Work Text:
2021
October, 30
The box is wrapped in red paper. Ferrari red. It is on the kitchen table and it wasn’t here when they fell asleep. So Charles, who isn’t in the flat, probably has gone out to buy something for breakfast, left it here in case Max wakes up before he comes back.
Max is smiling. He is so happy that Turkish GP has been cancelled (never tell this anyone) and they can spend his birthday at home together.
At home.
A rush of warmth runs through his body. He has never thought that he would call this place “home”. Well, he has never thought that he would visit this place at all. And he didn’t even notice when it happened. One day he woke up and realized that he had moved at least half of his stuff to Charles’ apartment.
They started hanging out during the winter break. It was nothing serious, just clubbing together because they like the same DJs and the same places in Monaco. Doing some sport which mostly was to open new horizons and challenge their limits — long jogging when Charles, who is completely bad at running for the athlete, begging ‘Max, Max, stop torturing me, let’s have a break’ and Max mumbled cursing and swearing while they were cycling. Charles showed him his favourite restaurants and it wasn’t necessary for Max, who also lives there, but Monegasque didn’t care.
One day when they...Max doesn’t even remember what they did that day, sometime before testing. They went out for dinner as usual and on their way back Charles with his perfect cocky smile asked him if he wanted to come in. And Max wanted to. Probably more than ever, because Charles was funny, cute and stupid at the same time and Max missed him so much when they weren’t able to see each other for a few days. And he was hot, Max had realised it not long ago. So yeah, he definitely was interested in this, what people call a “friends with benefits” thing and wanted to come in.
He stayed for a night finally having received permission to satisfy his thirst for touching Charles. And in the morning he was offered a guest toothbrush.
It was still in a toothbrush glass when Max stayed another time. Then Max came from a shower smiling complacently, ‘Huh, you haven’t thrown it away yet?’
And Charles brought his head from his phone and raised his eyebrows, ‘Max, with all respect, I’m not going to give you a new toothbrush whenever you want to stay.’
So that was the point where the story started.
Max once brought a change of clothes. Then it was underwear. Pair of trainers. Other clothes. A razor. Deodorant and perfume. Another pair of trainers. More clothes. Vitamins. Some documents. The last one was a laptop that he stopped taking with himself everywhere and finally left in Charles’ apartment.
And now here he is, calling someone else’s apartment home. He would never change Charles’ messy apartment to his cleaned but absolutely faceless one. Max is not exaggerating when he talks about “messy apartment” — Charles has a superpower to turn everything into complete chaos in fifteen minutes. But that is what makes it home. He doesn’t complain, his own apartment is perfect, but it’s so similar to hotel rooms where he stays during race weeks. Not because of the interior, but because of the feeling that he had there, like it wasn’t his home at all, like he is a stranger even if all the staff there is his.
He hears the sound of the door opening and the rustle of paper bags.
Charles enters the kitchen, bringing the smell of fresh-baked croissants with him, ‘Oh, you’ve woken up already. I counted on you sleeping beauty in our bed, so no coffee in bed, Max, sorry.’ He places packages on the table and says, ‘Wait a second, I need to wash my hands.’
Max inhales the smell of bakery and fights with the desire to look inside the bags, like he would do when he was a kid and his mum brought something.
Charles wipes his hands and comes to him, ‘I’ve got something for you, birthday boy, c’mon.’
He pushes his gift closer to Max and he is so shining that Max can’t help looking at his radiant eyes, wrinkles around them, freckles at his nose, moles and his bright smiling lips.
So, the red box.
Max unwraps it carefully, not wanting to ruin it, while Charles patiently waits, still smiling widely, and Max can catch a glimpse of anticipation in his eyes.
There is a box inside, obviously the same shade of red as if he could expect something else from Charles. When he opens the box he is at a loss for words. He is just staring inside, while Charles breaks the silence bursting out laughing. And Max can’t help but join him.
There was one strict agreement about gifts between them — nothing expensive. He has to admit that Charles did a great job.
‘Are you kidding?’ Max wipes his eyes, which are wet from laughing, ‘Unbelievable.’ He pulls out an orange mug with a big black caption MAX MAX MAX SUPERMAX.
‘Well, I thought it’d be fun and you’d like it,’ Charles shrugs. ‘In fact, you’ve been living here for almost a half of a year and still don’t have your own mug. And for your information, I found it absolutely inappropriate.’ He tries to keep his voice serious but fails and laughs.
‘It’s fun, actually, I will drink only from this mug. But I don’t understand why my piano-addicted boyfriend still hasn’t played something for my birthday?’
‘Wait, wait. I haven’t said something nice to my boyfriend, so…’ Charles is so close to him that Max can see his reflection in Monegasque’s eyes, ‘Happy Birthday, Max. You know, it’s kinda hard to think up what to wish a person who has everything in the world…’
Charles holds Max’ face in his hands, stroking his cheeks and lips with his thumbs. His hands are cold and they contrast with Max’s face hot from laughing that Max flinches. Charles is unpredictably serious at the moment, peering, looking for something in Max’ eyes in silence. It's a sensitive moment of connection, and it feels so fragile, so gentle, that Max holds his breath and doesn’t blink, being afraid of ruining it.
‘And you know, I love you, don’t you?’ Charles’ voice is quiet and sharp and Max can’t bear it anymore. It’s too overwhelming, his ears are buzzing and he is sure that his heart rate is twice higher than it should be. He breaks the last millimetres between them and kisses him.
They’ve kissed before, many times. They’ve slept together. Max can easily remember the number of moles on Charles’ back. They took shower together. And got sick together. Max had immediately said that the shellfish was bad, but Charles convinced him that everything was OK (noted down: never listen to Charles about the quality of seafood). And many more things during the last half a year.
But this one is different. It’s tender and agonizingly innocent. Max is drowning, feeling out of oxygen, grasping his boyfriend’s shoulders.
That’s Charles who breaks the kiss, pressing their foreheads with his hand on Max’ neck and whispers enthusiastically, ‘I wish you to win this year, you deserve it.’ Then he chuckles, ‘But don’t relax, I’ll kick your ass as soon as I get a decent car.’
He pulls away and goes to the room with his white Steinway, ‘Are you coming? I’m going to play something, you know, it’s my boyfriend's birthday and he loves my music.’
Charles acts normally like it wasn’t him who has just declared his feelings to Max as if this is the way it should be. As if an absolutely ordinary thing has happened, as if he asked about coffee for breakfast. It’s inconceivable for Max to believe that it might be so easy, he grew up with a strict rule — you can’t share your emotions, it makes you weak. But he saw Charles, who was so open to Max just a minute ago, and there wasn’t any sign of weakness.
Charles gets tired of waiting for him and starts playing. The melody sounds familiar, Max heard it once, when he accidentally came home earlier and caught Charles, who thought that he was alone and improvised on the piano. Max has never been into classic music, but he liked that piece then, and now he knows that it wasn’t an improvisation at all, it was the melody written just for him.
Max stops at the door frame and watches. There are no words to describe that engrossing feeling that swells his heart. And he wants it to last forever. Charles turns his head and smiles without interrupting his playing, and the morning sun hits his marble-carved profile. Max knows every angle of this lovely face, he knows how strong these fingers, softly touching the keyboard, might be and how gentle.
Max closes his eyes, but he still sees the picture — smiling Charles with the golden sun lost in his messy hair, who fills the air with the most beautiful sounds Max has ever heard in the apartment where he feels at home, where he wants to come back. Charles who has confirmed that he loves Max. Max, of all people.
This picture will stay with Max forever.
This is his main gift.
He takes four steps, coming closer.
‘I love you too,’ he whispers in Charles' ear.