Perfect Disaster-Charles Leclerc

sixteen

"Here we go "

Max opens the door to his room and I to enter first, it's just Max style, the desk is messy, his clothes are some in a suitcase and some on the chair, at least the ones he used. The bed is made, the room is humid still because of Max's hot shower 

"make yourself at home, however messy"

 he goes to close the white curtains on a san francesco quite unlit, the various lights are going out and the crimes are lighting up as if hell can only be passed at night. Right now my life is hell. Hell is not loving and not wanting to love, the lack of love is hell. It must be that I have always wanted everyone to like me, not to make a bad impression, not to disfigure others. I'm afraid that max will regret it, that I won't live up to him, that I will disfigure beside him, if I let him degrade me from his perfection I won't forgive myself. I have always had this kind of fear when I was introduced to anyone, even when Laura did it with her friends. The fear of not fitting in and that they would say 'but who have you found'. I am not saying that things have always gone well, nor that they must always go well, but is it so wrong to want to? I approach Max who, in his goofy way at times, opens the curtains to ajar the windows and let some air through. I don't like Max because he's right, but because of this. I hug him staying behind him and resting my head on his back 

"heller, you're going to have to say something, you know that?" I smile at the contact with his shirt and hide even more like a happy child at her first compliment

 "I don't know what to say, I'm happy" hell and heaven coexist, they are an oxymoron: the opposite of each other

The world would not exist without them: sun and luma, light and darkness, happiness and sadness. Paradise begins when you choose it and I am choosing Max, I am choosing the right person at the right time. I am choosing security, love, assured happiness. I'm choosing conversations and not arguments, listening and not shouting, I'm choosing serenity and not the constant challenge because I'm so tired I probably couldn't take it all the time. Niccolo was the challenge, he was the pressure, he was the tension, he was the love, he was the doubts, he was the jealousy, he was the possession and he was selfish. Max is the guy made for me.He turns around and makes room in his chest for me starting to walk towards the bed

 "we have to sleep, it's late mute person" I laugh even louder than I should 

"you wouldn't happen to have a shirt I could borrow?" He's the one laughing now and I'm the one desperately searching for his sea-blue eyes

 "you can take anything you want, liefde"

 I open my eyes wide at that last word, I can tell it's Dutch from his perfect, melodious, symmetrical pronunciation that I've grown to love listening to him in interviews while waiting for him. I turn around, but he doesn't let go of my hand, I look around and search with my eyes for a t-shirt not too important to him 

"there it is"

 I stretch out on the bed and take it in my hand: it's white there's a small inscription on the top left, black, a little faded from the constant washing, I think it's from redbull 

"may I?" 

He smiles and nods at me, somehow it reminds me of home, I've always slept in the same t-shirt, which isn't very hard to believe, however his scent brings me that sense of security I've always had at home.

 "I'm going to the bathroom to clean myself up in the meantime, so you get changed, no worries" I smile at him and wait for him to disappear behind the door 

"no peeking, world champion, I know you well"

 I hear him laugh and lean his back against the bathroom door, we look like two teenagers with a master crush who don't know how to get out of it. I enjoy the scent of Max still in the air for an extra second thanks to his t-shirt and then slip it on resting my clothes in an undisturbed corner