Hate to race lestappen

Monaco 4

The familiar layout of Max's apartment felt strange after such an exhausting week. He sank into the couch as soon as they got inside, the tension in his shoulders barely easing. Charles, on the other hand, seemed restless.

The other man moved around the apartment like he owned it, kicking his shoes off and putting their bags by the door. He disappeared briefly into the kitchen, coming back with a glass of water, his face unreadable.

Max leaned his head back, letting his eyes close for a moment. "You're awfully quiet," he muttered, voice rough.

Charles didn't answer right away. Instead, he leaned against the back of the couch, drinking his water in silence. "Just tired," he said finally.

Max glanced at him. "Didn't seem tired yesterday when you were locking yourself in my hospital room."

Charles smiled faintly, but it was tight. "You're welcome, by the way."

"For what?" Max asked, half-laughing.

"For saving your ass." Charles's voice was light, but Max could hear the edge beneath it.

Max sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Fine. Tell me what happened then. What did you even do all day? Besides making sure I didn't die."

Charles's eyebrows lifted, and he sat down on the edge of a chair, swirling the water in his glass. "Oh, you know, the usual. Media circus. Nearly got tackled by security. Locked myself in a hospital room with some guy who keeps crashing cars for fun."

Max rolled his eyes. "Be serious."

Charles leaned back, his expression flickering briefly into something darker. "I got cornered by about a hundred reporters outside the hospital and the paddock."

"Then," Charles continued, his voice edged with sarcasm, "my lovely staff decided I needed to sign papers promising I wouldn't pull a stunt like that again."

"What kind of papers?" Max asked, frowning.

Charles waved it off, though his jaw tightened. "Doesn't matter. Something about safety. Apparently, I was a security risk."

Max stared at him. "You're joking."

"Nope." Charles smirked faintly. "Apparently, sprinting toward exploding cars and shit gets you on some kind of list."

Max didn't laugh. His eyes flicked to Charles's wrist as the other man took another sip of water. That red bandage pulled at his thoughts again.

"I'm ordering pizza," he muttered, though the knot in his stomach hadn't loosened since the hospital.

Charles glanced over, his expression unreadable. "Sure."

The room fell silent again, the weight of the conversation hanging between them. Charles's eyes lingered on Max a second longer than usual before he turned his attention back to the TV.

---

They sat on the couch, both slouched in their seats like they were trying to melt into the cushions. The hum of the TV filled the room, though neither was really paying attention. They were too tired to talk much but too restless to try sleeping.

"You're terrible company, you know that?" Max muttered, tapping his fingers against his leg.

"You're the one who insisted on ordering pizza instead of going straight to bed," Charles countered, his eyes half-lidded as he leaned his head back.

"Bed? With this jet lag? Forget it." Max shifted in his seat, his restlessness growing. He glanced at Charles out of the corner of his eye. "You're acting all quiet now. Where's the annoying Charles who never shuts up?"