Hate to race

Monaco 1.3

"Of course, it had to be me," Charles muttered to himself, running a hand through his hair.

He was angry—furious even—but beneath that anger, there was something else. A gnawing sense of responsibility, maybe, or just a deep fatigue.

He wasn't sure anymore.

All he knew was that Max was in no state to be left alone, and Charles couldn't bring himself to just walk away, no matter how much he wanted to.

Without saying another word, Charles grabbed a blanket and tossed it over Max, knowing he would feel the cold sooner or later.

The air in his apartment felt heavy, suffocating almost, as if the tension between them lingered even in the quiet.

Charles turned away, suddenly feeling the weight of the night pressing down on him.

He needed to clear his head. His body moved on autopilot as he grabbed a fresh towel and headed for the bathroom.

The hot water felt like a relief, washing away some of the tension but none of the confusion. As the steam rose around him, Charles tried to piece together everything that had happened.

The fight with his girlfriend, stumbling upon Max, and now...this.
His mind couldn't keep up, and he didn't even want to try anymore.

By the time he stepped out of the shower, he was too tired to think, let alone deal with whatever came next.

Max was still passed out on the couch, dead to the world, and for a brief moment, Charles envied him for that.

At least Max didn't have to deal with the confusion and chaos running through Charles's head.

Charles dried off, pulled on some fresh clothes, and crawled into bed. He told himself he'd deal with everything in the morning, that it would all make sense then.

But as he lay there, staring at the ceiling, he couldn't help but wonder how things had gotten this far. How had they gone from hating each other on the track to this—a night that felt like it had no answers, only more questions?

Eventually, the exhaustion took over, and Charles drifted off to sleep, his mind too clouded to process any of it.

Tomorrow would come, and with it, the weight of everything that had happened. But for now, he let the darkness pull him under.

.

The next morning, Charles woke up early, his mind still foggy from the events of the night before.

Sunlight streamed through the blinds, but it didn't do much to lift the heaviness that settled in his chest.

Max was still passed out on the couch, tangled in the blanket Charles had thrown over him.

Quietly, Charles got up, glancing briefly at Max.

He didn't know what to do with him yet, but he knew he couldn't sit around waiting for him to wake up.

He needed to clear his head.

Throwing on his running shoes, Charles stepped outside for a run. The air was crisp and fresh, the streets of Monaco just beginning to wake up, but the peaceful morning did little to calm his racing thoughts.

He picked up the pace, trying to shake off the weight in his chest, focusing on the rhythm of his footsteps instead.

As he ran, his phone buzzed in his pocket, Pierre's name flashing on the screen.

Charles rolled his eyes, already knowing what this was about. Pierre had been worried about him lately.  And last night's argument with his girlfriend didnt make him worried less.