Sunday, September 2nd, 2018- Monza, Italy
Italian Grand Prix, the Autodromo Nazionale di Monza
At first you weren't entirely sure what it was that had woken you from the dead sleep you'd just been in but as you prop yourself up on one elbow, rubbing blearily at your face with one hand and peering around the room, blinking repeatedly until the shadowed details of the darkened hotel room came into focus, you nearly jumped out of your skin when the culprit of your rude awakening made itself well known.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," you're entirely aware of that whoever it is that's pounding on your door like it's committed some grave, personal wrong absolutely can't hear you but that's not your problem. They might not have any reservations about being this fucking loud at 2 in the morning, but you most certainly do.
"Oh my god, what the fuck is wrong with-" the last word dies where it was, half formed in the back of your throat, as surprise momentarily takes the heat out of the furious, exhaustion fueled tirade you'd been gearing up for, rendering you suddenly speechless.
You'd been half expecting to find Daniel in the hallway, it wouldn't be the first time he'd been stupid enough to get drunk on a Saturday and be too trashed to find his hotel room unassisted, but more than anything, you'd expected for whoever it was that had been pounding on your door like they planned to kick it down if you didn't answer immediately to be lost, their presence outside your room a mistake or a front desk mix up.
Somehow this was the last thing you'd been expecting when you'd tumbled half-awake from your bed.
"You should let us in before one of us starts crying again because I can't make any promises that it won't be me," Max informs you, unashamed and barefooted in the hallway.
His arms are wrapped around what had, at first glance appeared to be the duvet from his bed balled up but was in fact just a blanket wrapped Kaia, bundled up like a toddler sized burrito with only her face exposed, blinking up at you dazedly from her spot pinned against her father's front, her back pressed to his chest.
"Decide whether or not you're going to help us now, please, because this is the longest, we've gone all night without any tears and the inevitable will happen."
"I don't know what to say," you tell him honestly, still trying to process what the hell it was you'd just walked into.
"You don't have to say anything, you just need to move and let us in," Max looks like he's reaching the end of his tether, and horrifyingly, you sudden realize you truly believe what he'd said earlier, he really does look like he might start crying if you don't agree to help him and tell him to come in in the next minute and a half.
"Does she- um," You ask him, stepping out back into your room, scooting over to one side of the hallway, holding the door ajar and clearing the path forward as best you can in the narrow space. "Does she like being all wrapped up like that?"
"Loves it," he answers dryly and shoves Kaia, burrito bundle and all, into your arms, before you've even had the chance to register you've been handed a child, the door is swinging shut behind your back and Max has already made himself right at home in your room.
"Oh, fuck yes," you're so distracted by the way Max groans the words and then moans in delight, the sound now permanently etched in your brain, that you don't even tell him off for cussing, as he surveys your hotel room, blundering on and entirely unaware of your sudden discomfort.
"I've been praying all night, promising God I'd do all sorts of ridiculous things if he'd make sure you had a double queen bed and here it is," he gestures to the untouched bed, the one closest to the window as he turns to you grinning from ear to ear, "jokes on him though," Max flings himself backwards onto the bed, "because I don't believe in God."
