𝐋𝐈𝐎𝐍𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐓 ~ | 𝘔𝘢𝘹 𝘝𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘦𝘯

To The Victor

~'~

The week did not go the way I had planned.

After a bad quali, ending up in P9 for the race, I had been bombarded with sexist comments and questions about my performance. And I was in no mood to be polite. Safe to say I did get community service and a harsh scolding from Bea.

All I wanted to do was go back to my hotel room and hide, but then Max would be there and we would fight. Because that was all we could do nowadays.

He was gone most of the time anyway. He would come back just to have a shower and change, then leave. I didn't know where he went, but he would come back after I had gone to sleep. Sometimes I thought I heard him in the room, but I didn't dwell on it.

I hated to admit that I wanted him there. Even if we were going to fight. I just wanted him around. He could tear me apart and with my last breath I would still smile. Because the hands that hurt me were capable of kindness.

The race went a little better, earning me a decent P5. It was also a small victory that I had done better than Max. He had finished P7. I wasn't sure what it was with him this weekend. He was usually so focused and efficient, but today he was distracted.

I was also pleased because of who won. So did Max. A couple days ago, Esteban had fallen sick, so Alpine's reserve driver stepped up.

Lily had been incredible. She qualified on pole with an insane lap and fought with Lewis and Carlos the whole way through, but still emerged on top.

He would never admit it, but Charles was proud too.

After the race, I congratulated her. Well, tried to before she was bombarded by her family. Max lifted her up onto his shoulders like she was nothing as they all cheered. I was truly happy for her. I remembered my first win.

After finally making Bea happy by doing all of my interviews, without making any reporters cry, I was finally allowed to head back to the hotel. Max was already there when I got to the room. I knew he was going out again. He was wearing an open white buttoned shirt and some loose jeans. He was sitting on the arm of the couch. I closed the door behind me, making him look up.

He glanced up as I closed the door. "Hey," he said simply, his tone neutral, before looking back down at the half-done buttons of his shirt.

"Hey," I replied cautiously, lingering near the doorway. The silence stretched between us, and I couldn't take it anymore. "Where are you going tonight?" I tried to sound casual.

"Out," he said shortly, not even looking up.

"With who?" I prodded. He barely spoke to me these days. He barely looked at me. It felt like I was talking to a stranger in someone else's skin.

"People." His response was clipped. His voice carried a faint edge, and his hands fumbled again at the buttons.

I sighed, frustration prickling under my skin. "Could you try, just once, not to be such a cryptic ass?"

At that, his eyes flicked up to meet mine, something sharp glimmering behind them. "I told you to not care."

"I thought you realized after a year that you can't tel me what to do." I shot back.

He didn't reply. I took a breath, crossing the room toward him. "I'm trying to have a conversation, Max, not an interrogation. God forbid you make it easy for once."

"There's no point talking, Hawke. The less we say, the less we get hurt." His voice was calm.

Fuck, back to last names.