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Charles felt nauseous as he sat on the barstool at his kitchen counter, looking at the bottle of red wine in front of him. The bottle, half empty already, seemed to taunt him for all the bad decisions he made. For thinking he was right to love someone who loved him back far more openly than he ever could. And finally, taunting him for letting Max go.
Charles groaned and pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to force his mind away from thinking about the Dutchman. It seemed that nowadays, everything he did reminded him of Max. The scent still on his pillows, a stray Red Bull shirt in his laundry, the pizzas Max had shoved in his freezer when they had been too lazy to bake them and had ordered food instead… It was as if Max had scattered crumbs of himself through Charles's house and had left the Monégasque to find them, fuelling his despair.
Charles blamed himself entirely. Things had been good, great even, but Charles had started to doubt whether it was true. He kept thinking about how they went from nothing to rivals, fueled by Max’s father’s distrust and jealousy and both their pride and stubbornness, to friends, back to rivals and then…
Then they had been everything.
Max had been the fuel to his engine, keeping him strong yet making him soft, the walls Charles had put up between his first season and the next crumbling down when Max was near to let him in, close to his heart, where Max came to love him just as hesitantly as he felt.
They were both broken, Charles supposed, in their own little ways, but Charles didn’t feel the least bit hurt when they were together. Sleeping with his head on Max’s chest, hearing his strong heartbeat under his ear, had driven his nightmares away.
Even when Ferrari demanded things of him he could not give, and when the pressure got so high Charles had felt as if he was suffocating, Max had been there. Max had understood how he felt, had understood the stress he was under, and in that way they were the same person.
But now that one person had broken into two again, because Charles had been afraid, had chased Max away.
It all happened very suddenly. One moment, they had been cuddled on the couch together, Max’s head in Charles’s lap as the Monégasque carded his fingers through Max’s soft hair. Then Max had rolled over, his hand coming to rest on Charles’s cheek, thumb pressing against Charles’s lips to trace them, and Max’s eyes had been soft and tender, so much so that Charles had heard the words coming before they fell past Max’s lips.
“I love you, Charles.”
Charles had not responded, had only gone very pale and still and stared at Max as though he had seen water burst into flames. And then, of course, Max had backtracked, getting up and standing with his arms crossed in a defensive stance as Charles tried to explain, tried to form words, but all that came out was “I don’t…”
He meant to say something along the lines of ‘I don’t know’ or ‘I can’t say those words right now’ but his throat felt closed and dry and no more words came out besides those two. And Max had taken it all the wrong way, looking hurt and pained and teary as he had stormed out of the room, screaming at Charles when he was packing all the belongings he could find, and then storming out the apartment before Charles could even say “let me explain.”
That was a week ago today, and Charles hadn’t dared to call or text the Dutchman, even though his fingers typed out messages more than once.
But he had had time to think, to realise what he truly felt about Max, and he would forever regret it not to try and tell Max how he felt. And that’s why he took his phone into his trembling hands again, and then finally managed to send two words.
“I’m sorry”
He went to bed after that, even though it was still light outside, and cried, finally cried, and fell asleep with tears still on his cheeks.
He woke abruptly to hands on his face, brushing the tears away with tenderness that could only belong to one person.
“Max.” Charles said hoarsely, opening his eyes and seeing the Dutchman hovering over him. “Max I’m sorry.” he added instantly, before he lost the courage. Max smiled shakily, and then held out his arm, and Charles curled close and into his chest, closing his eyes.
“I love you, I love you, I love you.” he sobbed over and over again, whispering it into Max’s neck, against his shoulder and then finally, against his lips. Max kissed back but still didn’t speak, not until Charles had finally calmed down, trembling softly against him.
“I should have let you finished talking.” Max whispered. “I should have let you explain.” he added sounding pained. Charles shook his head.
“I should have had the courage, to tell you. You deserved it and I couldn’t give it to you.” he answered. Max sighed, pressing a kiss to Charles’s forehead.
“We’re both complicated.” he remarked simply, and Charles couldn’t agree more.
“Does that bother you?” he did wonder, but Max shook his head without hesitation.
“You’re more than worth it.” he said. “I didn’t lie. I do love you.” he said, fiercely and true, his eyes determined and lit with the very same fire that Charles had fallen in love with.
“I love you too, of course I do.” Charles sighed, closing his eyes and leaning in to bring Max into a warm kiss. “And I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you before.” he added as he pulled away. Max smiled, kissing the tip of his nose.
“Come on, I brought you waffles.” he said. And Charles followed him into the kitchen. It all felt perfect again.
They were everything once more.