"And you call yourself my friend, you bitch!" Daniel throws himself down into the chair opposite yours, grinning from ear to ear, and unceremoniously slings his bowl of oatmeal down onto the table, ignoring entirely the heavy weight of countless eyes on the two of you.
"I'm reporting you to H.R." You inform him glumly, poking at your yogurt parfait with little interest, whilst putting every ounce of training, experience and expertise you had incurred over the years into not looking around the space for Max.
"No, you won't," Daniel says cheerfully and promptly starts shoveling down his breakfast, continuing to speak around a mouthful of what looks to be lukewarm oatmeal that's been cooked down within an inch of its life, "you know I mean it sweet."
"I turn my back for one minute and next thing I know, I'm finding out that neither one of you tell me shit! Seriously, how long has this been going on right under my nose? Wait, no- don't tell me- later, tell me later, we have more important matters to discuss."
"Don't you dare, Dan- I swear to God-"
"How is Verstappen in bed? Like what are we talking about? What are we working with?"
You're about three seconds away from wrapping your hands around Daniel's throat and not letting go until one of you is dead or at the very least has gone quiet- God fucking knows that right now you're not above anything, you'd willingly commit war crimes and violate every statute of the Geneva Convention in an afternoon if it means that he would shut the hell up before someone hears him.
"I swear to God if you don't lower your voice right now, I will-" you don't even know what to threaten him with because your mind has suddenly been wiped blank, the exhaustion compounded by Daniel's inability to understand the basic concepts of inside voices or a filter- like he's not a grown ass man- has just laid you out flat without any hesitation.
"Come on, just tell me this one thing-"
"For the last time, Max and I have never, and more importantly- I want you to hear me when I say this- we will never fuck-"
"Like does it curve to the left or the right because-"
"I love you very much but seriously, what the fuck is wrong with you? Like what bullshit is going on inside of that den of iniquity that you call a brain for you to think to ask me something like that over breakfast? Hm?"
"But like, come on, it's a good fucking question, even you can't deny that-"
"Oh, absolutely not, absolutely fucking not, I am not about to sit here while you shovel oatmeal in your mouth like a feral child that's been raised by a pack of wolves and pat you on the back for thinking to ask me which way his dick curves-"
"Which way who's dick curves?" Max's interjects from somewhere behind you, his familiar accent still warmed at the edges by the husky, sleep weary note it had had to it this morning, like his words had been tumbled around by the gravelly tone of his voice, softening his vowels and easing the sharp corners of his consonants until they have an almost polished quality to them.
"No one's-" you don't miss a beat, knowing inherently that there is no time for hesitation, you need to shut down this line of questioning as quickly as you can, and you need to do it now.
"Coincidentally, actually, yours!" Daniel says brightly, giving Max a cheery smile, or at least as much of one as he can around a mouthful of oatmeal, "what?" the Australian has the audacity to look confused by the expression of horrified disbelief on your face, merely shrugging a non-committal shoulder at you, "What? Why not tell him? There's no point lying to the man, you know how much he hates being lied to-"
"I mean he is right, I do really hate being lied to," Max concedes, nodding his head thoughtfully at Daniel, "you do have a point," he cocks his head in your direction, "look, while his execution of it was pretty shit and I'm not sure if I'll ever be the same after being asked that question by him, even you have to admit he did make some good points here."
"I'm not going to even dignify that with a response because this, this," you point back and forth between the three of you, "this is really, really weird and, honestly boys, I'm just going to pretend that none of this ever happened, okay?"
"Fine by me," you nearly sighed in relief at Daniel's words, at the tone of deference in his voice as he decided to follow your lead, offering you the out you'd been all but begging him for, knowing that if he yielded, Max would follow suit.
"Yeah, doesn't matter to me," Max looked glumly down at his breakfast, poking at his overcooked oats with his spoon with disgust, gagging dramatically and shoving the bowl away from when instead of sinking in, his plastic utensil hits the already congealed surface and bounces back.
"Drama queen," you snort at his theatrics, rolling your eyes at the disgusted expression that twisted his features as he stared at his abandoned breakfast reproachfully, like he was waiting for it to apologize for what it had just put him through.
"I'm not eating that," Max defiantly, wrinkling his nose at the mere thought.
"I'm not going to make you eat it, if that's what you're worried about-" you cut out mid-sentence, your train of thought derailed in the blink of an eye when, without warning, without any preface, Max's face falls slack, his skin taking on the pallor of soured milk, all the color leached out of it in instant.
"What just happened?" You ask no one in particular, hoping that one of them will have an answer, but remaining unsurprised when what you get instead is a jerk of Daniel's head, the clipped motion directing you to turn around and look behind you.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Max repeats the expletive again and again, muttering it under his breath like a prayer that he says over and over and over, clinging to the four lettered word like it if he says it for long enough, with enough conviction, it'll help him.
"Oh my god... we didn't," you breathe out as you turn in your seat, in a state of utter disbelief.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck."
"We did, we definitely did," Daniel is on the verge of full-blown, all-out laughter, his voice already shaking with repressed mirth.
"Fuck, fuck, fuckkkk," he drags out the last letter like it's done him some great, personal wrong.
"Max, tell me you didn't..." you whisper, not expecting him to respond but needing to say something, say anything, nonetheless.
"Fuck me! Oh my god... you forgot you had a girlfriend, didn't you? We all did," Daniel's composure finally slips, busting out in peals of raucous laughter, the contagious sound bubbling up out of your own chest before you can stop it, "this is poetic, mate," he claps Max on the back.
"What are you laughing at?" Cassandra Dormer-Bancroft halts half a step away from Max's chair, her hand already curled over his shoulder possessively. The picture-perfect smile painted across her face is hollow, the imitation of warmth not quite reaching her eyes, as she looks down her nose at you and Daniel, "Seriously, can I help you? What in the hell are you laughing at?"
"Well, Cass, the thing is," Daniel's features light up in amusement, "we fucking forgot you exist."
