Monday, September 17th, 2018- Monte Carlo, Monaco
The Penthouse, Home Sweet Home
The week and a half break that separated the Singapore Grand Prix from the Russian Grand Prix was something Max had failed to comprehend just how desperately he'd needed until when, in the late hours of Monday night, less than two hours after the chartered flight had landed in Nice, the three of you with a sleep deprived, slap happy Daniel in tow, tumbled out the car service, feeling quite certain that he'd never truly appreciated what a lovely fucking sight the apartment's high rise facade was at night.
As much as he enjoyed his teammate's company, Max relishes the hush that falls in the elevator when Daniel gets out on his floor, the sudden silent descending within the confines of the four wood and mirror panel walls of the lift in the wake of the Australian's departure sits in such stark contrast to the last eight plus hours that he groans in relief, the quiet like a balm to nerves that have been rubbed raw by the race weekend.
He can't fucking wait to do absolutely fuck all for the next nine days, and was fully intent upon not leaving the penthouse once beyond what was strictly necessary, or in case of some freak emergency, because in all honesty, that was exactly how he liked for his time at home to be spent.
You didn't seem too much of an issue with his preference to live his life like he wasn't a Formula 1 driver, who at 19 had bought the largest flat, on the top floor of the luxury, Monaco harbor front apartment building he'd decided to live in because Daniel lives here too, and was instead some modern-day hermit, like this was the dark ages and not the 21st century.
Actually, from what Max could surmise, you didn't mind his shut in lifestyle in the slightest, which, prior to Kaia's unexpected appearance, had varied only on the random nights the mood struck and he'd hit the club or a party with a friend or another driver, or he was out of town because Red Bull or his personal brand necessitated it, because you were of a like mind to him, more than happy to hide out at home on the rare occasions you got to sleep there instead of in some hotel room in some foreign country.
Kaia had taken to the current state of affairs like a duck to water, adapting to the rather drastic changes her little world had undergone in just the last two weeks. Max hadn't been prepared for just how fiercely proud of his daughter he was already, because at just two-years-old, she made this look easy, her resilience and fearlessness seemed unfathomable in so tiny a person but every day, every time that he turned around, his little girl gave him another reason to want to be just like her when he grew up.
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Tuesday, September 25th, 2018- Monte Carlo, Monaco
"Max! MAX!"
In spite of himself, he nearly leapt out of his skin when you shouted his name, fist already banging against the bathroom door like there was any reality in which he wouldn't have been able to hear you calling for him at the top of your lungs.
Max had been taken entirely by surprise, letting out a choked, startled yelp before he could stop it in its tracks, and had quite promptly dropped the shampoo bottle he'd had held in one hand, leaving him to scramble about to pick it back up without slipping over while simultaneously shouting back.
"What? WHAT IS IT?"
Finally, the incessant pounding on the wooden door ceased and he left out a sigh of relief, the return to the blissfully, steamy quiet of his shower almost enough to soothe away the jolt of startled, anxious energy the interruption had wrecked on his nerves.
"I NEED TO COME IN." you shouted back; your voice somehow even louder than it had been before.
"STOP YELLING!" Max was momentarily sidetracked by your current volume, all his resources focused on getting things back to a normal volume before what you'd said finally registered with him, "DO NOT COME IN."
'Who's yelling now," he could hear the huff you let out, could see you clear as day in his head, leaning against the door jamb with your arms crossed, an unimpressed expression on your face as you rolled your eyes at him as if it say 'ugh, him and his antics.'
"Don't roll your eyes at me."
"Fucking freak," he wasn't the same naive man he'd been a matter of months ago when you'd moved in, no, now Max knew you meant it sweet, not that he cares how you meant it. "Seriously, cover up, I need to come in."
"Why exactly do you need to come in?"
"I need to come in because I needed to leave five minutes ago but I couldn't because you ran out of toothpaste last week and instead of just buying more at the store or ordering more online like any regular person would do, you've just been stealing mine."
"Ah, yes, that," Max was in fact guilty of those charges, but in his defense, he'd been certain that after the first few days of him stealing your toothpaste every single morning and every night like clockwork, you'd eventually get fed up and buy some, but you hadn't, so he'd refused to stop, and it had become a thing.
"Ah, yes, that," you snark back, "you're a grown man with millions of dollars in the bank, GET YOUR OWN TOOTHPASTE TODAY."
"Fine but-"
"That's it," you don't give him any warning, you just open the door and bustle in, already waving away his protests without missing a beat. "Keep your hair on, I'm not going to look."
"You- you picked the lock-" Max would be impressed if he weren't currently so preoccupied with keeping his dick covered with the child sized washcloth, he'd just found out he'd grabbed by accident from the linen closet instead of one of his own.
"Well, well, well if it isn't the consequences of your own actions," you seem to be taking your time wetting your toothbrush before squeezing out a dollop of toothpaste, "and I get it, okay? You're a multi-millionaire international superstar who drives fast cars in circles for a living-"
Max groans in response as you continue, "and your ego does reflect that, but remember, I live with you full time, there is very, very little of you that I haven't had the opportunity to see."
"I-" He's spluttering now, at an utter loss for words, staring blankly at the back of your head as you brush your teeth in front of his bathroom counter and humming all the while.
"Well, have a good day," you don't spare so much as a single glance in his direction, head held high and shoulders back, raising your left hand as you breeze by, and drag your fingertips across the full length of the panes of glass that make up the shower's front wall.
On your way out, you hit the light switch as you pull the bathroom door closed behind you, your intention to leave him to shower alone in the dark is made abundantly clear when, through the sliver of a gap that you've left the door ajar, you call out to him, "next time, you'll think twice about stealing my shit."
And then, as if on second thought, which Max could easily tell had momentarily slipped your mind, "family dinner is at 7, don't be late or I'll sic your daughter on you. Bye!"
"Love you too," Max mutters under his breath, turning his attention back to washing his hair.
