Chapter Text
It’s coming up to 2am by the time he collapses down on his hotel bed.
It had been a good night, a great night. He still can’t get the voice of the reporter out of his head.
Did it feel different without his dad? Maybe. It’s not like he’s ever raced an F1 race in the Netherlands with him, so how would he know the difference?
It does maybe feel weird though. In the lower categories he usually had his whole family trying to watch any race they could. They would’ve all been there for a home race.
Max slams his head back onto the pillow. Being here is making him far too sentimental.
He doesn’t need to be thinking about this, it doesn’t help anything. His dad is dead, whether he has an ugly cocktail of emotions about that or not, it won’t change.
Except he has more family than just his father. He has his mum and sister, at the very least.
He knows why they weren’t here this year. He knows that’s all his own fault. Too many unanswered messages and calls left to ring out.
He groans, dragging the palm of his hand down his face and grabbing his phone.
The one other time he looked at it, it was covered with headlines about the heartless, evil Verstappen and how he’s entirely unaffected by his own fathers death.
Immediately, he regrets not smashing his phone and never looking at it again.
Hey
This is Vic
Your win was great, mum and I were watching on the couch
He just stares at the text for a moment, before opening up the chat.
Thanks
It’s embarrassing how fast his heart is pumping sending one message, one word. But he’s broken the barrier now, sort of. What’s the harm in going full send.
He doesn’t let himself think before he opens up his mothers texts.
There are so many that his phone takes a long moment loading them all up. He scrolls up.
Mostly, it’s a mixture of deeply apologetic texts and congratulatory texts. It comforts something deep inside of him to know she’s been thinking about him, even if, logically, he knows she’s been thinking about him.
He scrolls up further, until he reaches the first text she sent him after his dad’s crash.
Max, I’m not sure how to write this message, but I know I need to. I know what I have done is unforgivable, I don’t expect you to forgive me, or even respond at all, I just hope you read this.
I’m sorry, I know we haven’t spoken in a while and I know that’s my fault. I should’ve called you the moment I found out. I should’ve gone to see you straight away. I want to tell you, not as an excuse, but as an explanation, because you deserve it, that I didn’t not contact you because I don’t love you. I love you so much sweetheart. I wanted to call you, but I felt so guilty. I felt like a terrible mother because I should’ve been more present in your life, I shouldn’t have left you all alone with him and I could’ve done more to stop him from drinking so much when we were younger, and maybe it could’ve prevented it all. The guilt only grew the longer I stayed away from you. I never meant to avoid you for so long, it just happened because it felt easier to ignore it completely, instead of feeling the discomfort of my own feelings head on. But that’s not what mothers are supposed to do, and I’m sorry I failed you so badly when you needed me most.
I love you, Max
Please never forget that
Max isn’t completely sure his heart hasn’t stopped working. He knows for sure his tear ducts are, traitors.
He scrolls away quickly, the less he thinks about the message the better. Absolutely no need to start analysing the whole thing.
He’s breathless as he types
I’m still in the Netherlands, if you guys maybe want to go for a coffee?
He doesn’t even drink coffee.
It’s horribly awkward having to explain to Nico why his eyes are bright red, even worse when he needs to ask him to drive him to a little cafe about an hour from the track. Even even worse when Nico tries to give him a hype talk on the drive over.
Embarrassingly enough, Max clings onto his every word like a lifeline.
Nico stays in the car, hugging Max for far longer than usual before he leaves. Max’s hands are shaking as he closes the car door.
They’ve gotten there early, so Max could scope around, in Nico’s words. Except it doesn’t matter because the moment he walks in the door, he makes direct eye contact with his own mother.
Oh fuck.
Max can’t breathe. This was a terrible idea. Why would he ever choose to do this?
He should turn around now, Nico’s waiting in the car for this exact situation, he can go home and ignore this for the rest of his life and none of this will ever matter again.
Vic has turned around now, she beams at him.
She looks older now, but she’s still his baby sister. He misses her.
He has to do this.
He walks over and immediately Victoria is up and wrapping her arms around him. He holds her shoulders, dropping his head onto hers.
“I missed you, Max.”
He smiles, “I missed you too Vic.”
When they pull away, he realises his mother has stood up. He’s taller than her now, even if he doesn’t feel very tall.
She brushes a strand of hair back behind his ear, staring at him with eyes so endearing it’s painful. He doesn’t notice both of their eyes are went until he’s been grappled into a hug.
“Hey, mum.”
“Hello, Kleiner.” She says with a soft laugh. Hearing it hits him with a heavy wave of nostalgia.
She looks tired, but she doesn’t seem to have aged a day.
He sits down in the booth next to Vic, across from his mother. He’s only sat down for a moment before a hot chocolate and a stroopwafel are placed in front of him.
It’s absolutely not in his diet plan, but he’s already near tears and this has only pushed him further towards a full breakdown, so he figures this one time will be okay.
“I’m glad you came, Max.” Vic says, thankfully taking the lead.
“Yeah. Yeah me too.”
Max isn’t sure how to feel. No, that’s a lie. He knows exactly how he feels. The moment he enters Nico’s car he’s going to break down.
Except he’s going to start crying in a good way, probably. Hopefully.
The whole thing was… Fine. Good, even.
They’re on good terms now, they’re going to start texting more, if it fits the schedules they’ll probably meet up too.
It was just a bit awkward.
There wasn’t an ounce of natural conversation, it was like everyone was fighting to find something to say to continue the conversation. Vic being there helped, at least.
Maybe it was just the nature of the conversation, there’s very few ways to say “I’m sorry I stopped talking to you the moment your dad and my ex husband died, I shouldn’t have done that.”
It wasn’t a bad conversation, Max just slowly came to the realisation that he would really rather be on the couch with Nico, watching some shitty show together.
And God wasn’t that a horrible thing to think.
He doesn’t want to be around his mother, the woman that gave birth to him and raised him.
Nico only took him in because of necessity, he really shouldn’t be clinging to the man like he does.
He shouldn't be clinging to anyone, really. He’s almost 18 soon, an adult. He’ll be fending for himself so none of this will matter.
Whatever. It’s fine. He’ll get over it
Nico doesn’t really want to admit the thoughts that were running through his head the moment Max came into his room with bleary red eyes and told him that he was going to go talk with his mother.
He also doesn’t want to admit the thoughts that were running through his head when Max crashed back into the car and flew awkwardly across the console to cry into his shoulder.
Not just because he was, regrettably, mildly wishing death on his mother, even though that probably wasn’t the most mature thing to think either. Mostly just because he was overcome with a rush of anger and fear.
Nico has spent at least a month trying to push Max into actually believing that people love and look out for him, meanwhile his own mother vehemently refused to reach out to him when his father died. There’s only so many times Nico can tell him that it’s not his fault, and the reason is her own issues, which is true, without developing an undertone of hatred towards her.
He’s also scared, jealous too maybe. That’s his mother, his blood. Nico doesn’t have that. He’s gotten used to having Max in his house far too quickly; privately, he’s not sure what he’d do without the constant background hum. He’s confident the courts would love to sign him off to his actual mother, if she were to ever want that. Max would probably want it too.
Which is the root of the issue.
It’s not fair to want Max to pick Nico over his own mother, but fuck that’s all he wants. He doesn’t want Max upset over his messed up family and their belated attempts at contact, he doesn’t want Max out of his reach at all. He wants him safely curled up on their couch in their apartment. He wants him to forget about Sophie completely.
He can probably never tell anyone about the rush of joy he felt when Max admitted that the conversations felt stilted, or when Max ran back to him to cry because that’s where he felt most comfortable (Max hadn’t said that one, but Nico’s pretty sure his inference is on point).
He doesn’t like to think about the fear that still remains in his mind that it’ll only take a few more conversations before they click together like a puzzle piece, like a family.
Max tries not to think about it all as they go to Italy, and very quickly he has no time to think about it.
Lap 26 of the race Hamilton decides to crash them both out.
In the cockpit, he’s already angry, and then of course, an aggressive wave of nausea rolls over him so quickly he almost throws up right into his helmet.
He has to keep his cool for the cameras though, he can’t show any weakness against Lewis. He doesn’t accept any help from the marshals as he clambers out of the car, and he deliberately avoids all eye contact with Lewis, refusing to even look in his direction.
The team is angry when he gets back, Mercedes is angry too. Apparently mad Max was upset and slammed his car into Lewis with total malicious intent. Maybe Lewis should try leaving some space on track next time he decides to go wheel to wheel.
Max’s head is screaming at him as he goes to the media pen. He feels sick, not even at the actual nausea from the crash, but at the thought that this isn’t temporary.
He was supposed to be fixed, he could be normal again. Why isn’t he fixed?
He spares a second to think about telling someone, maybe he could get it treated. But they could also decide it’s too great a risk and never let Max in a car again.
He’s not sure he could ever survive that.
Max can see Lewis from across the pen, spitting something into the mic, definitely aimed at him. Max didn’t soften any of his words talking to the cameras either.
He’s mad Max anyway, he may as well get his opinion out there.
The only reprieve is when Charles calls him.
He turns off all the lights and lays down on the shitty driver's room bed before he needs to go for the debrief.
He has the phone by his ear and just listens to Charles talking about the race, occasionally adding a mmh or a yeah into the mix. His eyes are closed, the accent is soothing. He may as well be in heaven.
“I just don’t get it. He's old! He’s past his prime! And they keep trying to pair him up with a rookie? Why are they trying to make a dinosaur your number one main rival? Did grey hairs spell out ‘Max Verstappen is Lewis Hamilton’s rival despite the glaring age and skill difference and massive lack of any meaningful history’?”
If someone could see how wide Max is grinning, he’d probably be in trouble.
“It doesn’t matter anyway,” He continues, “Once I get on the grid everyone's going to know who your true rival is.”
Max doesn’t bother to bring up the fact that they haven’t raced together for years. It won’t matter when they're both in championship winning cars.
Singapore gets cancelled.
As much as Max loves to race, he’d prefer to push back Singapore as much as possible. He doesn’t do well with stifling heat.
It also means Charles has been begging him to join his family on their boat, not that Max needed to be begged. He’s really not sure why Charles felt compelled to do it.
It’s nice anyway. To have someone really care about you being with them.
They’re out on the water about an hour or two before sunset, hopefully meaning that Max won’t burn to a crisp. He starts applying sunscreen anyway. Nico would probably kill him otherwise.
“Your technique is horrible.” Charles laughs, as Max tries to claw up his back to try and spread out the massive dollop in his hand.
“Shut up,” Max scoffs, “It’s not like you could do any better.”
“Of course I could,” He says simply, grabbing the bottle straight out of Max’s hands.
Max gasps the moment Charles’ hands touch his back, making Charles laugh. He’d be annoyed at it if his laugh sounded any less nice.
He melts into the touch with the grace of a slug. He’s just grateful Charles can’t see his face.
“Wow, it’s like a massage.” Max tries to joke, but it comes out weirdly strangled and he feels just a bit too flushed.
“Obviously, that’s why I’m the best.” He gloats, even whilst sparing the time to rub at Max’s tense muscles.
“Charles, Tu vas venir nager ou tu vas rester là à le toucher pendant un an?” Arthur calls out from the side of the boat. Not for the first time today, Max regrets not knowing French.
(Are you going to swim or are you going to stand there touching him for the next year?”)
Charles glares at him, “I’m going to push him into the water,” He mutters. “You’re all done.” He offers Max a hand, who takes it despite having two functioning legs.
Arthur laughs as they walk over, Max trailing a step behind Charles, who kicks out a leg and sends Arthur crashing into the ocean. Charles laughs so hard he almost falls in himself.
He effortlessly rips his shirt off and dives in next to his brother, Max is pretty sure he’s stopped breathing. It’s almost unfair that Charles gets a full, tanned chiseled set of abs to show off on his boat.
Max is so glad he accepted this invite.
He hops in next, with very little fanfare, shortly followed by Lorenzo, who tries his hardest to jump directly onto Arthur. Charles looks at him with the biggest widest grin, it’s so infectious Max almost giggles.
Instead, he splashes some water right into Charles’ face.
“Max!” He screams, immediately splashing back. Max laughs and tries to swim away, but Charles grabs his leg and yanks him back, before jumping on top of him.
His hands grapple onto Max’s chest and his thighs and cross over Max’s stomach and his firm, cut abs and rubbing over his back and oh god Max is going to die. He is going to die so quickly and right here and right now.
This is the hottest he’s ever felt, his cheeks are flushed all over, his hands might be trembling, Charles is so hot.
How the fuck is he ever supposed to play this off. There is no way he will ever be able to act like being right here, surrounded by Charles is not his heaven.
Regrettably, he flings Charles off of his back and into the water so he can grab him by the waist and try and drag him down into the water- not to feel up his abs, that’s weird Max would never do that unless it was unintentional, and obviously this was all very unintentional.
He doesn’t even get a break from his internal panic when they finally get out of the water.
The image of Charles, water rolling down his bare torso, sunset behind him, smiling at Max, dimples on show, is something worth framing.
He thinks that, maybe, this has gone a little past admiring a friend.
Just maybe.
They sit down for a family dinner, still dripping wet. Max almost laughs when he sees the amount of pasta that gets taken out of an unsuspecting tote bag. He can’t believe Charles could ever doubt that he’s heading straight to Ferrari.
“What time does Nico expect you home?” Charles leans over to whisper in his ear.
Max can feel the hot breath on his skin, warm water dripping from Charles’ hair drips onto his face.
“I don’t want him to think I’m irresponsible and I can’t get you home on time.” He continues, patting Max’s thigh.
He can feel the way his pupils dilate at the touch.
“Uh, I don’t know. He doesn’t really care? I’m 18 soon anyway.” He stumbles over his words, despite the easy question, but how can he not?
If Charles wanted a better answer he’d have to ask at least two metres away from Max. Someone should also probably blindfold him.
Charles grins and wraps the thigh arm around Max’s shoulders, dragging him in for a friendly, manly hug that happens to bring their faces very close together, so Max can stare right at his gorgeous eyes and smile.
“Good. More time to keep you to myself then.”
Max isn’t entirely sure he hasn’t already combusted into flames.
Charles insists on walking Max the short walk home.
Max was literally never going to complain, even if his cheeks are starting to hurt from how much he’s been smiling.
Conversation flows effortlessly the whole walk, so much so that once again they stand outside of the apartment block talking.
“I’m pretty sure I won today,” Max says, unable to resist the jab
“What, no way,” Charles snorts, “I have way bigger hands, my splashes were better, so I win.”
“You do not have bigger hands than me,”
Neither of them can keep the childish smiles off their faces.
“Of course I do,” He reaches out for Max’s hand to prove his point, moving them together. Calloused psalm scratching over Calloused palms.
Then he just… holds them there. Fingers intertwined and steady. Max melts a little bit inside.
“Thank you for inviting me, this was really fun,” He gathers up the strength to look right into Charles’ eyes as he says it, even as heat rushes through his whole body.
“Don’t mention it,” Charles says, except it’s barely a breath in the wind with how intently focused he is on Max.
They breathe a little heavier.
“Can I kiss you?” Charles blurts out suddenly, finally.
“Please.”
In a moment they’ve leapt forward, hands glued on each other, lips moving together.
It feels like Charles is kissing life into him, bright and hopeful.
They break apart and Charles laughs- giggles.
“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that.” His hands snake their way to Max’s waist, he’d probably fall over otherwise.
Max just laughs back, leaning forwards until he’s pressed against Charles, head buried in his neck. He presses a kiss to the soft skin there.
“Fuck,” He mumbles, prompting more giggles out of Charles.
Charles gently pulls him out of his neck, pressing a softer, slower kiss to his lips.
“You should go inside now, or I don’t think I’ll let you leave.”
It’s not a very good warning, all it does is make Max want to stay for longer.
“Yeah, probably. I’ll see you soon?” There’s maybe a hint of nervousness to his voice.
“Very soon.”
Max can’t help but kiss him again.