Chapter Text
Max Kumpen I
Max snapped his eyes open. He had the same nightmare.
Again.
His blood-soaked hands, holding a pen, next to a dead body.
The Dutch boy sit up on the bed, the squeaking sound bed made annoying him and bringing him back to reality. The last time this nightmare had plagued his sleep was years ago.
At least five years.
Why did it return after 5 years?
His brain was refusing to let go of the matter, but Max had got stuff to do. The young man glanced at his bedside clock, it was only noon. Well, that gave him ten hours to sulk around, till his boss would have asked about his whereabouts. Deciding to sleep for a while more, Max threw himself back to bed.
DingDing.
Max groaned as he woke up once again, opening his eyes unwillingly. The sun wasn’t shining as bright anymore, indicating afternoon evolving into the evening. Max used his arm to blindly search for the phone as he didn’t find the energy to raise his head. He picked up the phone once his hand found it and rolled over in bed.
There was a text message from an unknown number. He opened it.
Happy Birthday brother -SV
Max huffed with annoyance.
God damn it, Nico.
Max should have guessed Nico would have shared his phone number with others yet he still had trusted him like a fool. His annoyance went to the back of his mind when he realised it was indeed his birthday.
He had forgotten about it completely. He was turning 26 today. He had even let the date of his birthday slip out of his mind just like everything else related to his family.
The bedside alarm clocked showed 19:50 now. Max got up quickly, grabbing a towel on his way to the bathroom. He allowed himself to take a long shower. It was his birthday after all.
As he finally got out of the bathtub, he checked the time again.
20:40.
I am gonna be fucking late.
Max glanced at the mirror, checking his appearance. His long dark blond hair was a mess. Truth be told, it was part of his charm. He put on some black jeans a white T-shirt and Timberland boots. He glanced at the mirror one last time before grabbing his guitar and leaving his apartment. The chilly air of Amsterdam hit him like a car. Max took a long breath in, feeling the air filling his lungs and making him shiver. He adored this weather.
Unlike his guess, he still had some time before his performance so he decided to grab dinner.
A hungry artist was not the ideal artist.
He was on his way to his favourite fried chicken restaurant when his phone buzzed. Another text. From a different number.
Look, I know what I did was the complete opposite of what you had wanted but they are your family, our family.
Happy birthday baby brother.
Max shook his head and wrote nothing back instead he focused on his meal and try to think of the performance of the day. When he finally reached the pub, it was 21:30. 30 minutes to go. The Dutch acknowledged the bartender with a small nod and made some small talk with the customers he had grown accustomed to. After a couple of minutes, he was in the backroom, sound-checking his guitar. Minutes rolled past quickly while he was checking the guitar and chatting with the musicians.
Finally, it was 22:00.
Showtime.
He was heading to the stage when the manager of the pub, Helmut, stopped him. “Max, can I have a word with you?”
Max nodded, suddenly feeling nervous.
“I just wanted to thank you, my golden boy,” he started. “I don’t think I appreciate you enough. Hear the people outside? The place is packed tonight. You made this place the most popular pub maybe in all of goddamn Amsterdam.” Max smiled at the elder man, feeling his cheeks heat up, he hated getting praised like that. Helmut playfully slapped Max’s back. “Come on now, they are waiting for you.” Max gave a small nod, along with a shy smile and headed for the stage.
The place was indeed packed. Yet Max did not care, he wasn’t playing guitar and singing for fame or popularity. He performed simply because the music made him forget everything, and gave him peace.
The performance was a success as usual, he had sung a couple of songs with his guitar, sang some rock songs after, and a couple of other songs which were requested by the audience. Time always flew whenever he was on the stage.
He felt alive… but surprisingly being alive didn’t feel like a burden.
He checked his watch.
23:17.
“You are all so lovely tonight, but this boy needs a break. See you in 15 minutes,” Max announced. The crowd made a disappointed sound which made the Dutch chuckle. Max got off the stage, soaked in sweat. He threw some looks around to the girls and guys who were giving him “fuck me eyes” as he made his way to the bar. “God, give me the coldest beer you got,” he said to bartender, Carlos.
“Great performance as always, Maxie. Here you go,” Carlos said, sliding the beer mug to him.
Max thanked Carlos as he picked up the cold beer. The pub was crowded, it was hard to breathe inside. Max decided to drink his beer outside also get some fresh air. He exited through the back door. The street was empty other than a guy who was selling hotdogs and a boy who was buying something from him.
Probably a hotdog, Max thought.
No shit, Sherlock, Max answered himself.
As he was having an inner argument and sipping his beer, a car stopped on the street and two guys stepped off. Two men approached the boy who was in front of the food stand. “How much for two?” the taller one said. Max noticed the small lime-green tattoo on the man’s hand even from where he was standing.
The boy turned around. Fuck. He was breathtakingly beautiful. Brown hair, full lips, dreamy eyes, symmetrical face. Max did not want to assume anything but judging from where they were in Amsterdam, his very fit leather outfit, and the question the guys just asked; he assumed the dreamy boy was a prostitute.
The boy got the physic for it, nothing amazing but lovely nevertheless.
He must be a high-end male prostitute. Odd. I thought they never got customers off the streets. The price must have been 1000 or 1200 dollars for the night, Max thought as he took another big sip from his beer.
“It’s one for 2 Euros and for two... I guess you can do the math,” the boy in the leather outfit said with an unmistakable French accent. The answer made Max choke on his beer before he understood the price was for hotdogs and not for the boy himself.
“Very funny beauty. How much? I won’t ask a second time,” the shorter one said grabbing the boy’s upper arm. The boy saved his arm in one swift motion. The boy looked fit but that didn’t automatically mean he was strong, Max commented to himself.
“I would be glad if you don’t. Not a hooker.”
Damn. Don’t judge a book by its cover. Just a guy who is into leather apparently.
“Bullshit,” the taller said and continued “Kindness is wasted on you. I guess, you will do it for free.”
Fuck, Max thought. Don’t say stuff like this. Don’t sound like an Italian black-and-white movie villain. Don’t turn me into a saviour male lead. I have a show to continue. Max’s hopeful thinking failed him as the shorter one grabbed the boy and started to drag him towards the car. The boy started to struggle against the shorter man but the effort was in vain. Both men were obviously stronger than our leather-loving boy.
Max checked his watch.
23:30.
He needed to get back inside but the boy needed help.
He acted without a second thought. “Gentlemen, I am going to need you to let the boy go,” Max said. It was a line from an almost a century-old American movie, it had sounded cool when the actor said it in the movie. But the sentence only got a chuckle from the thugs. Max knew he was no superhero and he wasn’t armed so he used the only thing that was to his advantage: The Element of surprise.
He threw the beer mug to the taller one’s face with such force the man got knocked down to the floor, not unconscious, though. A split second later, he attacked the shorter man with his guitar. It meant his guitar's demise, but it managed the split the boy and his kidnapper. Max hit the man’s head one last time before grabbing the boy’s hand and shouting, “Run!”.
The boy obeyed with no questions and they started to run down the street “Why are we running, they are unconscious, right?” the boy said, sounding less panicked than Max would have expected.
“Not unconscious, just startled. And if they catch us, they will kill us,” Max said. “Do you know who they work for?”
“Don’t know, don’t care” the boy said out of breath, he was having a difficult time, trying to keep up with Max’s fast running. Max was about to answer, when they heard a car engine behind them. The young man stopped suddenly causing the boy to bump into him.
Max took a turn for a narrow alley. “We got to run, taxis work for them sometimes” Max mumbled mostly to himself rather than the boy.
“Run for where?” the boy asked.
“Safety?” Max suggested as he started to run again.
Max didn’t know how much time passed when they finally arrived at his apartment. He only knew his muscles were burning. He opened the door and threw himself on the floor. He saw the boy doing the same. After a couple of moments, he managed to calm his breathing. He stood up. “Who are you? What is your name?” Max asked.
The boy paused for a moment, probably trying to decide whether he should give his real name or not. After a while, Max saw the “Fuck it, what the hell?” expression on him. “Charles,” the boy said “Charles Leclerc.”
“Max,” he said simply before continuing “Tell me, please. What were you thinking, wearing this outfit, in a deserted alley, after eleven o’clock? What were expecting people to think? I am not even mentioning being a smart ass with Lawrence Stroll’s man in Amsterdam,” Max said half angry, half impressed.
The boy stood up, still panting. “I do whatever I like,” Charles said, his tone angry.
I just risked my life to help this boy and this is the thanks I get, Max thought. It’s definitely my birthday.
He started to laugh softly. The sound of his laugh softened the boy’s angry expression. “Weren’t you suppose to kick the shit out of those guys as my hero, and not grab me and run?” the boy asked with a playful smile.
Max took a deep breath, he was meaning to use this line from Kingsman for a long time now and it would fit this context perfectly. “This ain’t that kind of movie, darling."
Charles recognised the line, Max could tell from his expression, the boy started to laugh, and soon Max joined him. Their laughter died down slowly and turned into a staring contest. Max was the one who broke the silence. “Okay, Charles Leclerc,” he said taking a step towards the boy. “Do you always do whatever you feel like doing?” Max asked, arching his eyebrow.
“If they are hot enough,” the boy said, confusing Max. Yet a second later, Max understood. Because the boy closed the gap between their lips and kissed his unsuspected hero.
For the first five seconds, Max just stood still, not knowing what to do. Then he grabbed the boy from his waist and returned the kiss as the watch on his wrist vibrated.
It was 00:00.