"Wat een schokkende dag voor Red Bull, Max Verstappen had een amateurcrash met Carlos Sainz. Verliest onze thuisheld zijn vonk?" The TV echoed loudly within the room, the news reporting the public disappointment at the Red Bull driver's performance at his home race. Unfazed with the media critics, Max took a sip of whiskey that his father had picked out for the two of them — being hated by crowds wasn't a first.
After leaving the circuit, Max had headed to his father's place upon his request. Even if overwhelmed with feelings of anger and frustration he listened like an inbuilt response — his father always had the final say.
"Max, do you understand what I'm saying?" His father insisted, in Dutch. "What's going on? This is not like you."
Max took another sip of his drink, choosing to remain silent, akin to a scolded child avoiding further confrontation. He had learned from a young age the art of withholding words if they weren't a contribution to peace, a strategy to evade unnecessary conflicts.
In the hushed moments, Max sensed a subtle vibration against his side, prompting him to glance at his phone. Swiftly, he turned the screen to face him, absorbing the contents of a message sent by Charles.
"I saw what happened. Can we talk? Send me your location, and I'll come around at midnight, please"
"I'm gonna go take a drive, I need to clear my head," the blond declared abruptly to his father, setting the glass down on the side table. His father didn't debate it.
Casting a final glance at the older man before leaving, Max felt like he was peering into a mirror when he looked directly into his eyes. The same stern blue eyes he had inherited. When he looked at himself in a reflection, his father was always there.
On his way out, Max texted Charles as he twirled his keys around his finger. "I'm at my father's house, I can't meet you here. But I can meet you at this lakeside cottage my family has for summer breaks, see you there?"
The buzzing of a notification pierced through the sound of running water, grabbing Charles' attention. Without hesitation, he checked the message, the urgency for a response from Max palpable in his actions. Armed with the directions to the other man's location, he swiftly sent a brief follow-up text, confirming their meeting at the designated lakeside cottage.
As he closed his eyes, the events of the race replayed in Charles' mind like an unending loop. The crash and Max's confrontation with his father lingered, refusing to be washed away with the shampoo. The calculated nature of the collision struck Charles as intentional, Max's competitive drive pushing boundaries that left Charles questioning the depths to which Max might go. If such intensity and lack of restraint were displayed for a mere race position, what lengths would Max be willing to reach when challenged for first place in the championship? Charles desperately wanted to believe in an alternative explanation, hoping that Max wouldn't compromise his integrity for a position, especially when it concerned him. Though Charles held a higher standing than Carlos in Max's hierarchy, learning that the Red Bull driver didn't reciprocate the same feelings added a layer of complexity.
Fresh out of the shower, the young man dressed warmly, pulling a hoodie over his head before discreetly slipping out of the hotel through the back door, seeking some privacy. En route to Max's cottage, Charles mentally rehearsed possible outcomes for the impending conversation, contemplating what he would say to the man. If he asserted that the crash had been intentional, would Max confess, and even if he did, would he provide an explanation? Charles remained uncertain. Nevertheless, that topic wasn't his primary concern; it merely served as a filler for the overwhelming thoughts that had been haunting him since the televised argument between Max and his father.
This was Max's home race, and despite excelling throughout the season, victory wasn't guaranteed. The penalty Max received wasn't of his own making, and Charles couldn't help but feel empathy. While he didn't know Jos on a personal level, even as a child, all he could think about when seeing the Max was the stark contrast to his own father.
Charles' father was a good man, unwavering in his faith in his son's potential, regardless of whether a race ended positively or negatively. The young man could face a challenging race, secure in the knowledge that his father would be waiting at the end with open arms, ready to offer words of encouragement and the promise of a better tomorrow. His dad was his hero, and every time he donned his Ferrari suit, he recalled the words that had brought his father so much joy before his passing: "Dad, I got signed with Ferrari." It had been a lie at the time, and he felt tremendous guilt, but the smile on his father's face had motivated him to turn it into a reality. Jos was not like his father. Even as a child, Charles grasped that truth, and seeing Jos today made him forget everything that had transpired between him and Max, focusing only on caring enough to ask if Max was okay.
After parking his car, the young man turned off the engine and waited for the blonde to arrive.
"Got here a little early. Let me know when you're near, please."
The cottage stood in a secluded private estate, one of the first things Max had gifted his mother when he started profiting with his Formula One career. Since then, the location had become an occasional vacation home, used for fishing trips, although such getaways were infrequent due to Max's tight schedule.
"Come out, pretty boy," Max shouted out, knocking on the window of Charles's car.
Caught off guard by the knock on his window, Charles dropped his phone into his lap and looked out with wide eyes, instantly becoming at ease as he noticed Max waiting on the other side.
Having brought nothing but his phone and car keys, Charles quickly exited his car and locked it up, initially avoiding eye contact with Max. Uncertain about the reason for meeting him, Charles felt the need to talk to him based solely on instinct.
"Were you waiting long?" he asked, engaging in small talk as his eyes finally met Max's face. Even in the darkness, he could perfectly envision every detail of Max, having memorized him during their previous nights together. The realization that he could recall Max's freckles even blindfolded brought a heat to his face, and with quick thinking, he redirected his gaze toward the view. Pleasantly surprised by the surroundings, Charles wished for more light to fully appreciate the scenery. However, as captivating as it was, every fiber of his being urged him to return his attention to the man, yearning to ensure that he was okay.
"I saw what happened tonight and was worried," he confessed, "about you, I mean," the brunette clarified though it wasn't necessary as he was sure the man still remembered the lingering confession that had caused the drift between them.
Waiting until they were inside to say anything else, he followed closely behind Max, stealing glances at him every few steps while the blond kept his eyes fixed on the cottage.
"Is that why you came?" Max asked, raising his eyebrows, his breath visible in the cold air. "You're worried about me?"
"Part of the reason," Charles admitted, stepping into the modest cottage home. The place gave him a sense of the past, as if it were untouched by the modern world.
Taking his coat off and noticing a small fireplace already lit, he hung it up and turned to face the blonde, finally getting a better look at him now that they were in the light.
"At first glance, I only had the screens to go by, and I thought it had been Checo with Carlos. But when I saw it was you, I felt my stomach drop. Luckily, by then, I knew you were okay. But then they aired something more private in the Red Bull garage, and..." he shrugged his shoulders, wishing he had rehearsed what he was going to say instead of becoming the stumbling mess that he was now. "I don't know. I just wanted to see you. I know I've ruined things, but I've still known you for so long, and clearly, I haven't had the easiest time separating emotions from everything else. Even if I found a way to do that, I know that I would still come looking for you."
Silently, Max grabbed a couple of small pieces of wood he had separated on the side to feed the fire, occasionally looking at Charles. Somehow, the brunette seemed even more shaken by the interaction he witnessed between him and his father than Max was. There was a rare point of honesty in every word and every worry that Charles expressed that intrigued Max; it wasn't something he was very used to.
"I'm okay," he mumbled. "I did it on purpose," he confessed without hesitation, stretching his spine to his full height, making the slight height difference between them ever so evident.
"I know you did," Charles was quick to respond, sitting down by the fire and warming up his hands, occasionally glancing back to catch a view of Max. "When I thought it was Checo, I believed it was an accident, but as soon as I realized it was you...," he paused, thinking of a way to word it. "You don't make mistakes like that," the boy continued, certain in what he was saying. All those years of knowing Max, and even just by paying attention, it was clear that it was no accident on his part.
Hesitating to elaborate any further, Max took distance from Charles, pacing around the house as he opened multiple cabinets, looking for any signs of alcoholic drinks. "Didn't you get worried about Carlos?" he asked, his voice echoing in the deafening silence of their surroundings. "He had it worse, I'm sure."
At the mention of Carlos, all Charles could do was shrug. "He looked fine," he started off, "I know the car damages are going to put a big dent in our budget, which means I'm going to have to be at a Max Verstappen level of precision if I want to keep my car in good shape."
"Honestly, I was worried about both. Anytime I see a crash, I worry until both people are safe. But after that, he wasn't a priority," Charles confessed, his face now being lit by the orange glow of the rising fire. "You were a different story though. I had to be back on the track before I could process everything, but once I was back, it kept replaying in my head. I did talk to Carlos, though. He knows you did it on purpose," he added, "I told him you didn't."
Max chuckled, sarcasm draped in the tone of his voice as the sound of a bottle being handled out of one of the cabinets rang out. "He thought so?" He scoffed, taking the wine bottle as he slowly walked back to the living room, where Charles sat perfectly lit by the warm light of the fireplace.
"I made it very clear to him," he said, popping the bottle open. "He knew what was coming for him." He mocked, taking a sip out of the bottle as he stood beside the couch, not daring to close the distance between him and the Ferrari driver.
"Wait, I don't understand," Charles shook his head, his eyebrows furrowed as he attempted to connect dots that he didn't have, "why would you want to come for him? He's nowhere near you in championship points, and even if he'd gotten second place, you wouldn't have been able to score points. So why was it so important to come after him that you sacrificed not placing at all?" he asked, his curiosity at the forefront of the conversation and not making attempts to disguise it.
The distance between them was wide and seemed deliberate, which pushed the agenda further that Charles had truly tainted something. Despite that, he appreciated that he'd been invited at all, and after the day the blond had he wouldn't have been surprised if he hadn't wanted to see anyone at all.
"Can I have a sip?" Charles asked, glancing at the wine bottle, knowing he'd need a buzz to get through the night.
Max playfully withdrew the bottle from the Ferrari driver's grasp, encouraging him to make an attempt to reclaim it. "Carlos decided to approach me with a rather intriguing question during the driver's parade," Max mentioned, tilting the bottle and sipping from it as he moved nearer to Charles.
"He told me about your time together last night," he added, his voice tinged with discomfort as he revisited the awkward situation. A surge of anger tried to assert itself within him, but Max managed to rein it in. "Then asked me for some tips on how to fuck you." He smiled ironically as he tried to mask the overflowing emotions that took over him upon touching the subject.
Approaching Charles at a deliberate pace, Max positioned himself beside him, his figure dominating the space. "And he just happened to be very unlucky that I didn't have anything to lose in that race," he declared, raising his eyebrows. The sarcastic smile gradually disappeared from his face as he gazed down at the man.
"Did he touch you?" Max inquired, his hand reaching down to lift the brunette's chin, tightening his grip slightly.
At the recall of the night before, Charles' face went pale, the awkwardness of it lingering still. Mentally, he felt embarrassed that he had to pull away when his teammate had seemed ready to go in for a kiss. He hadn't thought much of it beyond that and assumed the older man would have gotten the hint and brushed it all under the rug. Still, to have the nerve to confront Max as if he'd have a way to guarantee that Carlos would get laid simply worked to gross the brunette out. It made him feel dirty, and as Max reached for his chin, he could barely look at him, ashamed even though it hadn't been him proposing anything.
Carlos wanted to be with him, and Max took him out at the first chance he got. Getting the answer as to why he'd done it should have cleared things up, but momentarily it brought more questions he didn't dare to ask. Having stayed silent too long, he realized Max was waiting for an answer, and one look at him told Charles that he was not in a patient mood.
"No," he shook his head, but it didn't move much as Max's grip on his chin tightened.
A sense of frustration colored the blond's expression as he continued, "Did you want to be with him?" His eyes narrowed, intensifying the scrutiny on Charles. "I think I could have given him some good tips, but even then, I don't think he'd be able to please you like I do."
With Charles on the floor with his green eyes looking up at Max, the position felt compromising and he'd willingly answer anything that the man asked. "I didn't," he whispered, his heart racing in his chest and his hands beginning to feel too warm for his liking. "I mean he tried to kiss me but after it didn't work I got him to leave. I didn't know he was trying to sleep with me," he continued, "and even if I had known..," he took a pause, "I wouldn't have settled for less than you." The last part of his sentence was nearly inaudible.
Max's heart sank, a heavy realization settling within him as he saw the frightened expression on Charles's face. It seemed as if he had been subjecting the brunette to a continuous test of loyalty and trust, persistently shutting doors in his face, challenging him with questions and demands even after having rejected him. Yet, despite every attempt to push him away, Charles continued to show his care for him. Regardless of the barriers Max built in between them, Charles stayed.
Why did he stay?
The blond's eyes slowly widened in a momentary silence, the grip of his hands weakening until they went limp. That was when he truly realized and truly acknowledged how much he felt for Charles. When he felt the relief of hearing exactly what his heart had longed to hear.
"No..." He muttered, inaudible under his breath.
Filled with frustration, Max released him and crossed the living room to take a seat under the dim lights of the dining table. "No," he whispered again, to himself, setting the wine bottle on the table as he let his face fall onto his hands.
"My father warned me about this," Max mumbled, brushing his hands across his face, his eyes slightly red from trying to hold in tears. "He always tells me: the moment you let your emotions get in the way of racing, you're done for." The blond looked back to Charles, meeting his face across the room. "Am I done for?" He furrowed his eyebrows, surrendering himself to the situations he found himself in.
Getting up again before Charles could say anything, Max closed their distance. "Charles, you asked me if I would hate you if you won." He recalled, his heart racing as he gathered the words to speak. "I told you I'd win..." he paused, his eyes locking onto Charles's, a soft, vulnerable sincerity coloring his gaze. "I don't know if that was true anymore... I'm torn between doing everything to win and doing anything to make you win."
"I already lost," he whispered.