Medical attention I Max Verstappen

The club: Part 2

As Max's strong hands clamped onto the collar of the stranger's shirt, the tension between them escalated from 1 to 100 in an instant. The rhythmic pulse of the club's music seemed to harmonize with the rapid beating of my heart. The stranger, caught off guard, reacted by attempting to close the distance to Max, only to be forcefully pushed back against the bar counter. Max's grip was unyielding, his control over the situation evident in the way he effortlessly restrained the stranger. It was as if exerting such physical strength was second nature to him - He didn't even seem strained.

Max's demeanor mirrored the intense focus he carried on the race track, something I had witnessed countless times on television screens, now manifesting before me in real life. It was his poker face – unflinching and determined. 

The stranger's initial defense faltered under the clear overpowering presence of Max. He realized his efforts were to no avail. When the stranger finally stops fighting back, Max slightly relaxes his grip, until the stranger's collar is no longer a noose around his neck.

"Fine, man. Just chill," the stranger mumbles. As he spoke to Max, he cast me one last lingering look. Then Max's grip tightened once more, his fingers pressing into the fabric of the stranger's collar, onto his throat, causing the man to audibly gasp for air. "Don't even fucking look at her," Max's voice sliced through the air, a raw intensity lacing his words. This time, his voice is surged with visible agitation, making his command all the more compelling.

The bartender, noticing the tension, sprints over from across the bar in a haste, frantically tapping Max's arm, trying to make him release his grip.

"I promise," the stranger managed to wheeze out, his voice strained, eyes welling with tears under Max's unyielding grip.

In a swift motion, Max lets go of his hold, causing the man to stumble backward, caught off guard by the sudden release. His expression shifts from defiance to shock, a flicker of realization crossing his face as he assesses the gravity of the situation. Not wanting to be embarrassed in front of the other people in the club, he swiftly tries to regain his composure, his hands adjusting his shirt as if he wasn't just strangled, a mere second ago. With a poorly concealed facade of nonchalance, he turns on his heel, making his way into the sea of dancers, without uttering another word.

I release a breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding, my eyes shift to Max.  Despite the tension having ebbed from the room, his posture remained firm, shoulders squared. Even from the back, I can tell that he is breathing heavily. The club's atmosphere seemed to have regained its normal rhythm, but my heart is still racing. 

"Thanks," I managed to say, my voice a mixture of relief and gratitude. But Max doesn't turn around to look at me, his eyes seem fixated on the crowd that the stranger fled into.

I moved closer to Max, my voice slightly raised to be heard over the music. "Max,"

This time he turned around, his eyes meeting mine, his expression softening ever so slightly as he met my gaze. "You okay?" he asks, his voice so gentle now, devoid of the earlier tension, yet anger still lingers on his stern face. 

"Yeah," I replied with a surprised, grateful smile. "Thanks to you. You really... stepped in." He turns his face away, facing the bar. "Just doing what anyone should do in that situation," he mumbles. "Not everyone would've. You didn't have to... but you did."

Perhaps it is just an alcohol induced enchantment that has enveloped me, casting a rosy hue over everything, but he is even more breathtaking than usual. Amidst the pulsating lights and rhythmic music, Max stands before me, glowing as if he had a spotlight on him. He is wearing a crisp blue collar shirt, the fabric hugging his frame with a casual elegance, the color contrasting against his tanned skin. A subtle flush graces his cheeks. His wavy hair, a tangle of blond strands, are pushed aside carelessly, revealing the strong lines of his face. In that moment, he was not just Max Verstappen, the fierce racer; he was something god-like.