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His feet dig into the sand, idly creating hills and valleys into the surface. The fine grains drag over the curves of his foot in a silken caress across his skin. He burrows deeper and another pile of sand spills and covers his toes.
Daniel wraps his arms closer around himself. He doesn't know what he's doing here of all places. He doesn't know what he's doing period.
He's never been one to sit still, always needing to have some sort of distraction on his hyperactive mind. Whether that be through his playlists or just acting on his most sporadic thoughts, he's like a dumb dippy bird forever bobbing its head.
Watch how he goes up and down! Look at him as he slows! Isn't it funny? Ha ha. Nobody's laughing.
It's nearly the end of the season and no one wants him. Definitely not after his last disastrous race just what, hours ago? It feels more like a whole lifetime ago.
Competitive teams sure as hell don't want anything to do with him and he despises the idea of joining a bottom-tier team battling for fuck all. Fuckin' loathes the thought of it.
But it's looking more and more likely that if Daniel wants to keep racing, he'd be forced to sign somewhere like bloody Haas just to keep going.
It's soul crushing.
In his younger days, he pitied those who had to do just that. He told himself, so cocksure in the greatness of his skill, that he'd rather leave than beg to stay. At least he'd never have to resort to a last 'Hail Mary'. Daniel Ricciardo was nothing like those drivers, the ones that never amounted to anything; he was a winner, a future WDC. It all seemed so easy then.
Now look at him. Whether he wants it or not, he'll probably not have a seat for next year. It's jarring. It's frightening and he doesn't know if a break will destroy what's left of him or save him. Doesn't know if this is what he needs.
Who is he without driving? Who exactly is Daniel Ricciardo if not a Formula One race driver?
He'd never thought he'd be in this position. Not this soon, not like this. Never like this.
The tide pulls in close, water barely kissing his buried toes. It runs a needle edge line of almost too much and not enough. The steady wash of waves coming in and out is an arrhythmic beat against his soul. In and out, in and out. It repeats again and another out. It's unpredictable and vaguely chaotic.
Daniel watches.
He wonders if this too is a metaphor for his life after leaving Red Bull. Unpredictable chaos.
God, he should really stop moping, being a miserable fuck never helped anything. Daniel's made his choices and now he has to live with them. But try as he might, he can't stop the invasive thoughts any more than he could stop himself from making bad career decisions.
It's like how everyone says it is. You're only so good as your last race and—What a shit race it was. It's like he's forgotten how to drive. Every move he made was a mistake a younger, better Daniel would have sneered at.
Perhaps that was who Daniel Ricciardo is now: a shit driver. A washed up has been that had a chance to fight for the top only to piss it away because he was an egotistical cunt who couldn't bear to be an afterthought in his team.
Daniel knows he's a bit vain, that he's an attention whore. He wants to be wanted and he soaks up admiration and laughs like he's a sunflower angling for the sun. It's never not worked out for him before. He loves people and people love him back. He loves the sport and for a while there, the sport loved him back.
Until it didn't.
And all the desperate scrambling and pleading couldn't change his understanding of the car. Couldn't make him somehow learn how to adapt like every other driver apparently could do. Not him. No. Nothing he tried could change the steep decline of results and respectable finishes despite himself.
He'd become something out of a horror show. The natural high he'd get every Sunday was now a walking nightmare he had to limp through. That buzz and anticipation he'd relish now replaced with creeping dread.
The happiness everyone knew him by, now an empty mask pinned to his face. Bloody gashes where his smile used to be.
Daniel had held onto that last bit of himself until he couldn't hold it together any longer. The cracks were too obvious to hide. Painful was an understatement.
He could barely stand to look at himself in the mirror these days; disgust rolling through him as the wretched eyes of a stranger peer back at him. He used to call himself handsome and fast. Now he's no longer either of those things. His hairline is receding and he's near the lowest on the grid.
Daniel doesn't know who he is anymore. He is unrecognisable. His driving is unrecognisable.
He looks up into the horizon. It's a beautiful papaya-orange.
He's numb.
"Daniel!" Max's distinct voice cuts through the haze. Bizarre he thinks, Max doesn't have his hat on. The two time hatless champion winner strikes an image against the molten shades of the setting sun and the clear blue of the water.
Max's cheeks are a blotchy red. He doesn't look like a man who was rightfully celebrating his win. Though Daniel doesn't remember the last time he celebrated a podium. He could be wrong. He could also be hallucinating this whole thing.
"Maxy Max!" He slur shouts back at the potential hallucination, Daniel's voice elongating the consonants in an effort to appear normal. He tries to smile. The edges of his mouth turning up in a strange grimace. He knows it doesn't look right.
Fake Max? doesn't appear to be buying it either. "You weren't picking up my calls or my texts." He accuses. Hatless Max's lips are a thin line of displeasure.
"No one knew where you went." The perhaps hallucination drags a hand over his hair in a nervous gesture. "We are all, of course very worried. I even had to ask Michael where you were."
Definitely a hallucination then Daniel confirms. Michael and Max hated each other with a passion and never got along. It only got worse after Daniel left Red Bull to the disapproval of practically everyone he knew. It was kind of funny but also mostly sad that two of the most important people in his life couldn't get along, could barely even talk to each other without guns being drawn and explosions going.
"You're not wearing a hat. Why aren't you wearing a hat?" He asks dumbly. Max usually wears his hats everywhere. Though of course Max wouldn't be wearing a hat. The fake Max of his dreams never did and hadn't he already proven that the Max before him was all one big hallucination?
Daniel would kick himself if he could bother to stand. The shitty beers he smashed earlier settling deep in his gut. Standing up would be too much right now.
"What does my hat have to do with anything?" Fake Max stops and stares with him in confusion. Daniel giggles. It comes out more like a strangle.
"Whatever Daniel, I lost my hat earlier. It doesn't matter." This fake Max was getting even more fake if one could believe it. God he couldn't do anything right. Not even his hallucination was acting right.
Real Max would throw a shitfit of massive proportions if he lost his hat. So bitchy. So pretty. At least his delusional mind got that correct. The cherry red pout of Max's lips were more pronounced than usual without the hat hiding them and the stark lines of his cheekbones were highlighted in the play of light and shadows from the sunset. Those eyes were the exact shade of blue that never failed to catch his attention. And right now those eyes were riveting.
Fake Max was saying something. His hands gesturing up and demonstrating something. Some sort of argument. He wasn't really listening. Now that he knew it was non-accurate Fake Max he could gaze to his heart's content into those eyes he loved so much. Stare at those lips that had haunted his most shamed filled dreams for half a decade. It was obscene.
"—can't believe you—listening to me, Daniel." Hatless fake Max glared at him. "Huh? Sorry mate, wasn't paying attention." Daniel dragged his gaze up. "Got distracted looking at your lips, I wanna bite them."
Fake Max gasped and touched his lips. Those eyes of his narrowed and, it might be the wind acting up but Daniel could have sworn he'd seen Max's sandy hair bristling up like Sassy whenever she was mad. Cute. He was so pathetic.
Hallucination Max glared at him even more. "You are not pathetic." Woops Daniel didn't mean to say that outloud. "I think you are a talented driver still and a lovely person who is just going through a hard time right now." He supposed it didn't matter what fake Max heard though. He was after all. Very fake.
"I'm a washed up driver that is barely even better than fucking Latifi. I'm a fucking joke, a shitty punchline that's lucky to get in the points and any talent I had washed up the moment I left Red Bull." Daniel sort of liked this. Watching Max's expression turn into something else than the overwhelming success and happiness he'd shown after every beautiful podium finish he'd had. "I'm a miserable cunt by telling you this, but you ruined my life and I can't even hate you for it. That was supposed to be my car, my championship drive, my team."
Fake Max looks horrified. Daniel is on a roll and he doesn't want to stop. He doesn't see a point. He's fully self destructing and thankfully it'll only be this fake Max of his that will have to see the detritus of his wreckage. Be the one to spin out and smash into the barriers this time.
"I tried hating you for taking everything I ever wanted away from me but it would never stick. I can't hate you. Everytime I see you I'm reminded of how stupidly in love I am with you and I choke. I can't do it." A gurgling sound comes from hatless Max. He looks like he's about to erupt, crimson red staining his whole face.
Daniel's seen that face before. Something teenaged Max used to do when he would crash out and throw a fit while other drivers would trash talk him and his youth. It's a little nostalgic seeing it now from a Max that has largely grown out of that anger.
His hallucination splutters, "You love me? Daniel, you don't know what you're saying. This isn't you."
Daniel snorts a laugh. "Baby, this is me when I don't give a fuck. You aren't even real, hatless fake Max. You're just here because my mind can't let you go despite everything I've tried."
Fake Max's expression softens in pity. Fuck this is almost worse than saying this for real. He never wanted to see pity on any Max's face. "I am real. I don't know what you want me to say to prove it to you."
"That's exactly what a fake Max would say if they were an imposter and trying to pretend they were real. You can't convince me hatless Max." He sings songs back. Max laughs a little despite himself, eyes crinkling up momentarily and lines showing around his upturned mouth.
Daniel can't help but inwardly cheer at the sight. Yup. Lasted all of five seconds of anger at Max. He never could stand a chance against Max. Not professionally and definitely not personally.
Hatless Max refocuses and determination washes over his face. The same steely determination Daniel has seen many times over before Max does something insane. "Okay Daniel, I am still very real and you are wrong by the way. You are of course, better than half the grid out there, better than Latifi." Max scoffs at the name. "Talent doesn't disappear. It's still there. You just have to find it again."
Daniel drags his eyes away and wiggles his still hidden toes underneath the sand. "I don't have a seat next year Max. This might actually be it for me."
Max's voice is all husked with emotion. The vowels changing subtly in his urgency. "Guenther would take you in a heartbeat if you asked. You have options."
"What if I don't want to go back? I don't know if I can do this anymore." Daniel whispers, his gaze darting away from fake Max again. "I hate it. Every Sunday I'm dreading what new horror awaits me. How much more I can disappoint everyone."
"I don't even know if I want to race anymore."
There's a gasp and a pause. It's bleak and Daniel doesn't dare look at Max. He doesn't want to see the expression on Max's face as he admits the thought that's only grown since the start of the year.
"Daniel." Steps come closer and there's a displacement of air as fake Max plops down next to him. He's still in his Red Bull approved clothes and it's. It's. Comforting in its familiarity but sometimes when he thinks of what might have been had he stayed, it cuts deep.
"I think it would be a shame if you left, but of course you should do what is best for you if racing isn't making you happy." Max's voice is careful. Daniel can tell Max has more to say, but that's not a surprise. Max always has an opinion when it comes to driving.
"That's the thing. I don't know what's best for me. I don't know what I'm doing half the time and it's all spiralling away from me."
"I say I want to leave but I don't really want to. Fuck, Max, driving has been my entire life. I can't give that all up without it eating me up inside, but I can't continue doing this, being like this, without it destroying me. Whatever I do is a fucking shit choice."
Daniel wipes away at his eyes. Funny. He doesn't remember starting to cry. Though he supposes he really couldn't go any lower now.
Not that it matters since Max is just a figment of his imagination. But. He still never wanted to show this to any Max regardless. God, he's so pathetic. He's a fucking multi millionaire and he's crying about how sad he is that he doesn't want to take a job that others would kill to have. It's ridiculous. It's so fucking dumb he can't stand himself.
He just wants everything to stop. Stop hurting for once. To sink into an oblivion so he'd never have to run himself into circles hoping for just one, god please, one good race to redeem himself.
Daniel's breath hitches, caught up on the thought of doing this over and over again, every Sunday to infinity like the universe's own personal loop of fucked-up-shit. He can feel something in him cracking, his eyes blurring and shutting in an effort to stem the hopelessness of it all fracturing him apart.
There's a faint exhale and a soft "Oh, Daniel". And—
Fingertips brush bruisingly delicate against the deep shadows beneath his eyes, wiping tears as they fall. The care sears his skin. Daniel can't stop himself from blistering underneath the ministrations. It's soft and tender when everything else for the past two years has been broken glass and pointed remarks.
He whimpers and folds deeper into himself, eyes fully closed because he still can't bear to see the look on Max's face. He wants everything to hurt but doesn't want the pain. He wants gentle care but can't bear it. He's a fiery wreck hurtling 300kph in freefall, just before the inevitable crunch. He's that last tenth of a second away from the barrier, knowing full well he won't make it out of this unaltered, unchanged, unbroken.
Strong arms tug him forward into a broad body.
Max.
Daniel hides his face in Max's neck, breath hitching uncontrollably as he goes. No doubt slathering him in tears and snot but the other man doesn't seem to care. He's entirely engulfed in the breathing warmth of Max and the care scorches as much as it soothes. Careful hands run up and down his back, intent on their sole mission to soothe him while he sobs and clutches painfully tight around the only thing grounding him right now.
It's too much. Everything is too much.
Daniel breaks apart.
Time is a concept that drags through his fingers like sand.
+
When Daniel comes back, it's to the sound of tuneless crooning. It's darker now. He's still surrounded in Max, the other man's arms wrapped around him protectively, fingers running a disjointed beat between his shoulders. It's nice. Really nice. Nestled into the other's neck, all he can smell is sweat, Max's shampoo and that distinct scent that's entirely all him.
Oh. Real Max.
He should be freaking out right now because he's like 99% sure that the Max he was talking to and the Max he's currently cuddling was/is actually The Real Max™, but he's too drained to care. The throaty vibrations of Max's warbling calms something primitive in him.
It's Dutch so he can't understand it but it's still unmistakable for what it is: pure distilled comfort. Daniel's a little drunk on it.
Daniel doesn't dare interrupt. Max isn't a good singer by any means but in this moment, it's the best thing he's ever listened to. His whole body strains to feel the rasp of Max's voice, ears honed on to the crests and lows of that unique tone. He floats a little in between the breaths and pauses until Max stops.
"Daniel." Daniel hums back.
"Feeling better?"
Daniel grunts noncommittally.
The sound of the crashing waves fills the air already full of all the unsaid things laying between them. It feels like the only uncomplicated thing in Daniel's life right now.
"I." A weighty pause. "I don't want you to take it the wrong way, but." Max gently squeezes. "I was thinking and."
Daniel hasn't heard the Max of these days sound this nervous. Not in years at least. He squeezes back in an effort to quell the rising tension from the tense frame enveloping him.
"Come back."
Daniel jerks, his whole body instinctively trying to leave. Max's arms tighten reflexively.
"Come back to Red Bull. It might only be as a reserve driver but." Max's voice gains strength as he continues. "But you can decide with us, what you want to do. If you want to come back to the grid or not."
Max whispers softly, it's the most vulnerable Daniel's heard him since their crash in Baku. "Don't leave for once. Hear me out. Please." Daniel nods reluctantly, his eyelashes tickling the younger man's neck.
"This isn't pity, the team would benefit with you back. We all miss you. It would be good for you and for us too."
"Did you miss me?" Daniel blurts out, unable to get the words, we all miss you, out of his head. He's abruptly reminded of that stupid media video they did together where he asked the same question to Max. Daniel freshly in Renault and Max still somewhat of a loose canon. He'd gotten an unsatisfactory, sometimes, back at the time.
Max takes a breath. Now it's his time to clutch tight onto Daniel.
"I never actually wanted you to leave." Max confesses. "Even with the awkwardness and how tense it got with Baku, never did I want you to leave us."
"So yes, I did miss you; I do miss you. I miss you all the time."
Daniel doesn't know what to think. Max misses him. The thought reverberates in his mind a few dozen times. He'd thought that coming back to Red Bull was permanently closed to him, even though he did still keep in touch with a few of his closer friends there. It's wild to hear from Max himself that he'd be welcomed back.
His voice croaks, "I don't know what to say Max. It's a lot."
"I know. You don't have to decide now. Just think on the possibility."
Daniel grows agitated."You'd have to get Christian and Helmut to agree to this. I know these days, Red Bull is your team but that's a lot even for you."
"I think you'll find that I get what I want concerning the team. It will be no problem." Daniel shivers. He knows he shouldn't like it this much, but cocky, selfish Max always sort of did it for him.
Max's face nestles against his. "It'll be okay. I promise you." Max sounds utterly confident, like it's just a known fact of the world. The sky is blue, the earth is round and Max Verstappen gets what he wants. It's so stupidly hot. Daniel feels guilty.
"I'm sorry." Daniel babbles, wanting to change the topic.
Max makes a confused noise. "For what?"
"For what I said earlier. You know." He fidgets, fingers playing with the hem of Max's Red Bull shirt. "You ruining my life. That's not true. I ruined my own life."
"You didn't ruin your life. You made choices that you thought was best for you and it didn't turn out the way you wanted. It is what it is." Max sighs. "I know you didn't mean anything you said earlier. You were upset, it's understandable." Sometimes, it hits Daniel hard when he sees the evidence of Max's maturity compared to before when they were teammates. Younger Max wouldn't have given him that much leeway.
"Besides, I wouldn't apologise for me being in Red Bull anyway. You did not need to leave." Daniel chokes a laugh. Classic Max, honest to a fault. He hates it and he loves it. Mostly he loves it, especially compared with who he deals with now. Blunt honesty was never so refreshing.
"Aren't you going to ask me?"
"Ask you what?"
"About the shit I said."
"It's fine Daniel. What more needs to be said? You were upset and said things you didn't mean. It's okay."
"I mean it's sort of not okay? Everything I said yesterday—well, they weren't me talking my ass out or anything. It's." Daniel struggles for a bit. "They weren't right to say, but at the same time they weren't completely baseless either." He rushes out, breath choking on nothing.
"Okay Daniel." Max's voice is so gentle. More gentle than he deserves. "What did you mean earlier?"
Go time, Daniel. If Max truly wanted him back in Red Bull or whatever, then he of all people deserved to know about Daniel's stupid obsession with him. Better to get let down gently now, on quite possibly the worst day of his life so far, then rejected later. Especially if he becomes publicly tied to Red Bull and Max by extension again for however long. What was that thing that they used to say? Hope was the dangerous thing, a killer? Something to make a man insane?
Daniel gets that. He vibes with it so hard. How he'd ever get himself to stop wanting this: Max in his arms and being so kind, seems like insanity to him too. Maybe this will set him straight for once.
Hysterically, Daniel thinks it might actually be a good thing he doesn't have a seat for this. At least if it all goes terribly, he doesn't have to see Max across the paddock or at all really.
Both of them awkwardly trying not to make eye contact for the rest of however long Daniel scraps by, would be a next level torture he can't even imagine.
"I—" Daniel chokes again. He powers through. He has to say it otherwise he doesn't think he'd ever have the balls to ever say it again. Not if this is for real. He doesn't think even a fake Max would be able to replicate the exact smell of real Max.
"I think it all started when we were still teammates. Or maybe it was after I left. I don't know." Daniel's words are all jumbled together into some barely comprehensible mash. "Maybe I can count it as after I left cause, boy do I look like some sort of perv if it was during my Red Bull days."
"Daniel."
"Sorry, I just need to say it once and I'll never bring it up again. Ever. Trust me on this, when I say I never want to go through this again and that I don't blame you for anything you say to me afterwards."
Daniel draws back from Max, wanting a little bit of space for this. It'd be awkward to get rejected by the person of your dreams, literally as they cuddle you when they do it.
Max's gaze is so fond it aches. Despite everything between them, all the years and the highs and lows, the way Max has looked at him has never changed. Daniel looks away.
He doesn't deserve any of it.
It's with that last thought Daniel takes the plunge. One final dagger to the heart before he's actually dead for realisies this time.
"I-meant-it-when-I-said-I-was-in-love-with-you." Daniel babbles incoherently. "I promise to get over it but I just wanted to say this at least once so I can stop thinking about this when I try to go to sleep. I know this isn't the right time for this, or even wanted—I mean who would want a washed up has-been that just had a mental breakdown literally minutes, hours? ago right in your arms. But I really had to say it cause you deserve more than some guy thirsting for you from afar, taking advantage of your kindness, especially if you want me back in your team in whatever capacity and maybe please don't hate me for this? Can we stay friends? Please?"
Daniel sort of wants to scream.
God what has Daniel done. That was possibly the worst confession he'd ever heard, let alone said himself. If he could sink any lower today he'd be in the earth's core already.
"No."
Well, shit.
"You're not a washed up has-been and you are of course not taking advantage of my kindness." Max continues.
"I think you're such a lovely person and I know, still that would never change for me. So we will always be friends no matter what."
"I say these things not because I'm being kind or because I'm such a nice person. You deserve having people care for you as much as you care for them. It's not a one way street."
A hand gently turns Daniel's face in the direction of Max.
"You can look at me, you know. I don't hate you for this, quite the opposite really."
Daniel looks up.
It's that same damn gaze again. The one that never failed to make Daniel feel butterflies inside. The one that made him feel known and loved and appreciated. That very gaze that made Daniel want to say all sorts of stupid shit just to have that attention on him always.
The thing that made Daniel hope for something more cause why else would someone look at him in that way, with those eyes.
Oh.
"No, I don't want you to 'get over it' because I love you too. I thought it was very obvious." Max looks very put out at that.
"Uh. No it wasn't obvious at all?" Daniel's voice doesn't sound like it's coming from him at all. More like a squeaky toy than an actual human being.
"Did you really think I'd cuddle every sad friend I have in the middle of the night and sing lullabies to them and tell them they're beautiful and lovely and gorgeous if I strictly wanted to be just friends?"
"You told me that years ago!"
Max stops and stares at him.
"Uhhhh. Maybe I thought it was some sort of Dutch thing? What you and Martijn get together to do is none of my business."
"You are actually an idiot. I can't believe I didn't see this earlier."
"Must be my good looks blinding you? No one can survive this stud." Daniel kisses his own bicep.
They both dissolve into laughter. What the hell even. Hope surges through his veins.
"So you love me?" Daniel needs to know.
"Yes."
"Cool. I love you too."
Max echoes back, "Cool."
Both of them start laughing again. Daniel's eyes get a little damp this time in giddy relief at the ridiculousness of it all.
"Should've just said 'I love you' to you straight up instead of that word vomit I upchucked all over you. That was horrible."
Max mimes himself throwing up and chucking the imaginary vomit at Daniel. "Yeah, that wasn't a very good confession." His eyes are squinty in laughter.
Daniel dodges the imaginary vomit and giggles. "Just utter shit wasn't it."
"Yeah, no it was horrid. You're lucky you're pretty. A ten out of ten stunner until you open your mouth."
"Hey, I have it in good word that my mouth is the best thing about me." Daniel leers at Max.
Max innocently states, "Because you can su—" Daniel cuts him off. "Because of my smile you cunt. You said it yourself."
"I do like your smile best. It's a shame I haven't seen it much lately though."
"I smile, I'm smiling right now."
"Your true smile. The one you have when you can't control it and it just bursts out of you like bad diarrhoea."
Daniel chokes and sputters, giggles already erupting from his chest.
"Max, what the hell."
"Made you really smile didn't I?" Max is hunched in on himself, chortling as he says it.
"It did damn it."
They burst out loud, scrunched up in pretzel shapes on the ground and giggling like they're school children again. It's not even that funny in retrospect but something about the smug glee radiating off of Max sets Daniel off like firecracker.
They laugh themself silly till their voices go hoarse and scratchy. There's a comfortable lull and the sound of the waves resurfaces to accompany the quiet breaths in between.
"Hey Max." Daniel looks over at Max starfished out on the sand next to him.
"Yes?"
Daniel bites his lips. "How come you aren't more pissed about earlier? Nothing I said was strictly a lie." He can't help but ask, insecurities plaguing his thoughts the longer Daniel is given time to process.
The eye contact pins Daniel down.
"Because you weren't yourself when you said it. You were in pain and you told me you loved me, expecting me to hurt you for it."
"I…"
"Love shouldn't be used as a weapon." There's an old aged pain lurking in Max's eyes as he says it. Right now, Max looks much older than his years suggest. Daniel feels like shit.
"I'm sorry. I—there's no excuse for what I pulled there."
"You were right, I wanted you to rip me to shreds. Today, if we're still counting right now as Sunday, I think I just wanted everything to hurt and break me apart so I didn't have to think about the future."
"And now?"
"It's early days now, but. I might have something to look forward to every race day? I don't know about coming back to Red Bull—" Daniel's voice stumbles over the team name that's still full of aged memories both good and bad. "But for the sake of my own pride and the talent you still think I have, let me talk to Christian myself."
"Alright, Daniel."
There's another pause. Daniel can't help but break it when the next intrusive thought hits.
"Would you still like me even if I don't go back? I mean, you're a two time WDC, you can have anyone you want. Plus I feel a little too old for you anyway." Unsaid was, Why would you put up with me if I'm no longer the talented handsome race driver you must have liked in the first place?
Max inches closer to him, snuggling up and leaning his head on Daniel's shoulder. It was oddly reminiscent of every other time this had happened late at night. Both of them sloshed and uncareful with their affection.
It's a little wild how it feels like Daniel never left those days. The breaks that had opened between them through the split, despite both of their efforts to bridge them over the years, were finally closing up. It was morphing into something different, better.
"When I first met you, the first thing I thought was how funny you actually were. How kind you were to treat me like the teenager I was and not the man my father wanted me to be."
Max breathes the words into Daniel's neck this time. A secret for both of them to keep.
"I liked it as much as I resented it. I wanted everyone to treat me like a man and not some kid who didn't know shit. I knew how to drive and it was only a matter of time before everyone else knew it too."
"But you were the first one to make me feel safe to explore, to do all the things I felt I never could do when my whole life was just one long series of endless races with little time to do anything else, be anything else. It was a kindness I didn't realise till I was older that I can't thank you more for."
Daniel interrupts. "Max, you don't owe me anything for that."
"I know I don't. But it's the first thing that I loved about you: how safe you made me feel. How you never laughed at me but with me, how much you shine whenever you smile and how much you brighten up a room whenever you're in it. You always try to make people smile no matter the circumstance and it's only made me love you more, not love you less for it."
"None of those reasons are related to how well you can get in a car and drive, so I know I will like you just the same whether you're in the paddock or out."
Max frowns. "And you're of course not too old for me. I don't give a shit. It's what—eight years? Fuck. Don't care. Anybody would be lucky to have you. You're a beautiful person."
Daniel's in tears again. What the hell. He thought he was all out after everything that happened earlier.
"Ahhh Maxy I'm going to get snot all over you again, if you don't stop."
"You don't need to joke with me Daniel. It's okay to cry. You've had a rough time, let me take care of you this time."
Daniel snuffles in closer and Max once again, wraps him in his arms. In the shelter of Max's arms it's as if they're the only two people in the entire world. Just them, the water, the sand and the night sky filled with stars.
Minutes or maybe hours pass listening to the peaceful calm of the waves and the steady warmth of each other. Daniel starts to drift again, right there, lying half on top of Max.
"Can I ask you something?"
Daniel half opens his eyes, his body angling to look at Max properly.
"I dunno Max, can you?" The other man huffs a laugh and pokes Daniel gently on the side.
"Did you really like me when you were with Red Bull?"
"Uh. In the fairness of not sounding like a deranged pervert I'm going to have to say, no comment to that."
"So you did!" Max crows like it's the best news he heard all night.
"No comment."
"I was 18 at that point. It would've been legal."
"And I was 26 at the time, still older than you right now. Would you date an 18 year old???"
Max sniffs, "Age is only a concept." He adds. "I would've made good jailbait."
"Oh my god Max, I feel like I'm going to go to prison just for thinking about it." Daniel's giggling despite himself.
"It's true though."
"No comment."
"What was it about me that you liked though? I can't imagine you were that attracted to all the acne and awkwardness."
"You were very cute, adorable really. But I don't have a secret fetish for acne scars and prepubescent voices. Don't worry."
Max giggles into his shoulder, breath hot on his skin.
Daniel tightens his arms around Max. "It was the way you looked at me. The way you still do now despite everything that's happened. Like the only thing that exists in your world is what I'm saying and doing."
"You would get that same sort of focus whenever you drove the car and it was so heady to feel that on my skin whenever I was around you. Which was pretty much always, back when we were teammates, so thanks for all the confused boners."
"You're welcome."
"Such a polite boy." Daniel coos.
"Shut the fuck up."
Daniel laughs.
"Wait, a second." Max sounds a little incredulous. "Was I your gay awakening? I don't think I've ever seen you with a man before."
"No comment."
"Holy shit. Daniel Ricciardo, literal fucking ten, had his first gay crush on a snotty ass brat with acne."
"That was you dammit." He whines.
Max preens. "And my ego is thanking you for this. I was such an awkward asshole. This is amazing."
"The way you're going, it's almost as if you've never changed."
"You like it though. Admit it."
"Argh, I do. I really do." Daniel sighs, considering. He snuggles up closer to Max's ear.
"Because you said all those very nice things about me earlier, I will say this: I like the way you tell everyone what you mean, no matter how it may come across. You never mince your words or say what you don't mean and. I—"
Daniel whispers furtively. "I think it's ridiculously hot. Just the biggest dick energy I've ever seen. God this is embarrassing."
Max makes a gurgling sound again. Daniel looks down in worry.
"You okay there?"
"Just swimmingly, thanks for asking." Max's voice sounds strangled and raspy.
"Ahh you're embarrassed."
"Just shut the fuck up."
"It's okay Max, I'm embarrassed too. What was I doing, falling in love with a teenager."
"A teenager with the biggest dick you've ever seen." Max growls.
"Biggest dick energy. I don't know about it being the biggest dick I've ever seen. Might need some empirical data on that."
Max breaks. Giggles pouring uncontrollably from the other man.
"Empirical data? God what the fuck, mate. It's really lucky you're gorgeous. This is literally the dumbest flirting I've ever experienced."
"Yeah, not my best, but it got you goin'." Daniel's laughing too. What was this night even?
"Did you—" Max giggles. "Do you think it'd work on some of the engineers?"
"Fuck Max. Don't make me think about it."
"Look, some of them have way too many thoughts on graphs and excel spreadsheets. Empirical data talk might make them blow their load at the mere mention."
"Fucking hell mate, what the fuck."
They're both clutching each other laughing so hard they're shaking into each other's arms. It's so stupid. He's so so stupidly in love.
It's a few minutes before they get a hold of themselves for Daniel to mention this:
He whispers it into Max's neck. "I love you because you make me laugh. You give me reasons to smile and out of everyone I know, I think you're the funniest person I've ever met. Don't tell that to anyone else though. I've said you're the funniest one on the grid but several friends of mine outside of it would get upset if they knew I think you're the best out of everyone."
"Daniel." Max sounds awed.
Daniel asks breathlessly. "Can I kiss you?"
"Can you?" The other teases, smirking playfully.
Daniel leans forward and finally gives in to what he's wanted for so long.
It's nothing like what he imagined when he thought about it. It's surprisingly chaste for one. Lips sliding carefully over skin, gentle breaths on each other. It's sweet. And despite everything that he's dreamt of doing—obsessed even, some might say, it's perfect.
Max draws back first and smiles. He looks a little goofy. But most strikingly, he looks incandescently happy. Like he couldn't believe he was ever so lucky to be here in this one moment. It's better than the look Max had when he won his first championship, or even his second when Daniel couldn't look away, couldn't even feel a single second of bitterness then. Not when Max looked so brilliant, so effervescent in his happiness.
This time it's a million times better because Daniel was the cause. He kissed Max Verstappen. He kissed him, and Max liked it and he loves him back.
Daniel can't believe he did that. He made Max Verstappen look like that. It's almost too much to believe.
He pinches himself.
Ouch.
"Daniel?" Max scrunches his face in concern.
Daniel breathes a laugh. "Just checking to make sure this isn't all some fever dream."
Max's hand comes up to rest on his cheek. He angles Daniel's head back to him as if there was ever any chance for him to look away.
He states solemnly. "It's not. I'll still be here today, as I would tomorrow and for however long you'll have me." It feels like a promise, a vow.
"I know it's been a lot today, but let me prove it to you. Let me be there for you." There's a myriad of emotion shifting through Max's face. Flickers of seriousness, pain, fear, pass through but ultimately, hope shines through all of it.
Daniel presses his face into Max's hand. He knows that it's a conversation they'll need to have in more detail later; that he's been through one hell of a pinball machine of emotions to put it lightly, getting thrown from flipper to flipper and hitting all the bumpers on the way down. But, "I'll try. It won't be perfect, but. Yeah."
He'd do a lot more for Max. Always had. Starting this would probably be the easiest thing in his life he suspects.
They sit there for a bit longer, basking in the quietness of each other's presence. It's a vulnerable feeling that- the feeling of being seen but more frightening, being known.
"Kind of wanna go now." Daniel whispers.
Max looks back. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He's sure.
Max gets up a little groggily, legs a little shaky after sitting for so long. He holds a hand out for Daniel to take.
Daniel doesn't hesitate. He grabs the proffered hand.
He might not know what his future holds. Whether he'd be with Red Bull or not. Whether McLaren would fully drop him. If he'll even still be a driver. But for now, it doesn't matter. As he looks at Max's smiling face, he knows that it's going to be okay.
It's more than enough.