Hate to race lestappen

Tides Of Ibiza

The party had settled into a slower rhythm, the night dragging on into the early hours of the morning. Some people had already moved inside, others still lingering outside, finishing off their drinks, voices blending into a low, tired hum. The air had cooled, the warmth of the day now replaced with something crisper, and Charles could feel the dampness of his clothes clinging to his skin, making him shiver slightly.

"You're an idiot," Pierre muttered, shaking his head as he leaned against the railing of the terrace. "What the hell were you thinking?"

"Wanted a swim," Charles defended, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, and almost drowned in the process," Carlos scoffed.

"I was fine," Charles muttered, though he wasn't entirely sure that was true.

"You always say that," Pierre said. "And yet somehow, every time we go out, you end up running off like a feral cat."

"I do not—"

"You do," Carlos said. "Every single time."

"Whatever," Charles muttered, rolling his eyes.

"Anyway," Pierre said, turning to Lando with a smirk. "Speaking of dumbasses, are we going to talk about what you did earlier, or—"

"No, we are not," Lando said quickly, narrowing his eyes. "I don't even know what you're talking about."*

"Oh, you know exactly what I'm talking about," Pierre said. "That thing with the—"

"Shut up," Lando muttered, taking a long sip from his drink.

Charles barely listened, his mind still half-stuck on the way the ocean had sobered him just enough to feel the weight of the night. His body was heavy now, exhaustion creeping in at the edges, the last of his energy fizzling out. He exhaled slowly, dragging a hand through his still-damp hair.

He noticed the dark smudges on the pale stone floor, barely noticeable in the dim lighting. A trail leading away from where Max had been earlier.

Pierre and Carlos were still caught up in whatever they were teasing Lando about, but Charles knew instantly that it was Max's.

He had seen the cuts earlier. Hadn't thought much of it, too drunk and caught up in everything else to consider the fact that maybe it hadn't stopped bleeding. That maybe it was worse than he had assumed.

"Guys," Charles said, voice tight.

Pierre stopped mid-sentence, raising an eyebrow. "What?"

Charles motioned to the ground. Carlos frowned, following his gaze, then cursed under his breath. "Oh, for fuck's sake."

Pierre's face shifted, his usual smirk gone. "What the hell did you do?"

"I didn't do anything," Charles defended, but the words felt thin, insubstantial.

"That's not serious," Carlos said quickly, though it sounded like he was trying to convince himself. They all by now must've figured out who that trail belonged to. "Is it?"

"I don't know," Charles admitted. "It was fine!"

"Well, clearly it wasn't," Pierre muttered. "Where even is he?"

Charles glanced around, expecting to see Max somewhere nearby. He wasn't.

"Great," Pierre sighed. "Fucking fantastic."

"Okay, well, someone has to go check on him," Carlos said. "Make sure he's not, you know, dying."

"He's not dying," Charles muttered, but the words felt flimsy.