The Fight • Max Verstappen•

•onehundred-two•

SCARLET

I took a deep breath and opened the door. Pierre was stood there dressed in a black t-shirt and black skinny jeans with a rucksack on one shoulder. His hair was characteristically messy, and he held onto takeout bag in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.

Pierre looked me up and down, his eyes fixating on the bruises across my collarbone that peaked through the fluffy jumper I was wearing. He was less shocked today than the first day he visited me in hospital, and from there he had seen everything.

He seemed slightly apprehensive at first, "Come on in," I said to break the silent tension that was sitting between us. Pierre nodded and came through into my brother's house. I told him to go ahead and pointed down the corridor to the kitchen. I slammed the door shut behind me and hobbled on crutches behind him.

Once I got to the kitchen Pierre had already got the pasta pots out of the bag and the scent of my favourite mushroom fettuccine filled the air. YUMMY. He then twisted the bottle of red wine open, "Wait, you are able to drink right?" He gasped.

I nodded my head profusely, "Oh god yes." I laughed and pointed to the cupboard with the wine glasses in. Pierre smirked and grabbed two and poured out a glass. "Where do you want to eat?" I asked him.

He shrugged his shoulders, "Up to you, where is easiest?"

"Probably the sofa, if that's okay for you?" I replied and directed him through to the living room which I had completely taken over. Flowers and cards had continued to arrive in the last week and so the available table space was taken up.

He told me to go through and he would bring everything in. I smiled thankfully and made myself comfy in my favourite spot on the sofa. I pulled the blanket over my legs to keep them warm, and once Pierre came through, he passed me the bowl of pasta and my glass of wine. He sat down next to me, and I placed the blanket over his legs too.
I raised my glass to him, "Cheers Gasly."

CLINK

Our eyes glanced to the vase of peonies that Pierre had brought me, and next to it was the first picture of us as a couple that he gotten framed. With my eyes still fixated on the photo I took a sip of the fruity Pinot. "So, we should talk?" I said breaking the pleasant silence.

Pierre shuffled on the sofa and turned his body to face me. He shrugged his shoulders and pouted his lips. "Probably." He said casually, "Although where do we start?" He added as he twisted the fettucine on his fork and popped it into his mouth.

That was a good point as there was no logical place to start as the past weeks had been anything but straightforward and things still felt like a blur. It was only two months ago that we were splashing around in the sunrise ocean water and six weeks ago we were dancing around our hotel rooms relishing every moment we got to spend to together behind closed doors. And now we were here.
I swirled my pasta around and finished the bowl. "One thing is for certain; this pasta is so damn good." I told Pierre who nodded in agreement. "Thank-You for picking it up."

Once Pierre had also finished, he reached for my bowl and placed them on the coffee table. He picked up my wine glass and passed it to me. I took a large sip at which point Pierre laughed and mirrored my action.

He began swirling the liquid in his glass around in a circle before slowly inching even closer to me so that our knees were touching. Slowly he rested his hand on my knee.