Work Text:
There is a certain comfort in being unknown.
To be seen as what you present yourself to be, not with stories that follow you like mice behind the pied pauper down the river- a human being with a life to make his own.
Charles learnt its importance the minute it disappeared from him at the ripe age of fifteen.
He shouldnt be mad, there is no reason for him to be mad about it- not with the way the world greets him with open arms and bright smiles, not with the way the hallowed halls of the University he called his home threw his name up like that of the gods and carved his name in the marble of their doors.
There is a dull beat playing through his headphones, fingers tapping against the sheet music strewn over the desk he leaned over. There is no one else in the music rooms, the chambers echoing with the slightest breath he takes as he leans back against the old wood.
The clock on the wall strikes six and immediately theres a rumble in Charles's stomach, yet he ignores it- limbs stretching as he reaches towards the piano- white keys gleaming as slender hands stretch themselves across octaves.
Its a simple piece hes playing, years of practise in dimly lit practise rooms showcasing their talent as Mozart's Continuum unravels one note at a time from weary bones, but its engrossing- eyes almost half shut as his feet work on the pedal so still that he doesn't hear the door click open until the person has already made his way straight towards the viewing seats- settling down against cushioned seats.
It takes another five minutes before the Monegasque looks up, tilting his head towards the half open door before throwing a glance at the seats. It's as if its been practised -the clock strikes 6:25, the door clicks open and seat number 16 in the first row is taken by a blue eyed Dutchman who raises his hands to clap as Charles grins slightly.
"You're late" His mouth is dry as he utters the words, already gathering his music up and making his way down the stage and towards the boy who waits for him.
"Five minutes Charlie- give or take, Vettel took longer than I expected" Max has his arms crossed, a slight smile flitting across the sharp features of his face, blue eyes shining as they look at Charles in a way that makes his heart shake slightly.
"Shakespeare?"
The walk towards the fields is small, the wind blowing into his curls and ruffling the blondes hair and shifts the bookmark of the book he holds in his hand. Stone corridors ache with the weight of the legacy the school carries and presses itself against Charles's own skin. It is impossible to get in, and now that he is it is impossible to disappoint.
"September comes in golden days and silver nights," Max's voice is rough and his eyes trail to look over at the boy who walks beside him, eyeing the way the silver moonlight falls over his skin and biting down his lips as he sees the familiar way realisation dawns onto his face.
"Lord of the rings? Isn't that too modern for him?" Charles laughs slightly, and already he can see the people they are heading towards- sitting next to an old tree with legs sprawled and heads a million miles away.
"It is literature in the end no?"
"There they are- Charles! Max!" their conversation cuts itself short as Charles finds himself tackled over by an overexcited flash of dyed blonde hair. "We were waiting for you,"
"How was practise?"
Its an odd bunch that makes its way out of the campus, there in the corner Charles can see Lando and Oscar huddled together, heads bent low and feet shuffling as they walk and for some reason theres a sudden pride blooming in his chest. The two of them had been an odd couple and yet so easy to yearn for if you saw them together.
Then on the other side are George and Alex, dancing around each other like ballerina's yet calling for the other ever still.
And then there is Max. Max, who's hands are in his pockets and whose steps match his own, and someone who Charles had never thought would be this close to him ever.
For they had history, spanning far more than the time they had seen each other in orientation two years ago.
No, Max Verstappen was a boy Charles had despised- from the days he had taken part in karting and pushed him into a puddle, from the day he had quit and hidden himself away in his motorhome as he looked down at his hands in horror while the commentator announced the Dutchman winning the championship- all in all, that was until the day they had been announced roommates and suddenly that was it.
"I was trying out a new piece," Charles replied, kicking his leg at a stone on the pavement. "Mozart- for the recital"
"I missed it" was the reply and the brunnete nodded. it was a pattern for them, Charles would practise and Max would listen- Max would talk and Charles would listen. Was it not what friends were for?
"Next time" Charles looked up, breathing out slightly. "It is rough for now- I suppose another few days for the dynamics to get involved and then we shall see"
Max hums in reply and then there is silence. The day was long and Charles could see it from the way the Dutchman's eyes threatened to shut themselves all the way up towards the dorms and till they reached for the light switch and flung himself onto the sofa.
"God I'm tired" he groaned and Charles chuckled, shifting his way towards the kitchen and grabbing onto two cups. He can already hear the TV being switched on, the noise of the show starting playing in the background before a pitiful groan echoes from the sofa yet again.
"Really- Helmut wanted my head today"
"Not a corpse and yet you rot," Charles throws himself onto the couch next to him, pushing the cup under the tired boys nose and snorting as he sees the sparkling blue turn brighter in joy. "Look at yourself Max, you look like you haven't slept in a week"
"Thats because I haven't" and just for a second, their fingertips brush as the coffee passes gently. "Thank you"
But thats not enough because suddenly Charles takes the cup right back out, ignoring the protest that follows and rolling his eyes gently. "Go sleep Verstappen"
"Charles-"
"Sleep"
And ofcourse he does.
⌳ ⌳ ⌳
"If you think about it, we need salt and water to survive right? and that is somehow both present in our tears?"
The trees bark is hard against Charles back, and Max's hand around his ankle a habit that if it was not there he would question it, and so he tilts his head- flitting over the pages of Shakespeare that grace Max's book and towards Lando whos head lies in his boyfriends lap.
For some reason it concerns Charles how much Lando looks like someone else to him, same cut blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and an accent which threatens to swallow him whole and he wonders how no one sees it too.
Because it is as if it is Max and yet it is not. And Charles is no stranger to feelings, no and it is nothing new that he knows what he likes- but this? This was not something he expected, no.
"I find it rather poetic actually," George muses- looking up from his book. "Tragedy is the catalyst for the rise of something beautiful"
"Ofcourse its the psychology major who would find this beautiful" Carlos snorts.
"I think its rather sad-" Oscar cuts in, accent prominent as he talks. "part of life whether or not you accept it, the tears will fall eventually- its like talking about fate"
"Fata viam invenient" Fate will find a way, Charles breezes slightly- sliding down onto the grass, shoulders grazing against Max's as he tilts his head.
"How macabre," a shuffle to his right, a hoarse voice.
"Are you not the one who reads tragedies every other day?" Lando grins pointedly, and he sees the way Max grins.
"That I can't argue"
And then the conversation shifts and Charles finds himself disappearing into his own thoughts. It's not that much of a problem as that it is a habit, one which plagues him slightly in the depths of the night and early mornings as he makes his way towards his classes.
It is a side effect of his powers- thats what his mother tells him at least and he tries to believe it, for there is something about knowing that is threatening in itself when some people would consider it a blessing.
For Charles always knew. Knew what would happen that day when he had found his friend lying in the bathroom surrounded with red, knew what would happen the day his mother looked at him with mournful eyes and locked his gaze towards the empty chair next to her, knew what it was before it happened the day he bumped into Lando and Oscar and tried to hide his smile when they told him the news.
But for some reason he never knew what it was about the boy who continued to gaze down at his highlighted work and wondered why was it that he never knew what would happen to him.
"That reminds me- are you coming over tonight Charles?" Alex cuts in and and Charles nods, ignoring the 'how does that remind you of inviting him over?' of Lando's.
"Ah- I will have to see Alex, I think I will have to practise a little more tonight"
"For what?" George quips in
It is just as Charles opens his mouth that he is cut off. "He has a recital-"
From the corner of his eyes he can see Lando pass a cornering look towards the two of them before shaking his head. He knows Max sees it to.
"Exactly"
⌳ ⌳ ⌳
"Charles" there is an incessant noise at the back of his head, and yet the notes he plays beg him to block it out and practise. The keys- always supposed to be pristine white now look like they have been drenched in red, the octaves stretching against his wrists unwillingly and the notes turning to swimming quavers in front of eyes. "Charles"
"Just- one- second" the words are pushing their way out of his throat, eyes not daring to leave the sheets in front of him for this had to come out right. It had been too long, it had taken too long and it was still not right. It had to be right- it had to be right it could not be anything else otherwise.
Hes making his way towards the finale now, theres a last page turn left and then the last two pages, there go the ascending quavers, switch his left over the right and then- BANG. Dissonant chords echo into his ears and suddenly hes flinching, theres another pair of hands on the keys now- rough fingers and a familiar scent overcoming the musty smell of the practise room.
"Charles-" and the voice is not in the back of his head now, no- its right in front of him, staring at him with soft eyes and hard set mouth. "-Come on, it's late-"
They don't talk about it. They never talk about it, but on the way Max grabs an icepack and places it onto Charles's wrists before settling down into a comfortable pace towards the nearest ice-cream parlour.
For in the end of it all they are both students, high off expectations and riding on the thought of being worthy. It's not the first time it has happened, this way or the other way where Charles walks into rooms to see Max overturned on his desk while the ink continues to run from his pen and bleeds onto the paper.
Because when its times like these that Charles finds himself clutching onto the dreams that dictate the lives of people around him- what was their life?
Of the man walking down the street right now? He would stumble onto a lottery ticket in a drunken night out and would win a thousand euros- not much but his elation rises.
Of his mothers neighbour who made cookies? Theres a bakery hiring, is it going to be Michelin starred one day? People are talking and one day they will come.
But what of him? No, there is nothing- blank, empty and wasn't that terrifying? For suddenly his dreams feel like they're rotting beneath his fingernails, and there is the feeling of everything and nothing at the same time because what is he? A vortex deeming itself enough to swallow everything around it just to feel empty still?
the cool air turns his breath to frost and the leaves wilt around themselves to gather some warmth and yet the only thing that he can focus on in the glow of the dying sunlight is the face of the boy who is making his way back with two cups in his hands and a tired smile on his face.
The thump of his heart ignores itself the way he always does and bites his lip slightly before taking the first bite. But he waits, waits for Max to turn to look at him and sour his expression- glare belatedly and begin the speech he's heard from childhood yet never implemented.
Instead hes greeted with a lean against the railing and the conversation begins. "Qualifying is in an hour- I heard Ferrari were good in practise"
In other circumstances Charles would have perked up, put his hands on his hips and smirked at the Red bull boy and begun talking about the conquest of the weekend- but this time, this time he just laughed. It's an olive branch, one offered gently and taken with just as much reverence.
"If they win this weekend then what will you give me?"
"A pat on your back and then tell you to go back to sleep" Max snorts in return, watching as Charles dips his spoon into Max's cup.
"A man can dream maxie" He pouts slightly, the banter falling easily as they enter into their room once again.
"Exactly- I doubt its ever going to be anything else"
Its enough to make Charles huff and flounce off towards the couch, switch on the TV and wait till the Dutchman made his way next to him and settled down as the cars zoomed past on the screen, hands brushing ever so gently and tenderly.
The concentration that covers max's face as he gazes at the statistics on the screen makes Charles wonder why he had never continued down that path, but there were some questions which were better left unanswered so he had never pushed. But he had wondered, closing his eyes tightly and trying to look at the future of Max Verstappen but there was nothing- a flash of interlocking hands, blue and red, then blank.
That night Charles felt the linen of his sheets threaten to swallow him whole, the pillow far too hot and the air-conditioner far too cold. The clock showed 1:34 and he padded out towards the kitchen, the least he could do was grab and tea and put on a show for the time to pass but then a frown encased his face as he saw the light that shone from the open door of his roommates bedroom.
"Max?" a whisper, thrown to the wind and not answered. Charles opened the door, blinking at the vivid light that encased the worktable before narrowing down on the hunched figure who laid on the bench.
And he knows he shouldn't pry, but in the end the curiosity kills the cat but at least they have nine lives right? so he passes a glance at the textbooks, at the puffs of eased breathing that escape the exhausted blonde before Charles grabs a blanket to throw over his shoulders.
Turner- homework - submit tomorrow, do once home.
Vettel - analogy- tomorrow, home- IMP
And thats when it strikes Charles, slowly- this was supposed to be done when Max reached home. He was never supposed to watch the races, but he had. Was this procrastination? But he never did that, Charles knew he would never do that.
A chair scrapes slightly and thats enough to make him make his way out of the room in an instant. The frown encasing his face delicate and the tea scalding hot as he dunks it down the sink after one sip and sleep coming in the last ten minutes of his alarm ringing in the familiar face of a blonde haired blue eyed boy who smiled and glanced at him in a way that made something which Charles had known become far more prominent that he thought it would be.
⌳ ⌳ ⌳
"Mate- I could have sworn you hated that thing"
They are in a class, Lando sits next to him with his legs stretched below the desk and hands tapping away on the table. Slowly, Charles passes a look to whatever it is that the younger is worried about and almost snorts in shock.
For there, sitting in his hands- was a Red bull can. What on-?
"I didn't-" he's frowning, turning the can around in his fingers as if its an alien thing. This is not his, this is Max's thing- downing these like they're life support and the rancid taste making sure Charles never went ten feet close to one. but here he was- sitting with one half empty, and not having noticed it for one thing. "I must have been sleepier than I thought to take this instead of my coffee"
And its as if at that moment his phone buzzes and there is a message from Max. Its a photo of his coffee cup and a amused look on the Dutchman's face.
- Glad to know you are embracing new thing -
There is a smile growing on his face now, tongue pushing against his cheek as he hold up the can and frowns playfully at the camera.
- It is just as bad as i remembered -
The reply is instant.
- You don't have to lie Charlie -
- avoire elle est avoir les etoiles-
(to have her is to have the stars)
Its a quick translation and its enough to make Charles's eyebrows to quirk.
- and to think that this is about a sugar shot -
- since when did you learn to speak French? -
- to define it is to limit and it is much more than a sugar shot -
- two years I think -
- and I did not kno|-
"Charles! Glad to know you are paying attention-" the brunnetes head snaps upwards, phone shoving itself down the pockets of his hoodie as he meets the pointed gaze of professor Hamilton.
"Sorry- its just-" he stumbles slightly, cheeks dusting pink and ignoring the jab at his ribs by lando.
"I hope there won't be a next time"
"Ofcourse not"
"Good"
___
"Oh my god mate what was that-" Lando snickers as they walk together, Charles 's mood souring a little as the little tree with its rogue group appears and its a force of habit for him to look for the mop of blonde usually situated nearest to the roots of the tree and for once hes shocked to find it not there.
"Hamilton scolding you was not on my bucket list for the year" Carlos snickers slightly, throwing his head backwards as he runs a hand through his hair.
"How do you already know about that?"
"The group chat" George taps his phone, "I think everyone does mate"
"Lando I will kill you-"
"Hey- what did I do- Oscar! I'm getting bullied here-"
The sleeping Aussie startles himself awake at the sudden squeak that emanates from Lando's mouth as Charles lunges towards him, floppy brown hair jumping up with him before he narrows down on the bombardment of messages on his phone and sighs. "I think you're alone in this one Lan,"
"Wha- Ah!"
⌳ ⌳ ⌳
"There is a party tonight- down at Jimmy's"
The library is silent except for the scribble of a pen nib against parchment and the smell of dusty books and Max's perfume lingering in Charles's nose. So when the essay on the fascination humanity had with tragedies is interrupted with the groan of a chair scraping marble floors and a soft voice he looks up and almost stutters.
He had come together with Max, at the crack of dawn with excuses of not finishing his work all just to get the blonde out of his room and maybe- next to him, but that is not something he wants to linger on- and he has seen him.
But its when the golden light shines itself onto his face, accenting the curve of his lips and the line of his jaw and illuminates itself with a rosy glow to his cheek that he almost gasps. There is a dull thud in his chest and the wobble of his fingers but he ignores them, letting his eyes stray far longer than they should before gulping slowly.
"There is?"
The Dutchman hums, tilting his head towards the stained window and Charles watches the light hit his neck even brighter .It isn't fair- he thinks, that suddenly he is starting to look like a god.
"Danny finally passed engineering, hes throwing it to celebrate-"
"Well congratulate him for me yes?" He doesn't know what to say, except bite down the bitter feeling rising in his throat. He didn't get an invitation.
He waits for a reply, pulling down on the strings of his hoodie and squinting as a stray strand of his hair falls into his eyes but he doesn't have the energy to lift his hands when suddenly fingers brush against his forehead and it takes everything in him not to flinch.
The sparkling sky seems to have captured itself as Charles's eyes meet bright blue, his hand is still raised- the ghost of the touch lingering on his skin but Max is already taking his hand back.
"It looked like it was bothering you" simple reply and yet the Monegasque reaches for the same strand, turning it around in his fingers before pushing it back just the way the other had done it- heat creeping up his neck and tingling.
"Thank-thanks," god- hes stuttering.
The Mont-blanc pen taps against wood as Charles consciously tries to mug up the words strewn in front of him.
"So- about the party, I think you should come with me"
Another pause. A gaze held for far too long to hastily look away as a brunnete looks up in shock.
"what do you mean?"
And Charles watches as Max frowns, tilting his head slightly. "For Daniel's party- from business class- you know-"
"No- I know who he is Max-" Charles waves off the explain indifferently, theres a buzz in his ears now. "It's just- why would I come with you?"
It takes him a moment to realise just how harsh those words come out as he sees the blonde immediately retract his body, shoulders tensing and eyes furrowing.
"No- not like that- I didn't mean it like that,-" hes rushing the words out now, "I mean't- you offered for me to come with you?"
And that seems to be enough conviction for the other to drop the rigid rise of his back against the cushioned chairs, placing his hand back onto the table and shrugging his shoulders. "It would be fun no? We-you could use a break"
It is the truth- Charles could use a break, but his breaks usually did not include getting drunk in a dingy club and wake up the next day with a headache threatening to burst his brain- no, they were more of sitting in bed with a show going on and food in his arms.
But now- there is a thrum in his veins and heady in his head as he purses his lips, considers it. When was the last time he went out as such? God- he can't remember, that can't do. "Yes- it will be fun"
Max smiles, "It will be fun"
⌳ ⌳ ⌳
The next morning Charles meets Max at the theatre. The lights have been dimmed and the stage set with a balcony and vines that creep around the painted marble, on it sits a girl that he recognises from his economics class but his attention isn't on her , not with the pale dress that she wears as she sighs against the railings.
No, it is at the boy who meets her below it. Hes wearing a suit, fitting in navy blue and embroidered with gold frills that he had complained about the night before, blue eyes catching the stage lights as they artfully aim themselves to see the pain that lies in them as Romeo calls for his Juliet.
"Romeo- O Romeo, where arth thou Romeo?"
There is a response, one uttered with a mournful drawl of harsh dutch simpered down into a more english accent and Charles finds it fascinating how Max can just change everything about himself to fit into a role.
For there he is now, down on his knee as he gazes lovingly at the fair maiden with a tongue as smooth as honey and words as neat as wine- and it looks like him, it seems like that is what he is, raw and heady and yet it is not.
Acting is an art, it is like a dance of you're body and soul melding into the thoughts of another only to make it your own and Max has mastered it, down to the slightest of his actions and the way of his breathe- it is no wonder he is the star of the show.
So Charles watches.
Watches the stage change, watches the knife fall on the bodies of the tragic lovers, grips the edge of his seat as the climax arrives- but it is when Max looks into the crowd, eyes falling onto the only occupied seat in the vast theatre, with heavy eyes and a face illuminated in golden and bronze that Charles feels the poison drip down his own throat as the electric gaze of Shakespeare's creation drags him down into the abyss with him.
The curtains close and the actors disappear backstage, the director is making his way out of the box and yet Charles waits, mindlessly scrolling on his phone.
"Charles," a familiar hand closes around his wrist, making him look up with a smile before standing up.
Max looks at him with a nervous gaze, "How was it?"
And there is so much Charles could say, wax about the poetics of Max's movements and the wave of emotions that crashed the boat he called his feelings but he cannot- not with this line that the two of them have drawn, this careful balance that they tiptoe around so dangerously.
"It was good, you did not forget your lines- I am shocked," he teases, running a hand through his hair as he sees Max pull at the glitter decorating his hands and chuckle, deep and rough.
"When have I ever forgotten my lines?"
"Hmm, let me think-" absentmindedly Charles reaches forwards, there is a bit of paint splattered across the blondes cheek- it rubs out soon after and Max only hums in reply. "When that time you were doing Hamlet-"
"We don't talk about that" hes cut off and Charles knows hes hit a nerve and so he hoots happily, increasing his pace to match that of the dutchman who seems to want to escape far far ahead.
"'tis a consummation -Devoutly to be- LANDO WHATS MY LINE" hes laying the accent on thick, waving his hands and racking his brain to make sure he didn't mispronounce any words.
"It was one time" the blonde groans, running a hand through his hair and it is the way it falls back that makes Charles stutter the slightest before he can continue.
The morning sunlight is as beautiful as it is harsh and there is a different edge to it that it envelopes max so lovingly, casting shadows and a halo at the same time in a way that all the Monegasque wants to do is stare- but there is no time, this is no place.
"One time too many," he chastises, a skip in his step faltering as Max turns to face him suddenly, a malicious grin on his face.
"Should we talk about Rachmaninoff then Charlie?"
Its enough to make the brunnete scowl, hands crossed. "Low blow Max"
"Tun tun thud-" the sad thing is the sounds that he makes are close enough to the disaster that had been the second recital that Charles had ever done. Forgetting to turn the page at the right moment leading to a downfall of forgetting which bar he had been on and completely messing up in front of a crowd of over five hundred people was never meant to be his legacy.
October second and Prelude in C-sharp minor would be taken to his grave and Charles had made sure of it.
"Dun, dun-" Max finished sombrely, hands miming the last chord with over-exaggerated grace and now its Charles whos walking away faster. "Great going- I swear I saw the audience cry at the emotional ending-"
"I am leaving-"
"Mrs Rose seemed to have aged at least ten years during it, and don't get me started on Professor Nico-"
"I am leaving Max," Charles announced it with a little more vigour now, eyes glaring holes into the smiling Dutchman. For this was the dynamic, Charles pushed and Max pushed harder- the banter turning into sarcastic comments which in the end would roll off the other like water of a ducks back. "You can walk up to the cafeteria hall alone,"
Max pauses, eyes going comically wide and Charles knows hes won.
Thats what it is.
"You wouldn't"
Charles grins, waving in mock salute- "I'm sure you'll bump into George or someone along the way no?"
"Oh how one may smile and smile and still be a villain,"
Hamlet, ofcourse its Hamlet.
"I never wish to be easily defined," he replied, returning in kind the slightest of quotes he knew from a poetry induced phase back in year twelve and biting back a laugh as he saw the Dutchman's eyes widened.
But then hes running, straight at Charles with his hair bouncing in the wind and cheeks turning red from exertion and with a yelp so does he. "What are you doing?" Hes shouting out the words, letting them disappear in the wind and down the empty road that they're making their way up across.
"Fate leads the willing and drags the unwilling," The blonde shouts back, somehow hes already made his way just a few steps behind Charles- and in another five seconds hes managed to grab onto his arm, spinning the two of them to a halt in the middle of a dense bush to their right and flushed cheeks in front.
This time its not only Charles who stares, whos breath catches as he looks at the other and discrepantly passes a glance towards the flush of pink on his cheeks and lips before glancing away hurriedly- no it is two, yet the other seems to not notice- not over the racing of their heart and the heat of the touch that continued to linger way after their hands separated from each other.
"You have to figure out which one you are"
⌳ ⌳ ⌳
"And then I said if thats the case then why do we consider art to be beautiful if it is nothing but a disease-an extension, that was an itch that couldn't satisfy itself in the depths of our mind, its a rotten thing, obsessive at most and yet we call the people its afflicted one of the greats and admire their hurt, their desire to communicate- masterpieces"
They're sitting by the tree, hands lying on his stomach while his eyes flutter shut and Lando continues to talk in the background. It's Sunday and they had decided to meet up on a whim and a plan to go out to club to watch the race together that weekend.
"Lando-mate, I'm pretty sure when Logan was talking to you about his hate against avocados being green, he didn't expect the topic to turn into fucking philosophy" Oscar coughs slightly, one hand massaging the worked up Brit's hair.
"But am I wrong?"
"Well you aren't but wasn't that a little too deep?" George quips in, shaking his head.
"Thats what he said-" Alex coughed, trying to hide his grin under his hand and yelping when George slapped the back of his head.
"Grow up mate"
"Says the guy who still calls his pyjamas-jim jams"
That's enough to turn Georges whole face red as Lando hoots in laughter. "Alex I told you that in confidence"
"Jim jams- Georgie no way" Lando's whole body shakes as he laughs and from the corner of his eye Charles can see the way Max shakes his head to hide a smile.
"Lando shut up- Oscar, make him shut up"
The boy who seemed to have just been enjoying the conversation suddenly looked up, a grin on his face as he looks at his boyfriend. "I can do that"
Lando- to his own surprise, flutters his eyelashes at the Aussie. "With your mouth or-"
"-And we don't need to know that" Charles cuts in, waving his hand in the air and slightly displacing Max who's shoulder he was leaning against. "Next topic please-"
"I second that motion," Max nods.
The blonde shifts slightly, he had been sleeping earlier- eyes closed and chest falling evenly, not that Charles had been staring. Ofcourse not. His voice is slightly hoarse, blue eyes darker under the shade of the tree while the last rays of the dying sunlight make their way across the horizon, birds chirping as they made their way home.
"Thought we came to watch the race? It's already-" he looks at his watch, raising his hands and Charles notices the veins on his arm and swallows.
God, what's happening to him.
He can't possible be attracted towards Max. No, that wasn't possible. They were friends, they had always been friends- that couldn't change, it can't change, it shouldn't change. Its been years, years of mustering the perfect balance between the ghosts of their pasts and the bright of their future- he can't ruin that.
But- as he walks along the path, hand brushing against the Dutchman's as he holds onto the beer and watches the two of them linger behind the rest of the group, in comfortable silence and the patter of their feet against the roads- he finds himself wondering if there was ever a possibility of something more.
Something in which their hands lay intertwined, the pink dusting their cheeks wasn't just because of the cold and their conversations didn't just describe friendship.
But then there was that fear which crept up, the thing that Charles had tried his hardest to hide, that rotten thing that he had been born with and he was scared- so scared that if people saw it, when they get close enough- then they will leave because who wants to look after something cracking at the edges and the gold borders tarnishing to dust?
"Charles-" hes cut out of thoughts, letting go his bottom lip as he realises hes been biting it, blinking and looking at the voice.
Max is looking at him with soft eyes, hands stuffed in his pockets because its cold outside and his lips pink. "You are thinking very deeply"
"Am I?" Charles can see the flickering lights of the bar they're going to, the rest of them have already walked in- he can see lando jump excitedly from the stained glass windows.
"Yes," the blonde breathes out, "don't do it"
The sentence is so matter of fact that Charles barks out a laugh, eyes sparkling as he looks incredulously. "Wow, thank you Max- I never thought of that"
The blonde frowns slightly, "Is that sarcasm?"
"mon dieu, je ne peux pas te croire, come on- lets just go inside"
(my god, I can't believe you)
"You didn't answer the question-"
"Just come!"
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"-And its the final lap, turning the final chicane its OLIVER BEARMAN WHO WILL BE WINNING HIS MAIDEN GRAND PRIX IN THE RED FERRARI WITH TEAMMATE DINO RUNNING IN SECOND AND THAT IS A ONE TWO FOR FERRARI, FOLLOWED HIM ANTONELLI FOR MERCEDES WHO-"
The rest of the words are swallowed up by a screaming crowd and an over excited Charles whos jumping in his seat. The alcohol is high in his veins as he stands on top of the tables, the crowd whooping in delight because its Ferrari. Ferrari with their first 1-2 of the season and that is enough of a cause to celebrate.
Charles can see Max sitting on the table, nursing a gin tonic while Lando and Oscar have dissapeared into the dance floor and he frowns.
That can't do, it is a cause of celebration, everyone should be celebrating. So, in his alcohol induced state, he's off. Trudging down the crowded hall and towards the dutchman, waving his hands in the air and blinking as the strobe lights flicker in and out of his eyes.
"Maxxxx" hes slurring his words, stumbling before coming to a sloppy stop in front of the blonde. "Why are you not happy?"
"A dnf and p6 mate, I doubt anyone would be happy" is the answer he gets and Oh, yes- Charles had forgotten, his crush was a Red Bull fan.
Wait- crush? Crush.
"Well, thats not my problem- Ferrari has won and you are going to celebrate"
"Don't you think you have drunk too much Charles," is the reply he gets and maybe its true, but Lando has had more and hes doing fine- albeit falling on his face while Oscar facepalms himself on the side- but hes fine.
"No-" he raises a finger, frowning as Max looks down at him. "No- come"
Theres no room for disagreement so Max does, following the Monegasque onto the crowd and watching in amusement as Charles's ears swivelled to find the tune of the music before promptly throwing himself into the dance.
Theres another drink thrust into his hand and he downs it just as quickly, and then suddenly- with the alcohol thrumming in his veins he grabs a hold of Max, ignoring the surprised hmmph that he received and drinking in the sight of the Dutchman.
"You're insane," The blonde is shouting, trying to make himself heard over the music as he bobs his head and Charles only grins.
"Your insane," Its word play, thrown to the wind and not meant to be received. He says it quickly, not glancing at the other to see how it was received.
He should have.
But he won't know it, not with the way Max's ears perk up to catch the words, shoulders rise ever so slightly and eyes shine brighter under the light as his mouth opens. "My insane,"
Its a very drunken Charles who stumbles back into his dorm, half his weight supported by an exasperated Dutchman and the other half spilling over the couch that welcomes him in its soft embrace.
"Charles- mate cmon, you can't sleep there"
"Hmm," hes halfway to dreamland though, he knows it with his eyes closed and hands curling close to his chest. "Leave me be Maxie, this is comfortable"
There a shuffle to his right, silence for a few beats before another sound. "Youre backs going to pain tomorrow, you know that"
"Hmm," is the only reply he can muster.
God, he shouldn't have drunk this much. Now the worlds spinning round his vision and Max's hands on his waist earlier that day had awakened something in him that now itched at his brain and mouth to be released.
For the glances that he had passed in the dingy alleys that led them out of the bar and back into their apartments were stolen ones under passing streetlights and red lights of cars as they had whizzed past, there had been a warm hand guiding him back and his mouth had been running faster than his legs could take him. The blonde had been listening, short breaths wheezing out of his chest as he led the two of them along.
Two people heady and dazed yet they had laughed all the way back, heads thrown back and Charles had seen the smile never leave the others face as he continued to crack jokes he knew probably weren't as funny without the drinks in his blood- but they were enough to make the Dutchman clutch his stomach as he doubled over, dimples shining in neon strobe lights from the passing restaurants- and that is enough.
And then hes sitting up. There's a certain excitement that thrums in him now, eyes blinking slowly as he gazes around the room, theres a small light turned on- at the very end of the corridor, and an outline stands by the kettle as it boils.
"What- what are you doing?" Charles swallows, his head is clearing up slightly now, his legs coming slightly back in his control and throat dry.
Max turns around, lips pursed. "Making you tea- helps with irresponsible drinkers tomorrow,"
"Ah," the word drinks makes his head throb and he winces, "Do not remind me about tomorrow"
And the Dutchman laughs, just for a second- and the Monegasque's ears perk up. "I did tell you"
"I don't remember," the tea's ready, and Max hands him the cup- warm and steaming in his own hands before settling down on the couch.
He takes a sip.
Max looks at him, and as Charles looks up his hands halt for the slightest second as he sees the gaze. It is different, blue eyes usually sharp now soft as they look at him- pink lips parted as they go up from the cup in his hands to his face and drop just as fast as they see green looking back at him.
It's in a spur of confidence that Charles speaks, "Why did you look away?"
"What?"
Charles shifts, biting his lip and seeing the red creep up slightly onto the blonde's face. God, he has gone down this charade too long- the one sided stream of his longing stares him right in the face and yet through the haze he thinks he can see the twin river making its way towards the ocean, side by side waiting for the one turn to make them the same.
"You-I see you looking at me," Now his own face is turning red, "Why did you stop?"
Max shifts, pulling his leg closer to himself as he looks straight at Charles. The contact is piercing, straight through to his heart and its all he can do to even his breathe out. He doesn't know the outcome of this, maybe the river dries up before it reaches its destination- maybe it had never been there but atleast he should explore.
"Because it would make you uncomfortable?" Max replies as if thats the most plausible explanation there is, and Charles scoffs.
"Why would it make me uncomfortable?"
Another dive down in the deep.
"Charles-" The Dutchman gets up, the cup clinking onto the glass table and suddenly hes moving even closer towards him. There is a certain electricity making its way into the small space in between them and he can't look away.
No, not now.
"You don't want me to answer that"
And there it is, a triumphant gleam sparkles its way through the haze of whisky and nervousness and suddenly Charles is leaning forward, hooded eyes raised to match the sparkling blue. "But I do- I really really do, because atleast then my anguish will die down a little faster"
"Your-" Max frowns, "What are you talking about?"
And there it is, the final push against the dam- the final turn to the point where the streams should meet and Charles is standing by its banks, waiting to dive right in. "For you have enraptured me Max Verstappen"
Four words. Four simple words and they are enough to make the ever stoic Dutchman freeze. Shoulders stiffening and cold hands which had encircled Charles's own stopping and suddenly the loudest thing in the room is Charles's own heart and the panic that suddenly makes its way through the haze.
And thats when it hits, the rush, the absolute realisation of what hes done and he rips his hands away- trying to shuffle back with wide eyes and panicked movements because- "Oh god I'v ruined everything, I'v-"
Why did he think the other felt the same? Why did he go and ruin the two of them? Why didn't he-
"Wait- Charles, Charles-" theres a hand that grasps his wrist and hes frozen yet again, pulled back into a warm embrace before he can blink and then Max is talking. "Don't go- I- I-"
"Atleast say it," The Monegasque's voice is soft- pathetic. Rejection at its finest, wasn't he foolish. "then it won't hurt as much"
"Hurt-What? Charles I'm not going to say no"
Pause. Rewind. "What?"
And then Max is laughing, head thrown back as Charles's face burns red in indignation. "Atleast have the decency to not laugh at me while my heart breaks-"
He's cut off as Max's hands grab his face, encasing his cheeks and causing his breath to stutter as he gulps. "What-what are you doing?"
And the blonde just looks at him, the smile still on his lips and the blue in his eyes sparkling even brighter. "Giving you an answer"
And then hes kissing him.
Its later, when they still lie on the sofa, hands entwined and lips puffy and eyes half asleep and they continue to talk. There is a certain high that comes with getting what you have always wanted- Charles realises, and this had been years in the making.
“You never acted like you felt the same Charlie-how was I ever going to know?"
"Well I couldn't exactly announce it could I? I had to be subtle, didn't want to ruin the whole thing no?"
"“The course of true love never did run smooth.”
Charles frowns, shifting his head to lie comfortably in Max's arms."-Are you quoting Shakespeare?"
He looks up just in time to see a grin, “A heaven on earth I have won by wooing thee.”
"It is late and we are drunk, and you are quoting Shakespeare? Of all people?"
"Who else would you prefer?"
A groan escapes his lips, "and suddenly I wish I wasn't so tired that I would shut your mouth"
"You wouldn't-you love my voice schatje"
And Charles grumbles, a little more before burrowing himself deeper into Max's side and closing his eyes even tighter. "Yes-"
Then suddenly, with the slightest of conviction just before his eyes close shut for the final time in the day, almost like a finale for the grandness of it (And spite but thats not to be mentioned) he says the one thing he remembers from theatrics.
“I would not wish any companion in the world but you.”
"-That was Shakespeare- that was- oh my god I can't believe you- Charles wake up-"
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