Chapter Text
George is embarrassed, to say the least.
The kind of embarrassed that makes his skin crawl hours later, replaying everything on a merciless loop. The kind that has him staring up at the ceiling, wishing that the earth would split open and swallow him whole. His little freak-out over Max and Lando sits heavy in his chest, sour and ugly. He shouldn’t have reacted like that. He knows that. It didn’t help that he ran away. It didn’t help that he cut Max off so sharply it probably felt like being shoved into open air.
God. He’d hurt him. Again.
George turns onto his side, jaw tight. The irony of it all tastes bitter. He was the one who didn’t want them to be together in the first place. Years ago, when the bond first snapped into place and rewired everything. He’d told himself they couldn’t work. That they shouldn’t. That two people like them, too stubborn, too volatile would burn each other alive.
So he’d drawn lines. Then blurred them. Then erased them completely.
They’d lived in that limbo for years: not together, not apart. Kissing like it meant nothing. Sleeping together like it meant everything. Pretending they could keep things casual while the bond hummed beneath every touch, every glance, every unspoken want.
George squeezes his eyes shut as memories surface unbidden.
Max’s laugh, breathless against his mouth. Max’s hands gripping his shoulders like he was afraid George might disappear if he let go. The way love radiated off him through the bond when George allowed it to be open.
God. Max loved him, truly loved him. And George had known. Maybe not consciously at first, but he’d felt it. He’d felt it every time the bond warmed at the smallest scrap of affection, every time Max softened around him in ways he didn’t with anyone else. And still, George had done nothing.
Because the truth was that George was scared. Scared of falling for Max in a way he couldn’t control. Scared of hurting him. And in trying so desperately not to hurt him, George had done the worst thing possible.
He’d caused his soulmate prolonged bond deprivation. The thought makes his chest constrict painfully. What kind of person does that to their soulmate? What kind of person watches someone they love slowly unravel and tells themselves it’s for the best?
The worst kind, his mind answers immediately.
George rolls onto his back, staring at the dark ceiling. Even with the bond closed, even with shutting Max out, George can still feel it. Max’s pain hums at the edge of his awareness like a low-frequency ache. It’s not sharp anymore. It’s worse than that. It’s hollow. Cold.
All George wants, all he’s wanted since storming out of that restaurant, is to go to Max. To wrap an arm around him, press him close, open the bond fully and take as much of the pain as he can carry. To tell him he’s sorry. To tell him he’s loved.
He presses the heel of his hand into his eyes.
Instead, he lies there and makes a plan. Because plans are easier than feelings. Tomorrow, he’ll apologize to Alex for ruining the dinner. Then he’ll go to Max. He’ll explain everything. He’ll stop running and somehow they’ll work it out. They’ll live happily ever after.
Of course…only if Max still wants him. The thought hits him like a punch to the gut.
What if Max doesn’t want me anymore?
Panic flares hot, crawling up his spine. George forces himself to breathe, slow and steady. Spiraling won’t help. He needs sleep. He needs to look presentable. He needs to be calm tomorrow. Eventually, exhaustion drags him under.
In the morning, George is a man on a mission.
He wakes early, heart already racing, mind buzzing with anxious energy. The shower is too hot, steam fogging the mirror as he scrubs at his face like he can wash away the shame clinging to him. When he finally sits on the edge of the bed, towel draped around his shoulders, he takes a steadying breath.
Alex isn’t going to hate him. Right? They’re best friends. Right?
George grabs his phone and dials before he can overthink it.
“George?” Alex sounds sleepy. Shit. Did he wake him up? George pulls the phone back and checks the time. 8 a.m. Double shit. “George?”
“Yeah, sorry for calling this early,” George says quickly. He drags a hand through his hair. “I just…I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”
There’s a pause on the other end. Long enough to make George’s stomach twist.
“You should check on Max,” Alex says finally.
George’s breath catches.
“Fuck, George,” Alex continues, quieter now. “It looked bad. He started shaking the moment you left.” Another beat. “Does he…does he have PBD?”
George exhales sharply, like the word punched the air out of his lungs. “Yes.”
“George.” Alex’s voice isn’t angry. That somehow makes it worse. It’s disappointed and it twists something sharp inside George’s chest.
“I know,” George says quickly. “I know. I fucked up. I shouldn’t have left, I shouldn’t have cut him off. I’m going to fix it. I swear.” His throat tightens. “I’m so sorry about yesterday.”
Silence stretches between them.
Then Alex sighs. “You better make it right.”
“I will,” George says immediately. “And, hey. Let me make it up to you and Lily. Another dinner. My treat. Properly this time.”
“You better,” Alex repeats, and then the line goes dead.
George lowers the phone slowly. He finishes his coffee without tasting it, staring out the window as his thoughts spiral again. Eventually, his gaze drifts inward, toward the bond. Toward Max.
Opening it could help. He could take some of the pain away. He should. But fear coils tight in his chest.
What if the bond is full of resentment now? What if all he feels is anger, bitterness, rejection? What if Max hates him?
George swallows hard, then pushes the thoughts away. He can’t keep choosing fear. Not anymore. He opens the bond.
Nothing. No warmth. No ache. No presence. Just…emptiness. Like before they became soulmates. Like Max was a stranger again. This is much, much worse. George’s heart rate spikes. His breath comes shallow and fast as panic slams into him full force. “No,” he whispers. “No, no, no.”
He hastily dresses, hands trembling. He’s halfway to the door when he catches his reflection in the mirror. Something is wrong. He steps closer, eyes narrowing, and then freezes. His soulmark, normally vivid, has faded.
“Fuck,” George breathes. His pulse roars in his ears. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”
This is losing him.
The drive to Max’s apartment barely registers.
George remembers flashes—red lights, the blur of storefronts, his hands clenched white-knuckled around the steering wheel but nothing sticks. His heart is pounding too hard, his thoughts too loud. Every second feels stolen from him, like time itself is conspiring to make him late. Too late.
He doesn’t remember parking. He doesn’t remember slamming the car door shut. He’s halfway across the lobby before he even realizes where he is.
The concierge looks up, startled by the wild look in George’s eyes, then softens. Recognition flickers across his face.
“For Mister Verstappen?” he asks gently.
George doesn’t answer. He doesn’t trust his voice not to break. He strides past the desk and straight to the elevator, jabbing the button over and over like brute force might summon it faster. When the doors finally slide open, he steps inside and exhales shakily.
The ride up is torture. Every floor feels like an eternity. His soulmark burns faintly under his skin, a dull, fading ache that makes his stomach twist. George presses his palm against it like that might help, like he can physically hold it in place through sheer willpower.
Please. Please be okay.
When the elevator doors open, he’s already moving, breaking into a run down the hallway. The sight of Max’s door hits him with brutal déjà vu. He doesn’t hesitate. He bangs on it hard enough to rattle the frame.
“Max-”
The door swings open. It’s not Max. It’s Charles. And Charles looks furious.
“You’ve got some nerve,” Charles says coldly, blocking the doorway with his body.
George swallows. His chest feels tight, constricted. “Listen. I’m here to make it right.”
Charles lets out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Make it right?” His accent thickens with emotion. “Putain. His fucking heart is breaking, George.”
The words land like a punch. George flinches.
“I know,” George says hoarsely. “I know I fucked up. Please, Charles. Just let me see him.”
He tries to step forward, but Charles’s hand shoots out, stopping him cold.
“No,” Charles says flatly. “You don’t just get to walk in after what you did.”
“My soulmark is fading,” George blurts out, desperation clawing its way to the surface. “I can’t feel him through the bond. And I–I love him, okay? I was scared. I didn’t want to hurt him, I didn’t want to ruin everything and somehow I did it anyway, and I can’t….”
His voice breaks. He doesn’t bother hiding it.
“I didn’t want to lose him,” George finishes quietly.
For a moment, Charles just stares at him, jaw tight, eyes searching his face like he’s trying to decide whether to believe him.
He tries to step forward, desperate now, and Charles’s hand comes up to stop him. For a split second, George thinks Charles might actually shove him back out into the hall.
Then Charles looks at him. Really looks. He sees the panic. The terror. The devastation written all over George’s face. With a sharp exhale, Charles steps aside. George stumbles past him, barely registering Charles grabbing his arm one last time, forcing him to meet his gaze.
“If you ever hurt him again,” Charles says quietly, dangerously calm, “even over something small, I will crash into you every race until Ferrari sacks me.” His grip tightens. “Promise me.”
“I promise,” George gasps without hesitation. There’s no universe where he wouldn’t.
Charles holds his stare for a moment longer, then releases him and turns away, leaving the apartment without another word.
George doesn’t move until the door clicks shut.
He finds Max in the bedroom. The sight nearly brings him to his knees.
Max is curled on the bed, small and folded in on himself, shaking with quiet, broken sobs. The cats are clustered around him, pressed close, tails flicking anxiously. And draped over Max’s shoulders, swallowing him whole, is a familiar teal hoodie.
His hoodie.
George’s chest aches so hard he thinks it might split open.
“Charles?” Max murmurs weakly, lifting his head just a fraction. His eyes are red-rimmed, unfocused. Then they land on George. “George.”
The way Max says his name, relief tangled pain with hurt hits harder than anything else. Even now. Even after everything. Max still sounds like he needs him. George takes a shaky step forward. Then another.
“I’m here,” he whispers, voice breaking completely. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere. I swear.”
“No,” Max says quickly, shaking his head. “George, stay back.” His voice trembles. “It’s fine. I’m gonna be okay.”
George’s heart lurches. “Max,” he gasps, panic spiking. “What are you–”
“We’re going to stop being soulmates if you don’t touch me soon,” George blurts out, the fear spilling over. “Max, please.”
“I know,” Max says softly. He nods like he’s already accepted it. “It’s fine. I’ll get over you.” His lips wobble. “You’ll get another soulmate. I hope they’ll be good for you.”
The words devastate him. George stares at Max, stunned. He hadn’t realized the damage ran this deep. That Max had already started mourning him. Them.
“No,” George breathes.
In two long strides, he crosses the room and wraps his arms around Max, pulling him close with desperate force. The moment they touch, the bond snaps back alive with a violent, familiar zap that steals the breath from both of them. Max lets out a broken wail and collapses against him, sobbing openly now.
“George,” Max cries. “Fuck. You ruined it. You could’ve had someone you actually want.”
Max struggles weakly, trying to pull away, but George doesn’t let him go. Not this time. Never again.
The bond surges, roaring back to life, and George pours everything he has into it, love, regret, devotion, longing. All of it. No holding back. Max goes still in his arms, breath hitching as the warmth floods him.
“I’m sorry,” George murmurs into Max’s hair. “I love you. I know it’s selfish to want your love after the way I treated you, but please, please. I’ll take anything. Platonic. Friends. Anything. I just…I love you. I can’t lose you.”
He barely notices Max shifting until suddenly they’re face to face. Max stares at him, brow furrowed, confusion cutting through the pain.
“You want me?” Max asks quietly.
George blinks. “Yes?” He sounds just as confused. “Of course I do.”
Max lets out a broken laugh and drops his head onto George’s shoulder. His body shakes, and for one second George thinks he’s crying again but then he feels it through the bond, relief, disbelief, joy crashing together.
“You fucking idiot,” Max mutters, voice muffled against his neck.
George laughs, breathless and hysterical, even as tears spill down his own cheeks. He reaches through the bond again, reaffirming everything, you’re wanted, you’re loved, I choose you and feels Max’s love rush back just as strong, just as overwhelming.
“My god,” George says with a shaky laugh as he sinks back onto the mattress, pulling Max with him. “We really are idiots.”
Max looks down at him, a small, real smile breaking through at last. George can’t resist. He tugs Max down so he’s closer, solid and warm and here.
“You have a lot to make up for,” Max says lightly, fingers threading through George’s hair.
“I know, baby,” George replies without thinking, one hand resting on Max’s hip, not intimate, just grounding. Like he needs the contact to stay alive.
Max snorts. “Ugh. We’re soulmates for like five minutes and you’re already starting with the pet names. Take me on a date first.”
George grins up at him, heart full to bursting.
“Deal.”
They lay in bed tangled into each other like they always meant to be, limbs intertwined, breaths slowly syncing. George feels impossibly light, happiness buzzing through him in a way that makes his chest ache. He can’t stop touching Max, like if he does the moment might slip away. He pulls Max closer and presses soft, lingering kisses across his cheeks, his nose, the corner of his mouth, everywhere he can reach.
“George,” Max groans, half-laughing as he wipes at his face, trying unsuccessfully to escape the onslaught.
“I love you,” George says simply. There’s no hesitation, no fear this time, just the truth, bare and steady between them.
Max looks at him for a moment, eyes warm and fond, something soft and almost shy in his expression. Then he leans in closer. “You’re lucky that I love you too,” he murmurs.
Max kisses him, slow at first, and George melts into it immediately. It feels different now, easier, fuller, like there’s nothing held back. The kiss deepens naturally, mouths moving together with growing heat. George’s hands slide over Max’s back, and he pulls him on top without thinking, smiling at the familiar weight settling over him. He loves it when Max is like this, grounding him like a weighted blanket.
George rolls his hips up, grinding them together, and Max gasps softly into his mouth, the sound sending a sharp spark straight through George’s spine.
“George,” Max whines, breathless. “Fuck… I missed you..”
“Yeah?” George mutters, a grin tugging at his lips as his hand slips under Max’s hoodie, palm flattening against the soft skin of his stomach. He traces slow, absent circles there, savoring the way Max shivers. “Tell me about it.”
Max pulls back just enough to look at him, laughter bubbling up despite the heat. “Is that one of your kinks?” he asks, clearly amused. His hair is a mess, cheeks flushed, eyes bright, so pretty.
George huffs out a laugh. “At least I don’t have a daddy kink.”
“Oh yeah?” Max teases, eyes glinting. “I distinctly remember you getting hard the last time I called you daddy.”
George groans, dropping his head back against the pillow as Max laughs, triumphant and delighted, and the sound fills the room with something warm and alive.
“You are impossible,” George mutters, but he’s smiling. The teasing lingers between them, playful and familiar, a reminder of how easy it has always been when they let themselves just be.
Max laughs quietly, fingers still tangled in George’s hair. The sound is lighter than it’s been in months, years and George feels it echo through the bond, relief, something steady and grounding settling into place where fear used to live.
The moment shifts, slows.
George cups Max’s face gently, thumbs brushing over his cheeks. “Hey,” he says softly, voice losing its teasing edge. “We can…slow down. We don’t have to rush anything. I just want you here.”
Max studies him for a second, eyes searching, then softens. “I know,” he murmurs. He leans down and presses another kiss to George’s lips, softer this time, unhurried.
They stay like that for a while, trading slow kisses and quiet touches, rediscovering each other again. George traces lazy circles over Max’s back, memorizing the feel of him again. Max settles heavier against his chest, breathing evening out, the earlier tension dissolving into something calm and safe.
Eventually, Max shifts so he’s half-curled at George’s side, one leg tangled with his. “You really owe me that date,” he mumbles, eyes half-closed.
“I know,” George replies, brushing a stray hair off Max’s forehead. “I’m already planning it. Something ridiculous. You’ll complain the whole time.”
“I will,” Max agrees sleepily. “But I’ll still like it.”
George smiles, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. They lie there tangled together, silence filling the room, not heavy like before, but comfortable. The cats jump onto the bed at some point, Sassy claiming Max’s legs while Jimmy wedges himself against George’s ribs, purring like a tiny engine.
For the first time in what feels like forever, neither of them pulls away.
Max’s breathing slows until it slips into sleep, hand still loosely gripping the front of George’s shirt like he’s afraid he might disappear. George watches him for a long time, thumb brushing gently over his knuckles, letting the bond hum steady and warm between them.
“Not going anywhere,” George whispers again, mostly to himself. He glances toward the door with a tired smile. “And honestly, I can’t. Charles will kill me if I even think about trying.”
Max shifts in his sleep, pressing closer, and George tightens his arm around him instinctively.