and started stumbling towards the bathroom. Charles could feel the bile in his throat, the pain in his temples dampening his vision once more. He almost hit the wall, trying to get to the bathroom in time. Max was right on his heel, and as soon as he was emptying the contents of his stomach into the toilet bowl, Max was kneeling next to him, rubbing circles into his back and holding his head up. He just kept vomiting and vomiting. It felt like ages before it finally stopped, and Charles was absolutely exhausted by that point. He slumped onto the floor. Max flushed the toilet and cradled Charles into his lap, holding him up with one hand on his forehead and one arm around his chest.
“Shit, sorry”, Charles managed to say after a while, but Max shushed him.
“It’s not your fault, Charlie, you have nothing to be sorry about”, he said in a low tone. Charles probably would have cried but he didn’t have the energy. He just laid his head back onto Max’s chest and tried to slowly breathe in and breathe out. The pain ebbed after a while, like it always did, but Charles’ limbs felt extremely heavy. His throat was dry, and his lips felt chapped and painful.
“Max”, he said, stopping after one word, “water?”
“Of course, darling.” He moved away from behind Charles and leaned him gently against the toilet, then walked over to the sink and filled a glass, which he handed to Charles. He drank it slowly and felt marginally better, after. Max moved to hold him again. They sat there for another five minutes. The steady rise and fall of Max’s ribcage he felt on his back helped calm him.
“I need to brush my teeth”, he said, once he felt that he needed to get moving.
“Okay”, Max agreed, and helped him up. Charles’ legs felt wobbly, and he was glad when he felt Max place his hands on his hips, holding him steady from behind him. When he’d finished brushing, he looked at himself in the mirror. He looked very white, and more bony than athletic. He’d lost weight and muscle, these past few weeks. There was a long road ahead of him. He sighed.
“I really wanted you, you know”, he murmured. Max gently laid his chin on his shoulder.
“I know, Charlie”, he said, and placed a chaste kiss to his shoulder blade.
But Charles felt the need to explain further.
“It wasn’t you, or anything, I just… moved too quickly, I guess.”
Max chuckled into his neck and brought one of his hands to his bare stomach, gently moving his fingers in circles. “I know, I know, Charlie. We have time. We’ll go slow, next time.”
Charles closed his eyes and leaned back a bit, pressing Max closer to his back. His warm breath on Charles’ skin sent a shiver down his spine. “Who would have known that you were such a big softie.”
Max pressed another short kiss to his skin before answering.
“I wasn’t, before you. Your kindness rubbed off on me, and I guess, when you’re content like that, there’s no need to be cruel anymore”, Max admitted in a rather serious tone of voice.
“I don’t know that I’ve been very kind to you.” It was the truth. Charles had been miserable and unfair, and Max had been patient, and kind, and devoted to him in a way that he’d never thought possible.
“You tried your best, Charlie, and that’s all you can do”, Max said.
“You’re perfect, you know?”, Charles mused, and turned around to face Max.
Max smiled. “Have you seen you?” He held Charles’ face in his hands and brought his forehead to Charles’. “I don’t know how you’re real sometimes. It should be illegal, being pretty, and smart, and talented, and kind like you are”, he said quietly.
“Ah, come on, stop it”, Charles said, and kissed him before Max could say anything that would make him even more bashful. It wasn’t heated like before, but meaningful, and Charles felt Max starting to smile into the kiss. He knew it, then. Maybe his body just had to remind him. Maybe it was like muscle memory. But he was absolutely, irrevocably sure about it.
He was in love with Max. He loved him. He loved him with an intensity that made his heart feel heavy. It felt eerily similar to grief, actually. And what was grief, if not the logical consequence of love? Love was being able to have your heart ripped out from one second to the next, and still choosing the risk. He thought about his dad then, and when he thought about his dad, he was always thinking about Jules, too. Look at me now, look at who I found, he thought, and prayed that some remnant of them was still there, somewhere, and heard him. They would be proud, he was sure. He thought about saying all of it out loud, but Max interrupted his train of thought.
“Allons-y, mon amour, let’s get you back to bed”, he said, taking him by the hand and leading him back to the bedroom.
Charles fell asleep in Max’s arms, his warmth spread around him, his nose full of his smell.
_______
Max was sitting up beside him, reading a book, when Charles woke back up.
“Feeling better?”, Max inquired, closing his book and placing it on the nightstand.
“Much better”, Charles said and pulled himself up. Max smiled at him, and Charles’ heart jumped at the sight. “What are you reading?”
Max scowled. “You’re gonna laugh at me.”
“I promise I won’t.”
Max sighed and showed him the cover. “It’s a book about weddings. Like their locations, ideas, and stuff.”
Charles laughed.
“You promised you wouldn’t laugh, Charles”, Max said, pouting and faking offense.
“I kiss you one time and you start planning the wedding?”
Max grinned now, too.
“Well, it was more than once, and I had been thinking about the wedding before your accident. But yeah, I didn’t mean now. I was just indulging in the fantasy, a little.”
Charles contemplated what the right thing to say was. He didn’t want to hurt Max but he definitely wasn’t ready to marry him. Not without the missing two years, anyway.
“Well, we can talk about it once my memories come back, yes?”
“Definitely, Charlie.” Max looked at him, thinking about something.
“Spit it out, Max.”
“What was your dream about? It must have been quite something, to get you so hot and bothered.”
Charles’ cheeks flushed pink, and he looked away. Max reached out and turned his head back towards his so that he was forced to look him in the eyes.
“If it helps, I will tell you every single inappropriate dream I’ve had about you”, Max offered nonchalantly.
Charles gulped.
“No thanks, Max.”
Max laughed. “Come on, Charlie, je suis curieux.”
Charles laughed. “Your bits of French here and there are unnerving. How much do you understand, really?”
“Most of it if you speak slowly. I have no chance when you and your family are talking amongst each other, though. Way too fast. Now don’t deflect and tell me about your dream.”
Charles sighed.
“Well, uhm, there was a lot of kissing involved, as you can imagine. And… other stuff”, he replied vaguely.
Max huffed indignantly. “You cannot be serious right now. I’ve literally had my dick inside your ass, come on, I want details.”
Charles blushed again. Not in his memory, he hadn’t. His face was a shade of crimson now, probably. Max noticed his embarrassment and grinned mischievously.
“Aww, I’ve broken your brain. Don’t worry, you returned the favor”, Max said, as if that revelation did anything to help. Max leaned forward and kissed him softly, which, as a matter of fact, did help Charles snap out of it.
“Come on now, tell me. Don’t make me beg.”
Charles cringed but accepted that Max wasn’t going to let this go.
“Okay, well, you were… you were pouring champagne all over me. Into the hollow below my clavicles, to be exact, and… you were licking it… and then…”, he started again, struggling with his words. “You had me wear your Red Bull cap”, he added, mortified. “The whole outfit, actually, before you undressed me. I even had on Red Bull underwear, for fuck’s sake.”
Charles had tried to say this in a humorful way, but it didn’t go over too well. Max’s expression changed from playful to very serious. He reached for Charles and put his head between his hands.
“What… what is it?”, Charles asked, suddenly worried he’d said something wrong.
Max’s voice was hoarse, raw with emotion.
“Charles, that wasn’t a sex dream, that was a sex memory. That was after I won the championship last year.”
Charles stared at him dumbly, unable to process what he’d just said. Max started crying silently again, but he was exalted at the same time, gripping his face almost too hard.
“Charlie, oh my god, that means you’re remembering. Your memories are coming back”, Max almost screamed, shaking his shoulders.
Then Charles was crying, too, and they were hugging, and wiping at each other’s tears, and he felt Max’s hair against his skin. He pulled them apart only to bring them closer again, kissing Max. He straddled him, knees on either side of his hips, and Max was running his hands up and down his back. They broke the kiss only to smile at each other and pull off their respective T-shirts. Charles was trembling a little at how good it felt, Max’s hands digging into his waist, his lips on his own, skin meeting skin.
They made sure, this time, to avoid sudden movements, as much as that was possible. They were slow and careful, and passionate. And it was heaven.
When Charles felt that he was going to come he breathed out an almost inaudible “I love you”, but from Max’s look he could tell he’d heard it before following him into oblivion seconds later.
It took a while for him to come back to his senses, after. He was just lying there, sticky, sex-stupid and content, Max on top of him with his whole weight, their legs tangled into each other. His fingers were lazily combing through Max’s hair, and Max was nibbling small kisses onto his chest. He didn’t remember ever having felt so good, and he wanted to hold onto the moment forever.
It was Max who spoke first. “I love you, too, Charlie”, he mumbled against his chest. Charles groaned in answer, thinking about what inappropriate timing he’d chosen for what was, at least in his perspective, his first time telling Max he loved him. And from what Max had told him, the actual first time had been even worse. He felt the need to clarify.
“I meant it. It wasn’t just because of the sex.”
“Yes, I know, you wouldn’t do that”, Max said, and Charles marveled at how self-assured he was. Max trusted him, completely, and Charles didn’t remember what he did to deserve it.
“I love you”, he said, for good measure, pressed a chaste kiss to the top of his head, and then made Max roll off of him. Charles’ body protested at the loss. “We should shower.”
Max pressed a kiss to his temple. “That we should.”
_____________________
The first few memories came in flashes, and in dreams. Some of them were more relevant than others. He remembered getting the one-two in Bahrain, starting the year with a win, and how good that had felt. The way he had finally felt like everything was going like it was supposed to. He knew it hadn’t lasted, but it was still precious, that memory. Most of the memories he was getting back were about Max, in some way. He knew, logically, that a lot of their time had been spent apart, due to their jobs, and the pressure of keeping their relationship secret. Maybe his brain was prioritizing. But Charles was already in love with Max, and the memories, they just deepened that bond. When their engagement came back to him it was almost overwhelming because he just hadn’t thought that anyone would be able to love anyone that much. He asked Max to set a date for the wedding immediately, and Max agreed tentatively, on December – he knew that was because Max wanted him to have his memories back before.
And then, the rest came back to him. He just woke up, one day, with all this information in his head. He had gotten his life back, and immediately suffered a migraine from it. Max had to close the blinds and hold him in the dark the whole day. Thank god for pain medication. The dizzy spells stopped soon after, too.
It took some getting used to but he felt like his old self again, after a couple of days. Only, that wasn’t entirely true, because the time Max and he had shared, without his memories, and getting the chance to fall in love with Max, again, it had changed him. He felt a bit wiser, or more in love, or maybe simply happier. He apologized to Max, profusely, once he knew the full truth of it, from his own memories, and could better understand what a shitty situation Max had been in. He still felt that he could have been kinder to Max. But Max wouldn’t hear it. He shut him up with kisses, and Charles let him.
Getting his memories back meant that he could finally start training again. Ferrari had been incredibly understanding and patient, and when they posted images of him getting back into the sim, and being in their garage, the tifosi went wild. Il predestinato è tornato, the front page of the Repubblica read. They still loved him, even if he was dating the enemy.
Having their relationship out in public was a blessing and a curse. It meant that they finally didn’t have to hide anymore. They could go on dates, they could walk into the paddock together, holding hands, they could post about each other, talk about each other. Most of the fans loved them. F1 was changing, anyway, and their fanbase was becoming younger, more female, and more supporting. The first time he and Max shared a podium, and raised a rainbow flag behind them, he couldn’t believe that it was really happening. He didn’t mind being a poster child for LGBTQ rights in motorsports anymore, it made him proud. There were tears in his eyes, and Max kissed him, then. The cameras loved it, and Charles set the picture as his screen saver.
That isn’t to say that it was easy. Of course, the FIA was a capitalist organization first, and unfortunately the richest states were the most discriminatory ones. Saudi-Arabia begrudgingly allowed them in, mostly on account of Max being hailed as the GOAT already, but they were forced to spend the week separated and heavily guarded. Charles didn’t feel safe, really, but his win felt like a smack in the face of the authoritarian regime, and he couldn’t help but be gleeful when Max pulled him into a hug on the podium. The other problematic countries followed, so they did end up racing in all countries after all. A lot of the fanbase was lobbying for changes to the race calendar, and Charles showed his approval. It would take time, but it did feel like they were going to be able to actually change something for the better.
They ended up marrying in October, mostly due to his mom being very sick. She wanted to see them get married and Charles wanted to share this moment with at least one of his parents. They had a very small reception with just their families and closest friends, and then they had a big party with everyone there. Charles actually started crying when Seb pulled him into a tight hug and told him how proud he was of him.
His mom died a few weeks later, and the grief was horrible. He knew he’d done it before, and survived, but somehow, it got worse each time. Still, he managed to do what he did in Baku, back when his dad had died, and he went out on the racetrack, 48 hours after she had passed, and got a win in her honor. Only this time, Max was with him. He knew that the reporters’ eyes were on them, following their every step even more closely than usual, but Max held his hand firmly, and it gave him strength. This is for you, Maman, he thought when he pointed towards the sky on the podium, and Max just looked at him, in awe. He cut his interviews short, because he really couldn’t say too much without crying, and Max was by his side, answering in his stead. Later he would sometimes wonder if Max had backed off, during that race. He had watched the footage many times and he wasn’t sure. Max, of course, vehemently denied doing so.
In any case, this was the only time he ever wondered. Every other race, it was hard racing between them, and Max had been right, it really turned out to be no problem at all. He was competing with everyone else, too, and some of them were still his closest friends. Because, yes, maybe sometimes he was mad when Max had made a move that he deemed illegal, or unfair, and gotten away with it, but in the end, Charles gave as good as he got, and Max also was the only one who was completely able to understand him. It was very different to the relationships he’d had before him.
Max wasn’t just his husband, or his partner. Max was part of him, Max’s story was intricately interwoven with his own, what Max felt, he felt. It was almost too good. He didn’t think, if the accident were to happen again, that he would ever be able to forget their relationship again. He didn’t feel like he could exist without it. There was no Charles Leclerc without Max Verstappen.