Archive of Our Own ^beta

Max is broken. 

Utterly and completely broken. A shell of the person he once was. As he writhes on his bed, pain shooting through his body, sheets soaked with sweat, crying out for someone who’s no longer here, he feels nothing but disgust with himself. He’s helpless, a slave to his mind. It continues to play tricks on him, but he can’t stop his body from responding to the tricks of his mind. 

He hasn’t had an episode this bad in a while. He thought it was over, his physical therapist had told him he’d been doing so well. It’s been weeks since he’d had his last attack. 

Reluctantly, Max pulls himself to an upright position and throws the covers off of him. He can’t help but wince once he sees it. An ugly stump below his knee where his calf used to be. It’s almost been a year, Max thought he’d be used to it by now… but even now it hurts to look at. 

He has to admit, the wound has healed quite nicely. It’s no longer a red and angry wound, skin sewed together. Now a faint scar remains instead. His doctors had told him it’d healed exceptionally well, Max wishes he could say the same for himself. 

He still flinches when applying lotion to the stump. His skin crawls putting a sock over it getting ready for the day. He can’t remember the last time he wore shorts in public. He hates the way people look at him once they find out. People don’t realize how much it means to have an identity until you’re reduced down to the guy who’s missing a leg. 

“Ah there’s Max, so awful what happened to him.” 

“I think it’s so awesome how you can continue to do everyday stuff after everything! I don’t think I could ever be that strong”

They think they’re being nice. Max would prefer they all leave him the fuck alone. Of course he’s continuing on like everything’s normal. What’s the alternative? He has to keep going. If he stops, for even a moment, like right now, he feels he’ll unravel completely. 

It hurts. He thinks to himself as he swings his legs over the side of the bed. Usually he’s able to lie still in bed, picturing his leg where there isn’t one now. But sometimes during especially bad episodes like this one, it doesn’t work. Max looks up and he’s met with a full length mirror staring back at him. The mirror Charles had gotten for him. To help him. And Max had ruined it, ruined them. Pushed him away just like he had everyone else. Yet the mirror remains. Just blue eyes on blue, and Max is forced to reckon with the truth yet again.

Charles used to be here, and now he’s not. 

It takes everything within Max not to smash the mirror to pieces. The pain of his heartbreak almost entirely overshadows that of the physical. Of course Charles left. How could he not? Max is no good. He can’t blame Charles for wanting better for himself.

No. He can’t think about that right now. His therapist had told him stress can exacerbate the phantom limb pains. Charles has moved on, Max should too. 

He lets out shaky breaths as he stares at the stump in the mirror. Remembering the instructions of his PT, Max scoots over until his stump is no longer in view. Slowly, he begins to slowly lift his leg up and down in a slow kicking motion. Charles had been so excited when he’d brought the mirror home. Max had had to slow him down so he could explain himself properly.

“It is great cheri! I spoke with the therapist and she said that since you are looking at the reflection, it will trick your brain into thinking the phantom limb is moving!”

Max had only offered him a weak smile and pretended to be just as excited. In truth, Max didn’t want to trick his brain. He didn’t want to have to. He couldn’t understand why his brain couldn’t accept things as they are like Max was forced to. Things were hard enough as they are, why does his body have to fight him too?

His breath comes out in short pants as the throbbing and burning in his leg persists. It almost itches, and Max resists the urge to tear his skin off. He just wants this all to be over. He wants to bury himself under the covers and forget about all of this. Sink into the nothingness of his unconscious mind and let sleep overtake him. 

After around ten minutes of going through the motions, the pain finally begins to subside, and Max cannot help it when he lets out a soft cry of relief. He throws himself back onto the pillows, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

Finally, a reprieve.

His own disability aside, if Max thought life before Charles was hard, life after him is even worse. There are ghosts of Charles littered throughout what once was their shoebox apartment in Monaco. Just enough room for the two of them… and the cats… and then Leo. Charles had taken Leo with him after they broke out. Which makes sense, Leo was Charles’ dog after all. But as much as it pains to admit, Max misses the pitter pattering of Leo’s paws throughout the flat, the high pitched sounds of his yaps that Max would dramatically cover his ears and say he was going to go deaf from the dog’s barks.

He misses how Charles would shake his head at Max when he feigned annoyance over their new housemate and would snake his arms around Max’s waist, pressing soft kisses to his stubble. 

He should’ve moved.

It’s too hard. It's too hard to remain here without him. A month after the— incident , Charles sat Max down and tried to get him to look through apartments that were more handicap accessible, but Max didn’t want to listen. 

Max couldn’t. He loved their place. He didn’t want to admit that he needed to move somewhere where there was an elevator that worked 100% of the time, support bars in the bathroom, doors that are wide enough for Max’s chair (which he refuses to use), on the days he needs them. 

He’d snapped at Charles then, told him he didn’t need that, that he wasn’t that bad off. There are people who are much worse off than Max is, or at least that’s what he’d told himself. 

It was a lot easier earlier on to be in denial about his condition. Because he had Charles. Charles had always been there for Max to lean on. He’d put a chair in the shower so Max could still wash himself, he always made sure Max’s prosthesis was right next to the bed so Max could wake up and didn’t have to hobble across the floor. 

He’d filled their apartment with life. 

Now that he’s gone everything just feels so dark. Lifeless. He misses the fragrant aroma of Charles’ stupidly expensive scented candles, the way he never turned the lights off after exiting a room, he misses his bougie shampoos and toiletries. 

It’s laundry day. He and Charles would dedicate every Saturday to being their chore day. They would get all the busy tasks out of the way then so they could enjoy their Sunday, especially if it was a Grand Prix weekend. Max had learned very early on in their relationship that Charles and his entire family were die-hard Tifosi. Max himself had only been a casual fan of Formula One growing up, but he’d learned to love it through Charles. Unlike 

Charles, he was impartial to Red Bull. 

As Max sorts through the laundry, an all too familiar shade of red catches his eye. His eyebrows furrow as he slowly pulls the soft red fabric out of the hamper. Max’s breath hitches and he’s completely puzzled when he comes face to face with a Ferrari polo. The shirt is mostly red with the Santander logo large across the front, vintage from 2016, Max would’ve known this shirt anywhere. His eyes well up with tears, feeling like he’s being transported eight years in the past.  

To all their friends, Max and Charles getting together was an inevitability. It had happened so naturally over time. If you were to ask Max, he had been taken with Charles from the first moment he saw him. They had met for the first time during their freshman year of uni. Max can remember it so vividly, he had been sharing an apartment with George at the time. George had happened to be in the same major as Pierre, who at the time was roommates with Charles. It happened one day in April. 

“Sassy, please get out from under the couch… you are going to tear your stitches!” Max had cried. 

Max, in all his infinite wisdom, had thought it’d be a great idea to get kittens during his first year. His Dad had never let him have pets when he lived at home, unlike his Mum. His Mum loved animals, and Max envied that Victoria was the one who got to spend all the time with their dog, Spike. 

So Max had gotten two kittens, named Jimmy and Sassy respectively after the two clubs in Monaco he and his friends frequented. During revision week, because Max was so smart, he’d decided to get the two kittens fixed and had realized quickly what a colossal mistake it had been. He’d turned his back for five minutes, too enthralled in studying to notice he’d failed to latch their cage shut. While Jimmy had been fast asleep, Sassy had made her way out into the living room and underneath the couch. 

Which had left Max on his stomach, entire arm underneath the couch, face pressed against the floor, as he tried to coax the cat out from underneath. When he’d heard the door open and shut he’d assumed it’d been George, back from his study session in the library. He couldn’t help but groan with frustration when Sassy just stared at him, almost reveling in his misery. She’d even had the nerve to bat her tiny paw at him.

“Don’t just stand there George, help me!” He snapped, turning back. 

It wasn’t necessarily a good angle, but the first thing he saw was the bright red of the Ferrari shirt. It’d caused him to do a double take.

“You’re not George…” he then said softly, pushing back on his stomach, face flushed as he slowly stood up. 

His breath hitched in his throat. He was the prettiest boy Max had ever seen. Bright green eyes, perfectly pink almost feline lips, and brown fluffy hair he’d wanted to bury his face in. He’d been a goner from the very first look.

“Uhm… I’m Charles? Pierre sent me to get a textbook for George… he said it would be left on the counter?” Charles had trailed off, and Max had been so endeared by the way he shyly avoided Max’s gaze, how he nervously stood on the edges of his feet, he couldn’t take his eyes off the way he’d pulled his perfectly kissable bottom lip between his teeth. Max had been so distracted ogling Charles that he’d momentarily completely forgotten about the poor kitten underneath the couch until after the young Monegasque had left, scrambling back underneath the couch to engage in another battle of wits with a six month old kitten. 

After that day, Charles became a constant in Max’s life. Pierre and Charles started hanging out with him and George, then came Lando and Oscar. Sophomore year George started dating a premed major named Alex, Pierre began dating Yuki, their friend group was complete. They all fit together seamlessly, even though they constantly bickered. One thing they all had seemed to agree on though, was that Max and Charles were inevitable. For whatever reason though, they seemed to dance around each other. It wasn’t like Max was in denial about his feelings for Charles, he just found his friendship too important to confess. Charles was way out of his league anyway, everyone he met was instantly charmed with him. Max was just happy to be someone in his orbit, someone who had the privilege of making him smile.

He and Charles had practically been joined at the hip. After their meeting, Max had found out Charles was studying architecture, while Max was majoring in mechanical engineering. Max loved the way Charles’ green eyes sparkled when he spoke about design.

“People don’t pay a lot of attention but architecture influences so much of your everyday. A space can influence how you think, how you feel. It can show history, creativity, it is the pinnacle of human innovation, no? You can feel a space, every building tells a story.”

Max had been left in awe, and slightly envious. It’s rare to find a passion, Max had only enrolled in mechanical engineering because his Dad had forced him. Being with Charles was easy, so easy it was almost scary. Max usually found it difficult to open up to others, to learn to trust them, but he had told Charles things he’d never told anyone after only a couple weeks of meeting.

Their first kiss wouldn’t happen until their senior year. George had moved out of their shared flat months prior to move in with Alex, and Charles had taken his spare room to allow Pierre more privacy with Yuki. It worked, it was easy. They had gone out to a fancy dinner that night, ordered the most expensive wine on the menu to celebrate the completion of their finals. 

There was no need to fret over what was next, Charles had found a job at an architecture firm in Monaco, Max had found a job as a project manager at some kind of superyacht company. Max likes boats, at least he thinks he does. He wasn’t really worried. As long as he had Charles, and Charles hadn’t mentioned anything about moving out. 

After dinner the two had drunkenly stumbled along the promenade, shoulders bumping against each other’s, fingertips brushing and sending electric shocks up Max’s arm. Charles had stopped to watch the sunset, but Max had stopped to watch Charles. As the Monegasque guffawed a the pinks and oranges that splashed across the sky, Max couldn’t take his eyes off the way his heart seemed to skip a beat everytime he laid eyes on Charles.

“You’re beautiful…” had slipped past Max’s lips before he could stop himself. 

Charles’ eyes had snapped to Max’s then, sunset long forgotten. 

“W-What?” Charles had stuttered out, green doe eyes wide with surprise. 

Fuck it. It’s now or never. Max had thought to himself before he took Charles’ chin in his hand, searching for any kind of hesitation in his eyes before leaning in and softly pressing their lips together. It wasn’t heated, there was no fire behind it. It was gentle, almost inquisitive in the way it seemed to ask ‘ Is this alright? Will you let me have you? All of you?’

Max got his answer in the bright dimpled smile Charles had when he finally pulled away, more beautiful than any sunset, and the way Charles had held his hand the entire walk home, fingers hopelessly intertwined. 

That had been four years ago. Now Max stands alone in what was once their shared apartment, the Ferrari polo from the day they first met clutched in his fists, as if it’d disintegrate if he let go. 

He throws it on the floor of the closet and shuts the door.

It’s a Friday night and Max is on the couch. This is how most of his nights look now, curled up on the couch with the cats, under the thickest blanket he has, empty pint of ice cream discarded on the coffee table. He had been dozing off, House of the Dragon on the TV, long forgotten when he was startled awake by someone pounding on the door.

He groans, checking his phone and seeing it’s 23:00. He’s almost positive he hasn’t ordered any food until he hears an all too familiar voice through the door. 

“Oi, open up Max! I know you’re in there, you’re not getting rid of me that easy!” 

Fuck, it’s Lando. Max can’t help but bury his face in his couch cushions, letting out sobbing noises. This is the last thing he wants to deal with. Slowly, Max sits up, grabbing his leg scooter he uses to maneuver throughout the house when he’s not wearing his leg, and slowly stands upright, resting his… knee on the cushioned rest on the scooter. 

He makes his way to the front door, opening it and giving Lando the most unamused look he can manage. He tries to ignore the way the Brit’s eyes automatically flit to his bad leg back to his face. 

“Maxie! It’s been too long,” Lando says with a saccharinely sweet smile, patting Max on the shoulder and pushing past Max in the entryway. 

“Come on in…” Max mumbles to himself, slowly maneuvering his way back around to follow Lando into the living room.

“Why are you here?”

“We are going out,” Lando says simply. Now Max knows why he’s here. Because had Lando texted with an invitation he would’ve said no. Like he’s said to every other invitation from everyone else.

He’s not a complete shut in, he goes out and meets his friends for dinner occasionally, he’ll go over and visit their apartment. But the idea of clubbing is not something that sounds fun to Max anymore. It’s way too far out of his comfort zone, and he knows that’s not the only reason they want Max out. 

“You’ve got to get back on the horse, you’re a handsome fella Maxie! You shouldn’t be locked away like this,” his coworker Daniel had told him. 

But he’s just not ready. Max has been in love with Charles for seven years now, just because Charles has seemingly moved on doesn’t mean Max can just forget. 

“Lando…” Max finally sighs, going to move when Lando walks up to him, holding his hands up like he’s going to put them on his chest to stop him.

”Just listen ok! Just give me thirty minutes, all you have to do is come see everyone. George has gotten us a VIP table, you can come sit, you don’t even have to talk to anyone if you don’t want. Just come, Max. We miss you, everyone wants to see you,” Lando pleads, and Max has to tear his eyes away to avoid the hopelessly sad look in his eyes.

He’s silent for a while, weighing a pros and cons list in his head before he answers.

“Who is everyone,” he says finally, squinting at Lando, trying to ignore the smile that’s starting to form in the corner of his lips.

”Just me, Osc, Danny, George, Alex, and Yuki and Pierre are in town, that’s why we want you there. The whole gang back together!” He exclaims, Max can feel the pit start to form in his stomach.

“…And Charles?” Max asks quietly, avoiding Lando’s gaze.

“I’m not trying to trick you Max, I swear. If he was coming you know I’d tell you,” he says before pausing, almost as if he’s deciding if he should say anything else.

“But he’s been asking about you, he’s worried about you Max,” and Max can’t help the scoff that escapes his lips before he pushes past Lando, heading towards his bedroom.

“I’m sure he is,” he muses sarcastically, grabbing his prosthetic and prosthetic sock before slipping off his shorts, grabbing a pair of black jeans out of his drawer.

The first time Max had seen his prosthetic he’d been worried. To him it’d looked like some pole with a fake foot at the end of it. Thankfully, he’d been able to find that there were a lot of prosthetic accessories on the market, and Max had been able to get a kind of ‘shin’ guard. So now instead of having an empty lower pant leg, he now had the full silhouette. They actually had different colors. When he’d first started looking, Daniel had suggested he get one with the colors of the Dutch color flag. Max had responded by throwing his stapler at him. 

He can’t help but smirk at the memory

“So you’re going?” Lando says excitedly, shaking Max from his thoughts, ignoring the jab at Charles.

” Just for thirty minutes. Just enough time to say hi to everyone.”

“I’ll take it,” he smiles, but Max can see the way his smile falls for a second as Max sits on his bed, slipping on his prosthetic sock, eyes glued to the place where the bottom of Max’s left leg used to be. He doesn’t blame him, Max thinks it’s pretty disgusting too.

“Hasn’t anyone told you it’s not polite to stare,” he says, trying to lighten the mood, but it comes off a bit harsher than he was expecting. He hasn’t quite got the hang of amputee humor yet.

“I-I wasn’t shut up,” Lando says quietly, face flushing. Max tries not to smirk, at least Lando hasn’t changed very much.

“I’m just fucking with you,” Max says softly, offering a smile.

What he gets in response is a white dress shirt thrown at his face, the word “ asshole,” being grumbled by the Brit.

“Just get dressed will you, we leave in five minutes.”

“Ay ay, captain.”

Max knows it’s a bad idea the moment he steps inside the club. He knows it’s a bad idea when Lando shoves a gin and tonic in his hand, the way his friends are overly happy to see him. They think that Max can’t see the nervous glances they exchange with each other, as if Max is a porcelain doll that will break if they take their eyes off of him. He knows before they tell him. 

Charles is here.

Max immediately downs his drink, slamming it down on the counter. He stares at his drink on the overly shiny countertop for a moment, watching the way the bright lights flashing throughout the club reflect off the surface. It’s when he looks up that he sees it. 

Charles pressed up against the back of some blonde girl, he’s whispering something in her ear, hands placed on her hips. He’s not surprised, his friends have told them that they’ve seen him out here before since they’ve broken up. They’ve told him that he’s gone on dates, left the club with a different girl every other night for a week or two, that he’s started to move on. But hearing it and seeing it are two different things. 

It’s not like Max is entirely innocent, this isn’t the first time he’s been out either. He’s tried to move on. He’s gone on an extremely awkward blind date set up by Daniel, he’s had heated make out sessions, hands shoved down each other’s pants, open mouths panting against one another as they chase a quick release. But he’s shared nothing vulnerable or intimate with anyone in the past six months.

Besides Charles no one has seen him bare in his entirety. He’s tried. Every time things get hot and heavy he swears to himself that this will be the time things go all the way, but then someone unbuttons his pants and goes to pull them down and he feels panic seize his body, everything too much all of a sudden, before the shame takes over. He just… he can’t. Because once people find out they change. They look at and touch him differently. 

Just like Charles had. He knows it’s not the same… that Charles had his reasons. Max had all but begged Charles to bend him over and fuck him into the bed until he was begging for release, just like they used to, but he wouldn’t. Too concerned with hurting Max. Towards the end, it was always on his side, Max staring blankly at the wall as Charles fucked into him. It had been so lonely for the both of them. Both hurt so badly, yet neither could admit that to the other. Max has a lot of regrets about how things had gone, things he would’ve done differently. Now it’s too late. 

Max flinches when he feels a hand on his shoulder, and flushes when he realizes he’s been standing here watching his ex grind against some stranger for the past five minutes. He doesn’t think he could be more pathetic if he tried. 

“I swear I didn’t think he would be here, Pierre said he’s been busy finishing these plans at the firm,” Lando says apologetically, and Max can hear in his voice he’s telling the truth. He knows he wouldn’t have invited him out otherwise. 

“It’s fine,” he responds, voice clipped, finally tearing his eyes away from Charles. 

In all honesty, Max doesn’t know if it’s possible to move on from Charles. Not while living in Monaco at least. It’s impossible to live in Monaco and not miss Charles when Charles Leclerc is Monaco. Every corner Max turns he sees Charles. So many he’s considered selling his apartment and just moving back to the Netherlands. He fears the ghost of Charles will follow him there as well. 

But is it worth the turmoil he goes through remaining in Monaco? Almost daily he passes the restaurant where Charles had introduced Max to his family, the cafe where they had had their first date, the promenade where they had kissed for the first time. It’s almost suffocating. 

Max goes to the bar and throws back another gin and tonic, he’s way too sober for this. Just when he turns to leave, deciding the night is a wash, he feels someone slap an arm around his shoulder, gripping him tightly.

“Been a while stranger,” an all too familiar posh accent fills his ears and Max’s nerves immediately feel a bit at ease. George has always had that effect on Max. Able to talk him down whenever he’s spiraling. He’s missed him.

“I’ve been busy,” he smirks, pulling up the leg of his pants, flashing the metal of his prosthetic at the Brit.

“Wow, impressive piece of machinery, so you weren’t faking after all,” and Max can’t help the shocked laugh that escapes his lips, moving to kick George with his prosthetic, George easily dodging.

“Hey! Watch where you’re swinging that thing,” he laughs, taking a sip of whatever bougie cocktail he’s ordered. A Manhattan probably.

”Seriously though, we’ve missed you,” he continues earnestly, giving Max a look as if he’s asking if he’s alright. George knows he isn’t. 

“You saw me a couple months ago,” Max grumbles, avoiding his gaze. George has always been able to see through him a lot easier than the others. Almost as well as Charles, and it scares him to be vulnerable like that.

“Max. That was after you got home from the hospital, almost a year ago,” George says, raising his eyebrows as if to say ‘ really?’. 

“Eleven months ago if we’re really keeping count.”

“Max, come on. This isn’t like you, the self isolation, the brooding, I know things have been hard since Ch-“ he starts but Max immediately cuts him off.

“Don’t, he has nothing to do with this,” he snaps, and it’s a lie. And George knows it. 

 But he doesn’t like this. Doesn’t like being ambushed. And that’s what it feels like when his friends have got him out of his apartment, the only people in the world who truly know him, and he has the presence of Charles looming in the background. He hates it. Hates that. It’s like some failed half ass intervention. He lost his leg. He’s allowed to self isolate, he’s allowed to grieve the body he once had. He doesn’t need to be judged for handling things in his own way. 

“Fine, I’m sorry. But we miss you, Max. We’re worried about you. Surely you have to know that,” he says, wrapping a hand around Max’s bicep, slightly pivoting him so they’re looking at each other. Max only stares in response. 

“Just, promise you’ll come see us more. We gave you space but now you’re starting to worry us, please don’t make us start showing up doing wellness checks. Just, a check in every now and then would be nice.”

Max continues to stare at him for a bit before responding. 

“Fine. Can I go now, Dad?” He mocks, raising his eyebrows. 

“Max.” He says again, simply, and Max can’t help but roll his eyes, frustration bubbling in his throat.

“Fuck off, George,” he says exasperatedly before reeling himself back in, he cares, Max has to tell himself. 

“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he mumbles, brushing past George and leaving his drink behind.

He needs to piss.

He makes his way through the crowd of sweaty bodies, the music pouding so loud he can feel it in his chest. Finally he makes his way to the back of the club where the bathroom is, but an all too familiar face is guarding the door. 

When Daniel finally lays eyes on Max, he can’t ignore the way his eyes widen, worry flashing through them before he approaches him quickly. 

“Maxie! Long time no see, how’re ya goin’ mate?” Daniel boasts, throwing an arm around Max, pulling him against his chest. It doesn’t escape Max how he’s purposefully guiding Max away from the bathroom.

“Did you hit your head? I just saw you twelve hours ago at the office,” Max teases, trying to wriggle his way out of Daniel’s grasp, the Aussie’s iron grasp tightening. 

“Yeahhhh but I miss you, Maxie! It’s been too long since you’ve come out with us. Work is different, come on let’s go get a beer,” he whines, hand moving from Max’s waist to gripping his bicep, moving to tug Max towards the bar.

“In a second, I have to go take a piss,” he laughs, moving back towards the bathroom when he’s being tugged back by Daniel, an insistent look in his eyes. 

“Max, just come with me real quick,” Daniel says, urgency in his voice, which really starts to put Max on edge. Why doesn’t Daniel want him to go into the bathroom?

“Dan, let me go,” Max states, trying to pull away from Daniel before his grip loosens reluctantly. 

“Max–” Daniel tries again weakly, but Max isn’t listening, he’s already making his way back towards the bathroom, heart pounding and adrenaline coursing through his veins as he barrels through the bathroom door. 

He immediately wishes he hadn’t, that he’d listened to Daniel and gotten that beer with him. A punched out noise escapes his throat at the sight in front of him.

Charles is against the wall of the bathroom, staring down at the sandy-blonde headed man on his knees in front of him through hooded eyelids. His jeans are still fastened on his hips, but his shirt is pushed halfway up his chest and Max feels bile coming up his throat at the sound of this person kissing Charles’ skin. Max doesn’t want to even think about what he would’ve been walking into had he come in three minutes later, this is awful enough as it is. 

“I guess I’ll go use the lady’s room,” he utters halfheartedly, voice filled with venom. His blood roaring through his ears, he can’t even sound the muffled music pounding in the club.

Charles’ eyes immediately snap to his own, wide and panicked, emerald green eyes on his own for the first time in months. He thinks Charles says his name, he’s not sure. It feels like he’s walking through syrup as he turns around, Charles pushing the other man off of him and scrambling after Max.

Max is out the door without thinking twice, walking as fast as he can muster. He has to get out of here, he fumbles with the buttons of his dress shirt, the club feeling as if it’s twenty degrees hotter. He hears a familiar voice calling his name, but he can’t stop, he can’t even look at him. Tears sting the corner of his eyes, burning as they threaten to spill. He can’t let him see him cry. He has to leave.   

He bursts out of the club, the chill of the air hitting him in the face, he breathes in the clean air almost as if he’s gasping for breath. It’s then he realizes that Lando drove him here. Fuck. 

Seconds later Charles is bursting out behind him, he looks wild. Hair sticking in every which direction, skin flushed, even in a panic Charles is beautiful. Max hates him.

“Max—” he starts, but Max quickly cuts him off.

“ Don’t,” he warns, because the last thing Max wants to hear about tonight is Charles’ sexcapades. 

“No listen you don’t under—“ Charles tries again but Max explodes.

“Charles, stop! I don’t fucking care. You don’t have to explain yourself to me, what you’re doing. It doesn’t matter, we are not together. Do whatever or whoever you want,” he huffs, turning around again. He’s going home, he’s had enough. He’ll text Lando he’s not dead later, maybe. 

“Max that is not fair,” Charles says exasperatedly, walking after Max. 

“Oh that’s rich coming from you— and don’t follow me,” he snaps, turning to walk in the direction of the apartment. It’s fine, he’ll just walk. 

“Max please can we just talk about this?” 

“There’s nothing to talk about Charles, just go back inside.”

“Where are you going?”

“Home,” Max says simply. It used to be their home. But Charles left. He doesn’t get to do this, he doesn’t get to act like Max is the bad guy here. 

“Max that is three miles you cannot walk all the way home on your—” he starts to say and that sets Max off even further. 

“How would you know, Charles? How would you know what I can and can’t do? You haven’t been here. You left,” he shouts, stopping and turn around to look at the Monegasque. Charles had been walking so fast after him that he almost bumps into Max’s chest. 

He’s almost a foot away from him now, he hasn’t been this close to Charles since Charles came back to their apartment to collect most of his things. 

“I— I had to,” Charles stresses, and Max scoffs. 

“ Why?” Max challenges, taking a step closer to him. He’s so close he can almost feel the Monegasque’s breath on his face.

Charles is silent, snapping his jaw shut. Max waits, the silence hanging thick in the air. He searches Charles’ green eyes. The eyes of someone he knows better than anyone else in this world. His face mirrors the brokenness Max feels inside. 

After all these months he still can’t give Max a reason. He lets out a bitter chuckle, shaking his head as he feels a hot tear run down his face. 

“That’s what I thought,” he whispers, voice cracking as he turns back around, continuing his hike home. 

“ Max-“ Charles tries again, his voice cracking this time. It breaks Max’s heart, but Max’s heart has already been broken by Charles once, he can’t let him back in again. 

“Goodnight, Charles,” he responds, not looking back.

He hears silence before he hears footsteps receding on the pavement. He huffs, of course. He left. Just like he always does.

Max spends the rest of the walk home in silence and tries to forget about the pain in Charles' eyes, and tries to ignore how his heart yearns for him.

It will get easier, he will move on. He has to.

When Max is woken up the next morning at 7:30am by someone knocking on his door, he considers changing his phone number and moving, going off the grid completely. If anyone knows Max, they know that he appreciates sleeping in, especially on the weekends. So someone knocking on his door bright and early on a Saturday is less than appreciated. 

He begrudgingly grabs his scooter, rolling out of bed and steadying himself in an upright position. He doesn’t bother making himself presentable, opting to stay in his blue striped boxers, but he does throw on a plain white t-shirt. He’s sure he looks awful, bags under his eyes, stubble unruly on his face. He hasn’t shaved in a couple days so he’s sure he looks scruffy, he’s let his hair grow out a bit too so it’s longer than usual. 

He slowly wheels  over to his front door, spatial awareness not so great first thing in the morning so he ends up clipping the sides of a few side tables, but manages not to break anything so he considers that a win. When he finally makes it to the front door and opens it, he wishes he hadn’t. Wishes he’d at least gotten dressed first. It’s Charles. He’s wearing just some loose jeans and a hoodie, but even when Charles is in his most casual attire he still manages to look so well put together. Max feels stripped bare. It’s then he notices Charles is holding two coffees. 

“Good morning,” he says hesitantly, slowly holding a coffee out to Max, almost fearful, like Max is going to slap it out of his hand. 

Max stares for a moment, weighing his options before he slowly takes the coffee from Charles, eyeing him skeptically.

“Why’re you here?” Max says slowly, voice still gravelly with sleep.

“I was hoping we could talk,” Charles utters, avoiding Max’s gaze, Max can tell he is purposefully avoiding looking at Max’s leg on the scooter, out of politeness or shame, Max doesn’t know. 

“What do we have to talk about Charles?” Max presses, staring at him intently. He knows he’s not being fair. But he’s been going through all this alone, when Charles had promised they would be together. It was supposed to be them, forever. 

“Please just, I was hoping you would let me explain. I am sorry for last night I had not wanted you to s-“ and Max cuts him off. 

“There’s nothing to be sorry for. I haven’t seen or heard from you in months, I don’t know why you are here now, honestly. Because I saw you getting your dick sucked? Don’t worry about me, I’ll live. I’ve been through worse,” he huffs, moving to close the door when Charles sticks his arm out to stop him, pushing it back open with force, causing Max to stumble back, leaning on his scooter to regain his balance.

“Max please, can we just talk . Just give me thirty minutes, if you want nothing to do with me that is fine, I understand. Just give me a chance, ” he begs, and if Max didn’t know Charles so well, he wouldn’t have been able to see the glassiness in Charles’ eye, his normally bright complexion dull, eye bags puffy. He looks exhausted, like he hasn’t slept well in months. Just like Max

He eyes him for a moment before relenting. What is thirty minutes?

“Fine, just let me put pants on,” he mumbles, wheeling away from the door so Charles can make his way in the living room

”You don’t have to,” Charles rushes out, immediately realizing what he’s said and blushing when Max raises his eyebrows at him. 

“I just mean, if it will make you feel more comfortable than of course. But you do not have to hide, not from me,” and Max feels as if the air is being punched from his chest. He’s looking at him so earnestly. Max can only nod awkwardly before wheeling back to his room, shutting the door behind him and letting out a breath he hadn’t known he’d even been holding. A moment of reprieve. 

He’s doing a lot better than he has been. Seeing Charles now doesn’t hurt as much as it had before, it hurts but for different reasons. Now when he sees him, he doesn’t see Charles, looking at Max with horror in his eyes, blood dripping down his temple. Now he just sees the man who broke his heart. He has his therapist to thank for that he supposes. 

When he first started seeing her, she had made him recite the accident in detail during each session, something called ‘repetitive compulsion’. At first it was extremely difficult, his chest would feel like it was seizing up , his vision would start to become clouded with tears, the room would start to feel so small. It was like ripping a scab off a fresh wound every week, retraumatizing him over and over again. But eventually it became easier, describing it began to feel clinical, like he was reciting a script. 

It had been a warm spring night, the air had felt fresh and warm, yet there was still a slight breeze chilling Max, raising goosebumps on his arm. He and Charles had been leaving George and Alex’s housewarming party, after they’d gotten engaged they’d wanted to get a larger place. Alex was still in med school, but George had become quite successful at the real estate brokerage he’d ended up at. It was just like any other night. 

They’d had a couple glasses of wine, but not enough that they’d felt impaired. Just enough that Max had felt light and warm, a fuzzy feeling in his chest when he looked at Charles. Charles had been driving that night, driving with his left hand, right hand palm side up. Their fingers weren’t completely intertwined, Max had just been fiddling with Charles’ fingers, lightly picking them up and then dropping them. He remembers pinching the tip of Charles’ ring finger, looking at him.

“ Do you think we’ll get married ?” Max had asked, voice embarrassingly soft, he’d mentally cursed himself for sounding so vulnerable.

His heart had sunk when Charles had scoffed, looking at Max in disbelief.

“ Cheri, I am offended you even have to ask,” he’d started, and Max had looked away bashfully.

“ Now that I have you, I am never letting you go ,“ he’d intertwined their palms then, lifting Max’s hand up to his lips and pressing a soft kiss against the back of his hand. 

It had happened in almost slow motion then, him and Charles had gone through one of the tunnels and had some out, next thing he remembered was headlights directly in front of them heading right towards them. He later found out from the police it had been a drunk driver who’d swerved into the wrong lane. Most of the impact had hit the passenger side. Charles had broken his arm due to the impact and the force of the airbag deploying, but Max had gotten stuck in the car. His left leg had been crushed between the dash and the middle console, he and Charles had been knocked unconscious on impact.

He remembers coming to, not being able to feel anything thanks to the adrenaline, Charles had unbuckled his seatbelt and Max remembers his voice. He remembers being confused as to why Charles had sounded so panic, Max lulling his head to the side so he could get a proper look at him. He’d tried so hard to stay awake, he hadn’t wanted to worry Charles. He’d wanted so badly to tell him that he’s ok, but all that had come out was incoherent groans, Charles shushing him and telling him not to talk, that it was ok. 

He remembers waking up in the hospital, still loopy from the drugs and smiling when he saw Charles sitting in a chair by the bed, hospital gown on and cast on his arm. He remembers being confused why Charles wasn’t smiling when he woke up. He was okay? They both were okay? Why wasn’t he happy? He’d found out soon enough why. 

“Max?” He hears Charles call out to him, and it shakes him out of his thoughts. 

“ Shit,” Max mumbles to himself, so lost in thought he’d forgotten what he was doing. 

He quickly throws on one of his many pairs of white t-shirts and a pair of orange basketball shorts. Before he exits his room he thinks to himself that he doesn’t remember the last time he’s deliberately chosen to wear shorts in front of someone. Of course people have seen him wearing shorts. But this is the first time he’s chosen this, to let someone see him as he is. And he can’t deny that he feels a little bit of a weight being lifted off of his chest. 

 As Max opens the door he sees Charles sitting on the couch, he looks nervous. His hands are wrought together, right leg bouncing incessantly. At the sound of Max’s scooter rolling across the floor, Charles’ face snaps up to look at Max as he wheels over to the couch. 

The room is silent, tension so thick it could be cut with a knife as Max wheels over to the couch before steadying himself, moving to sit down. Max can tell Charles doesn’t quite know what to do, whether he should offer help or let Max do it all by himself. He saves him the trouble by sitting down quickly, turning to face Charles. 

“Well?” He says, raising his eyebrows at Charles expectantly. 

“Well what?” Charles asks, raising his eyebrows back at Max, having the nerve to look confused. Max can’t help but roll his eyes.

” Well, you wanted to talk, so talk,” Max gestures, wanting to get whatever this is over with. 

”R-Right I did… so uh—“ Charles looks nervous. The man who had seemed so self assured when he’d shown up at Max’s door now nervously stares down at his lap, twisting the ring on his middle finger furiously. 

“After things ended between us Max, I was not well—“ he eventually starts, but Max can’t stop himself from interrupting, too many months of pent up resentment keeping him from patiently listening.

“You were the one that ended things,” Max snaps before he immediately feels a bit guilty at the way Charles visibly flinches at the iciness of Max’s tone, face hardening, lips pursed together.

”This is why I wanted to come here and explain, if you would just let me finish, ” Charles urges, stopping with the fiddling of his Ring in order to wipe his hands against his pants, fisting the fabric.  

Max can only nod apologetically, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth. He suddenly feels filled with shame, maybe he’s being too hard on Charles. Yes it’s been months but, he came all this way now to try and explain. Maybe Max owes it to him to hear him out.

They sit in silence for a moment, Max staring at his lap in order to avoid looking at Charles. There’s seven years of history between the two of them. The two of them inexplicably tethered together, as much as they may regret it now. He can’t imagine his life without Charles in it, these months without him have almost been unbearable. Something Charles hadn’t seemed to understand about Max was that he’d rather be miserable with him than inconsolable without him.

When he finally gathers the courage to look over at Charles again he finds Charles staring at his left leg. Not in a rude way, not like he’s a character at some side show, not like everyone else does. Moreso like he’s deep in thought, his bright green eyes now a dark shade. 

He suddenly misses his prosthetic. Charles hasn’t seen Max’s stump since it had a red and angry scar across it, still healing. Now his scar is almost a pale white, a faded reminder of their shared trauma.

“How is it?” Charles says finally, nodding towards his leg. Max can’t help the bitter chuckle that escapes his lips. 

“It’s so great actually, I don’t know why the universe gave me two legs when I could’ve had one the whole time,” he teases, sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Charles laughs , and Max can’t ignore the fluttering feeling in his heart at the sound he hasn’t heard in months.

“I am serious Max, how are you doing,” he says seriously now, eyebrows furrowing in concern as his eyes stare so intently into Max’s own he feels unsettled.

He sighs. “It’s ok. A lot better than it was. I still… The phantom pains are awful of course but I don’t get them as often as I did. Physical therapy is going really well. I go in for just check ups now for the most part. I’m pretty much good as new,” he smiles sadly, the smile not quite reaching his eyes. 

“You were right though, the apartment is too small. I hate to admit I have broken a few lamps and vases with my scooter,” he jokes, he fails to mention the bruises he’s gotten on his sides and hips from hip checking furniture and a few too many falls. 

“You never did like to listen to me,” Charles responds before pausing. “But I did not exactly make it easy for you either.”

Charles looks around the room, the room that had once been their living room, before continuing.

“I cannot tell you how sorry I am mon cœur, for everything. I really fucked everything up,” he chuckles bitterly, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth.

“After it happened… I could not… I cannot stop thinking about why it was you. Why did it not happen to me? I was the one driving the car, it was my fault—” 

Max goes to interject but Charles holds his hand up. 

“ Please, just let me get through this,” Charles chokes out, voice breaking.

“If I had just been faster, I could have swerved, I could have seen the car coming. I could have done more. Waking up in that hospital… you coming out of surgery and finding out what happened. Max…” Charles has to stop for a moment, bottom lip trembling as he looks away, Max can tell he is trying to keep it together.

“You were so pale. In the car, there had been so much blood, and I couldn’t get you to stay awake I— I thought I had lost you. And then I found out they had had to amputate and I. I wished then that it had been me. I did not want to have to face Sophie and Victoria knowing what I had did, I know it is selfish. It happened to you, not me but it was all I could think about. How do I face them… knowing how much I took from you?” Tears begin to slip down his face, cheeks flushed. Even now he looks beautiful. 

It takes everything in Max not to reach out and cup his face in his hand, tell him that it’s okay, that he’s okay. But he’s not. He doesn’t know if he ever will be.

“I told myself then that I would do everything in my power to make up for it. That I would fix this, fix us. But then you got out of the hospital. And I could not do anything right. I did all the research, read all the articles I could. But I could not even drive you to your doctor’s appointments. I was a coward. And it just seemed like I made everything worse. All I did was make you feel bad, I made you feel like you were not desirable, like I was not attracted to you and that just… it’s not true Max,” he wipes his eyes, breath shaky. Max tentatively reaches his arm out, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

Charles’ words shock him to his core. He’d had no clue Charles had even picked up on those feelings, but then again Charles knows him better than anyone. 

“I love you Max, more than anyone. You are the most beautiful, desirable, sexy person I have ever met. And I am so sorry for ever making you feel alone, making you feel like I did not feel that way. I just thought, I was so scared of making it worse, of hurting you even more than I already had. But it turns out I just did that anyway. I got scared, I was selfish, and I ran. I was a coward,” he shrugs, sniffling before laughing bitterly. 

“I know none of this makes up for what I did, and I do not deserve your forgiveness. But I owe you an explanation. Especially…. After last night, I am so sorry Max,” and Max has to hold his breath when Charles finally looks him in the eyes. 

“Charles… you never had to apologize. It was an accident. It was a horrible accident, it shouldn’t have happened to me or to you. You were hurt too. It was never your job to protect me, sure I appreciate the sentiment. But you were my boyfriend, I didn’t need you to fix everything. I just needed you. We were supposed to go through this together. But you left me, Charles . I needed you, and you left,” the emotions take Max over before he can stop them, a tear slipping from his eyes. Charles immediately shoots his hand out, cupping Max’s face in his hands. 

“I am so so sorry cheri, I will spend the rest of my life making up for what I have done. I miss you, I have not been able to think about anything else. I know… I know I do not deserve it, but I was hoping if anything you will let me back into your life. That we can be friends,” and the weak smile Charles offers has a fresh wave of tears rolling down his face, a choked sob escaping his lips. 

“I can’t be your friend Charles,” Max says weakly, offering him a lopsided smile.

It has the wrong effect, Charles pursing his lips together and nodding, staring down at his lap. God he’s dense. 

“I understand,” Charles says quietly, moving to stand up and stopping when he feels Max’s hand on his, pulling him back down. 

“I mean, I can’t be friends with you because… because I love you, schatje. I don’t know how to be just friends with you,” he whispers softly, and a soft gasp escapes Charles’ lips. 

“ Max,” he whimpers weakly, before leaning in and pressing his lips gently against Max’s. 

Max can’t help the soft cries that escape his lips. It feels like home, it feels like safety, kissing Charles feels like the first time Max has come up for air in months.  It’s not long before Max is cupping Charles’ face in his hands, tilting his head to deepen the kiss.

He tentatively swipes his tongue across Charles’ top lip, politely asking for entrance as he tastes the salt of Charles’ tears mixed with his own. As their tongues make contact Max groans, mapping the familiarity of Charles’ soft palette with his tongue. His hands entangle in Charles’ hair, pulling lightly to which Charles whimpers. It’s desperate, both of them ravenous for what they’ve been missing for so long.

When Charles lightly begins to push Max, urging him to lie down, Max follows. He lets Charles lay him back on the couch as he climbs on top of him, straddling his lap. They’re breathing heavily, and Max practically sobs when he feels Charles’ lips against his neck, nipping and sucking gently at the sensitive skin. It would be entirely overwhelming if it weren’t for Charles’ hands on Max’s sides, stroking them comfortingly. 

He feels that familiar warmth of arousal pooling in his stomach, cock twitching in his shorts. He’s sure his face is flushed with embarrassment. It’s just been so long, and Charles being here , with Max… it’s almost too much. 

“ Charles…” a whimper escapes Max’s lips as he involuntarily ruts his hips up on instinct, crying out when he feels Charles hard in his sweats. He’s almost filled with relief that he’s not alone in this, that Charles feels this too. 

Charles must notice Max’s arousal as well, moving to nibble on the skin right behind Max’s ear, Max mewling. It’s not like this is a random hookup, Charles knows Max’s body better than anyone . He knows what Max likes, what drives him crazy. He knows how to take Max apart and put him back together. 

He should stop this, he thinks to himself, suddenly hyper aware of the situation. Charles hasn’t touched him like this in so long, what if he changes his mind? What if he decides he’s disgusted with Max, that he can’t be with him, not when he’s like this. 

His worries are tossed aside when Charles grounds his hips down, Max’s hands immediately going to grip his shoulders tightly, burying his head in his neck. 

“You have no idea what you do to me, Maxie,” he practically growls in Max’s ear, pressing a kiss to Max’s temple. 

Charles pushes Max’s shirt up his chest, he tears his lips off his neck to look Max in the eyes, the first time he’s gotten a proper look at him since they started this. He’s beautiful, Max thinks to himself. His cheeks are flushed, eyes practically black with arousal. He can’t help himself from reaching out, running his thumb along his bottom lip. Something lights in Charles’ eyes then, taking Max’s thumb into his mouth and biting on it lightly.

Max giggles, retracting his thumb from his mouth. The smile on Charles’ face makes it worth it, dimples in full view. His lips pursed together as he leans in, affectionately pressing his lips to Max’s again. 

They kiss for a minute before Charles pulls away.

“Let me take care of you,” he whispers and Max’s eyebrows begin to furrow in confusion as Charles begins to kiss the pale skin on his chest. 

Max mewls, back arching when Charles takes his nipple into his mouth. He assaults them with his tongue, swirling it around his areolas before taking it between his teeth and tugging on them lightly. His nipples have always been more sensitive, in the past Charles would spend half an hour taking him apart just by playing with him. Usually in the past it would take just a couple of strokes to make him fall apart after he was done assaulting them. 

Whichever one Charles had in his mouth, his hand was on the other, tweaking it between his fingers. Max feels like a mess, burying his face against one of the throw pillows, hand over his mouth as he ruts against Charles’ side. 

“Please— Charles I need,” he begs, tears welling up in his eyes. He doesn’t know what he needs. It’s all so overwhelming as Charles disconnects himself from his chest, kissing down his newly defined abs. Max has never been overly insecure about his body, but with all the physical therapy he’s been doing after losing his leg, his core has certainly gotten stronger. The results haven’t been unwelcome. 

“ Shhhh chéri, I have you,” Charles soothes, rubbing Max’s hip lovingly as he kisses the mole right under his belly button.

Max can’t help the anxiety that starts to well up in his chest as Charles starts to take his shorts off. It’s nothing Charles hasn’t seen before, but he hasn’t… he hasn’t exposed himself to anyone like that in months, and even towards the end of he and Charles’ relationship Max had insisted the lights be turned off. 

“Charles—“ he says panicked, a hand moving to cover the one curled around the waistband of his shorts. 

He stops immediately, looking up at Max with worried eyes, and Max doesn’t know what to say. How does he even begin to communicate this? 

“What is it mon ange?” Charles encourages, and he looks so concerned Max almost has tears welling up in his eyes. It feels so different than how it was towards the end. Charles has a certain light back in his eyes, a certain color back in his face. Max feels safer too, more secure in who he is. He lets out a shaky breath.

“I’m just— I am just nervous, I guess,” he stutters out, avoiding Charles’ embarrassment. 

“I have not… done this since, us…” he chokes out, and when he feels Charles’ palm rested against his cheek it forces him to look back at him. 

It’s his Charles. The love of his life who stares back at him. Eyes filled with adoration. 

“I will stop, if you want me to. We go at your pace, whatever you want,” he says softly, placing an open mouthed kiss over Max’s clothed cock, other hand trailing down his left leg. Max tenses at first when Charles hand first traces over his stump, he’s not had anyone touch him there other than him or his doctors. 

He strokes his hand over the scarred skin feather light, in an affectionate way. Almost as if to say, “ I see you, all of you,” and if Max could burst into tears then he would.

“Just, get on with it,” Max urges, left leg twitching.

Charles only looks up with him with a smirk on his face before he hooks his fingers in the waistband of his shorts, pulling them down with his underwear. His hard cock slaps against his stomach, precum already leaking from his tip. Max feels his face on fire with embarrassment.

“ Si beau, mon ange,” Charles whispers, wrapping a fist around Max’s neglected cock, his hips buck at the contact, a whimper escaping his lips when Charles presses a kiss to the tip.

Max can’t help but watch when Charles finally takes him into his mouth, just the head at first. It’s been so long, Max knows he’s not going to last long. The warm heat of Charles’ mouth is overwhelming, Max reach out to intertwine their fingers, the other hand fisting the fabric of the couch.

“ Schatje,” he whines, the pet name escaping his lips as Charles takes him deeper, fist stroking whatever he isn’t covering with his mouth. His toes curl at the divine feeling, eyes squeezing shut as soft pants escape his lips.

Max almost cums the moment Charles takes his fist away and suddenly takes Max’s entire length into his mouth. The sight of Charles with his entire cock down his throat, nose nuzzling the sparse blonde hairs growing from Max’s pelvic bone. It’s sinful, entirely debauched. He would’ve been embarrassed about his lack of grooming except, well it’s not exactly like he plan for his ex to go down on him at eight in the morning. 

He starts to bob his head up and down, taking his entire length into his mouth each time. The sensation is almost too much, and when Charles swallows around him, feeling the muscles in his throat constrict around his length he sees stars. 

“Charlie, I’m so close,” he whines, reaching a hand up to entangle in Charles’ hair. It’s so much. 

Charles’ pulls off, gasping for breath, lips swollen. The sight of a string of saliva mixed with precum connecting his lips to his cock almost sent him over the edge. He wants to take his finger and spread it all over his lips. 

“Let go for me, you have been so good for me mon ange, so pretty,” he whispers, wrapping a hand around his cock again. 

The pressure is delicious, and when Charles takes his cock into his mouth again, Max can’t help it when he cums down Charles’ throat, back arching off the couch. His favorite throw pillow swallows his moans, god his neighbors must hate him. It’s a mind blowing orgasm, and he whines when he can feel his cock start to soften in Charles’ mouth.

He feels light, happy, entirely content. A shiver runs through him when Charles finally pulls off with a ‘pop’ sound, the cold air hitting the lower half of his body. 

When he finally comes too he looks down to see Charles resting his cheek against Max’s hips, he looks angelic. His perfect pink lips swollen, eyelashes stuck together with tears. Max is so in love. He never stopped loving him. 

“Come get breakfast with me,” he says softly, stroking the other side of Max’s hip with his thumb. 

“After that?” Max chokes out a laugh, Charles’ voice sounds absolutely wrecked, and Max is ready to call it a day after that. 

“Shut up… I want to show you something,” he flushes, pinching Max’s hip lightly. 

It takes Max a few moments to get the motivation to stand back up, he squeals when Charles sweeps him off his feet, carrying him bridal style to his room before setting him back down on the bed. 

Any other day Max would have protested, saying he was too heavy and that he could do it himself. But he’s so happy. He’s still a bit hesitant to let Charles back in… but he feels good about it right now. 

After putting his leg on and getting dressed they make their way out of his apartment building.

“Are we Ubering or taking the bus?” Max asks, looking at Charles inquisitively.

He remembers after the accident how difficult it had been for Charles to even sit in a car behind the wheel. Charles had refused to drive anywhere after it had happened. He would either walk, Uber, or take the bus to work, doctor’s appointments, anywhere around really. 

Max hadn’t minded, he’d understood how scary it must be to get behind the wheel again after what they’d been through. Plus, Charles’ car had been destroyed in the wreckage. He had been expecting an insurance payout, Charles had planned to use the money to get a new car.  The driver had been a stupid college kid who had been two times over the legal limit. Originally Charles had wanted to start a civil suit against the driver to collect damages, but Max had refused.

He didn’t want revenge, revenge wasn’t going to bring Max his leg back, money wasn’t going to bring his leg back. There was no point. A college kid who wasn’t from a wealthy family, they were just supposed to bleed him dry? A trial would force Max to relive his trauma for another year, where he would be ridiculed and judged by lawyers and strangers, that was the last thing he wanted. Max just wanted to move on. Forget this had ever happened. 

“Neither,” Charles smiles, intertwining their fingers as they start walking. Max can only follow, sending Charles some confused stares before Charles pulls a key fob out of his pocket, and that’s when Max sees it. 

“You’re driving?” He asks quietly, his eyes awestruck as he looks at him.

Charles gives him a small smile, nodding. 

“A few months ago, I finally got the money from the insurance company a couple of weeks ago, went to the dealership the next day,” he sounds proud. It’s a beautiful car, a red Alfa Romeo. 

 “What made you want to start driving again?” He pries, part of him trying to make conversation, the other part wanting to know if Charles is just as broken as he is. 

“Therapy, lots and lots of therapy,” he breathes, walking around to the passenger side to open Max’s door for him. Max smiles at the chivalry and gets inside. 

“You went?” Max breathes out. Charles had completely rejected the idea of therapy before. While he had urged Max to go once he’d gotten out of the hospital, arranged for Max to see  one of the best trauma therapists in Monaco, when Max had insisted Charles go as well he had simply refused. 

“I am fine, mon couer. I am just focused on you. I just want you to get well,” he’d said, cupping Max’s face in his hand, stroking his cheek with his thumb. Max had missed his boyfriend so much, Charles had been so focused on making sure that Max had been okay, he’d completely turned his back on himself. He’d become a shell of the person he once was.

“I did… I told you after things ended, I was a mess. I thought… I thought ending things would be best for us. I thought I was only dragging you down and I– I realized after how selfish I had been. You were working so hard. You were going to therapy, physical therapy, I did so much research on how to make you better only to realize I had to work on myself too. I went to therapy, I did all this work just to realize that what if you did not want me back? I would not have blamed you, I left when you needed me most, I was a coward,” Charles practically spits, eyes on the road as he starts the car and starts driving. 

“ Charles… yes it hurt that you left. I can’t lie of course and say that things are one hundred percent fine and that everything is going to go back to normal because that would be a lie. But you’re here now, and… if you want to, I want to try again. But this time, let’s work on us, together,” Max offers him a small smile, reaching a hand out to intertwine his fingers with Charles’ free hand. 

“I would like that,” Charles smiles, bringing his hand up to kiss the back of Max’s.

“ But, if you go all chicken shit on me and leave again we are done this time. I can’t go through this again, not with you,” he says half seriously, and he means it. If Charles were to walk out on him again, Max thinks he would actually die. 

As Charles pulls into a parking spot, a knowing smile crosses his face as Max sees where they are. A cafe they had used to spend all of their morning in uni, last minute cramming, catching up before classes. One of the many places across the principality where Max had fallen in love with Charles.

Charles turns to him, leaning across the middle console and cupping Max’s face in his hand, kissing him tenderly before pulling away and resting their foreheads together.

“ Now that I have you, I am never letting you go,” he says, in the same lovestruck tone he had almost a year ago.

And just as he did back then, Max believes him.