Archive of Our Own ^beta

WE ARE THE HUNTERS, THEY ARE THE FOXES

Every morning, the cameras went on.

Max’s hair stood in every direction as if he had just woken up and didn’t have time to fix it.

He’d pass his fingers through it in an attempt to comb it, the people around him laughing when it didn’t work—and every morning, he’d look up when Sergio laughed as well.

It was a strange thing to notice, but he did anyway.

His work was very simple: follow the drivers, the directors and so on. Get every moment and glimpse of what it was like to be on a big racing team like Red Bull had become—and if they could get the juiciest comments, the most out of context things, the better.

Max gave him a look, surely trying his best not to seem upset at the presence of their crew there, and kept walking alongside his teammate, who naturally called the attention of every light and camera.

“It’s the perfect smile,” Max had suggested yesterday afternoon, forgetting who they were and what they were doing there, simply following the conversation that had started between an interviewer, Horner and the older driver. “He can’t help it,” he made a frame with his fingers over his own mouth, “he just smiles like a movie star.”

The comment had made Pérez chuckle, shaking his head while sitting on top of a counter in his garage, practice two having ended with good results for both of them.

He had looked at the interviewer to see if he had liked the little moment, but there was nothing on his face this time. They were getting nothing from these two, they seemed chill around each other, completely at peace and in sync. A calamity to Netflix— we feed on drama and Max drama was always on the menu for the show.

But not this year, it seemed.

At least, not at home.

This morning, like each day they had followed Red Bull Racing this year, Checo tagged along Max through the Hospitality until they reached the food area where they ordered a piece of pie each and sat down to… talk .

“Should we move on?” One of the assistants asked behind him as he kept the camera on the talking drivers, Max notoriously uncomfortable, Sergio notoriously not giving a damn. “Film elsewhere?”

“Yeah, go follow Christian.” Pérez suggested, suddenly aware of them. “You are not getting anything from us.” He shrugged, almost as if he felt bad for the crew. “We are boring.”

Max smiled at him, though his teammate wasn’t looking. He sighed oddly, small and soft, and took a sip of his drink while making it clear he wasn’t about to even acknowledge they were there third wheeling them.

“What are your plans for today, guys?”

Checo looked at them, full attention on the interviewer. 

He was always nice and polite, would never be rude to anyone, not even in high pressure moments. 

Last year, he’d heard him curse a couple of times on team radio and only once was it directed at someone elsewhere, and there was an apology right after. He didn’t ignore them, cooperated when asked nicely, but—he wasn't all that fond of them after they made him look like a completely different man when it came to his younger teammate on year one of the show.

To this day, he hadn’t forgotten, and would bring it up every time he was suggested to please repeat that , or can you say this in this way , how about you stand here and act upset . And at the end of the day, the crew would fall silent, “that’s more like it” he would say, and there wouldn’t be more takes or estaged things unless his bosses wanted him to.

“Well, we’re trying to have a conversation and pie.” He answered. “After, we have a few words with our teams, changing into our suits, then practice three and quali.”

Max was looking at him again, he tended to do that when nobody else was watching. He would look at his teammate for long periods of time, then down, and back up with a tiny smile, just like he was doing now.

“Let them stay.” Max said with a shrug, making Sergio look at him. “I bet it’ll be super interesting to hear us talk about me adopting cats for two hours.”

The mention of the future pets made Checo frown, sighing tiredly as he shook his head. “Not again…” He murmured. “I thought you had already chosen!"

It was obvious all was said to piss the other off, Max laughed a little as he moved his head to one side and took out his phone. As quickly as Checo had paid attention to them, he put it back to Verstappen and the cats prospects on his phone.

For a moment, they stood around, filming this scene of nothing, lost footage that would be precious to fans on social media perhaps.

Two teammates watching cat videos over tea and pie.

On race day, there was music in Pérez’s driver’s room.

He was in Max’s though, filming him getting ready for the day ahead, his trainer putting exercise after exercise for him to accomplish before getting on the suit. And as he sat with his eyes closed, the trainer working his neck, head and shoulders, he saw his feet move with the tune coming from his teammate’s room.

There was a big chance Verstappen didn’t understand the song at all but he was still moving his feet with it and when the chorus came, he was mumbling it before his trainer asked him to be quiet and breathe correctly.

How many times had he heard this song with his teammate that he was familiar enough to sing along and simply recognize it? A whole song in another language different from his own, a curious thing to see, the cultural crash between two people from different sides of the world.

Last time they were here, he had filmed Checo getting ready.

In similar fashion, he'd been given instructions from his trainer, a massage and all that—but he had music on and it changed the entire atmosphere of the place as he dressed up and stopped a moment to close his eyes and pray.

For the sound of it, as Max stood up and took his gear to change into, he may catch a glimpse of Sergio doing his prayer while leaving the room.

They were met with a closed door, though. And a new song starting that was changed after just a few notes—

"No! Don't!" They heard coming from Verstappen's room. 

He pointed the camera over there, Max was opening the door just a bit as his trainer asked what was going on. He was likely not dressed yet as he only peeked out his head and they could tell he was shirtless.

"Checo!" He called, extending his arm to reach the door on the left and knock hurriedly. "Checo!"

The music stopped and the door opened just a crack too, his teammate mirroring Max as he popped his head out.

"What?"

"Put the song back!"

Sergio frowned at the younger man. "Just text next time."

"No, you never look at your phone in that room. Just put the song back!"

He narrowed his eyes, giving Max a pointed look before speaking.

"If you tell me what it is called, I'll put it back."

Max made a double take to his teammates face and stayed quiet.

What were they filming?

Most teammates have a good enough relationship. There was calm between them, respect. And then, sometimes, there were those who truly stood out with their friendship or banter.

But this one was unexpected.

" Brilas ?"

Checo snorted, laughing after as the door opened a bit more. He was wearing the Red Bull shirt but was still on his underwear, making Max shake his head with a slight blush.

" Brilas —" The man kept laughing, people around him slowly mirroring him as Max's cheeks went red. "It's Brillas ! Double L, I told you how that sounds in Spanish!"

"Just put the song on!" The younger man said, closing the door rather strongly, everyone around laughing harder.

Checo winked at them and went back to his room, after a few seconds, the song he had skipped was back on and it echoed in the area.

The sound was dreamy, romantic. The singer’s voice was soft and deep, giving the song an air of calmness and fondness only a love song could have.

Brillas y brillas tan lindo

Y brillamos juntos entre pestañas

It filled the air for long seconds, Checo’s door opening first. His trainer came out first, carrying the rest of his things on his way to the garage—the driver stood in the entrance with his phone.

After a while, he realized he was waiting.

For the song to end? For Verstappen? 

By the second chorus, Max’s door opened and the man came out first, immediately turning to his teammate who smiled at him.

“Thanks.”

The older man shrugged, showing him the phone.

“You have a few seconds? It’s almost over.”

“Yeah…” He looked back at his room, his trainer was picking up his things. “Ready to race?”

“Mhm.” He exclaimed, then sighed. “It’s gonna be fun today, I think.”

Max smiled at him, quite timid. It was an oddity to watch, Max Verstappen being quiet and shy around someone else, around another driver—in his four years working with the crew of this show, he’d never seen him like this.

Y así, juntitos los dos

Y así, lo que se nos da

When the song was over, Pérez stopped his playlist and looked back at his teammate with a smile.

“Let’s go, Leoncito .” He said, walking past them as if they weren’t there.

He looked down for a second, noticing him grab the sleeve of his race suit to pull the younger man with him. 

Checo kept his hand there for a few seconds and eventually let go as they filmed them leave the hallway, walking side by side to the garages.

Max won the race, Sergio came third.

After the cars were parked, the older man walked towards his teammate with a hand up, ready for a handshake but the boy had other ideas.

He threw himself at his teammate, hugging him with both arms and trapping him against his body with closed eyes.

It was an amazing hug, one of those you wish you could stay in forever, and it had taken Pérez by surprise—but he hugged him back, wrapped both arms around Max and held him close, having to stand on his tiptoes to support his whole weight as the younger driver had truly just… threw himself at him.

Really.

The team celebrated their first double podium of the season like no other, the spirits in that paddock had changed from years before in a way he couldn’t quite describe.

Later, a fellow camarographer would be able to name it. That this year they had confidence of having built a good car and having signed in a good driver pairing, and results were coming in.

They had filmed them running around and screaming to each other, showering each crew member with Red Bull and giving interviews with big smiles on their faces. And he watched the drivers go, close together, laughing alike, so very close together—

“Were the Red Bull guys friends before working together?” He asked as they picked everything up to go to their hotel rooms.

“No that I know…” One of the interviewers said. “Actually. No, not at all.”

“They are close.”

She shrugged. “All of these men seem close then are shading each other by the mid season. Mark my words, it’s not gonna last.”

Blinking, he chuckled. 

Last few years' experiences were hard to shake—but not everyone was like that. Most teammates don’t even truly care, some don’t even look at each other much but only to give interviews and work some PR stuff the team had asked for.

He took a smoke out, standing outside one of the infrastructures Red Bull had built for the weekend, watching the sky become night and people walk away to get to their hotels, have some poor sleep, then get going in planes and helicopters to the next country.

As the smoke got lost in the night, he heard the familiar laughs of the drivers they had filmed that weekend, both men walking together with their respective trainers behind them when Pérez turned to them—he said something, he couldn’t hear what it was, but the men nodded and stopped walking, slowly turning back to walk away in the other direction.

Max looked at him and shook his head, pushing him away gently with one hand, making the older man laugh.

They looked just fine to him.

Pérez got close again and they walked side by side talking, looking around as if searching for someone else—maybe they were to meet other drivers, maybe—

The older driver got even closer, this time taking Versappen’s hand without hesitation, lifting it to his lips and kissing it before letting go.

“Uhm.”

So that explained it, the closeness between these two.

Interesting.

They walked side by side, talking, hands closer with fingers about to touch but never doing so again, until they reached the entrance and disappeared from his view.

He blinked a couple of times, wondering how the hell would that work in a world like this.

For a second there, he thought of telling the production about what he saw.

But then again, Verstappen had held onto his teammate for dear life in front of the world. His face had expressed so much, it figured to him whatever was happening between him and Pérez was not as simple as drama.

So, for now at least, he was gonna shut his mouth and mind his own.

He was not here to ruin anybody's life.

Two weekends on the same track were rare but after Covid, it all seemed possible, and so they traveled to Austria and worked with Alpha Tauri this time.

Curiosity killed the cat, they say, and sometimes, he would look around to see if he could catch a glimpse of the bulls and somehow know if what he saw that night had been maybe a mistake or just some odd thing between friends.

He would see them close again, laughing, sharing their time and sometimes just talking with their eyes while other people were around.

Did the other team working with them those weekends have seen things, too? Was someone else to out them? He hoped not, these people already lived shitshow lives where they couldn’t speak their minds without the world crushing them, couldn’t go out without speculations of who is dating who, and how much money is that girl making while dating this one driver—these men deserved their privacy.

Today, he watched them from afar curiously because something was off, though.

For the way they were… not together, he was pretty sure they were fighting.

After the free practices, he understood why—

Pérez’s family was visiting. And that may not be the reason, but someone in particular may: his ex-wife was with them, accompanying their son.

Was Verstappen jealous or had something else happened? Was he reading too much into all this? Maybe, but he was an artist, an observer, a camarographer—he watched people and captured their emotions, understanding them, observing.

So he watched Max for the weekend, saw him walk away from Sergio as soon as his son and ex-wife were in proximity, then smile widely when they were put to do one and a thousand activities for their team.

He won the race, Checo came 4th.

After the podium, he got closer to congratulate the man but Pérez was faster and approached him for a hug that seemed to last forever.

Max hid his face on his neck as if wanting to be smaller, muffled words there, and he turned around—leaving the men alone to each other and their problems.

Whatever was happening between them, he hoped they could solve it together.

At some point, it became a habit.

He would look up to see if the Red Bull drivers were together, what their interactions were like that day.

For a while it felt like they had stopped being… close. 

Nobody got to see their interactions in public anymore, constantly separated by way too many places after qualifying and after a race.

Checo was not having a good season, and in a way, it looked like his growing relationship with his teammate had died down with the short lived good racing from before.

By the time the Summer break came, he wondered if at the end it all had been an illusion, a misunderstanding.

As he helped the rest of the crew get everything in their trucks, he thought of editing and vacations until the couple of beers he had during the race needed a way out.

He walked alone to the public bathrooms noticing how there were far less people around than expected already, night falling upon them.

The bathroom's door was open, he walked in and didn't expect to hear voices whispering to each other.

"... and it's unfair, I wanna see you too."

When he finally saw who it was, he froze and walked out—Verstappen, notoriously upset and with his arms crossed, was talking to Pérez who was giving his back to the door, attention completely on the younger driver.

"I know, but what do you want me to do? You have no idea how insane gossip is in my country. If anyone finds out I'm not there with my children, someone will start to dig deeper."

Verstappen sighed loudly, exasperated.

"So what? No one will believe it without proof!" 

There was silence, then someone opened the water on the sinks.

"You know what I think?" The younger man said. "I think you just don't want to stay in Europe. Which would be fine if only you would let me go to Mexico. But no—so my conclusion? You just want to fuck me—"

"Oh, for fuck's sake..."

"while we are in close proximity." The water closed. There was a small pause. "Once you're home, you forget about me and probably have somebody else to fuck over there."

"You're a child." Pérez said.

He shouldn't be listening to this.

"Oh, I'm a child now! Guess I wasn't last night when you were fucking my mouth!"

"Shhhhh, come on!"

"Just go home. I'm done with you."

He blinked a couple of times while there was silence. Turning around to leave, he was caught by surprise with Sergio's firm tone when he spoke again.

"You are a child." He repeated and before Verstappen could interrupt, he kept talking. "You're making a tantrum and not listening. I'm sorry I can't go on little adventures to every expensive city you can think of—"

"What does th—"

"Shut up. I'm talking."

Surprisingly, the boy did shut up.

"Max, I have kids. I haven't seen my daughter in two months. Two. Months." He said. "If you come to Mexico, someone WILL see you and maybe not today or tomorrow, but one day someone will start to pay attention and dig deeper, and one day there's going to be a photo. A video."

He swallowed, thinking again of the prestige of the sport, the importance of their images and the hypocrisy of their inclusive slogans.

Sports were for men. And men don't love other men.

It was bullshit.

"People don't give a fuck about me here in Europe so I could stay here and fuck you every night, but then what?" Another pause. "I can't just disappear from every responsibility I have in my house, with my family. I'm sorry. I can't give you that."

"I just wanted to be with you."

"I know. I'm sorry."

"I just... wanted to be with you, that's all."

That was enough.

He walked away as fast as he could, feeling sorry for the two of them.

If there was a way to solve their problem, he hoped they could find it.

He stopped near a couple of bushes, tired from having practically run. God, he was so out of shape now—he breathed in and out, blinking as he noticed the place was pretty much empty and he was alone in that area.

After a while, he heard footsteps.

Turning, he saw Sergio walking alone with his eyes to the ground, looking tense.

Poor guy.

He could understand his position. 

Being a father was a layer not many non-parents understood—the kids depended on them, to leave them while being unable to explain why, during their most important formative years, could be very bad.

And just… no loving parent wants to be two months without seeing their kid. This man was in genuine pain.

He passed where he was standing, and right away so did Max, running to catch up with his teammate.

Blinking, he expected him to call his attention, scream even—but instead, he slowed down and reached for his hand, struggling to catch it until he did.

The older man looked back but didn't stop walking. Just sighed visibly and laced his fingers with Max's before once again lifting his hand and kissing it.

What the hell?

He watched them walk away like that, shamelessly holding hands in the empty paddock, silence between them.

Their body language didn't give much away—nobody was tense, Pérez had visibly relaxed once Max took his hand, and the boy simply walked slowly as if being guided by Checo.

He blinked, wondering if they had solved their problems or were just ignoring them to be together.

Whatever happened during the break, they didn't seem as far away now.

There was some sort of caution in their interactions but he was sure they were still together like that .

He could see it in the days when they went to film with them, how they were always around each other even if not close together. 

In the way they would hug each other after a race, their big smiles looking at the other while celebrating, Max trailing behind Checo to follow him around like a puppy.

He wondered if Verstappen would throw himself at his partner to hug him if he won the championship.

Would he look for him, get up on that podium together even? His bet was on the boy, and he genuinely hoped to see him win that maximum trophy and see him use the number 1 on his car next year.

That day, it all seemed possible as he watched both bulls on the podium, immediately spraying the other with champagne when it was time, ignoring the rest of the podium as if this was just their game.

Later in the media lane, he heard the stories that would be repeated to no end about this GP: that Checo had been dehydrated after his drink system broke on the first lap, and that both drivers were sick during the race—

Stomach problems, the two of them, apparently a bug—the same one. And only them in the team had caught it.

Obviously .

As he saw the repeat of the post-race celebration before the podium, the way Max jumped into Sergio's arms and was then congratulated by the Pérez family, he wondered if they had dinner at the hotel or outside.

Would it be a good idea to eat in the hotel? He didn't want to catch the bug either—and when had Max met Sergio's family. Only his sister and son—and ex-wife—had gone to Austria earlier the year but Pérez's older brother and his parents had hugged Max with care, and the boy seemed happy to hug them all back.

Had Max convinced Checo of seeing him in Mexico during the break after all?

Did the family know about their off work relationship?

He blinked a couple of times, shaking his head.

Time to go to sleep.

Mexico was a whole other experience every year.

But this one? It had just… blown all expectations.

Verstappen on top again gained him more ground in the championship but his teammate on the podium had made the entire track vibrate.

You could feel the entire country's energy in those screams, the tears in some faces, the joy in every jump and olé, olé, olé, olé, Checo, Checo as people celebrated an historic moment for them.

He wished he could've been on the team that filmed with Red Bull that weekend. It must had been insane.

From afar, he saw Checo being celebrated and carried away while his family trailed behind, only to turn and fill Max with as much affection.

This time, his helmet was off, and he could see his red cheeks as he was crushed between enthusiastic arms. He awkwardly responded, but melted into the hug of Sergio's father like a little boy and laughed alongside the older brother before also being carried away and thrown in the Mexican flag.

It was a curious sight.

Almost as if he belonged there and the passion in that stadium area confirmed he'd been taken and this was a home to come to, another home race to celebrate.

When they left the podium after, he captured on camera as Pérez walked away with the flag on his shoulder, champagne and trophy in one hand, his son's little hand on the other as the boy jumped happily between him and Verstappen, who was taking his other hand.

He wondered if this would make it into the show.

He wondered if someone would see a bromance to fang over—or notice the family that had been formed right in front of their eyes.

They ran out of luck in Brazil.

He still believed Max could and should win, but luck wasn't on his side. Or Checo's— especially Checo's.

It felt wrong to see him lose podium after podium for shit that wasn't his fault after putting on great performances.

It felt unfair.

What was that he had said on the show last year?

Life is not fair. Formula One either.

He sighed, another night of picking up props and devices, ready to move to the final race.

When they were driving away to the airport, he saw Max with his back leaning on a car, waiting. As they passed him, he blinked, and saw Sergio pass by running towards him.

He followed for as long as he could, turning back to watch through the back window, seeing them reunite and embrace—and kiss.

For just a second, as he blinked.

A peck on the lips.

Just in case there was a part of him that wasn't convinced what that was all about.

They ran like Hell was coming for them on the night Max Verstappen became champion of the world on the last lap of the last race after being tied in points.

With cameras up and ready, they stood by and watched him celebrate alone, then with his team.

Max was carried away as he filmed, wondering if Checo was among all the men surrounding the younger driver, until he heard him call for Pérez while being put back on the ground.

The young driver walked among the sea of people, shaking hands and half hugging everyone as all eyes were on him, and everybody wanted his attention—but he was looking for his teammate.

"Checo!" He called as people stepped aside, he looked around to see if he could see the older man.

Also trying to step between the bunch of people, Pérez waved his hand and called back, when Max's eyes met his, Checo smiled.

Max moved, people finally understanding they needed to step aside. He had his helmet on still, but even like that, he could tell Max was happy and euphoric, desperate to have his partner by his side.

They hugged in the middle, Max throwing himself wholly at Pérez, who laughed and hugged him back, carrying his weight like a champ.

"You deserve this, man. I’m so happy for you, man. You deserve it…" He said with a huge smile, putting his hands on Max's shoulders.

"Thank you, mate…"

"The first of many." Checo said, smiling at the boy. He walked behind him, trying to record as much of this moment as he could.

Maybe one day he'll be told it was shown at their wedding or something, he thought with a mental chuckle.

"The first of many!" The older man said again and that was when he was able to finally see Max's eyes.

He figured he'd wear all his emotions on his face after such a race, that there would be huge smiles and tears.

But he was not prepared for the bluest eyes he's ever seen to look so warm as he looked at his partner, tears crystal clear on their corners, but not one shade.

Max looked at Sergio as if he was his life line, his one and only, as if he had won more than the driver's championship and there were so many more things he wanted to say and do.

The older driver put a hand on the helmet, gentle and firm, likely wishing it was Verstappen's actual face—but at least like this, he could do this scene without being questioned.

Just two dudes celebrating.

"I'm so proud of you, Max." Pérez said. "I knew you would do it!"

"I wouldn't without you!" Max yelled, people starting to surround him again. "Literally!"

Checo laughed, slowly and reluctantly letting go.

"I love you!" Max said and he knew no one would question it, because he had just told the entire team he loved them so much on his radio.

But Sergio knew exactly what he was saying, why.

He smiled at him, letting him go to keep celebrating the maximum highlight of the year.

Another scene that may end up edited on the show, lost to anyone who didn't know the truth and who weren't paying attention at all.

That night in Abu-Dhabi, they filmed the media pen line and saw Checo give interviews while proudly wearing an MV33 World Champion t-shirt.

He filmed him as he answered his little interview with SkySports and watched as he smiled from ear to ear every time he was asked about Max and his merits.

Later, as Sergio was finishing up, Max found him in the middle of the ring and hugged him again, this time without the helmet.

For the way they looked at each other, he knew they had come a long way to this moment.

Checo put hand on Max's shoulder, grip strong as he congratulated him again and they let go of each other.

For the rest of the line, Max constantly looked for Checo until the man was done. But instead of leaving like his PR assistant had, he stood aside and waited for Max to finish.

They walked away together, pushing the other around like kids, side by side, fingers so close to each other they could hold hands.

But there were too many people, perhaps.

Max and Checo walked away together and didn't look back.

"So," the producer started as all the editors and them, who were there just to leave their tapes, sat in the conference room, "how are we going to manage the Red Bull storyline? They won the driver's championship but not the constructors. And Verstappen didn't give a fuck and gave us nothing." She said, sounding genuinely worried. "How should we proceed?"

Ideas were said, some better than others, none really appealing but without the world champion, it was hard to follow through and have something complete to work on and show.

"Was there any tension between the boys? Someone asked.

"Sexual." A male voice said, the room laughed and he looked around to see if someone else knew what he knew, but all he found were bored faces.

"I'm serious!"

"They seem to like each other just fine…" He answered instead.

The producer sighed, looking disappointed.

He wondered if anyone else had captured them on camera.

He hoped it was not the case.

New season, new cars, new drama.

Their first team of 2022 was, unsurprisingly, Red Bull and they walked in in the middle of a commotion.

Horner had the teams standing together, motivated smiles and good spirits all around, his drivers behind him.

Checo was sitting on top of a counter with his hands on it, Max standing at his side with his arms crossed, the number one on his cap red and very visible.

The principal looked at them and stopped talking, calling attention to their arrival as if announcing he would be changing the subject and everyone else should keep the secret of his speech before them.

Like this, they recorded him giving his first race speech.

He moved the camera around, capturing everyone's faces, including the drivers.

Pérez was looking at Max's profile, a tiny smile on his face as his eyes gave away all his secrets. 

He sighed, and looked away.

Only then, Max looked at him. He watched him for a couple of seconds then tucked the hair sticking out his cap behind his ear, making the older driver look at him.

They laughed and Max put his hand on the counter, near Checo's.

He watched them, fingers side by side, very close—Sergio caressed Max's digit with his thumb, making the man smile.

Soon, they had their fingers one over the other on the table.

He moved the camera away, feeling wrong filming such a sweet little act.

After the race, they stood in the VIP area of Red Bull under their pit stop.

He filmed down, where people with happy smiles were picking up material and getting all inside, ready to go.

As he watched and filmed, he found the drivers, hiding behind the tires and way too close to simply explaining it as friends things.

Before he could simply ignore them, they kissed.

The action felt unreal, though it confirmed what he'd known for almost a year, this time without excuses of it being seen from far away in a moving car.

Pérez kissed Verstappen on his tip toes, laughing on their kiss as the taller man tried his best to lean down and respond.

There was no struggle in the inexistent power dynamic, just two people sharing a laugh and a sweet kiss, a moment just for them.

He blinked, lowering his camera before opening the file and rewatching, having captured the secrecy of the kiss.

Inexplicably, he deleted the file and turned off the camera.

He looked back at where Verstappen and Pérez were before, seeing them kissing, this time in sync and more desperate.

Turning around, he left them to it.

He was not going to out these men in love.

"That's Pérez's daughter, right?" An assistant asked at his side. "She's with Verstappen."

He looked up, finding Max standing with the little girl in arms, talking to her.

She had his cap on her hands, laughing as Max was trying to make her look up. After a while, the little girl put a hand on his face and he turned to kiss it.

"Fuck." The assistant said. "Film that."

Without another word, he put up the camera and pretended to film it.

They had already disturbed these men's privacy for too long.

"Carlota!"

They all looked up like Max had wanted the girl to, Checo and little Sergio were on the second floor, waving at Max and the girl.

" Hola, papi! " She said.

He looked back to see the little girl waving back to his father with Max, who smiled at her when she looked at him again.

The man said something to her, she nodded.

"Wait there!" Max yelled back at his partner and he walked away with the girl in his arms.

Last year, he had heard them fight over Pérez's responsibility with his children. Today, Max carried around Sergio's little girl, knowing enough Spanish to communicate with her.

It was a sight to behold.

The season went on, the Summer came, and one Max Verstappen mentioned a partner in an interview while using he to refer to them.

As the world they lived in went nuts, he sighed and looked at the screen of his phone, looking at the news sites, the criticism for no reason, the homophobia, and the joy.

It was a mix of emotions for sure, and the little detail had many people talking, including their producers who could not get their hands on any of this since the young man still refused to talk to them.

For a moment, there was silence in the office space, then a gasp from the editor sitting at his side.

"Look—" She showed him her phone, an Instagram post by Max showing him wearing Alpha Tauri fashion on a balcony with a beautiful view of the ocean.

He knew that place—he'd seen it before on someone else's instagram.

A look at the location confirmed it.

Pérez' house in Mexico.

"You think he may be dating his teammate?" She said. "Look…" She went back, showing him Max's instagram feed. "He's been posting him in almost every race post and other events."

Finally, he could talk about all this with someone. He could tell her the truth and lift up the weight of knowing.

But,

"I don't think so. I mean, even if he's at the Pérez's place, Stroll and his father used to spend vacations over there, so…"

"Uhm. I see what you say."

"Yeah."

He was not about to out those men in love.

"They would be very cute, though." She said, "Could you imagine?"

He smiled, nodding.

"Yeah, imagine that…"

Just imagine that.

There was music in Pérez's driver's room on race day.

As they waited for the drivers to finish dressing, they stood outside without filming, talking between them and sighing, already tired and the race was just about to be.

He heard a loud laugh when another song started—the same as last year.

 "Shut up!" Came out from Verstappen's room, followed by another chuckle from Pérez's.

Nos dimos todo lo que se nos dio

Nos dimos todo eso y mucho más

Para después reconocernos, otra vez

He sighed, music and lyrics they could feel but not understand around them, making clear a couple of things as it went on and, eventually, the drivers came out:

Love may not have to be understood but felt. There's much more to love than words and language.

They followed the two drivers as they finished listening to the song, walking side by side, pestering each other like kids.

" Amanecer colgado de tus labios… " Pérez terribly sang, looking at Verstappen at his side.

"God, you sing so bad…" The younger man said.

Sergio laughed. "Y brillas tan lindo—"

"Oh my God." He laughed, turning to his teammate to put a hand over his mouth. "Ew!" He exclaimed when the man, inevitably, licked his hand. "Ugh, I hate you."

The older man laughed, carelessly taking Max's hand to clean it on his shirt while holding his phone on the other hand, still playing the song on its last notes.

Y así, juntitos los dos

Y así, lo que se nos dio…

He didn't let go of his hand after.

The interviewer looked at the assistant, and she looked at him—what were they supposed to do? 

Y así, juntitos los dos

Y así, lo que se nos dio…

With the lights and mics on, cameras shooting, they kept walking without a word being said.

He discreetly put off the camera and pretended to keep filming, planning on his next best excuse as the song ended and Sergio stopped his cel from playing more music.

They let go of each other's hands when approaching the garages, Max looked at Sergio to wish him luck and the man returned the kind words with a smile.

As they went on different ways, he turned the camera back on and sighed.

For now, he could help. And for as long as it was possible, he would gladly do it.

He just hoped one day, it would be okay for them to not hide.

They deserved that and more.