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It's no secret that when Max was in Red Bull with Daniel that he had a little crush, with all the flirting they did in front of the cameras, with Daniel touching his neck and his waist and the top of his thighs.
Max tried to kiss him once, after Daniel's Monaco win in 2018, Max came ninth. Not great, of course, but points for the team so he wasn't too depressed to get a little buzzed.
Daniel had pushed him away.
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“Max, what? No”
“But-”
“No, Max, you’re too young for me. And you’re drunk”
Max had just left. Got up from where he was already on his knees and left.
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Now its 2022, Max is older, he's a two-time world champion, Daniel is leaving.
He stumbles walking down the hotel corridor, looking for daniels room, number 333. What a sick joke. The gaudy carpet starts moving under him, showing interlocking patterns and shapes.
He finally gets to Daniel's, room, tripping into the door instead of knocking correctly.
Max wants to crawl into a hole and die, not really considering how much of a bad idea this is until after Daniel definitely knows there's someone at his door. Even if Max wanted to leave, his body feels too heavy leaning against the doorframe. He hears a soft click from beside him, too tired to understand where or who it's coming from.
“Oh, Max.” The mystery man? Person? Says, looking at him on the floor, where he seems he has slide down to without realising, the carpet itching his bare arms and legs.
“You’re fucked up, mate” the man says, before his strong arms lift max up and bring him into his room, his body warm and solid beneath him. His arms are tan and tattooed and-
Oh, Max thinks.
The man is Daniel. He's in Daniel's hotel room.