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Checo was quiet on the car ride to the airport, face gaunt and eyes morose. He had not spoken a word to Max, or to anyone except for immediately after the race, since they had met up after the very short debrief. 

Max had taken one look at him and gone in for a hug, but Checo had stepped away.

“Sorry, can we—? Not right now, okay?” Checo had murmured blearily, rubbing his face.

“Oh, okay,” Max had murmured back, swallowing back a complaint. Checo was not the biggest fan of physical touch, he understood. He tried for Max, but if he didn’t want a hug (or to hold hands, as he had shrugged that off too) then that was okay. 

Still, it made Max feel bad. Hugs always helped him— surely they would help Checo? It would certainly help Max feel better after finishing behind Lando again.

But he knew he got lucky. 

Unfortunately, there was nothing on the book he had purchased on how to be a good boyfriend about what to do when a Ferrari crashed into your significant other in the last laps of a race.

They both flinched as Checo’s mobile phone rang in the quiet car. 

Max watched his boyfriend frown as he got his phone out, quickly answering.

“ Toño, hola. Si, estoy bien. Oye, te marco al rato, si? ” Checo’s gaze sharpened as his brother answered him and he straightened up. “ Como que en el hospital? Que paso!?”

Max watched him as the conversation continued, worried. He did not understand what was being said, but he understood ‘hospital’ well enough. Helpless, he reached over to try and grab his boyfriend’s hand, but Checo moved it away and quickly shook his head at him, still talking to his brother. 

Max retreated, hurt despite himself, and took a few breaths. It was nothing against him, he told himself. Checo was sad and stressed. It was good that he had boundaries. 

“ Estoy en camino al aeropuerto. Ahora mismo me voy para Mexico .”

Max froze. Go to Mexico? They were supposed to go to Singapore. 

“ ¿Cómo no voy a ir? Me vale madres la carrera! ”

Max watched Checo sigh and rub his eyes. What could he do to comfort him?

After a while, they reached the airstrip and Checo hung up the phone, looking exhausted. Before Max could open the door, he spoke. 

“My dad’s in the hospital. He had a, eh, a pre-heart attack?”

Max froze, eyes widening. “Oh my god, Checo,” he said, unsure of what to say. “Um, I’ll tell the pilot to take us to Mexico. Or, you can go and I’ll get a ride from another driver–”

“I’m not going to Mexico, Max,” Checo sighed, “but thanks.”

“Oh.”

“He’s stable,” Checo murmured, “the hospital is concerned and he’s in observation, but he woke up and told my brother to tell me that I’m, heh, forbidden from going. Job comes first.”

“I’m glad he’s stable,” Max said, smiling slightly. 

“Yeah,” Checo said quietly, eyes lowered. “He was watching the race,” he said then, “apparently.”

Max’s brow furrowed. “Oh, you think maybe the accident–?”

“I don’t know. He said no, Toño said no…” Checo groaned quietly. “I don’t know, I don’t want to think about it. He’s stable, that’s all that matters.”

“Yeah,” Max said gently, reaching over to rub Checo’s arm. 

Checo flinched away violently. “ Que ahorita no !” He exclaimed, scowling. 

Max jumped back on his seat. Checo stared at him, eyes wide. 

Silence. 

“I’m sorry,” Checo whispered, then opened the door on his side and hurried out. 

Max stepped out on his side, taking in a big gulp of air. Seeing Checo stuck talking to driver, he decided to go ahead. 

Their luggage had already been taken on board by an airport assistant and the stairs were down. He climbed aboard the plane without looking back, briefly greeting the pilot and air hostess. 

He took a seat, feeling guilty for just walking away, and put on his seatbelt. He looked up as Checo came in and watched him walk by, going all the way to the back of the plane into the privacy room and getting in, closing the door behind him. 

Max turned his head back forwards, sad. Checo had not even looked at him. Curling up in his seat, he gave the hostess the go-ahead to get going and sighed. 

An hour or so later, Max was awoken by a buzzing in his pants pocket. Blearily he opened his eyes and reached into his trousers, taking out his phone. He saw his notifications and woke up immediately, sitting up in his laid back seat. 

He had two missing calls from Checo, recent. 

Then a bunch of texts. 

max could you come with me pleas

max im sorry can you answer the phone

hey can u come back here

max pls im sorry i cant breathe

i think im having panic atack  

max please answer ur phne

Max ripped off his seatbelt and jumped up, running towards the back of the plane. 

He knocked on the privacy door after seeing it was closed. “Checo? Baby, I’m here,” he said. 

There was no response, but he could hear muffled sounds from within.

“I’m coming in,” he warned, opening the door. “Oh, baby…”

Checo was curled up in a ball in the bed, hands on his hair and knees to his chest. His breathing was ragged and little wheezing whimpers were coming out of his mouth. His phone was on the floor, half leaning on the bed from it where it had fallen. 

Max resisted the urge to climb into bed behind and wrap him in a hug. Instead, he knelt next to him and put his hand close by. He jumped as it was grabbed in a visceral grip. 

“Hey,” he said softly, rubbing his thumb along the back of Checo’s hand. “I’m here, Checo,” he said. 

Checo moved his head to look at him, skin red and eyes shiny. “I–” he wheezed, “I can’t breathe.” His chest was moving erratically and the hand pulling at his hair was shaking. 

Max grabbed the other hand too, wincing at the couple of hairs that came off Checo’s head with it. “Just listen to me, okay? Breathe with me.” He took a deep breath and counted to seven as he held it, seeing Checo’s eyes squint at him. He let the breath loose and counted again. “Breathe with me, Checo,” he said again, firmer. 

That time Checo breathed in with him, even though he could not hold it for the whole time.

“You’re doing okay, baby, just copy me,” Max repeated, breathing in again. 

They kept doing the exercise until Checo’s breathing slowed down. The older man was still upset, though, and he let go of Max’s hands to hug himself as he buried his face in the duvet. 

“I’m sorry,” Checo whispered into the sheets. “I shouted at you.”

“It’s okay.”

“No,” Checo rebutted, holding himself. “I never want to scare you, Max. I was stressed, I never…”

Max leaned down to try and catch his gaze. “Hey,” he said gently. “Listen to me. You could never ever scare me. I was just startled. I’m sorry,” he sighed. “I know you don’t like to be touched.”

Checo turned to face him slightly, still hugging himself. “Nobody touched me,” he murmured, eyes lost in the past. “After I left home. Europe was so cold and nobody touched me.”

Max looked at him sadly. He could never understand what Checo went through, just as Checo could not understand his childhood with Jos. Both their upbringings had their ugly sides. 

“But,” Checo said with a sniffle. “When I was living in the truck stop, I have to deal with eh, truckers, all the time. Angry men, drunk men. Sometimes if they saw me, they pushed me around. Called me names. Slurs. Thankfully, I didn’t understand them back then.”

Max wanted to go back and run over all those men. Pigs, the lot of them. 

“And one night, there was this guy. Young,” Checo shrugged, “but tall. Fat or strong, I don’t know. He was drunk. Very drunk.”

Max tensed. 

Checo shook his head. “It was nothing, really. He saw me, grabbed me, licked my face…he tried to bend me over–”

“Jesus,” Max muttered, rubbing his eyes. 

“He tripped, fell, and hit his head,” Checo finished quietly. “I ran off. And he was gone the next morning. It was nothing , it wasn’t even the only time something like that happened, but I…I don’t like being touched too much.”

“Oh, baby, I am so sorry that happened to you,” Max whispered fiercely. “I will never touch you without your permission again, I swear.”

“I don’t mind little things,” Checo said to him, looking ashamed. “Years of therapy have at least managed that, but…yeah.”

“You’re so strong,” Max told him, attempting a smile.

“That’s what I thought,” Checo said, looking down. “Going through all that to make it to F1. Being alone, going hungry, getting screamed at….all okay, because I made it.” Checo scoffed, then, wetly. “I was going to be a champion and it was all going to be a story I told in an interview. But I’m not a champion, am I?” 

“Checo–”

But the man had turned away.

“ Por qué siempre todo me sale mal ?” Checo muttered into the sheets. “ Por que, por que, por que… ” 

“Schat, I can’t understand you,” Max whispered. “I’m sorry.”

Checo didn’t seem to be listening. “ Por que, por que …” He kept repeating, getting angrier. He banged one of his hands against the bed. 

Checo hated getting angry. He did not like how he handled it, Max knew, and how he lost control. Getting angry was not what Checo needed at the moment. 

Oh. Max knew what he needed. But how to go about it? He approached Checo slowly, settling right behind him without touching him. “Hey,” he whispered. “Can I hold you?”

Checo shook his head, going quiet. He was shaking, but he wasn’t crying. 

“Can I hold you, my darling?” Max asked again, gentle as a breeze. “Please. For me.”

No response. 

Max laid down beside him properly, arms at the ready. “Let me hold you, schat,” he breathed. 

Checo turned brusquely and hugged him, taking gasping breaths.

Max welcomed him gladly into his embrace. “I’m here,” he said amidst Checo’s pants. “I’m not going anywhere.” He leaned against the wall and held Checo to his chest. “You can cry,” he said quietly as his boyfriend whimpered. Then, louder, “Checo, you can cry. It’s okay.”

Checo stilled in his hold and Max looked down at him. 

The other man was looking up at him, looking pained, and a solitary tear ran down his cheek.

“You can cry,” Max repeated softly. “I’m here.”

That seemed to be permission enough for his boyfriend, who collapsed against him and sobbed. Max held him tightly, chin above his head, and teared up himself.

The only other time he had seen Checo cry had been at the Goodwill Festival and those cries had been muted, silent in a way that someone who was well practised in crying quietly had perfected. These sobs were loud and ugly and Checo spasmed with every one. 

Max did not hush him, he just held him close. 

“ Queria ganar ,” Checo cried into his shoulder. “ Queria ganar de verdad .”

Win. Checo had wanted to win the race. He was crying about the race. 

Max’s blood boiled. “You deserved the win, schat,” he hissed. “Stupid Carlos, I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“He’s my friend,” Checo whimpered, still crying. “Why would he–?” He was interrupted by a sob and gave up on the sentence, pushing himself close to Max as if he could make the entire day go away. 

Max didn’t think Carlos had done it on purpose. He just wasn’t that kind of man, but he knew he had distanced himself from Checo throughout the year after failing to get the Red Bull seat and maybe, just maybe, had not been interested in a clean fight in the race. 

“I don’t know, baby,” he said to Checo. He was his priority, not Carlos. “I’m so sorry your weekend ended like that. You were amazing,” he gushed. “King of Baku.”

Checo’s sobs had died down to the occasional hiccup and wet cheeks. He arranged himself to lean sideways against  Max’s chest, looking out the window. “I could have won,” he said, certain. “And at the end, I could have had second. Charles was dying, I fucking had it–!” He shut his eyes, banging his head against Max. 

Max kissed his forehead. “You’ll show them,” he promised. “Soon, we both will.”

“I dropped in the standings again,” Checo told him in a cracked voice. 

“Who gives a shit?”

“Everyone,” Checo was quick to answer. “Eveyone,” he repeated, sounding exhausted. 

“It’s just a rough patch,” Max tried to cheer him up. 

Checo looked up at him, eyes bloodshot. “Max, I don’t know how much more of this rough patch I can take,” he whispered. “It’s months . I keep walking into the paddock, smiling because I keep thinking each weekend will be different like an idiot and it’s not! It’s never different. But this time it was,” he breathed, gaze moving to the window again. “It wasn’t perfect, but it was good. I beat you. I was fighting at the front. I could have won, puta madre ,” he hissed, teeth clenched. 

Max didn’t want Checo to get angry again. He rubbed his back, hushing him gently. “Next weekend–”

“Will probably be shit again,” Checo interrupted, back to sounding exhausted. 

Max didn’t know how to comfort him. He too had given up on high hopes. “Never give up,” he said quietly.

Checo sighed. “That’s just a phrase,” he muttered. “Maybe I should do what everyone wants and go home, let Daniel be your teammate.”

“Daniel got fired.”

Checo blinked and Max winced, not having planned on revealing that.

“He’s gone after Singapore. So you can stop worrying about that,” Max said, shrugging. He was sad for his friend, but he had not appreciated his relentless push for Checo’s seat.

But that did not seem to reassure Checo. The man moved away from Max and collapsed backwards on the bed.

Max laid down next to him slowly, keeping a slight distance between them. “Checo?” he asked hesitantly. 

“We were rookies together,” his boyfriend said, looking at the ceiling. 

Max hummed. “I know,” he said. 

“I guess maybe it’s difficult for you, because you were so much younger than the other rookies when you joined, but Daniel and I, we… we’re the same generation. And Hulk, too, maybe. But he came and left, came and left. Daniel and I were constant. We lasted.” Checo sighed, then swallowed. “And then McLaren fired him and I felt bad, sure. McLaren did the same to me.”

“Bunch of fuckers,” Max commented. 

“Yeah,” Checo breathed. “And he came back to Red Bull. To pressure me. We always got along, but him being there was just…a threat. And he wanted,” Checo looked at him, “he wanted my seat so badly. And Christian loves him and everyone loves him and I loved him too! Funny Daniel. Cheerful Daniel. But every time I saw him, and worse when he joined Alpha, I hated him.”

“That’s understandable,” Max said softly, resting his head in his palm. “You’ve been in a shitty situation. I’m sorry, I should have defended you more.”

Checo took a deep breath, not looking at him. “...yeah, maybe,” he murmured at last. 

Max knew Checo usually refuted those kinds of statements. Max owed him nothing, he had to stand up for himself, etc… he must have been really tired to speak his mind. 

“That’s not the point,” Checo continued. “Daniel’s gone. Everything Christian and Marko put us through and he doesn’t even get to finish the year.” He looked at Max, “and now it’s just me left. And I’m not even sure I want to be here.”

Max frowned. He moved closer. “You have to,” he said, feeling almost confused. “You fought so hard for that two-year extension. You love to drive!”

“I love to win,” Checo corrected him gently. “Same as you. I don’t love what I’ve been going through this year.”

“It’ll get better.”

“Doubt it.”

“The team needs your feedback!

Checo laughed, harsh and loud. He sat up. “The team doesn’t even listen to what I say,” he chuckled darkly. He shook his head. “You heard Christian. Barcelona 2023. He made me think I was insane – they all did!” He held his head, eyes wide as he recalled the last two seasons. “I tried to explain what was wrong, I tried to tell them, and they didn’t care! Stupid, slow Checo who loves his children too much to drive properly. And you,” he giggled, “winning everything!”

Max looked down, having sat up too. “I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“No,” Checo said, firm. He grabbed Max’s arm and squeezed. “Never be sorry for being the best, Max. Not for me. What makes me angry the most out of their bullshit is that if only they had listened to me, maybe you wouldn’t be losing your championship right now. I’d take a repeat of last year to what you’re going through right now. I hate that you’re suffering like I am.”

Max looked at him, teary eyed. 

Checo smiled sadly. “But I think I would like a good season for me too.”

“Oh, schat,” Max lamented, cupping Checo’s cheek with his hand. “I want that for you too.”

Checo’s eyes flickered away briefly. He didn’t believe Max. 

“I do,” Max insisted. “I know I’ve been difficult in the past, when you win.” Monaco came to mind. Or Baku the year before. 

“It’s okay, Max. You’re a world champion–”

“I’m your boyfriend,” Max interrupted, bringing his other hand to hold the other side of Checo’s face. “I love you. I want you to succeed. I want you to be happy. We’re couple goals, damn it.”

Checo laughed despite himself. 

Max kept going, emboldened. “That pink cat represents everything we have been through together, Checo. Every triumph, every fight, everything. I adore you,” he said. “Every second I spend next to you I adore you more than the last. You have given me so much–”

“And you too, Max–” Checo tried to cut in.

Max poked his nose with his thumb to stop him. “And I love you,” he repeated. “Trust in that, please.”

Checo sighed and moved away.

Max stared at him, pained. 

“And what happens the next time I have a good weekend and you don’t?” Checo asked him. “What rumour should I expect for your mother? What insult from your father?” He rubbed his face. 

Max swallowed, red in the face as he recalled all the scandals his family made after all of Checo’s wins. And how little, perhaps, he had done to stop them. “They’re not me,” he said weakly. “They’re not me, Checo. Trust in me .”

Checo stared at him. Then he nodded, eyes softening. “Okay,” he said, reaching over to grab Max’s hand. “You’re right, I’m sorry. I do trust you, amor. I promise.”

Max lifted the hand, relieved, and pressed a kiss against Checo’s palm. “Don’t leave me,” he whispered, holding the hand to his cheek. “Give the team a chance. We need you.”

Checo teared up again. “I want to stay,” he breathed, voice cracking. “I just don’t want it to keep hurting so bad.”

“Oh, my darling,” Max whispered, brow furrowed in sympathy. “It won’t. We just have to keep fighting, okay? Can you do that? For me. For your children. For that little lonely Checo in that truck stop.”

Checo took a deep breath, then nodded as he exhaled, straightening up. “Okay,” he breathed. 

“Never give up,” Max reminded him.

This time, Checo didn’t dismiss him. “Never give up,” he repeated.

“I love you.”

Checo smiled softly, crickles forming in the corner of his eyes. “ Te adoro tanto ,” he said.

“Come on,” Max said, laying down. “Why don’t we sleep, okay? It’s a long flight to Singapore.” He shrugged off his hoodie, staying in his Team Redline shirt and shorts.

Checo laid down next to him, keeping his hoodie on. “Can you hold me, please?” He asked Max. 

Max took him into his arms, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “You’ll win again,” he promised as they closed their eyes. “And I will be there to cheer for you of course, I promise.”

Checo hummed from his place on Max’s chest, rubbing his boyfriend’s chest. “And I will be there to cheer for you when you win the championship again,” he responded.

A pause. 

“Checo?”

“Hmm?”

“It’s okay if I don’t.”

Checo moved his head to frown up at him. “What?” He questioned. “Of course it’s not okay, Max. The McLaren’s fucking illegal and Lando’s half the driver you are.”

Max chuckled, flattered and amused. “Yeah, I know,” he said, playing with Checo’s hair. “That’s why it’s okay, of course. Our car is awful, because the team ignored you. The McLaren’s illegal. It’s not a fair fight. If it was, the trophy would of course be mine already.”

Checo smiled at his arrogance, grateful that at least the car was not making doubt Max his skills. He couldn’t find it in him to be angry at the team admitting fault when it came to Max’s drop in performance and never doing it for him. Not at the moment. 

“What I’m trying to say, schat, is…I know if I lose or if we lose the constructors, you’ll get a lot of the blame.”

Checo’s smile dropped and he fell against Max’s chest again, seeking comfort. 

“And I want to tell you now that that is of course bullshit. Fucking bullshit.”

“...I know.”

“Well, I’ll keep saying it,” Max insisted. “Just in case Christian keeps being an idiot and makes you doubt it. And I’ll tell my mum to back off if she thinks of doing something stupid again. And my dad…just ignore him. I do that. He’s a cunt, sometimes.”

Checo chuckled. 

Max did too. “Well, most of the time,” he admitted. 

Checo kissed his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered. “I love you… mi gatito .”