Allowing Charles a few moments to ponder how to delicately handle the situation with his girlfriend, Max granted approximately 15 minutes before slipping out of his room. He moved through the hotel's hallways, still in his racing suit. And with a purposeful stride, he arrived at the floor designated for the Ferrari drivers, an information he had gathered after noticing the floor that Carlos Sainz had stopped at when they returned from their post-race press conference.
As Max casually traversed the corridors, a voice resonated from the intersection of the hallway, causing him to come to an abrupt halt in his tracks. The unexpected sound sparked intrigue, momentarily suspending his planned journey through the floor's labyrinthine passages.
In fear he would get caught, he started to slowly step back, making as little noise as he could, reversing his walk. However, it took the blond barely two steps back for him to stop again when he recognized the voice — Lando Norris.
"We are hanging out, you know... like me and everyone, in Max's room if you wanna.. tag along." Lando said.
Max frowned confusedly, what was Lando doing here? The Mclaren team was not even set in this hotel, much less had Max been involved in a plan to hang out with Lando anytime soon.
Curiosity striking him, Max stood his ground, far enough from the edge of the wall for him to go unseen but close enough to hear the conversation clearly.
"Not today Lando, have to rest for tomorrow."
The unmistakable voice of Carlos Sainz followed along.
"I mean, you can rest with us." Lando insisted, being immediately shut down by Carlos with a nervous chuckle. "Can't. Lando, got my girlfriend here. Maybe another time, hm?"
"Right..." Lando laughed nervously, the loud chuckles echoing through the entirety of the floor. "Yeah, right, sure... Yeah, some other time."
A small silence followed the awkward moment before they both announced their goodbyes, the sound of the door seeming like the closing of a book, echoing on its crowded pages.
Max barely noticed that Lando had been walking away from the corridor until it was too late— the shorter driver suddenly bumped into him as he fast walked his way around the corner.
Taken aback, Max recoiled, and in that instant, he caught a vivid glimpse of the boy's countenance. Lando's eyes betrayed the telltale signs of distress, rimmed with redness, and his cheeks shimmered with tears.
"Max?" Lando uttered, his voice a mixture of disbelief and surprise. His expression, frozen in a momentary shock, resembled someone who had just encountered a ghost. The flush of red drained rapidly from his face, leaving behind a complex interplay of emotions etched upon his features.
"I don't think you're supposed to be here... Why are you crying?" Max asked him, trying to take any attention away from his own unmotivated presence on that floor.
"I... Why are you here?" Lando said, wiping his tears away as he quickly passed by Max, expecting the blond to follow him. To which he didn't.
Silence hung in the air as Max refrained from responding to the question. His training, deeply ingrained from numerous media sessions, compelled him to navigate around queries deemed unwanted. He held a momentary pause, contemplating his approach.
"I asked first," he asserted, adopting a counteroffensive stance, a subtle maneuver to redirect the conversational flow. The unspoken dance of media etiquette played out in the corridor, each participant vying for control over the narrative.
Lando stood by the elevator, his breathing growing heavier as he was pressured again by Max into explaining himself. "I got an allergy." he mumbled, trying to hide his face away from his view.
"Came to check if Carlos had any pills? or if he wanted to party with us?" Max immediately snapped before Lando had the chance of pronouncing the last word of his phrase.
As Lando stepped into the elevator, a palpable tension enveloped him. The encounter with Max had stirred emotions that he had been trying valiantly to contain. His eyes, still bearing the traces of earlier tears, reflected a struggle against the impending wave of emotions.
The elevator doors closed, providing a momentary sanctuary. He clenched his jaw, a subtle effort to stave off the tears threatening to well up once more. The weight of unspoken sentiments lingered heavily, and Lando navigated this delicate emotional terrain with a silent acknowledgment of the need to shield his vulnerability.
Finally left to his own accord, Max walked to the other end of the corridor where Charles's room was. Knocking a couple of times on the door, the blond waited quietly for the other to answer.
In the realm of self-evaluation, Charles found a domain where his proficiency surpassed even his racing prowess — the art of disappointing himself. Unspoken and unacknowledged by others, the weight of his perceived letdowns pressed upon him, casting a shadow over his achievements.
He could have spent an entire day, a mantra of reassurance on his lips, iterating that the mishaps on the track weren't within his control. Yet, an insidious question lingered: why was it always him? The unanswered query echoed through his thoughts, an undercurrent of frustration tainting the reassurances he offered himself.
Even without checking his phone he knew social media was already plastered with the jokes about his bad luck and the misery that Ferrari has brought him but that's not how he saw it. There was nothing he wanted more than to be their next World Champion and even when the mess ups were not on his end, he was desperately afraid of everyone losing the fate they had in him.
When the knock on the door finally came, the man broke himself away from his thoughts and although he knew it would be Max, the boy still put on a little bit of a performance; not wanting the Redbull driver to pity him. A facade of a smile adorned Charles' lips, a counterfeit expression that fell short of reaching the sincerity reflected in his eyes. As he swung the door open, a fleeting glimpse of Max's face unfolded before him. In that moment, a subtle flutter coursed through his heartbeat, a reminder of the anxious anticipation that had characterized his search for Max before the unfortunate incident.
Even if Max's visit promised nothing more than a brief conversation, Charles found an unexpected solace in his presence. The contours of familiarity and the unspoken understanding shared between them offered a comforting balm to the tumultuous emotions swirling within Charles.
"You were really good out there, sadly I was already giving interviews before the first timer even ended," Charles said, making light of his situation and thinking that if he made fun of himself first then he'd beat the other person to the punch line. Yet, by the look on Max's face it seemed like he wasn't going to poke fun at him.
"Before that, I was thinking of you however," Charles added, wanting to draw attention away before the sadness could settle on him again but the follow up wasn't any better and now he was slightly embarrassed to have admitted to it.
"Are you okay?" Max's inquiry cut through the air, a genuine concern evident in his eyes as he turned to face the Ferrari driver after walking into the room. "You ended up placing way back at 19, I heard."
In order to answer the question, Charles had to redirect his gaze, not wanting to be looking directly at Max while explaining the situation that still felt like a fresh wound. Charles knew it wasn't the end of the world but starting off so far back on the grid was never something that excited anyone.
"I had no grip, or that's what I thought at first. At first I thought it was to do with the tires but even on the second set there was clearly still an issue," He explained without a second thought, talking to Max like a friend and not as someone who was on an opposing team.
"The gearbox was also changed and we have a new energy store, as well as new control electronics," He gave up the information freely and with a sadness that any interviewer would have missed. When he did look up at Max, it somehow made him feel more vulnerable and with a smaller voice, he continued speaking: "There was nothing I could do," his voice sounded like he was trying to convince himself, "but why did it happen to me.." the question was theoretical and he hated to sound whiny but with Max asking if he was okay, it seemed to be all it took to get the boy to open up. He did his best to keep his face neutral but he had to clench his jaw slightly to stop his tears from forming, thinking it would be childish to cry.
A sigh escaped Max's lips, and his gaze lowered to the floor, intricate thoughts unfolded in his mind. Years of racing, numerous championships adorning his resume, propelled his racing instincts to swiftly analyze the technicalities of what Charles had just disclosed. The wealth of experience within him seemed to navigate the labyrinth of potential solutions and conclusions.
Yet, as the gears of his racing intellect whirred, a peculiar silence clung to Max. A competitive impulse within him, perhaps, urged him to withhold the insights that his seasoned expertise could provide. It was a conscious decision to let the weight of the situation linger, understanding that, in this moment, words held no power to remedy the dire circumstances that had befallen Charles and his car.
Shifting his focus, Max's cerulean eyes lifted to meet the frowning visage of the other driver. Thick eyebrows knit together, a reddish hue tainting Charles' nose — the physical manifestations of frustration etched across his face. In this close proximity, Max recognized a familiarity in that expression, a face he had glimpsed from a distance on the track but now had right in front of him.
Taking a step closer to him, the Red Bull driver wrapped his arms around Charles's body and pulled him into a tender hug, the softness of his hold blending into the other man's body as if they were one for a brief moment.
"Things like these happen." he mumbled to him, keeping his voice as low and as comforting to him as possible. "Better now than during the race." he reminded him.
Being embraced into Max's arms was as if he'd finally been thrown a lifeline after a full day of drowning. Wasting no time, Charles tightened his fist around the back of Max's shirt, a silent beg to not pull away even as the tears he'd pushed back finally fell down his cheeks. The voice he knew all too well faintly rang through his ears, and luckily all signs of embarrassment he'd feel towards the situation slipped away, and his small hiccups filled the silence between them.
The Ferrari driver felt more comfort in his opponent's arms than with his own team,and even girlfriend. Max's arms felt strong as they held him in place and the sense of security made it easy to believe that nothing in the world could get him. He was under the man's protection and if anyone was untouchable it was definitely Max.
"I know.. and I will still do my best," Charles finally whispered, pausing only for a small hiccup and sniffle to pass, "I just feel like i'm being punished and I don't know for what," he confessed his inner thoughts, his tears falling into the soft material of Max's shirt and staining the shoulder. Not wanting to make a bigger mess, he lifted his head and was met with the blue eyes that seemed to appear worried for him.
Charles felt like a mess, and if the Red Bull driver had been there for purposes more similar to their last encounter, that'd have been an awkward turn. Yet, Charles now had a mental folder in his brain storing the fact that Max was in fact good at comforting him, as if it was sacred information— things about Max that drove him to thoughts that he knew he should stop exploring but wasn't strong enough to stop wanting.
If Max claimed that this was the first time he had witnessed Charles shedding tears, he would be lying. The echoes of their karting days and Formula Three resonated with memories of a younger Charles, grappling with self-blame and tears whenever the racing tides turned against him. Back then, Max's response to such moments had been shaped by the stern voice of his father — crying is for pussies.
Yet, time had woven a tapestry of change in Max's perceptions. The voice of his father had softened into the background, replaced by a nuanced understanding. The passage of years in the field of Formula One had allowed him to comprehend that certain situations would always drag them back to the children they once were. They shared a common thread — the frustration and self-blame that accompanied a poor racing day, an outcome influenced by factors beyond their control. The difference was Max reacted in a rather aggressive way to those, blaming other people, and Charles drowned in sadness, blaming himself.
The blond, in a comforting approach to the other man, reached for his face. Holding his cheeks in between both of his hands Max tried to find his gaze behind the water that pooled his eyes.
With tears falling onto his cheeks, Max brushed his thumb against his red cheekbone, wiping them away.
"It's out of your power." he commented to him, the meaning of his words weighing down like an anchor in the sea. Leaning in closer to his face, Max then whispered. "If Ferrari was a bit more reliable I think we'd be fighting each other to death for that championship right now, so maybe it isn't that bad." Max said playfully, trying to lighten the mood with a joke.
The small distance between Charles' face to Max's made it possible for him to be able to point out every shade of blue in his eyes, the sincerity in them making Charles stop his crying and sniffling almost immediately, the little choked sobs coming to a halt and being replaced by a shy giggle in its place. "If I didn't know you any better I would think you were lying to me but even with me in tears you would be so honest," he teased back with a little strain in his voice, but his face had gotten a bit of its glow back— as if Max was radiating it into him. It would be an understatement to say that the green eyes had softened while looking into the blue, a visible difference that even if the other man had noticed, Charles would not deny.
"Come." Max whispered to him, letting go of his face to grab his wrist and pull him to one of the tables of the ample hotel room. Letting go of him and grabbing a paper and pen that were available for their use. Sketching on it the full circuit of the Spanish GP, he turned back to him and handed him the pen. "Draw me your racing line."
There was no hesitation in the brunette as the other man pulled on his wrist, following him blindly and using his other hand to wipe any of the tears that had remained on his face— a quick realization hit him and he thought of all the nights he'd had no one to confide in, ending in him bundled up in bed as tears stained his pillow and his room filled with stifled sobs. He had known Max almost his entire life and while he never would have acted on it, he wonders how it became that all it took was one hug from the driver for his own heart to feel at ease.
Max had grown up in many, many, ways but at his core Charles could still see the kid he met on that track all those years ago and more importantly the inner child he should have been allowed to be had it not been for the Jos — a man that even as a child Charles had a distaste for.
As the blond put down the pen and paper for him, Charles smiled at him and laid his head on the table, his pen dragging along the page as he drew his racing line; his mind being able to picture the track exactly as he completed his graph.
"Why do you need my racing line?" he asked, a lightness to his voice and his eyes trained on Max, scanning his face.
With his eye glued back on the page, Charles signed his race track line- "Charles Leclerc," it read, adding a little copyright symbol.
Max's trained eyes were like one of a doctor with decades of experience. He did not need to get a closer look or make any specific questions to gather a conclusion. The moment he laid his eyes on the traced line he knew exactly what was wrong in it in the minimal details.
"I'll tell you a secret." he whispered to him. "Here..." he pointed at one of the curve points of the track. "I bluff during training sessions and qualifying, following this same race line you all do." he paused, taking the pen to start drawing his own racing line, one that matched almost exactly to Charles's — except for that same curve. "But during the race I break late here, I go straight through the curve... but you can only do it if there's no one directly in front or behind you." He said, dropping the pen back on the paper to glance back at the other driver. "You should gain a second with this... and if you manage to do it multiple times then, well..." he said, leaning his head to the side. "Just don't be way too bold with that red tractor of yours, take this tip with a grain of salt." he joked, smiling at him.
"I could give you my settings but I think that one is a bit too far." he teased him, poking his hand at his stomach as if to tease a tickle. "Gotta make sure you don't get better than me." he said sarcastically, his face slowly softening as a small silence took place at the end of his words. "You'll do good tomorrow." he said in a more serious tone as his memory began to remind him that they were past just friends, there was an added familiarity to Charles that he couldn't avoid but directly access as if it was a magnet to him.
At Max's hushed tone, Charles paid close attention and leaned in closer, his eyes glued to the movements of the pen and widening a little as he watched it differ from his own line; connecting dots he hadn't even known were there. Advice like the one he was receiving was extremely rare in their line of work where everyone was competing for one championship and even teammates often did not share tips like that.
Looking back at Max, Charles softened his eyes even more and the small smile on his face could not have been wiped out even by the worst of racing days. Keeping close to Max especially when he was treating him like he was something special made everything feel like it would be okay.
The Red Bull driver had etched his name into racing history, a living legend in his own right. Yet, in the quiet intimacy of the moment, here he was, not basking in the glory of his accomplishments, but investing his time and energy in Charles. It wasn't merely the comforting presence that Max extended; it was the invaluable advice, a treasure trove that many would covet, yet Max offered it willingly, unbidden.
For Charles, the sensation was nothing short of feeling utterly cherished. The weight of Max's attention, coupled with the generosity of guidance, painted a picture of genuine care. It was a moment where Charles felt uniquely special, a sentiment that enveloped him in a warmth that transcended the chill of the racing disappointments.
His reverie was abruptly interrupted as Max's hands teasingly brushed against him, eliciting a giggle that bubbled from within. Charles playfully attempted to push Max away, a futile defense against the potential of tickling. In this shared laughter, the two drivers for a moment found intimacy beyond sex, a moment that spoke volumes in the language of genuine connection.
"What if I offered you a signed helmet in return," Charles teased back, coming down from his burst of giggles, "To my biggest fan, it'll say," he continued, poking fun at the secret Santa gift he'd gotten the man the previous year. "You could have a shrine to me in no time," his eyes stayed glued on Max and if the distance between them had grown shorter, neither of them seemed to mind.
The sincerity in Max's words made Charles truly believe him and suddenly going into the track tomorrow wasn't so frightening anymore. "I'm going to be racing right next to you if you keep making me feel like this," he said, blushing at the last part of his sentence. "If I'd gone to bed without talking to you I would be lost in my own thoughts tomorrow," he admitted, knowing that he would have kept his emotions internalized and it would have led to a difficult race. "Thank you," he said, placing his hand hesitatingly over Max's and when it didn't get pulled away, he gave it a small squeeze, imagining what it would be like to be able to hold his hand at any time.
Max chuckled at the brunette's comment. "Next to me? that's bold." he teased him back, bringing back the same attitude as to when they were kids, only that this time there was much more sarcasm and light playfulness to it.
A reciprocal squeeze of hands conveyed a silent understanding, and the blonde driver leaned into Charles, culminating in a kiss that carried the weight of longing and tenderness.
As the Red Bull driver pulled away, an air of uncertainty lingered between them. He carefully extracted his hands from the intimate connection and tucked them into the pockets of his racing suit. Breaking the silence, he uttered Charles' name, his gaze chasing the trajectory of the Monégasque's eyes.
"Charles," he began, a momentary pause punctuating his words, "I can't be here for much longer... I suppose your girlfriend will come back." Another pause followed, during which the blonde driver averted his eyes down to the shoes pointing at each other. "And if I stay any longer, I think I wouldn't be able to stop at kissing," he admitted, the vulnerability of his confession hanging in the air. The acknowledgment of a boundary, however undefined, spoke to the complex dance of emotions threading through the shared space between them.
The precariousness of the situation lingered, the awareness that having Max in his hotel room held an element of risk. The imminent return of his girlfriend with a room key heightened the tension, creating a sense of urgency of their meeting. Yet, with the ghostly sensation of Max's kiss still tingling on his lips, the last thing Charles desired was for the Red Bull driver to depart.
"I already don't want it to stop at the kissing," he confessed, a declaration that echoed the unspoken desires pulsating between them. Charles's foot inched closer, a subtle movement that bridged the distance until they were touching. It was a clandestine communion, a silent agreement shared between them, even in the absence of words, as if their connection was a secret code etched in the language of proximity.
With a quick glance back to the door and only after ensuring there were no approaching
footsteps, Charles leaned into Max. Their lips brushed against each other, waiting there for a second, his eyes flickering up to catch a glimpse of the man's expression before softly pressing their mouths together just as delicately as the first one.
Knowing better than to tempt fate, Charles hesitantly pulled away from Max, his eyes trained on him completely spellbound. "I just want to keep spending time together," his voice was a whisper and he wished more than ever that the hotel room was his own so that they could spend the entire night talking and kissing and doing more— he tried not to think too hard on it but it was impossible to deny that his connection to Max brought more out of him than any of the relationships he's had.
"Is Kelly with you?" Charles asked, trying to stay casual but all his hopes were placed on the man saying no.
"Kelly..." Max repeated the words, still drowsy from the kiss, his mind blindly lingering into the sight of Charles's blushed lips. "No." he added, finally snapping back into consciousness, letting his hands melt away from the other man's body. "Kelly didn't come." his lips then teased a smirk. "Why? you want to come to my room?" he said, leaning his hand against the table beside them.
Max knew better than anyone how to tease him in a way that instantly brought color to his face and made him unable to say anything. Charles kept his mouth shut to avoid the stuttering that was sure to come had he spoken right away. There was no doubt in regard to his answer and his face gave away that the suggestion was exactly what he'd been hinting at.
"We wouldn't have to worry about anyone walking in," Charles said, indirectly answering the question but still too shy to outright say it; the day had really put him in a vulnerable mood but with Max around everything felt alright somehow. His eyes were trained on the man's every move, hyper aware of how close they were and it still wasn't close enough.
There was also the fact that moving this to the other man's room all but ensured that there would be more kissing and that alone was enough for Charles to want to teleport there, hating for a second that he would never be able to kiss Max the entirety of the way to the other room. He wanted to be kissing in an elevator and the entire way to the other room like couples who can't get enough of each other do and while they would never be allowed to do that, the thought alone was making Charles eager for the secondary location.
When he noticed Max not moving from his position, Charles took a more direct approach and stepped into him and buried his face on Max's neck, leaving a soft kiss and trailing to his jaw. "I do want to come to your room," he finally said outright, hoping that the kissing would distract from how flustered he'd gotten over the simple admittance.
Max chuckled at the vulnerability that the other driver decided to show him, falling onto his arms like a lifeless stuffed toy. The idea would have otherwise sounded terrible for the blonde, after all that just increased the chances of them being caught, but Max didn't have it in him to deny such a request. Charles was the only one who could possibly make him lose track of his self-control and discipline, and maybe there was his weakness, one that he hoped no one would ever discover.
"Alright... we can go up the stairs.. no cameras there," he told the Ferrari driver, grabbing his waist in order to push him back up to his feet. "And be quiet." he whispered, giving him a final kiss against his lips before guiding him out of the room.