𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘴~ Lestappen

the Kiss

The croissants were a hit—or at least Max hadn’t died, which Charles considered a win. They had spent the rest of the day doing their usual routine: lounging around, teasing each other, and pretending they weren’t obviously becoming more than just roommates. It had become this unspoken thing between them—comfortable, but also filled with an awkward tension neither of them wanted to acknowledge.

That night, after dinner, they found themselves back in their tiny hotel room, winding down in front of the TV. Max was sprawled on the bed, scrolling through his phone, while Charles leaned back against the headboard, flipping through channels. The room was dimly lit, the glow of the TV casting soft shadows across their faces.

Charles was feeling unusually relaxed. Maybe it was the afterglow of his successful (and slightly burnt) croissant adventure. Maybe it was the fact that Max hadn’t made a single sarcastic comment about them for the last hour. Or maybe it was just… well, Max. It was hard to explain, but being around him had started to feel natural—too natural.

“You ever think about how weird this is?” Charles asked suddenly, breaking the comfortable silence.

Max glanced over, looking confused. “What’s weird?”

“This,” Charles gestured between them. “Us. Being roommates. We’re supposed to be rivals. It’s not… normal.”

Max snorted. “You’ve been thinking about that for the last two hours, haven’t you?”

Charles shrugged, not wanting to admit that, yes, he had been thinking about it. “Well, I mean, it’s just… weird, right?”

Max laughed lightly, shaking his head. “I don’t know, man. It’s not that weird. I mean, it’s just us hanging out.”

“Yeah, hanging out,” Charles echoed, though there was something in his tone that hinted at the fact that it was clearly more than just hanging out for him.

Max looked at him for a moment, his expression softening a bit. “Why? You don’t like it?”

Charles blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity in Max’s question. “No, I like it. It’s just… different, I guess.”

They fell into silence again, but this time it wasn’t as comfortable. There was an undercurrent, something simmering just below the surface. Charles could feel it, and from the way Max was fidgeting with his phone, he could tell Max felt it too.

“Do you ever think about what we’d be like if we weren’t, you know, racing?” Charles asked quietly, surprising even himself with the question.

Max looked over at him, eyes narrowing slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, if we weren’t rivals,” Charles said, not meeting his gaze. “If we were just… normal people.”

Max didn’t respond right away. He seemed to be thinking, his face a mixture of confusion and something else—something Charles couldn’t quite read.

“Yeah,” Max said finally, his voice softer than usual. “I’ve thought about it.”

Charles’s heart skipped a beat. He wasn’t sure where this conversation was going, but it was starting to feel like they were tiptoeing around something they both knew was there.

And then, in the quiet of the room, Charles did something impulsive. Something very unlike him.

He leaned forward, closing the small distance between them, and pressed his lips to Max’s.

For a second, everything stopped. The world outside the room ceased to exist. It was just the two of them, caught in a moment that was both completely unexpected and somehow inevitable.

Max froze, completely still, like he couldn’t believe what was happening. And then, just as quickly as the kiss started, it was over. Charles pulled back, his heart pounding in his chest, his mind racing with a thousand thoughts.

Max blinked, staring at Charles with wide eyes, his face a mix of shock, confusion, and—was that panic?

“Oh,” Max muttered, his voice barely audible. “Uh…”

Before Charles could say anything—before he could even process what had just happened—Max did the most unexpected thing of all.

He bolted.

Max, the guy who could navigate hairpin turns at 200 mph without breaking a sweat, ran out of the room like a cartoon character. One second he was sitting on the bed, the next he was halfway out the door, muttering something incoherent about needing fresh air.

“Max, wait—” Charles called after him, but it was too late. The door slammed shut, and Max was gone.

Charles sat there, dumbfounded, staring at the now-closed door. His brain was struggling to catch up with the events of the last minute. He kissed Max. Max ran. Max ran. Like, actually sprinted out of the room.

He buried his face in his hands, half-laughing, half-groaning. “Did that seriously just happen?”

Charles flopped back onto the bed, staring at the ceiling. Max Verstappen, the most confident, aggressive driver on the grid, had just sprinted out of a room because of a kiss. A kiss.

“I broke him,” Charles muttered to himself. “I actually broke Max Verstappen.”

He lay there for a while, replaying the moment in his head, trying to make sense of it. Why had he kissed him? Why had Max run away like he’d been caught in some sort of rom-com disaster? And more importantly—what happens now?

After what felt like an eternity, Charles sighed and grabbed his phone. He hovered over Max’s contact, debating whether or not to text him. What do you even say after something like that? “Hey, sorry I kissed you. Please come back, and maybe don’t run next time?”

Eventually, he settled on something simple:

Charles: Hey. You okay?

He hit send and waited. And waited. And… waited.

No response.

Charles sighed again, throwing his phone onto the pillow next to him. This was going to be a long night. And tomorrow? Tomorrow was going to be really interesting.

And maybe—just maybe—Max would stop running long enough to figure out what the hell had just happened between them.