Hate to race

Japan

The cold, sterile air of the hospital was thick with tension as Max and Charles walked inside. Max had barely said a word the entire time, his thoughts a chaotic mess. He still couldn't wrap his mind around the fact that he'd run from the hospital, that everyone had been looking for him—hell, even the police.

He glanced sideways at Charles, the awkward tension between them heavier than ever. Charles was the last person he expected to help him, but here they were, side by side, like some strange, unwilling allies.

The moment they rounded the corner into the waiting area, Daniel came into view, his face pale with worry. When his eyes landed on Max, the relief that washed over him was palpable, but it quickly turned into frustration.

"Max!" Daniel rushed over, wrapping Max in a tight hug before pulling back and looking him over. "Where the hell have you been? We've been searching for you all night you idiot!"

Max stood there, feeling guilty, but still too tired and overwhelmed to say anything coherent. He hadn't expected this—the intensity of Daniel's relief, the way he hugged him like he'd thought Max was really gone. Max blinked, struggling to find words, but they wouldn't come.

"I—I didn't mean for it to end like this," Max muttered, his voice hoarse.

"Didn't mean to—? Max, there were police looking for you. We thought something happened to you. Jos thought..." Daniel trailed off, shaking his head as he tried to hold back the surge of emotions. "What were you thinking, mate?"

Max swallowed hard, looking down at the floor. "I just... I didn't want to be there anymore. I wasn't thinking. I just needed to leave."

Daniel looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and concern, then glanced at Charles standing quietly nearby. His confusion was obvious, the question unspoken but hanging in the air: why was Charles, of all people, with Max?

"Charles," Daniel started, his eyes narrowing, "what the hell happened? Why was Max with you? Did something—?"

"No," Charles cut in quickly, shaking his head. "Nothing happened. I found him. He was... well, he wasn't in a good place. I helped him. That's all."

Daniel blinked, not entirely convinced but too relieved to care at the moment. "You should've told someone," he muttered, mostly to Max. "We've been worried sick. Jos had people out looking for you... they thought you'd run off to hurt yourself."

Max flinched slightly at that. He knew what it must've looked like. Ripping out the cannula, walking out with Charles—of course, people would assume the worst. The mention of his father sent a familiar chill down his spine, but he didn't have the energy to think about Jos right now. It was all too much.

"I'm sorry," Max said quietly, his voice strained. He wasn't used to apologizing, but this time, it felt like the only thing he could do. "I didn't mean for it to get this bad."

Daniel sighed, pulling Max into another hug, this time more gentle, more relieved than angry. "You scared the hell out of us," he murmured, his hand patting Max's back. "Just... don't do that again, alright? You should've called me. You can always call me."

Max tensed slightly at the hug, feeling a wave of emotions he wasn't ready to deal with. It was too much—Daniel's concern, Charles's silence, the chaos of everything that had happened. He was angry at himself, embarrassed even, but there was also this gnawing frustration at the fact that Charles had seen him like this.

As Daniel pulled away, he glanced between the two of them again, clearly still trying to make sense of the situation. "We need to talk to the police and the hospital staff. Just... explain everything, alright? And then, Max, I'll take you back to your hotel."