Work Text:
1.
Charles Leclerc had an important mission: break Max Verstappen.
It was a difficult, but monumental decision. If anyone could do it, Charles knew it would be him. His rose-colored Ferrari-fueled glasses and sadistic puppy eyes of despair worked wonders.
The FIA had a mission of its own. The drivers needed to be more likable, they claimed, and more humane. The choice, obviously, was to market the grid as a big, happy family. There was one glaring problem, however, and that came in the form of Max Verstappen. He didn’t fit any of the narrative. The man was unbreakable.
Charles was preparing himself for the worst. This was Max he was talking about. The same Max who pushed him off track, fought on camera, and walked around like he didn’t give a shit about anything or anyone. He was heartless.
The others placed bets on how terribly this would go over. Carlos had no faith in his friend, laughing that Charles would get punched. The non-Red Bull rookies believed Charles could crack him, and Pierre seemed oddly supportive. Lewis told him, “Tough luck.” George was already drafting his eulogy.
The planned family portrait was full of media day responsibilities, showcasing how each of the drivers supported one another. It wasn’t an impossible task. They frequently got together in smaller groups to debrief and drink like normal friends would. But Max? He was nowhere to be found. Media day was an extra day of rest with minimal coverage of him to exist. Nobody knew what he did, except for the constant sim racing, and they didn't care to know. Beyond reasons he could comprehend, Charles volunteered to be the one to find out. Besides, he was desperate to know whether Max had any real friends.
Charles strolled through the paddock, head buried in his phone. It fit the angsty presence they pushed onto him, though there wasn’t much pretending to be done there. He was already late for his meeting, frantically responding to the dozens of texts from his team. It wasn’t his fault that Pierre locked himself out of his motorhome and called Charles to help. He finished his strands of texts, cursing whatever Ferrari man he could and—
His phone flew out of his hands as his face collided with a wall, making a painful thud. He coiled back, eyes blinking and blurry.
Oh.
It wasn’t a wall.
The man stood in front of him. A small smile outlined the corners of his lips. “You okay?” he asked.
Charles abruptly shook his head. “Max,” he breathed out.
Max chuckled in response. “Careful, they don’t like us driving with head injuries.”
“Uh…” Charles hesitated, because what? Max Verstappen did not smile. He did not laugh. And not… like that. “Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I didn’t see you.” He reached down to pick up his fallen phone, only to be met with a hand brushing his. The brief contact sent electricity up his arm. He snatched the phone back like he had been burned.
“Is it okay?” Max asked. A curious twinkle shone in his eye. Charles met his gaze but couldn’t stammer out a response. The corner of Max’s mouth twitched upward. “I was asking about your phone, but maybe I should be more worried about you.” He laughed again, a bright sound.
Charles had never been more confused in his life. Four-time world champion Max Verstappen was… concerned? Joking? Surely, he had to be making fun of his predicament. There was no other explanation for what was presented in front of him. Maybe the Red Bull curse finally hit him, and this wasn’t a real version of Max.
A hand brushed the top of Charles’s shoulder, startling him away from his thoughts. Max’s hand was on his shoulder. He didn’t know what alternate universe he stepped into. Whatever it was, he did not feel safe.
“Sorry, am I keeping you? You must’ve already been late,” Max inferred, dropping his hand, but keeping his suspiciously nice smile.
Charles' mouth went dry. He glanced down at his watch, then his phone. His team had given up on texting him, so it was safe to assume he missed the meeting entirely. He groaned, tilting his head back. Pierre was going to pay for this.
“It’s okay,” Max assured. “I skip meetings all the time.”
Charles fought the urge to say, 'Yes, you’re Max Verstappen, and I’m not.' He settled instead for a meek thank you.
“I’ll see you around, Charles.” Max left as soon as he came, tossing a wave behind his shoulder.
Charles didn’t hesitate to text the group chat.
Charles
i just ran into max
Pierre
(knew my plan would work)
George
Physically? Karting? Metaphorically?
Lando
yoooo what happened
Charles
PHYSICALLY
I AM ABOUT TO DIE
wait what plan
… pierre?
Lewis
Dramatic, but I respect it
George
Give details, Charles.
Fernando
some of us are curious.
Lando
nando’s getting into this now??
Oscar
respect the old man
Lando
oh it’s straight respect
like 100% respect
he needs drama in his life too
Fernando
yes.
Yuki
Pierre has yet to respond.
George
Details, please.
Charles
i was late for my team meeting
because of pierre. who is being silent.
i ran into him
he picked up my phone
started laughing
joking
touched me
Lando
touched you???? oooooo
George
Did he hit you?
Carlos
I told you he would strike.
Liam
No mercy.
Esteban
He likes doing that.
Lewis
I wouldn’t be surprised.
Charles
no he didn’t HIT me
he put his hand on my shoulder
like
a friendship pat
Lando
a “friendship pat” lmao
Fernando
i do not believe it.
Charles
who gave him a phone
Alex
Probably Kimi.
Kimi
my bet is on ollie, actually
George
Charles, did you hit your head?
Charles
NO
Lewis
I think he hit his head.
Ollie
wait why is my name getting brought up
Pierre
Yeah, definitely hit his head
Kimi
don’t worry about it, bearboy
Charles
PIERRE.
WHAT PLAN.
Ollie
it’s bearMAN to you
Fernando
prove it, oliver.
Pierre
Oh, nothing. Wrong chat.
Don’t worry about it.
Charles
i am very worried about it
anyway why is no one believing me
Carlos
It’s highly improbable.
Alex
George says “proof or it didn’t happen”
Charles
i am the proof
Lewis
You chose this path, mate
George
Agreed.
Lando
let us know when you guys kiss
Oscar
LANDO
Fernando
lol.
Lando
the angst is getting to me
enemies to lovers
Oscar
I am taking away his phone
Lando
i’ll use nando’s
Ollie
i told you i didn’t do it!!
Charles
you people are useless
Charles shut off his phone. Why did he even bother? However, it may have made his mission easier. If Max were going to play nice, Charles would have to accept it. Two could play that game.
2.
“I doubt he’s showing up,” George said, glancing at the time on his watch. The drivers sat in a conference room; everyone was present except Max. It had been a week since Charles’ run-in with him, and nothing had happened since. It didn’t help that Max had won that weekend, and Charles couldn’t make it past P4.
He tried remaining positive, but it was a daily struggle.
“He’ll show up,” Charles muttered.
Alongside him, Carlos laughed. “Never lose your optimism, percé.”
Charles groaned and threw his head back. The door cracked open behind him, and the laughter around the room went silent. He opened his eyes, only to be met with Max’s face. He snapped back up, adjusting his chair. Much to his surprise, Max pulled up a chair next to him. Charles offered him a polite, tight-lipped smile. He could feel the burn of his peers’ stares sear through him.
The meeting started, taking the “saved by the bell" concept too literally. Max sat silently, arms crossed and shoulders low. If his presence wasn’t so demanding, Charles could almost pretend no one was there. He couldn’t pay attention to whatever authority was speaking; seeing Max in his peripheral vision messed with his head. But Max never seemed to spare a glance in his direction. The incident between them could have been a fluke. Max could have been extra happy that day, or needed some comedic relief that Charles naturally granted. It didn’t have to mean anything.
The presenter suddenly clapped her hands together, snapping Charles out of his trance. “Each pair will have an assignment. Any questions?”
Charles had a lot of questions, actually.
As if sensing his confusion, Max whispered, “We’re together.”
His words shot all the way down Charles’ core.
“For the assignment,” he clarified. Charles nodded quickly, as if he understood anything that was going on. Everyone hurried to their feet and started grabbing folders. Pierre shot him a scandalous look from across the room before leaving with Yuki.
Then there were two.
Max cleared his throat. “I can drive, if you want.”
“Sure,” Charles chirped.
Max’s eyebrow furrowed, but he shook it off and gestured for Charles to follow him. Charles didn’t argue.
-
They were at a local children’s hospital.
It was the last place Charles had ever imagined being with Max Verstappen. Not that he ever imagined being anywhere with Max Verstappen. He would never.
The ride over was quiet. Max had offered him aux, but Charles was too busy making a plan. He needed to break Max, and he needed proof. Was he even human?
Charles hadn’t bothered reading the folder. He assumed he could play dumb, and Max would put on his best maxplaining act, and maybe then Charles could figure him out. In theory, it was a great plan. However, the whole plan went out the window as soon as Max disappeared from his sight. They checked in, Charles turned around, and he was gone.
Charles wandered the floor, trying not to look as lost as he felt. Nurses stared at him, their eyes screaming that he didn’t belong there. This had to be some sick joke against him. Surely, Max had to be around here somewhere. He peered through each room with no luck. A knot twisted in his stomach, uneasy and on fire. He turned the corner and—
Through the window, he saw him.
Max Verstappen. The arrogant, cold-blooded, world champion who didn’t exist outside the racing world was with a young girl. She sat at his side, grinning wildly. She pulled on his sleeve, and he dipped to her level. A plastic tiara was placed on his blond hair, the afternoon light hitting it just right. His eyes crinkled, and a genuine smile crossed his face. It… was real.
Charles' breath caught in his throat.
“Oh,” he whispered.
The thought crossed his mind: this was it. The perfect proof. Yet, his hands didn’t reach for his phone. They reached for his chest. An imaginary force hit his sternum, and he found himself grasping at his skin. For what felt like an eternity, he stood in the hall facing the hospital room. He didn’t realize that Max was coming towards him until it was too late.
“Charles?”
Charles nearly jumped out of his skin.
“Are you okay?” Max asked, pressing closer.
“Yep! Fine, just fine,” he responded, voice too high not to raise suspicion. “A nurse!” he blurted. “A nurse told me… You could check your pulse… by patting your chest?” He demonstrated, miming the action he had been doing a moment prior.
He should check his pulse.
Max blinked as Charles flinched. He could get punched for being an idiot, right? Instead, Max let it slide. He chuckled and turned on his heel, leading the way back to the parking garage.
As they reached his car, Max turned to him. “I can bring you home.”
“Um, yeah, thanks.”
Nobody would ever believe Charles now.
He consulted the group as soon as Max dropped him off.
Charles
guys.
Lando
oh this is gonna be good
George
Did you get beaten up yet?
In front of the kids??
Alex
They were at a hospital, George. Be realistic.
It clearly happened in the parking garage.
Lando
you know what else could have happened in the parking garage?
Oscar
Don’t start
Kimi
ollie and i played with puppies!!
Charles
this is serious
Lando
OH it’s serious
Fernando
i am listening
Charles
he let a girl put a tiara on him
Pierre
Princess Max??
Lewis
No way.
Lando
prince of monaco and princess max? yess pls
wait lemme tell daniel this
Oscar
Don’t get him involved, Lando
Fernando
i like tiaras.
Charles
GUYS
I’M BEING SERIOUS
Alex
How is everyone ignoring Kimi and Ollie playing with puppies?
Ollie
i totally didn’t smuggle one
Kimi
and i totally didn’t commit tax fraud with a certain bear-named fella
Ollie
fella?? really?
Charles
PLEASE.
HE DROVE ME HOME.
George
Pics?
Alex
Ew.
Carlos
This doesn’t seem like a very smooth operation to me
Daniel Ricciardo joined the chat
Daniel
PRINCE CHARLES AND PRINCESS MAX EMILIAN!!!
Lando
the party has arrived!
Charles
WHY WOULD YOU INVITE HIM
Pierre
This is going wonderfully.
George
Nobody has sent pictures.
Ollie
*attached selfie holding a dog-shaped hoodie*
Kimi
GASP!!
Liam
Did he just type “gasp”
Isack
who is bro. why is bro.
Liam
No one ever asks how is bro :(
George
I meant a picture of Max.
Daniel
*attached image of Max kicking his car*
Fernando
good one.
Charles
i didn’t take a picture. that would be creepy.
Carlos
Did you stare?
I bet you stared.
Lewis
He definitely stared.
Charles
I DIDN’T STARE
… i was having chest pains
Pierre
👀
Lando
heart yearns for thine princess
Fernando
🤨
Lando
ok, i didn’t teach him emojis
Oscar
Maybe I did.
Charles
chest pains are NORMAL.
Pierre
Sure, buddy.
George
Verdict still stands: Max Verstappen is not real
Charles
i literally hate you all
Charles was having a perfectly normal afternoon in his Monaco apartment when he got the text. He turned his attention away from Leo, who was sleeping curled up in his lap, and picked up his phone. It was probably the group chat anyway.
Max
Hey, Charlie
Charles' brain short-circuited. He jumped up, evicting poor Leo to the couch. Why in the hell was Max texting him? And why did he call him Charlie?
Charles
max. hello
Max
You can say no, okay?
But would you like to come over?
If his heart hadn’t stopped the first time, it definitely did now. Leo gave him looks of pity as he stood, mouth agape. He considered it for a brief moment after the initial shock wore off. It was for the plot, really. The group chat needed content. And he couldn’t say he wasn’t curious.
Charles
sure
assuming this is actually max
and not some serial killer kidnapping plot
i can fight
Max
I might pay to see that.
See you in an hour?
*attached address*
Charles
okay
Everything was not okay. Charles was on his way to Max Verstappen’s apartment, invited, and presumably not a serial killer kidnapping hijinx. He had changed out of his sweats for reasons he didn’t understand and put on a nice shirt and baggy jeans. For once, he really was unsure of what to expect. If he had ever pictured going to Max’s apartment (which he definitely did not), he would probably picture it as a Batcave sponsored by Red Bull. What he never imagined was a normal home. With cats.
He tapped on the door, heart hammering in his chest.
He was not sweating.
He was not nervous.
The door swung open, and Max bent over to stop a ball of fur from escaping. Charles took in his surroundings. Max. The warm, cozy atmosphere of the apartment. And—
“Cats?” Charles blurted. Three fuzzballs greeted him, rubbing against his legs.
There was that sound again: laughter. “They like you,” Max stated like a simple fact.
The white one started climbing Charles’s jeans, small, delicate, and adorable. A giggle escaped him, and he leaned down to pick it up.
“Oh, hi, baby,” Charles awed.
“Donut,” Max added. He watched with a strange look of… admiration? Donut snuggled into Charles’ arms, already purring and half-asleep. Charles looked over to Max for help, to which Max only laughed again. “You were chosen.”
The other two circled their feet, craving attention. Max listened, picking them both up in one sweeping motion.
“These are Jimmy and Sassy,” he introduced. He motioned his head toward the living room. “Come in.”
Charles, careful not to upset Donut, walked carefully over to the couch. This wasn’t supposed to be real. Max wasn’t supposed to have cats or coffee table books or… throw pillows. He took in the room as he sat, surprise written all over his face.
“You look confused,” Max stated, joining him on the couch, notably without the two Bengals.
“I am confused. You… have cats. No trophies around. It’s— It’s normal?”
This earned a sharp laugh from Max. “The trophies are in the other room,” he explained. “I try to keep it normal out here.” Their eyes met for a brief, yet entirely too long, moment. Max smiled again, a soft and natural expression that was completely at odds with his character. Charles swallowed hard.
“Do you want to play FIFA?” Max asked abruptly. Charles nodded, unsure of what else to do. He followed up asking, “Drink?” This time, he nodded profusely. He might need one to get used to whatever this was. Max was quick to hop off the couch and head to the kitchen, coming back with matching beer bottles. Charles took one graciously, tilting in the air towards him to mime a cheer before taking a long swig. They settled in and turned on their controllers.
-
“Mate, that was a glitch! You didn’t even try to shoot!” Charles shrieked, hands waving exaggeratedly toward the television.
Max barked out a laugh. “Fair is fair,” he said pointedly.
“Oh, that was unfair and you know it!”
This had them both giggling. The warmth from the alcohol seeped its way into Charles’ bones. He let out an exasperated sigh, enjoying the unexpected comfort he found. He hadn’t imagined that he’d still be there as the sun went down, let alone having fun. It was nice, playing with Max and forgetting about their complicated seasons and lives. Charles hadn’t realized this was what he was missing. He and Max found themselves sitting closer, and Max leaned into his side. Charles pretended to ignore the slight ache in his chest that throbbed when Max did.
“Hey, have you seen the others?” Max asked, gesturing vaguely to Donut, who settled into Charles’ side and slept happily. Charles almost forgot there were others. Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t seen them since he came in.
“No, I haven’t. Is that unusual?” Leo was almost always attached to his hip, but he was a clingy dog. Cats were uncharted territory (though he might take Ollie’s advice on how to smuggle animals because Donut now belonged to him).
Max nodded and started scanning the room. Charles watched his face drop, worry etching his features. He wanted to make the look on his face go away; make it better somehow. Instead, he did the only logical thing he could think of. He stood up, separating himself from the couch and its lovely Donut-shaped companion, and began looking around Max’s apartment for the cats. They split up, which Charles instantly knew was a terrible decision on Max’s part. Charles was left free to wander in Max’s territory. After checking the hallway, he ducked inside a room. For the cats. No other reason.
It was simply beautiful. This was his trophy room. Trophies, medals, and various awards encompassed the space, glistening as he snapped on the ceiling light. Some might call it egotistical, but Charles couldn’t be one to judge. He kept his mementos proudly on display around his place. And Max should be proud. He had accomplished so much in such a little time. Charles remembered the way it used to feel like jealousy. Max was achieving his dreams at his expense. But growing up, and seeing this natural side of Max… Jealousy wasn’t the right way to describe it. He felt oddly proud and honored to have raced alongside him for their entire lives. He scanned the walls that were plastered with memories.
That’s when he spotted it.
A framed picture, tucked away on a desk, of two kids in race suits side by side. Charles instantly recognized it.
It was a picture of them.
He remembered the day it was taken. Charles was pissed, per usual, at the world, his car, Max. Max was as arrogant as ever, and the last thing Charles wanted was a picture with his rival. But when his mother insisted, he was forced to oblige. Charles grimaced, but Max wore his signature smirk and pulled his arm around him.
Back then, Charles didn’t understand. But now, maybe he did. Max didn’t have friends growing up, and in fact, the only person he talked to outside of his family was Charles. His arrival in Formula 1 sparked controversy; his reputation was ruined before he could change his fate. His teammates didn’t ignore him, but they certainly weren’t friends. Daniel was the only one who got somewhat close, but nobody knew the context behind their proximity, and then Daniel left. He never gave insight into Max’s life, and people didn’t ask. Nobody bothered asking about his personal life or getting to know him. They saw the image he created and nothing more. Charles believed this, too, and a pang of guilt worked its way into his throat. Maybe, all Max wanted — needed — was a friend.
Charles held the photo, a smile tugging the corners of his lips. It was incredibly sweet of Max to hold onto this. He would never have dreamed that Max Verstappen would be a sentimental guy.
A loud crash took him away from his mind. He put the picture back and ran out into the hall, where Max stood wild-eyed with a hammer in his hands. Charles blinked rapidly. Unbelievable. Max put a hole through his door. One of the bengals, Jimmy, Charles thought, peeked through and jumped out like it was nothing. Max instantly tried reaching out for him, but Jimmy turned and ran the opposite way. Sassy appeared a moment later, not from behind the door. Before she could run, Max scooped her up and held her tight to his chest. He pressed a soft kiss to her fur.
The buzz must have finally reached Charles because his chest constricted like it did in the hospital. He might need to bring it up with Andrea if this became a regular issue. Young athletes had heart attacks, too. Warmth spread throughout his body, and Charles realized he had been staring. He instantly looked down at the mess in front of the door.
“The door was stuck. I heard meowing,” Max offered an explanation, still holding onto Sassy like she didn’t just induce mass panic.
“That’s…” Charles opened his mouth, but words failed. He settled for a head nod. Max, yet again, didn’t seem to mind.
Once Charles helped clean the wood scraps, they parted ways. Eager to update the group of non-believers, he started typing before even getting upstairs.
Charles
what a day
Lewis
Not again.
Lando
I AM SAT!!!
Fernando
my favorite show is on.
Charles
in case anyone was wondering
max is a cat dad
and he doesn’t live in a dark cave
George
Character development?
Alex
No. Way.
Lando
he’s a DAD?!
Pierre
Charles, you went to his place??
Lando
oh i read that wrong
Oscar
Sure, you did.
Charles
that is unimportant pierre
i might need ollie’s help stealing a cat
Kimi
omg.
Lando
joint custody agreements
Ollie
i’m quite good at that!!
Daniel
lando, that would mean they’re divorced
Oscar
Don’t correct him please. He’s insufferable as is.
Lando
I TAKE THAT BACK!
just say ur married already
Fernando
💍👨❤️👨?
Lando
OH!! NANDO KNOWS WHAT’S UP!
George
Max? Marriage? Not possible.
Pierre
I wouldn’t put it past him.
Charles
PIERRE?
Yuki
So you went to Max’s place?
Lando
he’s probably staying the night
Daniel
lando, that was very perverted.
i agree.
Charles
I AM HOME.
Kimi
did he just call max’s place home?
Ollie
oh definitely
Charles
I OWN THIS FLAT
ALONE
LEO IS MY EMERGENCY CONTACT
Oscar
So, he has cats?
Charles
yes.
he broke his door.
Lando
kinky
Charles
FOR HIS CAT
he was missing
Daniel
to be fair, i knew he had cats
Charles
oh shut up, you don’t count
Daniel
hey that hurt my feelings
Charles
why aren’t you helping me then
Daniel
your mission, not mine
Alex
Daniel knows something we don’t: confirmed
George
Mission: still impossible
Charles
why does no one listen to me
Something was wrong. From the minute he woke up, Charles sensed it. His head let out a violent throb upon rolling out of bed, and Charles knew it was over for him. Every time he came down with an illness, it started the same way. A violent, aching, and oddly specific headache. He tried stumbling towards the bathroom for painkillers, but his body rejected the idea. His legs wobbled, his stomach churned, and he fell back against his mattress with a heave. Whatever he had contracted, it came on fast — too fast.
A painful reminder of the day ahead hit him. He had a flight to catch for meetings and media day. He couldn’t afford to miss his flight, but it was already over for him. It was not happening.
He fumbled for his phone, but his eyes couldn’t focus on the screen. It briefly occurred to him that he might be fired for this, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. He grumbled in defeat, the phone slipping from his hands. His body burned, his blood coursing Ferrari red. He was so, so tired. Within a minute, his eyes fluttered shut into a restless sleep.
-
There was a pounding sound ringing in his ears, increasing the pressure on his head. He wasn’t sure when it began or if it would ever stop. He rolled onto his side, trying to ignore the way his body screamed at him when he did. A voice called out his name as the pounding intensified. His grip on reality was slowly fading. Was he even conscious? It startled him that he didn’t know.
The sounds only grew louder until Charles had finally had enough. He swung his legs over the edge of his mattress and pushed himself up. His vision doubled as he struggled to stand. He was thankful he knew his way around his place and wasn’t stuck in a foreign hotel. With every last effort he had, he reached the front door and let it fly open.
“Charles?” The same voice from earlier called out. He wasn’t hallucinating. Charles squinted, trying to place the face. Arms reached out to steady him. He knew that touch.
“Max,” he whispered breathlessly. His body subconsciously inched forward, and Max’s hands tightened their grip around him.
“Hey, hey. It’s okay,” Max said, soft and assuring.
Charles could feel his limbs shaking. Everything was so cold. The body against his was warm. Safe. He clung to it tighter.
“Let’s get you back to bed.”
Charles was not going to argue with that. He let himself be led back to his bedroom, the apartment tilting and blurring together as he went past. His brain felt fuzzy, a deep fog of pain and emotion overcoming him. He wanted to push back, to push Max away, but the fever hollowed him out. His legs gave out, weight collapsing into Max’s strong hold around his waist.
“Hey, we’re almost there,” Max whispered. He lay him down gently and pulled the covers over him. The world grew distant, disconnected. A glass touched his lips, cool water chasing bitter pills. A cold hand cupped the side of his neck, and he instinctively leaned into it. “You’re burning alive, Charlie,” Max stated.
Any other day, Charles would have flinched at the nickname. This time, it sank into his fever haze, going unnoticed. “Your hand feels nice,” he mumbled.
Max sighed, leaving his hand against Charles’ skin.
Reality suddenly crashed through him. His eyes snapped open. “Wait!” he gasped. “You’re s’pposed to be in Spain.”
“Yes, and you’re supposed to be alive,” he joked.
The thought formed, slow and unsure. “Did you fly back? For me?” The hand on his neck reached his hair, gently running fingers through it. The warmth in Charles’ stomach was dangerous, bordering on something other than the fever entirely.
“I had to make sure,” Max said, voice barely above a whisper. “Get some rest. I’ll be here.” His words felt like a promise, safe and sure. Charles let his eyes drop shut once again. Max sat at the edge of the bed, hand still delicately tangled in his hair. He shouldn’t be here. He should be in Spain, prepping for the grueling weekend ahead. But he was here, with Charles. The implications of his decision weighed heavily on Charles’ mind as he drifted off.
The rest of the night bled together in fragments. Between quiet, heavy dreams, Charles stirred awake, only to be met with Max each time. Damp cloths on his forehead, soft hands in his hair, sips of water, and more pills. He drifted in and out of consciousness, each time grounding himself with thoughts of Max. Max had made his way over to the other side of the bed beside him, back leaning against the headboard. Watching, waiting. Each time he woke, he was met with worry and care. It was oddly nice to be taken care of. Especially by him.
Morning sun eventually crept its way through the curtains, spilling onto the bed. Charles stirred awake, his head still drowning under pressure and fever just enough to notice. He moved his head slightly, being met with a strong shoulder. He had fallen asleep on Max. He wished he had the strength to move away, but he was sick. It was acceptable.
At his movement, Max woke up. He curled his arm around Charles.
“Morning,” he greeted, voice low and rough. His eyes were red and squinting, evidence that he barely slept. Charles' chest twinged at the sight. “Do you feel any better?”
Charles groaned, scrunching up his nose. “A little.”
“I should get you more meds, then,” Max decided. He started to pull away, but Charles grabbed his wrist.
“You– You should be in Spain, is what you should be doing,” he argued, not forgetting the cost of Max’s presence. Practice was already starting at this point, and neither of them was even in the country.
Max sighed heavily, but wore a small smile. “Charles. I’m here with you. You certainly aren’t going to Spain. Neither am I.”
Blame the fever, but Charles could not believe what he was hearing. He blinked hard, trying to focus. “What? Max, that’s… that’s ridiculous.”
“And so is you dying by yourself. I left because I had to. I couldn’t be in another country when you wouldn’t answer.”
Charles froze. What? Even with his incapacitated mind, he could only imagine what the group was saying. If they even knew.
“I’m getting your meds,” Max finalized, writhing away from Charles’ grip on his arm. Charles flopped back to the bed in discontent. His weary brain couldn’t understand why Max, of all people, skipped racing to take care of him. Maybe he had a heart after all. Max came back a moment later with the dreaded pills and water, holding them out to him. Charles took them begrudgingly and leaned back into his pillow. Max rejoined at his side, his eyes landing directly on Charles.
“Thank you,” Charles whispered, hoping the small words would convey his rather large feelings.
A soft expression crossed Max’s face. “Of course.”
For a second, the world stilled. It was just the two of them, here in Charles’ bed, lying a little too close together. Max’s breath was warm against Charles’s neck. Charles reached out to touch his face, as if he wasn’t real. He shivered, from the fever or something else, he wasn’t sure. He knew he should push, tell Max to go back to Spain, but he couldn’t.
With his mind barely there and his voice barely heard, he mumbled, “Stay.”
“I’m not leaving you,” he assured.
And Charles— damnit, he couldn’t control himself. He wrapped himself around Max, and Max instinctively opened his arms to let him in. He buried his head in his chest, letting the warmth and comfort overtake him. He felt Max’s chin dip to rest on top of his head.
“Sleep, Charlie,” Max said, and Charles listened, evening his breathing with Max’s.
When he woke up again, Max was still there and had fallen asleep himself. Charles knew he shouldn’t stare, but he was still tucked close to his chest, and Max was so peaceful. He watched the rise and fall of his breath, the soft sigh that he exhaled. This would be George’s picture-perfect proof. A sight so domestic, so surreal. But Charles didn’t care. He curled back up and continued resting in Max’s arms.
The weekend went by slowly, with much of the same routine. Neither made it to Spain (much to Charles’ dismay), and needless to say, nobody was happy about it. Charles managed to kick Max out on Sunday after he was finally able to stay awake for longer than 4 hours at a time. He kept his phone off for the most part, but finally decided he needed to consult his so-called friends. Hundreds of messages poured in.
Lewis
Are we sure he’s alive?
George
No one ever knows with Charles.
Pierre
If he’s dead, I might kill him.
Lando
where was max i wonder???
Charles
i’m alive, idiots
Alex
HE’S ALIVE
Pierre
I WILL KILL YOU.
Carlos
Hear him out first
Then we can kill him
Charles
sorry i was on my deathbed?
idk i could barely walk
Lando
👀
Oscar
Please no.
Daniel
👀
Fernando
he was with max
Charles
what?! why would you say such a thing
Lewis
Okay, starting to make sense
George
There’s absolutely no way Max skipped a race intentionally
Lando
for the sake of romance george
Fernando
for the drama
Carlos
Percé, was Max with you??
Charles
legally obligated to say no
morally obligated to say i don’t know
George
How would you not know??
Fernando
aliens.
Lando
did he take care of you
watch you sleep
Oscar
That’s creepy
Lando
not if it’s romantic!
Charles
fine.
he was there.
i didn’t ask him to be.
he just showed up.
gave me drugs.
Daniel
damn he’s been holding out on me??
George
His reckless driving would be explained.
Pierre
Assuming it was cold medicine but anyway
Charles
yes it was cold medicine
… i think
did you guys really not know where max was?
Yuki
The team put out a statement about personal absence
Lewis
Ferrari couldn’t even get a hold of you, Charles.
Charles
sorry yet again that i was DYING!!
this is blasphemy
Lando
you guys need more rom-com education
this is clearly a beautiful love story
Fernando
love is in the air
George
I’m sorry, but I will not be convinced that Max Verstappen took care of you instead of racing.
Alex
It already happened though
George
Alas, I still have no proof
Charles
c u next weekend!
Pierre
Dead or alive?
Carlos
The world may never know.
Charles
we’ll meet in purgatory.
5.
The only thing Charles needed was a bed.
The week dragged on, each day heavier than the last. It certainly didn’t help that he was still recovering from his mystery illness — that, plus the embarrassment of clinging to Max. They hadn’t spoken throughout the week, and maybe that was a good thing. They didn’t have to have awkward interactions or apologies. Things could go back to how they were before the mission began, and Charles would chalk it up to a failure, but would eventually recover.
The race didn’t go great; Charles dragged his car to P8. Max didn’t make the podium either, scraping his way to P4. When they crossed paths in the paddock, Max smiled, unbothered. Charles only walked past, chest heavy with refusal.
He craved sleep, the forces of the car exasperating his lingering symptoms. He slumped against the door to his hotel room as he reached into his pocket for his key card. He was already imagining a hot shower, blankets, peace, and quiet — until his hand came up empty. No key. He checked again. And again.
“No, no, no,” he muttered. He didn’t know where else he could have put it. His bag came up empty, his pockets, his everything. Defeated, Charles slid to the floor, back against the door. The front desk was swarmed with fans who had escaped security, so getting a new key was out of the question. His phone was dead, meaning he couldn’t call anyone either. This was undoubtedly the worst possible scenario.
“Charles?” A voice called.
Max. Of course. Because who else would it be?
Charles grumbled and turned away from the man quickly approaching.
“Locked out?” Max asked, clearly amused by the situation. Charles refused to respond. “I mean… I have a room. With a key,” he offered, not offended by Charles's reluctance to speak.
Charles snapped his head in attention. “No, it’s fine,” he declined. His body betrayed him, however, because when Max extended a hand, he took it. He didn’t exactly know when his self-control stopped working, but he needed to find out. Was that a heart attack symptom? Add it to the list.
Max led them down the hall and up the back stairwell, hand not letting go of Charles’s. He keyed them in quickly, and the realization hit Charles: they had one bed.
Lando’s imaginary cheers rang in his head, obnoxious and loud. He was never going to live this down. Obviously, he and Max had shared a bed last weekend, but that weekend might as well have been months ago. Charles was vulnerable, sick, and out of his mind. Max happened to show up. This time? There was no reason or justification. Charles stood in the middle of the room, the walls caving in on him. Max, per usual, was calm. Acting like this was normal. Natural, even.
“I’m gonna shower first, if that’s okay,” Max said, already heading towards the bathroom door.
“Yep.” As if Charles would argue. Max disappeared into the bathroom, leaving Charles alone to reconsider his life decisions. He scanned the room, identical to his own, and was pleased to find a small couch in the corner. Calling it a couch was generous, but it was better than the hallway floor, he supposed. He curled up onto it, the exhaustion of the day creeping up on him, knees awkwardly pressed against the arm.
Charles soon heard the water stop running. Max was quick, as he was with everything else, it seemed. The door clicked open, the scent of fresh citrus wafting into the room. And oh, Charles was in for it.
Max stepped out with nothing but a towel wrapped around his waist. His damp hair curled at the edges, sticking up wildly. The outline of his soft abs and sculpted arms and the way that the room light tinted the scene a brilliant shade of amber — it was enough to make a grown man fold. And Lord help him, he did.
Charles gaped at the man standing in front of him. Even from across the room, he could feel the warmth of Max’s gaze matching his. His chest burned, aching with that damn familiar feeling.
“All yours.” The words escaped from Max’s lips.
Charles sputtered, blinking, and a knot unfurled in his stomach.
“Ah, wait,” Max paused. He crossed the room to his duffel bag and pulled out a handful of clothes. “Here,” he offered, extending them to Charles. Charles stood to take them and beelined for the bathroom.
What just happened?
For once, he wanted nothing more than advice from his untrustworthy coworkers (friends). Instead, he jumped in the shower and turned the water ice cold. Rinsing away his last thoughts of Max, only to remember what waited on the other side of the wall. He couldn’t place the feeling, the same one he felt in the past weeks of knowing Max as Max. The sentimental cat connoisseur. The sweet, caring, unbothered man who happened to know Charles their whole lives. Maybe he should have seen it sooner: the inevitability of being known by him.
And maybe, he should have been there for him all along.
Charles shut the water off and toweled himself dry, mind swimming with realizations. He picked up the clothes Max had given him: a dark navy compression shirt and black gym shorts. Have mercy. He pulled them on, not wanting to complain about having clean clothes to sleep in. The familiar scent of Max washed over him as he adjusted the shirt. He took a deep breath and opened the door.
Max perked up from where he lay stretched out on the bed, a smirk twitching at the corners of his lips.
“I didn’t have much, sorry,” he apologized. “But it looks good on you, Charlie.”
Heat burned in Charles’ face. He kept his eyes on the carpet as he walked toward the couch, ready for this night to end.
As he sat, Max stopped him. “What’re you doing?”
Huh?
“Uh… what does it look like?” Charles answered skeptically.
“It looks like you’re trying to sleep on a chair.”
“Couch.”
“Charles,” he said, voice firm. “You can sleep on the bed. I didn’t invite you just so you could sleep in a chair.”
“I—”
“No arguments,” he interrupted. “If you’re uncomfortable, I’ll take the chair. Come here.” He nodded towards the untouched side of the bed and sat up. Charles didn’t contest it, carrying himself to the bed. But he wasn’t about to let Max take the couch in his own room.
“You can stay,” he said quietly, climbing under the covers. Max seemed to hesitate beside him, but settled in after a moment. They sank into a vulnerable silence. It stretched, filling the space between them. The air conditioner hummed quietly in the background, and the sheets crinkled underneath them. Charles couldn’t stand it, not with his restless mind. Screw it. “Max?”
“Hm?”
“I… I don’t understand how you’re like this. You’re so nice, and nobody even sees it. Why?” he asked, giving up on trying to figure it all out himself.
Max hesitated. “You know how it is, Charles,” he started with a low voice. “I’m fine with my reputation.”
“Are you?”
Max stilled, his face dropping. For a moment, Charles thought he wouldn’t answer. Maybe he had broken Max Verstappen. But, as the man of many surprises, he brought himself closer to Charles.
“I’ve accepted it.”
“That doesn’t mean you should,” Charles argued.
“No, but it’s just…” he paused, swallowing. “No one’s going to see me differently, Charles.” He peered up at him with overcast eyes, and Charles thought the world (or his heart) actually stopped.
“I see you differently,” he said. His heart was shattering, guilt swallowing him whole. “I didn’t before, and I’m sorry because that’s not fair to you, and that’s why this whole thing even started, but—”
“Why what started?” Max interjected. His face twisted in confusion. Charles’ stomach dropped, a hollow panic creeping its way up to his throat.
“Shit, Max, I— it was never bad, I swear. I just… You know the whole FIA marketing scheme, and well, nobody knew you, so I offered to find out,” he explained, words running together.
Hurt struck Max’s expression. “Was this like a… bet or something?” His voice resembled a carefully composed fracture — something that Charles never wanted to break.
Charles wished he knew how to shut up. “No! No, and this was never a joke.” He gestured between the two of them. “I don’t know why I did it, and it was stupid, but I’m glad I did. I wish everyone could see you the way I do. I’m so sorry, Max.”
Sorry would never feel like enough. His words were true now, but his intentions were never clear. Hell, they still weren’t clear. He hated himself for needing Max. For ruining everything he touched.
Max’s jaw flexed. He looked away, eyes unfocused, and didn’t speak. The ache in his chest turned sharp enough to break. He was about to go back to the hallway floor if it meant Max wouldn’t be upset anymore. Just as he shifted to leave, Max’s arms flew around him. He grounded him there, wrapped tight enough that a soft ‘oh’ escaped from Charles. It wasn’t soft or gentle; it was desperate.
“Thank you,” Max mumbled into his shoulder. As if sensing Charles ‘what for’, he clarified, “For trying. Being here.”
Charles couldn’t bring himself to respond, unable to find the words to express his feelings. Instead, he let himself be held by Max, who had every right to be angry and unforgiving but wasn’t. It wasn’t fair that nobody else saw this side of him. Charles wondered if it was only reserved for him to understand. Tears stung behind his eyes. Max absently began tracing circles on his back, and Charles broke. His body trembled with his cries, and Max only held him tighter, whispering sweet nothings that Charles couldn’t pay attention to. He couldn’t help but notice the slight shake in Max’s shoulders as well.
It hurt to be held like that, like being forgiven for something unknown and aching for something deeper and unnameable.
Eventually, their breathing calmed and their eyes shut, where they stayed curled into each other through the night.
-
Overwhelming warmth greeted Charles as he woke up. His body and mind felt safe and drowsy. He blinked awake, memories of the day before slowly creeping into his mind: the missing key, how Max looked at him, how he let his plan slip, and how Max forgave him. He tried to move, but was pinned down by a strong arm across his chest. He dared to glance over at the man beside him. Max’s hand lay gently over his heart, their legs tangled. He didn’t dare move, not wanting to break the peace with bated breath.
Max stirred. “Good morning,” he rasped.
Charles nearly jolted out of his skin. “You’re awake!”
“Hello to you, too,” he grumbled, groggy. Charles was not going to think about the intoxicating sound of his morning voice. Definitely not.
Max untangled himself first, leaving Charles cold at the loss. He started to pull the blanket over his arms, and Max took the opportunity to help, tucking it loosely under his chin.
“I plugged your phone in, by the way. I hope you don’t mind,” he said. The gesture was small, seemingly meaningless, but coming from Max, Charles was stunned.
“Thank you,” he whispered meekly.
“You looked tired.” He brought his hand to his hair and softly ran his fingers through it. A shiver ran down Charles’ spine at the contact. He scanned Max’s face for any sort of emotion other than what he could only assume to be something precious. The world softened somehow into a dreamlike lull. Max’s eyes met his. “Charles,” he whispered, speaking his name like a promise.
Charles forgot how to breathe. The air between them thickened. They were close, too close. The kind that only made sense if you didn’t think about it. Max’s face was delicate in the daylight, soft around the edges. Charles wanted to laugh it off, pull away, but he was caught under his gaze and lost in the way he said his name. Max dipped forward, and Charles followed.
The kiss was a brush at first, unsure breaths connecting as one. Charles felt it through the stutter of his heart and the ease of his mind, and oh, it felt inevitable. Max exhaled, humming in response, bringing his hand to cup the base of his neck. It deepened slowly, and they moved together as one, as if they couldn’t quite get close enough. It was the kind of kiss that made it hard to breathe, dizzying and intoxicating. Charles’ mind raced with thoughts of Max. Max. Max. He didn’t even feel real. Max’s other hand landed on the curve of his jaw, firmly pressing them closer. Charles sank into the touch, the kiss, his breath on his, he loved it.
A beat of realization hit him.
He loved Max.
That had been the truth all along, hadn’t it? The strong urge to know him, the physical ache in his chest, it had all been connected. It hit him mid-breath, the certainty, fear, truth. He loved Max, and that was terrifying.
He pulled back, snapping out of the moment. “I’m so sorry,” he mouthed. “I-I can’t.”
Max blinked, his brows furrowing. “Did I—”
“No, no,” he cut in. “Not you. I… I need to go.” He stood hurriedly without caring about what he looked like or what he was leaving behind. He snatched his phone from where it was plugged in and headed toward the door.
Max didn’t speak, and Charles didn’t know if he could handle it if he did.
He left without looking back, unable to face the man who just made him come undone and rewrite his life’s truths. The group chat was pulled up almost immediately as he sped down the hall, his eyesight blurry and chest pounding.
Charles
SOS
EMERGENCY
Pierre
Are you okay?
Lewis
Chat.
Charles
i think im in love with max verstappen
George
CHAT.
Oscar
Charles, check the CHAT
Charles,
no i am in love with max.
it physically hurts
Carlos
CHAT, CHARLES
Pierre
CHARLES
Charles
what??
Max
hey
Charles Leclerc has left the chat
In his entire life, Charles had never texted the wrong number. Of course, the only time it mattered, he did. He sprinted to the end of the hallway, slamming the elevator button. His phone started buzzing in his hand, and he forcibly powered it off. He was never going to face civilization again. He would go off the grid, retire from racing, and never be seen again. He couldn’t. The elevator was so damn slow, but the stairs were at the other end of the hall, which went back past Max’s room. He rapidly pressed the button, praying the doors would open and swallow him whole.
He was in love with Max. He was in love with Max. The words echoed in his head. How did he not see it sooner? His chest burned now, fueled by the fire he kindled himself. The warmth of Max’s touch and the feeling of him pressed up against his body lingered. He wanted to go back to the moment it happened and stop himself; to unbreak his heart and world. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t take back what he had already broken. In trying to break the elusive Max Verstappen, Charles Leclerc broke himself.
“Charles!”
He froze, paralyzed by Max’s voice. The elevator doors finally opened before him. He could leave, never turn back, never know.
“Did you mean it?” A glimmer of hope wavered in his words.
And Charles…
He turned around.
Max stood there, breathless, hair disheveled, eyes searching. His rosy lips parted as they locked eyes. Charles couldn’t hide. He nodded sheepishly, averting his gaze to the floor. Max stepped closer.
“Charlie,” he whispered, voice cracking.
“I… I didn’t know. And then I did, and it was all too much, and I’m sorry,” Charles rambled, tears already starting to flow down his cheeks.
Max took another step, shaking his head. “Don’t apologize. It’s okay.”
“But you— You shouldn’t have even forgiven me. It wasn’t right.”
“Charles, I knew.”
Charles' heart leapt in his throat. “What?”
“Okay, I didn’t know, but I had assumed there was a reason why you were trying,” Max explained quickly, careful not to push too hard. “But I’ve known for a long time. And I… saw the opportunity, I guess.”
Charles knit his brows together, his chest rapidly rising and falling. The world seemed to hold its breath with him, waiting for the words.
“I love you, Charles,” Max admitted, his hands trembling. Charles' heart stopped, the world around him crumbling. “I’m sorry if that’s too much, I just—”
Charles shut him up, clumsily crashing his lips into his. All of his nerve endings were on fire, every touch amplified. Max hummed in surprise, but kissed him back and tugged him close. Charles carded his fingers through Max’s hair, thinking about how everything was leading to this. He loved him, and it was wild and stupid, and maybe he had loved him for longer than he knew possible. He pressed him against the wall without a single care in the world. Max groaned and deepened the kiss.
“You,” he started, breathless, “in that shirt.” He brushed his hand down Charles’s waist, exposed by the compression shirt he had lent him. Charles shivered.
“You without a shirt,” he echoed, slipping his hand underneath his t-shirt. Max curved into the touch and let out a low groan. Charles pulled back, laughing. Max joined, but chased it down with another messy kiss. “Room?”
Max didn’t need any more permission. He grabbed Charles’s wrist and tugged him back down the hall, giggling. Charles didn’t know what he was missing in life, but it was definitely this. And for once, he didn’t care what anyone else thought. They stumbled into Max’s hotel room, laughter fading into the buzz of the air conditioner. Max’s hand lingered in his, as if he couldn’t will himself to let go. Charles looked at him, breath and air heavy. Max’s hair somehow looked even more disheveled, his lips swollen, and he looked at him with something like love in his eyes. It hit Charles all over again — the weight of what they’d just said and done. It caught in his chest, sharp and all-consuming.
Max, noticing, brought his hand up to graze his cheek. “You okay?”
Charles inhaled sharply before nodding. “Yes. I just…” he trailed off.
“I know,” Max said. He pulled Charles into his arms, soft and non expectant. Charles let himself breathe.
“I want this,” he whispered, in case it wasn’t clear enough.
“Me too.”
They stayed there, barely past the doorway, holding each other tight and matching each other’s heartbeats. Charles couldn’t help himself; he pressed a light kiss to Max’s collarbone, and Max tilted his chin up to kiss him fully. Charles was a goner. He melted under his touch, pressing into him with the urgency of lost time. They stumbled back to the bed, slow and sure with connected breaths. It felt like home — someplace neither had felt in a long time.
“Happy?” Max asked, pulling back.
“Happy,” Charles mused, pulling Max down onto him.
+1
Charles Leclerc had an important mission: break Max Verstappen prove Max Verstappen has a heart.
It was a carefully crafted plan. Genius, even. There were three key factors involved in the mission. One: Lando’s conveniently scheduled bonding night at his place. Casual and non-suspicious. They would arrive separately; Charles would come up with an excuse to get Max in the room on his own accord. Two: Ollie’s new (stolen) puppy. Distractingly cute and guaranteed to win over Max. And the most important piece of all? Charles himself.
The past two weeks had been, perhaps, the best two weeks of his life. He spent it with Max, of course, ignoring his phone and responsibilities. Some things could wait. He had even claimed a podium alongside Max, and it took everything in him not to make out with him on live television. He still had some self-restraint and dignity left. They hadn’t told the others yet, despite the group chat’s insistence. For all they knew, Charles was still mortified from the wrong chat ‘inchident’.
Still, they couldn’t hide away forever. Charles was ready to change that.
He strolled through Lando’s apartment building, tucking in his dress shirt and sucking in a deep breath. He adjusted his cuffs like it mattered, like it would make him more convincing as a man with a plan and not a hopeless fool in love. He told himself he wasn’t nervous. These were his friends and his Max. But he couldn’t shake the feeling of anxiety as he opened the door.
“Perceval! You’re here!” Carlos cheered, announcing his presence to the entire room. He mimed a tight-lipped smile, scanning the room. Ollie. He beelined for the young driver, who sat with Kimi and a tiny dog.
“Ollie! What a surprise, you brought your dog.”
“Charles, you asked me—”
“Shh… nonsense,” Charles shushed, scooping up the puppy before Ollie exposed him. Ollie and Kimi exchanged a pointed look, but didn’t argue. Charles turned away and clung to the puppy in his arms.
“Be careful with Bearboy!” Kimi called. Ollie groaned and audibly slapped Kimi’s arm. Fernando could be heard laughing from his tucked-away corner. Charles ignored them. Mission: emotionally vulnerable puppy acquisition. Status: complete. He buried his head into its fur, relieved that everything was in order.
Familiar footsteps approached from behind. His relief was short-lived.
“Should I be concerned that Ollie named his dog ‘Bearboy’?” Max asked.
Charles froze, face burning. “Blame Kimi. Or Alonso,” he dismissed quickly, focusing his attention on the dog. Max laughed, leaning in closer, and Charles swore under his breath. The simplest of things could unravel him. He needed to stay calm. Soft-launch the admiration and emotional depth of their relationship.
Max stepped in, close to Charles’ ear. “You’re nervous,” he observed.
Charles swallowed. “I am not nervous,” he said. His tightened grip on Bearboy and the blush creeping up his neck said otherwise.
“What kind of mission are you on now?” Max asked, seeing right through him.
Charles whipped his head around. “Don’t accuse me of such a thing!”
Max only smirked. Charles couldn’t lie to that face.
“Fine, maybe you’re the target.”
“I like the sound of that,” Max hummed.
Charles blinked, his brain short-circuiting. “That’s not—” he paused, taking in the sight of Max standing next to him with kind eyes. “—what I meant,” he whispered breathlessly.
He wished the room were watching the delicate gaze that Max shared with Charles and the puppy. How he smiled softly without meaning to. How he could break Charles with just one glance.
Charles' plan was corrupted. He realized, with Max’s eyes trained on him, and in a room full of his friends, that he needed them to know. He needed Max to prove that they were real. That they existed outside of their quiet moments.
“Charles! Give me back my dog,” Ollie shouted, breaking the spell. Max offered him a pitying smile and let him go. Charles released his death grip on Bearboy in defeat and watched him run towards Ollie. So much for winning over Max with a puppy. George was the next to approach Charles, a quizzical look on his face.
“I’m surprised he showed up,” he noted, gesturing to where Max had retreated in the corner. “Did you have anything to do with that?”
Charles shook his head, immediately shutting him down. “No, that’s ridiculous!”
“Sure it is, Charles. Sure, it is.” George narrowed his eyes, but let it go.
The night stretched in blurred fragments. Charles wasn’t drunk, but his suspiciously mixed drink made by Daniel was stronger than expected. He curled up on the floor against the couch, laughing at something Carlos said. His eyes flicked up to meet Max’s from across the room, and heat rose in his cheeks.
He had been counting glances between them since the night began. That marked 26. He didn’t know if that was too much or not enough.
The group was far too chaotic, too tipsy to act rationally. Which, naturally, led to Lando’s announcement.
“Truth or dare!” he called out, plopping himself onto the floor.
Charles grimaced. “Please no.”
“Please, yes,” Daniel countered.
The circle formed quickly. Charles’ eyes were trained on Max, wondering if he would join or where he would sit. He should have expected it, but it still silenced him when Max joined him at his right. The game commenced immediately, starting with Alex and George. Charles didn’t have it in him to pay attention; he was too focused on Max’s thigh brushing his and the way his body automatically leaned in closer. Everything else was just noise: from the downed shots to copout dares.
He also should have expected the attention to shift to him and Max.
“Charles, your turn,” Lando declared, clasping his hands together. “Truth or dare?”
Charles perked up. This was his moment. He was confident, ready. “Truth.”
“Boring. Ugh, um…” Lando paused, taking a moment to come up with something devious. Daniel leaned in, whispering something in his ear. “Oh! What do you like the most about anyone in this room? Pick your poison.”
Oscar shook his head, while Lando smirked at Charles. Daniel cackled.
Charles straightened, his gaze turning to Max beside him. He could have picked anyone, but he couldn’t ignore the pull of gravity drawing him into Max. “I like… how caring they are.” His eyes flicked to meet Max’s. The words slipped out in a breath, seamless and too vulnerable. “They’re honest. And kind. They’re real.”
“Verstappen? Bullshit,” George muttered. Alex shoved his shoulder to shut him up. The rest of the group seemed to hold their breath waiting for Max’s reaction. Max wore an unreadable expression. Charles’ heart stopped. He had said too much, hadn’t he? The moment stretched until he dropped his eyes to the floor.
The game continued, barely to Charles’ knowledge. He had turned into an anxious wreck, recalling the look on Max’s face at his words. The plan had been going smoothly — Max was relaxed, laughing warmly in a way that Charles adored. But he had to open his mouth, ruin things yet again. Why did he say that? And why did Max look like that? Maybe Max didn’t want them in the same way as Charles did.
His attention was drawn back to the game at the sound of Max’s name.
“Max Verstappen, truth or dare,” Lando announced.
“Dare,” he said definitively. Too calm, too collected.
“Careful, I’m running out of harmless ideas,” Lando warned.
“Give me your worst,” he replied and leaned back against the couch, waiting for Lando’s command.
Lando’s eyes lit up. “Kiss the person to your left.”
Charles’ heart dropped. Left. He was on his left. Noise erupted around the circle, but Charles couldn’t hear over the sound of his heartbeat in his ears.
“Wait, okay, that—” he began, but Max was already prepared. He leaned forward, instantly shutting Charles up with one simple movement. The air was electric, catching the hitch of Charles' breath at their eye contact and the familiar smell of his cologne. Max cracked a small smile, and then he kissed him.
It wasn’t a joke, a peck, or even a dare. It was painstakingly real. Max kissed him, confident and slow in the private way Charles had learned to memorize. It was a force of habit, the way Max’s lips met his and dared to reach for more. Charles gasped against it, chasing the feeling that dispersed through his body. His awareness was long gone. His hands twitched to grasp his shirt before he caught himself. He couldn’t even hear the cheers until Max pulled away, wearing a soft smile. Charles froze in place, paralyzed.
“Pierreee Gaslyyy! We did it!” Daniel shouted, pumping his fists in the air. Pierre jumped to his feet, cheering alongside him. Charles snapped his attention to the pair, then to Max. He was equally confused.
“Wait, what?” Charles interrupted their celebration. A switch went off in his brain. “Pierre, is this about your plan?”
Pierre and Daniel exchanged a suspicious glance before turning back to Charles.
“Well…” Pierre started.
“I happen to have known about Max’s… interest,” Daniel continued, choosing his words carefully.
“And I knew that you had something between you,” Pierre explained. “And then, Charles, you offered to get to know him. The opportunity presented itself, really.” They both offered sympathetic smiles and pathetic thumbs-up, as if that provided any consolation. Everyone had gone silent, both in shock and amusement. Charles and Max were the outliers.
“What the hell,” Charles muttered. He didn’t know what to think. He got double-crossed along the path of his own mission. His job was supposed to be the spy. Instead, he got spied on while being the spy. By his own best friend. But, something else, and more important, crossed his mind. “Wait, you knew about his interest? In me? Past tense?”
Daniel’s face went pale. “Uh, yeah, mate. Assumed you knew it had been a long time coming.”
Charles turned to Max, who looked sheepishly devious.
Max lowered his voice, only for Charles to hear. “I did tell you I had known for a while.”
“How long?” Charles asked honestly.
“I… lost count.”
“Of what? Months?”
“Years.”
Charles must not have heard him correctly. Because what do you mean, Max had been in love with him for years. God, he was stupid. He leaned forward, shaking his head as if it would make the point get across any easier.
“You— What?” he stuttered, reaching out to Max.
Max grabbed his hand and squeezed it softly. “Yeah,” he whispered.
A beat of silence. Then, more cheers. Even George, after much protesting, clapped along. Lewis and Carlos pretended like they knew all along, while Oscar noted the group chat receipts against them. Bearboy even barked, as if he understood. Charles and Max stayed in their bubble, exchanging wordless smiles.
“I also knew,” a voice quietly stated from the corner. Fernando. Everyone turned toward him. He pulled his phone from his pocket and started to scroll. “I always know,” he added.
“Seriously, who gave him the phone?” Ollie asked. Kimi and Lando shrugged, for as many bold claims as they had made. Oscar slowly raised his hand.
“What? Seriously?” Lando shrieked, pushing into his side. Oscar let out a giggle and shrugged.
“Taken two weeks ago from the elevator,” Fernando dryly explained, refocusing the group. He turned his phone around. Sure enough, he had a photo of Charles and Max. Kissing. Aggressively. Charles pushing Max into the wall, his hands buried in his hair. Everyone crowded around the phone, and for a moment, everything was still. Charles and Max sat in silence, caught red-handed. For once, Charles considered pursuing a professional career in balcony diving.
“Is that Max’s gym shirt?” Kimi cried. Everyone nodded in agreement, letting out exasperated sighs and shaking their heads.
“To be fair, we never got the update after the love confession inchident,” Oscar noted.
“True!”
“Prince Charles and Princess Max Emilian!”
“Told you it was true love.”
With the crowd thoroughly distracted and Fernando busy soaking up the attention, Max and Charles slipped out to Lando’s balcony. The cool breeze was sobering, and the night was calm. They leaned over the railing, side by side.
“Prince and princess?” Max asked skeptically, laughing.
“Don’t ask,” Charles groaned. Guilt crawled up his throat. “I’m sorry,” he apologized to the wind.
Max turned to face him. “For what?”
Charles was exposed under his stare. “I just wanted everyone to see you how I do. I didn’t mean for… that.” He gestured back weakly to the crowded living room.
“Charles. I don’t need their approval.”
“But—”
“I only need yours.”
Charles looked up at Max’s eyes sparkling in the moonlight and broke out in a soft and tired laugh. “You’ve ruined my mission, you know.”
The corner of Max’s lips twitched upward. “Have I now?”
“I think I broke myself instead,” he admitted quietly. Max stepped in and pulled him against his chest, habitually rubbing his back. Charles buried his head into Max, not missing the opportunity to be this close. Somewhere along the teasing and the truth, Charles realized it was his own heart he had been protecting. “It’s okay,” he mumbled into Max’s shirt. “I needed this.”
“I did, too,” Max whispered, tightening his arms around him. He pressed a soft kiss into Charles’ hair.
“You make me feel worth it. Like life is worth it. Like I can stop trying to prove myself to the world,” Charles continued, the words pouring out from his overfilled heart.
“You make me feel seen. Like I matter,” Max answered.
For a moment, neither of them spoke. They fell into a comfortable silence, the sounds of laughter lingering from inside and cars moving in the distance. Charles thought about how his missions failed successfully, in all of their ridiculous glory. Maybe he could retire from scheming for a while. He was happy here, wrapped in Max’s arms and surrounded by friends, laughter, and love.
Max pulled back, lacing his fingers between Charles’. “At least they know,” he said.
“Know what? That I’m head over heels for you?”
Max laughed with a mischievous grin, the sound unfurling in Charles’ chest. “That I have a heart.”
Charles stilled, his heart aching. “You do. And it’s mine,” he said softly. Max’s certain, wide smile was answer enough.
Charles brought his hands up to cup Max’s jaw and gently leaned in. He kissed him, slow and deliberate, a quiet ask to the answering. The kind of kiss that asked, ‘Do you love me?’ and answered, ‘I will always love you.’
Mission: Break Max Verstappen — officially compromised.