Hate to race

Monaco 3.5

Charles lost count of how many drinks he'd downed.

The bartender had stopped questioning him after the first row of shots, filling his glass whenever he gestured for more. Each drink was another layer of armor against the gnawing thoughts he was trying to escape.

Somewhere between the haze of tequila and whiskey, he spotted Pierre and Carlos at a table nearby, their laughter cutting through the heavy bass of the music.

"Charles!" Pierre's voice carried as he waved him over.

Charles staggered slightly but made his way toward them, his drink sloshing dangerously close to spilling.

"You're absolutely hammered, mate," Carlos said, laughing as Charles dropped into an empty chair.

"No, I'm fine," Charles insisted, his words slightly slurred. "This is... I'm celebrating. Or...something."

Pierre leaned back, smirking. "Celebrating second place? Or drowning the pain of second place?"

"Screw you," Charles muttered, though a small laugh escaped him.

"You need water," Carlos said, pointing at him. "Or food. Or both. You're a mess, Charles."

"I'm not a mess," Charles shot back, his words blending together. "I'm...I'm fantastic."

Pierre snorted. "Yeah, you look fantastic. Like you're about to pass out on the table."

Carlos leaned closer, lowering his voice conspiratorially. "Is this about Max?"

Charles's eyes narrowed, and he slammed his glass onto the table. "No," he snapped, far too quickly.

Pierre and Carlos exchanged a look, both grinning.

"It's about Max," Pierre said knowingly.

"It's not!" Charles protested, but his voice lacked conviction.

"Sure, sure," Carlos said, patting him on the shoulder. "Drink away, lover boy."

Charles glared at him, but before he could retort, he caught a glimpse of movement in his peripheral vision. His head turned, and his drunken haze sharpened slightly when he spotted Max.

The Dutchman was standing near the bar, his shoulders tense, a half-empty bottle of something dark in his hand. For a moment, Charles just watched him, the earlier fury simmering back to the surface.

Then Max set the bottle down abruptly and started toward the back of the club.

Charles's heart thudded painfully in his chest. He grabbed another shot from the table, threw it back, and then reached for a second.

"What are you doing now?" Pierre asked, amused.

"Don't," Charles muttered, draining the glass. "Don't even start."

Carlos raised a brow. "Where are you going?"

Charles didn't answer. He pushed himself to his feet, the alcohol making him stagger slightly, and began weaving his way through the crowd, following Max.

The red haze of fury had taken over. The drinks burned in his veins, fueling him as he made his way toward the bathroom where Max had disappeared.

This ends now, he thought, his fists clenching at his sides.

-

Max didn't even realize how much he had drunk until the burn of the alcohol dulled into a steady haze in his mind. The bottle in his hand was nearly empty, but he didn't care. He lifted it again, taking another swig, when a voice interrupted him.