Chapter Text
The housing office for business department smelled faintly of old carpet, ink, and too many people trying to be polite while feeling impatient. Charles shifted his bag on his shoulder, already tense from the early morning heat and the way the line barely moved. He had agreed to meet Pierre here. They have decided to check Pierre’s dorm first. Though he knew it would mean navigating both the chaos of move-in day and endless gossip.
Pierre walked beside him, dragging his own suitcase and humming under his breath. “Relax, Charles. It’s just a room. Not like your life depends on it,” Pierre said, smiling too easily at the line of students ahead. “Unless, of course, they put Max Verstappen in there with you. That would be tragic.”
Charles ignored him, staring at the wall instead. His week had gone downhill the moment he found out Max was in the same college, in the same architecture program. He had already made a mental list of the things that could go wrong, and Max had top spot. First, though, he had to drop Pierre off at the business majors’ dorm. Thankfully the building was near to his own Architect buliding.They found out Pierre’s assigned roommate was Oscar Piastri, and both silently hoped this Oscar guy was normal.
When they arrived at the dorm room, Oscar was leaning casually against the desk, phone in hand, smiling with a calm, unbothered look. After having a short conversation, Charles realised that Oscar was the kind of person who seemed like they would navigate chaos without ever spilling a drop of it. Charles couldn’t stop himself from thinking how much easier it would be to have him as a roommate.
Pierre immediately noticed the glance. “Wishing he was your roommate, aren’t you?” he said, elbowing Charles lightly. “Don’t get too jealous, mon cœur.”
Charles didn’t answer, if he had a free hand, he’d have pinched him. Instead, he nodded politely at Oscar and left the room. He wants to find his own room before he collapsed.
By the time Charles reached the housing office for his department, the line had shortened, and he finally stepped forward. The woman behind the counter glanced at his forms, typed for a moment, then printed a sheet. She slid it across.
“Building A, First floor, Room 163. Roommate: Max Verstappen.”
Charles read it twice, his hand tightening on the folder.
No.
This can’t be. No no no no–
Anyone but that asshole!!
He should have seen it coming, appearently his best friend had. Pierre’s teasing echoed faintly in his mind, and he imagined Max’s smug face. He wanted to scream.
He kept his voice level. “Is there any option to switch roommates?”
She did not even pretend to consider it. “Assignments are locked unless you have a documented medical accommodation.”
Of course they were. He did not sigh, because sighing would mean this bothered him more than it should. It was fine. He had lived through worse things than sharing a room with someone he spent two years trying to outperform in high school. Someone who had made competition feel like a full-time job. Someone who had a talent for getting under his skin without even trying.
He slid the paper back into his folder. “Thank you.”
The walk to the dorm felt longer than it should. He could feel his pulse in his temples, the quiet irritation building up. The hallway was already crowded with students hauling boxes, the smell of cleaning supplies and wet carpet mixing into something acrid. Charles focused on each step, ignoring the cluster of first-years like him, who chatted loudly around him.
When he reached Room 163, he hesitated at the door. Max would come eventually. He unlocked the door and stepped inside, the room already feeling too tight. One bed by the window, the other parallel to it. Two desks, two closets. Neutral beige. Functional. Impersonal. Bigger than average dorms, after all it was a prestigious university.
He began unpacking books and supplies quietly, arranging them with precision, lining them up as neatly as he could. That much he could control.
By the time Charles had finished with the first stack of books, a knock at the door made him flinch. His heart wasn’t racing, but his shoulders tightened. He knew that knock. It was the kind that belonged to someone confident, unbothered, and completely unaware of the effect they had.
Max walked in without waiting for an invitation. The bag under his arm thumped against the floor, and the slight scowl on his face was enough to fill the room with tension. No introductions. No casual smiles. Just presence.
Charles stared at him, rigid. Max’s eyes scanned the room, landing briefly on the books, then on Charles, then on the empty bed across the room. He set his bag down with a deliberate weight, as if claiming territory.
For a long moment, neither spoke. The air was heavy, punctuated only by the sound of a zipper and the faint rustle of clothes. Charles had no intention of making the first comment, no desire to acknowledge anything beyond what was necessary. Max, apparently, didn’t either.
Finally, Charles muttered, not looking up: “Let’s not repeat high school, I’ll pretend I don’t know you.”
Max’s lips twitched, almost a smirk. He didn’t reply. He didn’t need to. The point was made. They would survive this semester, but not without tension. Not without friction.
Charles went back to unpacking, stacking books, straightening notebooks. Each movement was deliberate. Max leaned back on his bed, arms crossed, scanning the ceiling, exuding calm that somehow grated against Charles’s nerves.
Neither of them spoke again that afternoon. Neither acknowledged the presence of the other beyond what was absolutely necessary. The room felt smaller, tighter, hotter. Their mutual dislike didn’t need words. It was there, palpable, threading through the space like static electricity.
Charles finished setting up his desk and sat down, testing the chair. Max rolled off the bed, arranging his things quietly. The silence stretched, tense but controlled. Charles didn’t look at him. He didn’t need to. The awareness of Max’s presence alone was enough.
When Charles finally leaned back and closed his eyes for a moment, he felt the weight of a semester ahead, full of frustration, competition, and irritation. He did not welcome it. He did not want it. But it had arrived anyway. Max had arrived anyway.
And Charles understood just how long this semester would feel.
*
Charles reached the architecture building earlier than necessary, mostly to avoid conversation, partly because he wanted to choose a good seat. The hallway was already crowded, voices bouncing against the concrete walls. As he turned the corner, he nearly walked into Alex.
Alex blinked, then smiled like he hadn’t aged a day. He wasn’t in the same high school as Charles but they had crossed paths in competitions.
“Leclerc. Didn’t expect to see you here this early.”
Charles adjusted the strap of his bag. “Didn’t expect to see you at all, mate.” He smiled softly at the brit, he always liked having Alex around. He pulled him into a brief side hug, and the two slipped easily into casual conversation.
They walked toward the classroom together. When they entered, George was already there, long legs stretched out under the desk, flipping through a notebook with bored precision. He looked up when Alex waved. Both the brits were in the same school since they were five. Charles didn’t know George much, mostly from stories Alex told.
“Come sit with us,” Alex said. “Unless you already have someone to sit with.”
Charles didn’t. He nodded, joining them, taking a seat that let him face the front and keep the rest of the room at the edges of his attention. It was a small relief to be surrounded by familiar faces who didn’t demand anything from him beyond presence.
He hadn’t realized yet that the relief wouldn’t last long.
Max walked in a few minutes later, shoulders relaxed, expression unreadable. His eyes scanned the room quickly, landing on Charles for barely half a second. Just a flicker of recognition.
Then Max deliberately walked to the opposite side of the room and sat down.
Charles didn’t react outwardly, but something about the move irked him. It wasn’t that he wanted Max to sit near him. It was the intentional avoidance. The way Max made a point of putting distance between them like Charles was some inconvenience he needed to escape.
Before he could settle into ignoring it, another guy dropped into the seat beside Max, loud, bright, messy curly hair and too much energy for a morning class. He clapped Max on the shoulder like they were old friends.
Charles looked away, jaw tightening.
It wasn’t jealousy. He refused to call it that. It was irritation at the ease with which Max collected people, attention, presence. The way someone always gravitated toward him without effort.
Charles focused on his notebook. But the annoyance lingered, small and sharp, like a splinter stuck under skin.
*
The cafeteria was loud, chaotic, full of people calling across tables and dragging chairs. Charles spotted Pierre easily, animated as usual. His hands flying around as he spilled gossip to Oscar. When Pierre saw him, he bid his goodbyes to his roommate.
“Wow. You look terrible. Did Max breathe near you?”
Charles didn’t slow down. “I blame you. All of this is because of you. You cursed me. Max is my roommate and it’s all your fault.”
“NO WAY!!!” Pierre grinned, walking alongside him. “I told you it might be him. And now, voilà. Destiny.”
“Destiny,” Charles muttered. “My ass.”
Pierre only laughed harder. “Come on, it’s not that bad.”
“It is exactly that bad.”
Charles changed direction, heading toward the table where he’d spotted Alex and George. Pierre raised a brow but followed.
“Guys,” Charles said, setting his tray down. “This is Pierre.”
Alex nodded politely. George lifted his eyes, and gave a formal smile. Pierre immediately took the empty seat beside Charles.
They all talked easily, settling into a comfortable rhythm. Charles let himself relax a little, even if Pierre kept nudging his leg under the table every time he tried to complain about something.
He was mid-sentence when Pierre’s eyes flicked toward the entrance.
"Oh look. Your favorite person."
Charles did not turn around. Of course Max would be here. A cafeteria this size felt too small the moment he walked in. Charles stabbed a piece of chicken with his fork and refused to glance over.
Alex noticed anyway. "What is with your face?"
"There is nothing with my face," Charles said.
Pierre took a sip of his drink, visibly holding back a grin. "They hate each other."
Alex raised a brow. "Seriously?"
"Since high school," Pierre said. "It is a whole thing."
"It is not a whole thing," Charles muttered. He kept eating, focusing on his tray like it was the most interesting object in the world. Max was somewhere behind him, pulling attention the way he always did, talking to someone, probably surrounded already.
It should not get under Charles’s skin. It did anyway.
He did not look back once.
Pierre pointed at Charles dramatically. “He’s rooming with Verstappen.”
Alex let out a low whistle. George looked mildly amused. Charles ignored all of them.
Pierre nudged him under the table. Charles ignored that too.
Charles didn’t have to look to know Max was somewhere behind him. He focused on his meal. He focused on anything else.
He refused to acknowledge Max.
And he equally refused to acknowledge the way it bothered him that Max wasn’t acknowledging him either since they first met in their dorm room.