End Game (Charles Leclerc x Max Verstappen)

Don't Blame Me

*** Trigger warning for this chapter, there is the blurred out f slur and homophobia (I'm sorry and thank you for your support)

Charles Leclerc

I feel very silly and exposed as I bolt to my feet. I begin to respond to his comment, saying something about how my house is always messy and I do not mind if Penelope is having fun, when the words halt in my mouth. Max is wearing one of my sweat shirts. My favourite one, which I had Arthur gifted to me and had custom made when I first joined Ferrari. Even though it is my most special hoodie I will only wear at home when I am alone, I do not think anyone except for Arthur and Maman know of the existence of it. Where did he find it? Did he choose it on purpose?

Does... Is... Est-ce que Max comprend ce que cela signifie? [Does Max understand what the rainbow represents?] My brain is in a scramble of random French and Italian as I attempt to sort through the multitude of feelings that have appeared as soon as Max walked into the kitchen. 

Max begins to talk but chokes on his words as he notices my eyes remain on the hoodie. He scrambles to apologize, "Oh Charles. Sorry I was cold and... I don't remember if I'm simply honest. I..." Max switches to dutch for a moment as he turns to Penelope, saying something that could be a question from the sound of his voice. Pen laughs at whatever Max said, or perhaps it was the funny twisted expression that appeared on his face when I stood up, revealing my whip cream covered torso, I do not know really. 

It takes a moment for me to realize that Max is talking in English again, and a few more seconds before I am able to decide that he did not intentionally take my shirt and focus on what he is saying.

"... sorry Charles. I didn't mean for you to babysit P, I'm not a very good dad it seems. I shouldn't have been drunk and I should have gone home and not worn your hoodie and" Max is stuttering and I feel the need to save him from himself.

"Max." I say, voice a perhaps slightly harsher than I intended, "I do not mind. Pen is... it is nice to not be alone. Ignore the kitchen, it is still the most clean it has been in months." I walk over and scoop Penelope up, now that she has finished shoving her pancakes and whip cream into her tiny mouth, and begin to wash her face with a cloth. 

Max has not responded, he is instead leaning against the island counter with the corner of his lip turned up in a smile. He looks very at peace. I am glad that I could do this for him. 

Once Penelope is very clean, although I am not, Max takes her to the guest room to change her clothes, he is saying that you must always bring many extras when you have a child, while I begin cleaning the kitchen. 

The stickiness from the whip cream is beginning to annoy me, it is drying on my abs and is making it uncomfortable to move. I walk to my room, now that the kitchen is clean, and immediately notice the small pieces of Max that exist now. His black t-shirt and socks, it seems, are folded on my chair by the closet. I do not mind at all.  

I quickly head to the bathroom and shower, the sticky sugar getting more irritating every second. When I exit the shower my hair makes me resemble a rat dunked in the water, it is not very attractive at all. My lips feel very dry so I grab my orange lip balm from the drawer, apply it, and then dry and fluff my hair before wrapping a towel around my waist and stepping into my room.

I am in the closet, searching for a bandana and not-ferrari shirt when Max enters into the room.

His face slackens for a moment before diverting his eyes from the towel at my waist and creating very intense, and very intentional, eye contact. "I... uh. I'm sorry Charles I did not mean to... My shirt is on the chair and my feet were cold. You were in the bathroom so I didn't think to knock and... I'm, ya, I am not meaning to walk into you changing."