Friday, November 16th, 2018- Milton Keynes, England, United Kingdom
Red Bull Racing Factory
"Seriously? We're still doing this?" Without any sort of situational awareness, Max shouts as he makes quick work of catching up to you, one of his strides evidently worth two of your own, "You're just going to keep ignoring me? Just fucking give it up already and come over here."
Uninterested in making more of a scene than he already has, you merely shrug a shoulder at him and instead devote the majority of your resources to moving at a quicker pace than you had previously, striving to tread the line between speed walking and a slow jog without accidentally stepping over into the latter.
"God damnit, this would be over if you would stop for two seconds and talk to me," when that fails to do the trick, Max tacks on, "you know, like adults do? Like the grownup you claim to be."
"At least I'm not the one using my outside voice right now," you reply sagely, no longer willing to wholly abstain from responding, not when the opportunity to make a worthy contribution to the dialogue was too good of a temptation to resist any longer, "inside voices only, please, before someone calls security on the yelling dickhead."
"Oh, so she does speak!" the bark of laughter he lets out is forced, with only the barest traces of real amusement to be found in the cold, derisive sound, the cadence of it echoing through the hallway ahead of you and behind Max, "I knew the silence was only temporary. Remember? We live together so I know just how rare it is that you shut the fuck up for once."
"Make up your mind back there," you hope he can hear how hard you're rolling your eyes right now, "do you know what you want right now? Really doesn't seem like it."
"Actually, I do, I know exactly what I want but I'm not telling you," Max snaps back at you, the words said with enough disdain that you almost slip up and huff out a laugh at just how much he sounds like his daughter in that moment, but in the next, Kaia is the farthest thing from your thoughts, "but just between us, AND ANYONE ELSE EAVESDROPPING RIGHT NOW, I've always have a bit of a talent for knowing what it is I want when it comes to you if I do say so myself."
You try to not let yourself ruminate, for even a second on the wealth of potential implications encompassed in that, already aware that nothing good and certainly nothing relevant would come from allowing your imagination to run wild at present.
"Ask me about it some time," you can tell he's been building to this for a while, whether he'd intended to get himself exactly here or not you're not entirely certain, but Max doesn't let that stop him from continuing boldly on, shameless and infuriatingly self-satisfied as he elaborates, "who knows, you might just enjoy yourself for once."
"Is that your way of telling me to loosen up?"
"I wouldn't dream of doing anything like that," Max chuckles darkly to himself, "I wouldn't change a single thing about... that side of you because I think we both know that's what makes us such a perfect fit."
Far from trusting your thoughts to not just immediately venture into the less than family friendly territory you'd become more and more accustomed with in recent weeks, that you squandered countless hours lost as of late, where, though you'd die before admitting to it, you'd always been in the exact same, singular company that you were now– it takes a considerable effort to force your mind elsewhere, to focus on the view in front of you rather than the one taking shape inside your head in spite of your every effort to the contrary.
"Decisions, decisions," Max tuts at you, speaking with a mocking inflection that brings a sudden, decisive end to the debauched daydreams that had taken shape in place of where real, utilizable and, perhaps most critically, anchored firmly in reality, thoughts should rightfully have been, "what will it be, what will it be? Pick a door, any door."
