Maybe in another life-formula 1

For the team. Not for you

It seems that Max didn't really grasp the concept of time—or boundaries, for that matter—because exactly twenty minutes later right as Angelus stepped out of the shower, there was a knock on his hotel room door. He had said an hour. Clearly, Max had a different idea of what "an hour" meant."Max," Angelus said flatly, opening the door, still toweling his damp hair. A white t-shirt clinging to his poorly dried back.

Max stood there in a fresh Red Bull shirt that clung damply to his torso. His hair, still wet, spiked in every direction. He looked every bit like he had rushed here without a second thought.

"I know. But I was already here talking to PR," Max said, shrugging like that excused everything. "They said you were right across from them."

Angelus pinched the bridge of his nose but stepped aside, gesturing for him to come in. "Fine. Just let me grab my laptop."

Max entered the room, his eyes sweeping over the clutter: clothes thrown haphazardly over a chair, empty water bottles, and half-unpacked bags. Angelus caught the brief flicker of surprise on his face. Once upon a time, he'd been obsessively tidy, but that was another thing that changed wasn't it?

"You've been busy," Max remarked his tone light but edged with curiosity. He sat at the small desk, his fingers tapping idly on the surface.

"Yeah, well," Angelus replied as he dragged a chair to sit beside him, the laptop in hand. His back ached as he slumped into the seat, muscles still protesting from the earlier workout. "Busy arguing with PR about my so-called obligations. They think I'm difficult."

Max smirked. "They're probably right."

Angelus snorted, pulling up the laptop screen. "Difficult because I won't let them turn me into a walking billboard. Liz has been nagging me to start a public Instagram. Imagine that—me posting selfies with captions like 'Another day, another grind.'" His tone dripped with sarcasm.

Max chuckled, the sound was strangely comforting. "Your gallery's just data sheets and notes... you used to always take pictures of where you leave ur shit so u can find it again"

Angelus's heart ached he did still do that but he wouldn't say so. "Not exactly influencer material." He says instead

Their banter felt easy, like slipping into an old rhythm neither of them could quite forget. But as Angelus settled the laptop between them, he noticed Max was quiet. Too quiet.

When he glanced up, Max's eyes were fixed—not on the screen, but on the raised scars that snaked along Angelus's arms and disappeared under his shirt. Angelus felt a cold knot form in his stomach. He didn't have to look to know what Max was staring at.

"It's rude to stare, Verstappen," Angelus said, trying to keep his tone light as he prodded Max's arm.

Max blinked, startled. "Sorry." His gaze darted away, but it wasn't long before it drifted back, as if drawn by some invisible force.

"What did you want to talk about?" Angelus asked, pulling up the data sheets he assumed Max wanted to discuss.

Max's eyes drifted back now and then, even as he began talking about the car—problems with the balance, what they should try in FP1 tomorrow. Angelus nodded along, giving suggestions here and there, but his mind couldn't stop wondering why Max was coming to him with all this. It wasn't anything Max shouldn't have already discussed with his race engineer. 

Max drifted off mid-sentence when Angelus leaned over, stretching his neck to the side to get closer to point out something on the screen. His eyes followed the scar that ran along Angelus's neck, disappearing into his shirt.

"...Max?" Angelus prompted, frowning. "You're zoning out."

Max hesitated before finally speaking. "sorry-its just"

Angelus stiffened. "What?"

"The-" Max said quietly, his voice tinged with guilt. "I've never seen them."

Angelus's jaw clenched as the familiar bitterness rose in his chest. "You haven't seen me in seven years. Where the hell would you have seen them?"

Max flinched but didn't look away. "I—I know. But... you always wear hoodies and shit- sorry"

"Yeah, because of this, " Angelus snapped, gesturing at his arms. "They are ugly and a lot and People stare. Like you're doing right now."

Max's expression softened, and his voice was still and steady. "They're not ugly."

The sincerity in his tone caught Angelus off guard. He said it in the matter-fact way Max says about things he's sure of. He blinked, unsure how to respond. His throat felt tight, and his hand moved instinctively to cover the scar on his neck.

Max's gaze didn't falter. "I saw the crash... when it happened," he said softly, his words barely audible. "I wanted to come see you, but—" He paused, swallowing hard. "He wouldn't let me."

Angelus froze. The admission hit him like a blow to the chest. Jos hated him sure but he didn't think he would actually... "What?"

Max's hands fidgeted, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the edge of the desk. "He said it wasn't my place. That I needed to focus on my career, not... not get distracted."

Angelus stared at him, his heart pounding. "You could've called. Texted. Something."

"I couldn't," Max said, his low. "I thought you wouldn't want to hear from me. I thought you hated me."

Angelus let out a bitter laugh. "I didn't hate you then, Max. But after weeks of lying in that hospital, with everyone showing up except you..." He trailed off, his voice sharp with pain. "Yeah, I hated you after that "

Max's eyes glistened, "I was scared, Watching that crash... the blood... I thought you were going to die. And I thought if you did, you'd die hating me. Then they said you were awake and it had been too long and I couldn't get myself to just show up"

Angelus's hands clenched into fists. "You were scared?" His voice was low, trembling with barely restrained anger. "I couldn't feel my legs for weeks. I woke up to my mother looking at me like I should have died."

The silence between them was deafening, broken only by Angelus's labored breathing.

"I didn't want it to be like this," Max murmured, his voice thick with regret.

"Well, it is," Angelus shot back, his tone hollow. "You weren't there, Max. And that's not something you can't undo."

Max nodded slowly as if the weight of his guilt had finally settled on his shoulders. "I don't regret a lot of things, Angelus. not how I drive, not the sacrifices I've made for this sport. The only thing I regret is... you. The fight before I left...not coming to see you that day...I- I wish I could go back"

Angelus inhaled sharply, his chest tightening. He wanted to scream, to demand why Max was saying this now, after so many years. But he didn't. Instead, he forced himself to speak calmly, each word a lie he wished he could believe.

"I don't want to go back," Angelus said evenly.

Max's face crumpled, but he nodded. "Okay," he whispered. "I'm... sorry."

Angelus exhaled, the anger and bitterness giving way to an aching exhaustion. "We're coworkers now, Max. That's all. My job is to make sure you have a fast car and I promise to do that well. Beyond that, there's nothing left to fix."

"Okay" Max stood, his movements slow, reluctant. He paused at the door, his hand resting on the frame. "If we win tomorrow," he said quietly, "can you show up for the team shit- they look for you every time and you just disappear"

Angelus hesitated, his heart clenching at the vulnerability in Max's voice. After a long pause, he nodded. "For the team. Not for you."

Max smiled faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "For the team," he repeated. Then, with a quiet "goodnight," he slipped out of the room.

The door clicked shut, leaving Angelus alone in the suffocating silence.

Professional. That's all they could be now.

And maybe... that was enough.