A/N: It was Pentecost here during the weekend, so I was out with my boyfriend for most of it. I watched the GP late at night and was genuinely nauseous the whole time! Max proved that he's the champion and one of the greatest of all time right there. Him and Charles yapping on the podium and in the press conference gave me so many ideas, and I hope it was worth the wait. Enjoy <3
Come Monday morning, Max's head is pounding like crazy. He remembers flashes of going out with Lando and several other F1 drivers, but the details are blurry after one too many gin tonics.
Grabbing his phone, Max checks the time. It's way past noon, and hundreds of notifications have been bombarding his lockscreen. Scrolling through them quickly, he halts at a certain name.
Charlie: Pierre told me it was pretty wild last night. You alive?
Charlie: It was just a joke. Sorry. When are you flying to Monaco?
Charlie: Did I do something?
Charlie: Max?
Trying not to overthink it, Max presses the call button. It rings a single time before Charles's voice echoes through the speaker.
"Max."
"Charles", Max doesn't know what to say exactly. He's simply happy to hear the Ferrari driver's voice, despite it sounding insecure. "I missed you at the party last night."
"I heard you did." The light chuckle in Charles's voice erupts a warm sensation in the pit of Max's stomach. He vividly imagines those dimples he loves. "Pierre said you wouldn't stop talking about me."
Feeling bolt, Max doesn't deny it: "How could I? It's you, Charlie."
The Monegasque goes quiet. After sixteen seconds, Max counts every single one, Charles replies: "Why didn't you answer my messages, then?"
"I just woke up with the worst headache since Abu Dhabi 2021," Max laughs, a hand going through his hair. "I'll never ignore you on purpose."
"Me neither," Charles agrees, and Max almost sees the happy crinkle in those green eyes. He's down bad.
"I was wondering when you're flying back to Europe," Charles says, referencing his texts. "We have an ice cream date to plan." There's no trace of hesitation in his voice.
"On Saturday. I'm staying here to play padel with some of my guys. I still need to practice before we're going back at it."
If Charles is disappointed, his voice doesn't show it: "I've got to go to Maranello on Monday. How does Sunday sound?"
"Great."
"Great," Max echoes, rubbing the spot behind his ear.
"I'm looking forward to it," Charles breathlessly utters.
"Me too," Max nods, his grin widening. "See you Saturday."
"Bye Max."
-----
When Air Max touches down in Nice, Max feels like throwing up. Tomorrow evening, after the Monaco Historic Races, Max is meeting up with Charles in his apartment. He's been there before, but never like this. Never on a date.
The nausea doesn't disappear; instead, it amplifies every hour until he's knocking on the Monegasque's door. Charles opens it a beat later, a dazzling smile gracing his lips. Just like that, the feeling's gone, replaced by warmth.
"Come in!"
Stepping into the apartment, Max takes in the interior. Charles's place is an organized mess. Books are everywhere, as are coffee cups. Ferrari merchandise is the only color in the room, contrasting the neat black and white furniture. 'It's so Charles', Max thinks.
YOU ARE READING
If Clarity's in Death, Then Why Won't This Die?
Romance"Max doesn't know what to say. His eyes draw over every inch of Charles's face. His green eyes with brown specks, the sweat dripping down his face, his lips curled in a small smile... "If only you saw yourself the way all of us do. The way I do." Ma...
