Max
I pull up at the McDrive and open my window, ignoring the phones of a lot of people pointed in our direction. I still can't get used to the fact that at every turn someone is secretly taking pictures of me, or rather trying to, because after so many years I know when someone is trying to pretend not to take pictures. I'm also not a fan of fast food, because of formula one drivers we have to eat healthy but Leclerc today doesn't give a damn and told me to come here.
"What do you want?" I ask, glancing in his direction.
He leans toward me, looking at the display of suggestions. He's not here often either, so he doesn't know what's currently on sale. He has fallen asleep once again, and I get the feeling that this car is not a sports car, but a sleeper, because it's abnormal that he sleeps every time he sits in it, and he has sat up two and fallen asleep twice. His hair is disheveled, the seat is reflected on his right cheek and his eyes are squinted, still sleepy.
I didn't think I'd ever pay attention to the appearance of Leclerc, who had just gotten up. Life takes you by surprise.
"Large fries, a large Coke and twenty nuggets with four cream sauces." he says loudly for the employee to hear him.
I raise a puzzled eyebrow, looking at him like he's crazy, which he notices and indignantly moves away, looking in my direction.
"I invite you to the next window." I hear the man's voice. So I drive closer, stopping behind a car whose owner is just paying for his food.
"Twenty? Do you want to feed the army?" I ask suddenly.
"Mine stomach." He crosses his arms over his chest. "You know, that's what I was thinking..."
"Did it hurt?"
He presses his lips into a thin line and turns his back to me. I parry amusedly, taking my card out of my wallet and applying it to the terminal as I pull up to the window. The man nods and hands me a bag and a drink. I thank him quickly, placing the food in the Ferrari driver's lap, and place the drink on the coaster.
I pull out onto the main street, and the boy quickly turns in my direction, looking even more indignant than he did a moment ago.
"If you like me so much that you burn a hole in my head, take a picture and you can look at me even in bed." I say calmly, smiling with satisfaction.
"Fuck you, Verstappen." he points his middle finger in my direction. "I'll transfer you the money for that food later." he adds a little quieter.
"You didn't meet a poor person, you don't have to." I overtake the two cars, and the brunet takes the fries out of the bag, putting three each in his mouth.
"So is this the stage of familiarity that you're making for a sponsor?" he asks with a full mouth. I wince when I see this and shrug my shoulders.
"As long as you don't call me your father, I can go for it." I say seriously. I see out of the corner of my eye how he stops his hand with the French fries right in front of his open mouth and blinks a few times, looking at my face. Finally, I can't stand it and he laughs, at which he rolls his eyes and sighs in relief, going back to eating. "What were you thinking about?" I return to the earlier topic.
"Hm? Oh, nothing important." He waves his hand in the air, almost throwing the fries at the dashboard.
"If you mess up, I swear you'll clean up this garbage with your teeth and polish the paint with your tongue." I say threateningly.
"I don't get into your fetishes, but they're a little weird." He smiles slyly, but he's not about to take any chances as he starts eating over the bag so that whatever falls out falls into it. "I still don't like you." he adds, getting down to eating the nuggets.
"With reciprocity. I hope we'll only see each other on the track now." I say sincerely.
Because even though we talk relatively normally, I still hate him. He is enemy number one, and our conversation exists because we are both exhausted from these four days. Too much in too short a time. First the race weekend, then this situation and the interviews. Although it doesn't seem bad, I feel terrible and all I want now is to lie down and go to sleep peacefully for a few hours.
The rest of the way neither of us speaks again. Leclerc eats his very healthy food in silence, and I steer, listening to the songs flying on the radio. After several minutes, I stop in front of the hotel of a boy who has just finished drinking a Coke and is throwing the empty package into his bag. He actually ate all twenty pieces of meat.
He unbuckles his seatbelt and opens the door to get out, but suddenly stops, turning toward me again. I watches him carefully as he closes the door, licking his chapped lips.
"Thank you." he says abruptly, and although at first I think he's about to add something to get me off balance, it doesn't happen. He is sincere.
"For what?"
"At the interview you respected my privacy, and afterwards you didn't try to make fun of me or be inquisitive. As much as I hate you, I'm a man who can appreciate others, and although I didn't think I'd ever say it, Verstappen also proved to be human for once, not a machine. I really thank you." he concludes his statement. Without letting me answer, he almost runs out of the car, quickly opening the door and walking out.
He closes it behind him and quickly enters the hotel, leaving me alone with his speech full of various emotions.
He said that I turned out to be human for once. What the fuck? I am always human, after all I am human like everyone.
I nod, trying to put his words out of my mind, and drive away from outside the hotel. A strange situation, and this is only the first day of pretending our relationship. What else will happen next week. Will he find that he likes me? And in three? That he has fallen in love? Oh shit, but that would be a circus. I mean. As I now think that I could give him a rejection, I even want him to come and confess such a thing to me. I can already imagine his face when I answer no.
The next day
I groan disgruntled into my pillow when someone violently takes away my warm and soft quilt. Someone, I mean Daniel, who barges into my hotel room, fussing three by three. I don't know what he's meowing there, because I'm trying to sleep, but something about some birthday party of his friend.
"Max, get up, it's his birthday!" he shouts indignantly. I contort my face, listening to the shrieks. Five more seconds, and he lands outside the window and flies several meters down.
"And?" I mumble sleepily into my pillow.
"And all drivers are invited." He replies immediately, coming up to me. In an unexpected moment, he takes my pillow and before I can catch it, my head hits the mattress.
"Am I invited?" I ask in a voice that is hoarse from the morning, raising my eyes at him reluctantly.
"You're the driver?" he crosses his arms over his chest, throwing a pillow over the quilt. What a friend, I will exchange him for a kilo of carrots at the earliest opportunity. They will at least give me sleep.
"I don't know, am I?" I reply stupidly, hoping that he will give up and let me stay, but my plan doesn't work, because he only lifts his eyebrows up, without changing his expression. He continues to look ready to fight if it is necessary for me to go.
"Are you pretending to be a retard, or are you one?"
"I pretend not to go there. Did I make it?" I ask hopefully, looking at him like a beaten puppy and smiling innocently to make him soften and let go.
"Get dressed Max." my smile disappears when nothing goes according to the plan I took. Suddenly he grabs my leg, but I quickly grabs onto the mattress.
"Okay, stop, you idiot, stop!" I shout, and he immediately lets go of me. "God." I add, grunting to get rid of the morning hoarseness.
"And that's what he said." He claps his hands, at which I almost choke on my saliva, glancing at him as if he were an idiot. "Never mind, go get dressed. You have five minutes. If you don't make it, you go in what you're wearing." he says, looking at mine a half-naked body. I myself follow him with my eyes, seeing only boxers on. Well, it's a good thing I'm not naked.
I used to like sleeping naked, but since I'm friends with Daniel and he stole my house keys, I started to change my habits. Once he came into the bedroom and started screaming, running away. I didn't know what was going on, and later he apologized, calling me names as if it was my fault.
"Maybe I should change my enemy." I mumbled under my breath, getting up lazily from the bed.
Daniel shows me the middle finger and leaves. I reluctantly walk over to the closet, asking in my mind for Lando to suddenly magically appear and pick out what I should wear. I'm not a very good stylist myself. I sigh heavily, taking out of the closet boxers, socks with lots of colorful eyes, black suit pants and a black shirt. I don't know if this is how one continues to go dressed for birthdays, but I remember that a year ago Lando stated that we had to go in suits. Maybe this year he will also state that. I quickly get dressed, and as I try to embrace my hair in front of the mirror, Lando rushes into the room, followed by Daniel, who shouts something.
I turn toward them, looking at them like they were idiots. They both fall silent. Ricciardo is dressed like a twit, as he is wearing jeans and a strange palm tree shirt, which is nothing new, while Norris, fortunately, is also in a suit, but he has a white shirt. He comes up to me quickly and undoes the first two buttons of my shirt, nodding.
"I was afraid you'd have it's somewhere and wear sweatpants." he says with relief, glancing resentfully at Daniel, who raises his hands in a defensive gesture and leaves the room. "Come on." He adds, disappearing behind the door. I roll my eyes and move after him. I'm so out of it, I freak the fuck out.
"What are you doing!" Daniel yells at me as I walk to the bathroom.
"I'm going to brush my teeth." I shrug my shoulders, and Norris grabs my arm and pulls me toward the exit. "I have to brush my teeth, you idiots!" I shout, trying to pull myself out of his grasp. "Lando!"
He lets go of me, crossing his arms over his chest. Just as I'm about to move toward the bathroom, Daniel takes matters into his own hands and moves toward me. He shoves me out of my own hotel room and throws my shoes behind me. They both contentedly walk out and lock the door, while I look indignantly once at them and then at the shoes sprawled across the hall.
"Put them on and let's go. No more unnecessary fussing." The RB driver moves toward the elevator.
I quickly put on my shoes and follow him. The three of us get into the elevator, going down to the first floor. I look like I just got up, and all in all, it's not misleading. I haven't managed to do anything except get dressed. I hate them for that. And I could have had no friends and sat quietly in my room....
It turns out that Daniel's friend doesn't live far away, because the trip took us less time than arguing over who would sit in the cab in the front. In the end, Lando sat down, seizing the opportunity when Daniel tried to catch me from going to the front door when I didn't even intend to do so.
We get out of the car, immediately hearing loud music, laughter and shouting. In front of the entrance to the building stands a security guard, to whom we give evidences. He notes our presence, letting us inside. Lando and Daniel look happy to be here, while I don't necessarily. I'd rather get some sleep.
"There's going to be a cake in a minute, followed by a fierce party!" shouts Norris to shouted music.
"Let's go get some alcohol! Do you want something Max?!" shouts Daniel.
"Something strong, because I can't make it here sober." I say discouraged, to which he nods and they both walk towards the bar. Annoyed, I lean against the wall, looking at the people.
Every now and then I run across Formula drivers with my eyes. They all seem to have come without being as discouraged as I am. But I don't understand the eagerness. Alcohol, music and people. And I'm not saying I don't like alcohol and music, it's just that the word people makes the desire for the other two things mentioned go away.
Suddenly I see an angry Leclerc, whose face resembles his T-shirt, which he always wears. Today, exceptionally, he is wearing a white shirt and dark jeans, and the red from the shirt is replaced by his angry face. He stops in front of me, clenching his hands into fists. He looks like he wants to kill me, and I don't know the reason.