Chapter Text
When Max Verstappen moved to Monaco in 2015, the last thing he was expecting to do was to be working at a tailors on the most expensive street of the principality. The price tags made his stomach drop and the willingness of people to buy the suits was the most dizzying of it all, he sometimes had to remind himself that he was in one of the richest places in the world. The jump from the quaintness of Holland to the flashiness of Monaco was one Max feared but also greatly needed; whilst Holland brought a calming predictability to each day, it also held his father's strict parenting, and Max needed to escape.
His job was largely alterations and assisting with fittings; a pull of a bunched sleeve here and a smoothing down of a pesky collar there. It was refreshingly simple, but never boring. The characters he met were what made the job worthwhile. He could never tell which type of customer he preferred more: the overly thankful ones, that gushed every time Max complimented how the suit fit them or the ones that were simply crazy, for lack of a better word. They would walk in with neither an air of arrogance nor irritance, but rather of a silly mix of awe and excitement. Max knew from experience that they had no intention of buying the suits; they were usually tourists playing games with each other to see who could find the most expensive item in Monaco. They laughed and joked with Max as he served them, trying on suits that were more aimed towards those with a more "acquired" taste (also known as the ones that Max couldn't look at for more than a number of minutes before feeling sick) before leaving with wide grins and a camera roll full of overzealous mirror selfies. Max would be lying if he said he didn't look forward to those kinds of customers.
His boss, Sebastian, tended to disagree, branding them a waste of time and complaining about how Max could be spending his time on more pressing things like alteration orders. Max would joke harmlessly about how Seb just didn't understand the humour of the young people of today, pointing out how his old-age hampers him in that respect. It always earned him a scoff and a grumble, but Max would see the remnants of a smile tugging at the older mans lips.
His job was the one thing that tied him to Monaco and helped him give enough reason to stay. If he ever felt guilty or disobedient, mind wandering to his father back in Holland, he'd remind himself of his job, how Seb couldn't possibly keep the shop afloat without him (in reality, Max knew he could, he wasn't the only other worker there, but the thought helped him relax on days where his conscience ran riot through his head). Ultimately, Max owed more than he could ever imagine to Seb, what he would have been doing then had Seb not taken a chance on a young boy from Holland was a mystery. Max went to Monaco with no plans, hardly any qualifications and a young, exhausted mind, he was lucky he had managed to find a job at all, let alone at one of the most prestigious shops in the entirety of Monaco.
And so, as a way to show his undying amounts of gratitude, Max threw himself into his work. It was, quite literally, his life, so he tried to enjoy every second. Customers aided or hindered that, but in the long run Max found little room to care. He thought back to some of the more memorable encounters in the past and chuckled to himself, fighting back a smile by chewing on his lip.
"What are you laughing at?" Seb was watching him from his place at the sewing machine, fumbling around with the threading of it as if trying to find a fault.
Max wandered over and re-hooked the thread where it had come loose from the thread guide, "nothing, just making myself laugh." He replied matter-of-factly.
Seb glowered at the sewing machine, silently blaming it for his own slip-up. "Right, well you've quite enough time for that when you aren't working. We have someone coming in for a fitting in a few minutes, you'd best make sure everything's ready."
"Mr Ricciardo?" Max questioned, trying to recall what he had seen written on the reservation book that morning.
"Something like that." Seb murmured, his voice drowned out slightly by the regular whirring of the sewing machine that he had just turned on.
Max nodded inwardly and hurried around the shop, picking up whatever he knew he needed. It was unusual for someone to come in so late for a fitting; they were going to close in just under an hour and there was no telling how long a fitting could take. Max hoped that whoever this Mr Ricciardo was, he wasn't indecisive.
As if he had heard Max's thoughts, the bell above the front door rang, announcing the arrival of a tall man dressed more lavishly than the majority of the mannequins dotted around the store. The suit he wore was a deep navy blue, tailored to his broad, masculine shoulders and complete with shining silver cufflinks that looked like they could pay for Max's retirement and probably his whole family's. The man - who Max assumed now was Mr Ricciardo - removed his sunglasses from his face upon entering and ran a hand through the mop of brown curls atop his head. They were messy and windswept, perhaps the only thing that was not styled meticulously, Max noted.
"Hello, sir. How may I help?" Max stopped his gawping for a moment to put on his best customer service voice, one that he had picked up mainly from observing Seb all day.
Mr Ricciardo turned in Max's direction and brandished a wide smile, "Hiya, I've got fitting booked, sorry I'm a bit late. The name's Daniel. Daniel Ricciardo that is."
Max attempted to return the smile but it was near impossible for him to compete with that of the other man, it truly seemed as though Daniel could light up the entirety of Monaco, let alone just the room, with his smile.
"No worries at all, Mr Ricciardo, I'll leave you to browse the options of suits for the moment, feel free to come find me when you're ready for the fitting process." Max answered after a couple of seconds, nearly needing to squint his eyes as Daniel's grin grew wider at his response. The man in question turned to the many racks of suits and began to flick through, giving Max a chance to hurry over to where Seb was still working on the sewing machine.
"Why does he even need a new suit." Seb spoke without raising his head before Max had even reached him, "the one he's wearing looks perfectly fine, more than fine in fact. It probably costs more than our whole shop."
Max stifled a laugh, "that's exactly what I was thinking."
"So you were thinking, I'm impressed. Didn't know you had time for thinking with how much you were checking him out."
A choke made it's way past Max's lips at Seb's words and he lowered his voice to whisper, "was I being that obvious?"
Seb answered his question with a simple look that spoke a thousand words. Max knew he had been staring at Daniel for maybe just a couple of seconds over what was socially acceptable, but if Seb could see it from the other side of the shop, God knows what Daniel was thinking of him in that moment.
He wasn't a stranger to good looking customers, I mean he worked at a suit shop, it was hard to find somewhere that had more attractive people walk through it's doors. Usually, Max never really saw the same person twice, so it was rather more easy to flirt shamelessly with them if he knew they wouldn't be coming back, or at least not in the foreseeable future. They all seemed to take it with a pinch of salt, and Max knew he had some help in the form of his foreignness as an excuse if things went sour; a confused bat of the eyelashes complete with a look of innocence enough to trick the customer into thinking that he wasn't flirting intentionally and it was just his accent playing tricks on them.
Daniel was undoubtedly attractive, Max had determined that the second he had entered the shop, in fact he was more towards the side of downright gorgeous, and Max was always partial to a nice smile - something Daniel had and then some. A voice inside Max's head that probably belonged to his father scolded him for being so unprofessional as to think of a customer that way, but Max was slowly getting better at blocking that voice out; limiting it to a dull buzz as opposed to a deafening scream. There were some things he just couldn't shake and his father's influence seemed to be one of them, no matter how far he moved away.
"I think I'll try this one," came Daniel's voice from behind him. Seb flashed Max one last telling look and dropped his head back to his work.
Max followed the voice to where Daniel was standing, holding up a black suit jacket with silk facings that Max had to fight against grimacing over how much he knew the jacket cost. He would never be able to get over the sheer willingness of people to spend extortionate amounts on something so simple.
Nevertheless, Max nodded dutifully, "perfect, if you'll follow me I'll get the measurements done for you now, sir."
He tried extremely hard not to catch Seb's gaze as he led Daniel into the dressing rooms, knowing that it was laced with a teasing glint. If there was anything Sebastian Vettel was not, it was subtle - Max had found that out one too many times. He would like for at least one person to not be made aware of his fleeting attraction thank you very much.
Fitting was rather simple in effect, Max just had to take a few measurements, test how the jacket felt and write down any quick alterations that needed to be made before the suit was ready to be worn. Seb had taught him how to make sure a jacket fit perfectly, keeping it loose enough to be breathable but tight enough to emulate the richest of businessmen around the world. Everything obviously differed between person to person, and personal adjustments needed to be made here and there, Max could already tell he may need to encourage Daniel to get the size up so as to accommodate his broad shoulders that were becoming quite the distraction as much as he would hate to admit.
"If you'll be alright to remove your jacket, sir, I'll get to work on measuring." Max said once they'd reached the dressing room, unravelling his tapemeasure and resting it around his neck.
"I think that's the politest anyone has ever asked me to undress before." Daniel chuckled, shrugging out of the jacket and hanging it on Max's outstretched hand.
Max didn't know what made him blush more, the comment or the sight of Daniel in a tight white shirt that gripped his body in all the right places, "what can I say, we offer great customer service here." He jested back, revelling in the loud laugh it drew from the other man.
When Max began to take measurements, he found it increasingly hard not to stare as Daniel's shirt really didn't leave much to the imagination. His back muscles rippled as Max asked for him to raise his arms so he could take a full arm span measurement, and the sight made it much harder to read the tiny numbers on the tape. Max fumbled more times than he probably should've and he knew he shouldn't have taken so long to do such a simple task.
He was prone to slacking when faced with an attractive customer, again they weren't particularly hard to come by in the shop, but he couldn't remember the last time, if at all, that he was this badly affected. Daniel was proving to be much more of an issue than he had originally believed, watching his back and arm muscles shift before him as well as his glistening tan skin that caught the lights of the dressing room in a way that almost made him sparkle, it was past distracting at that point. Max tried desperately to avoid making eye contact, because he knew one look at that smile would drive him into becoming a spluttering, shaking mess much like a teenage boy when faced with a pretty girl.
If Max had any sense for his well-being, he would've got the job done quickly and shipped Daniel out of the door without any embarrassments, but it was hard to convey that thought to his hands which continued to fumble stupidly with the tape measure causing him to double and sometimes triple check measurements he wasn't sure of.
It didn't seem to bother Daniel, however, with the man simply flicking his gaze aimlessly around the dressing room, eyes falling on the details of the wallpaper and drifting along the lines of the patterns. Max didn't want to admit it was slightly irritating him that Daniel wasn't showing any signs of the same clumsy attraction as he was, but it was true. He just had to tell himself that Daniel must be much better at hiding his emotions - even though it was more probably more likely that Max was just very bad at reading him.
Daniel had an almost visible wall up in front of him; it was tall and broad (much like him in effect) and impossible to look over. There was a practised detachment in his eyes which, shine as they might, showed little more than basic contentment to the outside world. Max let his mind wander as to what may have caused such a prominent ability to shield ones thoughts and feelings, so well that even he who prides himself in being able to sense most unspoken sentiments feels daunted by the sheer size of the metaphorical wall blocking Daniel's true self.
He could be almost certain that Daniel wasn't affected by a strong case of apathy, his gleaming smile and soft eyes speak a thousand emotions in and of themselves. But they were bland and basic emotions that Max could draw out of any person. It was no longer just his attraction leading him to be intrigued by the other man, it was slowly more becoming driven by Max simply wanting to find out who Daniel really was. There was more to him than a businessman in a ridiculously expensive suit and he was sure of it.
"That's all done for you, Mr Ricciardo. If you're happy with the jacket you've chosen, give it a try on and I'll check for any adjustments." Max broke his brooding thoughts to speak, finally being able to collect the measurements he needed without much more hassle.
Daniel tugged the suit over his shoulders and popped the collar dramatically, "just call me Daniel, honestly. I have enough people call me Mr Ricciardo in my daily life anyway, sometimes it's nice to hear my actual name. Also, Mr Ricciardo sounds really posh, and I'm not sure I fit into that category." He spoke, eyes catching with Max's in the mirror.
Max scoffed, "and this is all coming from the man about to shell out God knows how much on a suit, despite coming in wearing a perfectly fine one already. I think you fit into that category perfectly, sir." He kept his tone light and jokey, hoping it didn't come off as accusatory in any way.
Luckily, Daniel took it in stride and didn't miss a beat, "no, no, I don't mean posh in a rich way, more so in the overly prim and proper way, like the people who went to boarding schools, have impeccable manners and stupidly well-paid jobs courtesy of their parents - they're the posh ones. I couldn't think of anything less like me. They're always really stuck up too, never know how to take a joke - I'm far too much of a brilliant comedian to be bunched with them."
He flashed another million dollar smile, turning back to Max and holding out his arms as if to ask for his opinion on the suit jacket. Max flattened down the boxy shoulders and ran his hands down Daniel's arms to tug softly at the sleeves, gauging that he needed to take them up slightly. He guessed before looking as well that he would need to make the jacket a big more fitting around the waist, knowing that the larger size required to fit around Daniel's back and shoulders would cause excess fabric elsewhere. But it was nothing he wasn't used to.
"You call them stuck up and then go on to describe yourself as a comedian, I'm not sure I'm understanding you correctly, Daniel." Max winked despite himself, finding it weird to be calling one of his customers by their first name. He decided against doing it again.
"Gosh, you must be one of them." Daniel chuckled, shaking his head slowly, "You Monegasques are too rich for your own good."
Max rolled his eyes, "I'm not from here, but I'm flattered you think my accent is that good to assume I am."
Daniel raised an eyebrow in question, encouraging Max to expand.
"I was born in Holland," Max explained, "moved here a few years back, wasn't always easy but I wouldn't change a thing."
He kept his answer closed and ambiguous, trying to avoid coaxing out questions he didn't want to answer. Daniel seemed to understand Max wasn't in the mood to elaborate and turned back to the mirror.
"What do you think? How many hearts do you think I'm gonna be able to break in this thing?" He said. "If your answer is any less than 100 I'm gonna give you a bad TripAdvisor review."
Daniel's comment brought a smile back to Max's face, one so wide that it made his cheeks hurt. Maybe Daniel wasn't totally lying when he said he was a brilliant comedian, his quips were stupid and arrogant but delivered in such a way that it was impossible to not find funny.
"Let's just say I'll be warning everyone I see to stay out of your way, wouldn't want the whole of Monaco falling at your feet now would we." Max replied, laughing along with Daniel at his response before reeling his mind back to the task at hand. "But in all seriousness now, I'm going to need to take the sleeves up a tad and bring the waist in slightly, apart from that it's all fine. If you're totally set on the jacket I can get those alterations done for you and it should be ready to pick up tomorrow afternoon."
With one last look in the mirror, Daniel nodded to himself and smiled approvingly, "yeah, this one's great. I'll send someone to come pick it up then, cheers."
Max returned the smile and left Daniel to finish up in the dressing room, taking the jacket and placing it next to the sewing machine in the back of the shop. Seb had retired from his place at the machine, instead preparing the shop for closing time that Max had noticed had come around quicker than expected.
"All good?" Seb called over.
Max hummed in affirmation, avoiding Seb's gaze once more as he busied around with nothing in particular. Daniel left with a simple goodbye and a vow to return soon, one that Max desperately hoped he'd keep.