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The season began with the kind of energy that crackled through every garage, every briefing, every fan-filled grandstand. Max Verstappen came out swinging, claiming the first victory in Bahrain with that razor-sharp intensity that had become his trademark. But instead of respect, his win was met with growing resentment. It started as small digs and mutterings in the paddock, something Charles Leclerc tried to ignore. But as the races went on, the comments grew louder, harsher.
After Bahrain, Charles overheard George and Lando talking with a few reporters in the paddock.
“Max just bulldozes his way through everyone,” George said with a shrug. “Like we’re all just there for him to crush. He’s not even racing—he’s on some kind of mission, like he’s got a point to prove.”
Lando nodded, rolling his eyes. “He’s always driving like it’s life or death. I mean, what’s he so desperate about?”
Charles clenched his fists, his jaw tightening as he listened to them. They had no idea what Max had been through to get here—what it had cost him just to be himself on the track. The other drivers laughed, the reporters scribbled notes, and Charles walked away, feeling a simmering anger rise in his chest.
The remarks followed Max everywhere, in every circuit and press conference. At Silverstone, the tensions escalated. After qualifying, Charles was passing by as he overheard Lewis and a few of the younger drivers talking.
“Max races like he’s the only one who matters out there,” Lewis said. “Every single time—it’s like there’s no one else on the track. He’ll learn one day that being a good driver means more than just pushing people out of your way.”
Charles felt the anger twist deeper. He knew Max wasn’t the careless monster they made him out to be. Max’s cold exterior, his single-minded focus—they were armor, built over years. But no one else seemed to understand that. Every cruel remark only deepened the scowl on Max’s face, the distance in his eyes, the silence in his rare, guarded smiles.
Charles’s mind drifted back to the days when they’d raced side by side as kids, traveling from track to track with their families. He’d grown up beside Max, watching him in moments no one else had seen.
Max’s father had been at every single one of those races, always looming. Charles remembered seeing Max off to the side of the track, standing stiffly as his father berated him after practice sessions. Charles couldn’t forget the way Max would brace himself, staring at the ground, swallowing every harsh word, every demand to be faster, better, ruthless.
Max had never been allowed to race for the joy of it—he was always chasing perfection because his father made it clear that anything less was failure. Max didn’t drive like he had nothing to lose because he was reckless; he drove that way because, deep down, he believed he had nothing to lose. His father had drilled that into him, race after race, until it was part of him.
And now, every mocking comment felt like a slap that Max’s father had left behind, carried through the voices of men who had no idea how much Max had endured to be here.
The season wore on, and with each race, Charles saw Max withdraw further into himself, that carefully guarded wall growing stronger. And yet, each nasty comment chipped away at him. Max could brush off a lot, but Charles could see how much the scrutiny and the scorn were breaking him down.
In Monza, the paddock’s chatter hit a new low. After the race, Charles overheard Lando and George laughing with a few others. They were just loud enough for him to catch their words as he walked past.
“Verstappen’s like a machine,” George said with a mocking grin. “Doesn’t care about anyone else. It’s like he’s hollow—like racing’s the only thing keeping him going.”
“Right?” Lando added. “He’s intense in this… unsettling way. It’s like he’s obsessed. Doesn’t seem healthy, if you ask me.”
Charles’s patience finally snapped. He couldn’t just stand by and let them tear Max down like this. “Why don’t you stop making assumptions about people you barely know?” he shot back, voice cold.
Lando shrugged, not even looking guilty. “Just saying what we’re all thinking. He drives like he’s got something twisted going on.”
Charles turned on his heel and left, not trusting himself to say anything more. He wanted to tell them all that Max wasn’t the villain they’d made him out to be, that the intensity they mocked was born of scars they could never understand. But Max’s walls were ironclad, and even Charles couldn’t reach him now.
By the time the Las Vegas Grand Prix approached, the weight of it all seemed to press down on Max like a shadow. Charles wanted to help, but every time he tried to talk to him, Max would only shrug, brushing him off. But Charles saw it, in the tight lines of Max’s face, in the distant look in his eyes. It was as though every cruel remark was pulling him back into the past, into that quiet, beaten-down kid on the karting circuit who could never be good enough for the man who was supposed to love him.
The night before the race, Charles found Max sitting alone at the hotel bar. He took a seat beside him, hoping his presence might offer some kind of solace.
“You don’t have to listen to them, Max,” Charles said gently. “They don’t know you.”
Max’s voice was tight, his expression distant. “Doesn’t matter. To them, I’m… just this guy who’ll do anything to win. They don’t want to see anything else.”
Charles hesitated, his heart aching. “You’re not the person they think you are. You don’t have to carry that weight alone.”
Max managed a small, bitter smile. “I’ve been carrying it alone my whole life, Charles. I’ve been doing this for so long that I’m not sure there’s any other way.”
The sadness in his voice struck Charles like a physical blow. He knew Max’s intensity came from the years of abuse, the relentless demands of a father who had made him feel like he was worth nothing unless he won. And now, the very thing that had saved Max—his drive, his determination—was being twisted and turned against him by people who didn’t know the first thing about him.
So Charles stayed by his side, feeling helpless as he watched Max struggle under the weight of expectations, haunted by a past that seemed impossible to escape.
Charles had seen the shift in Max the moment he crossed the finish line in Las Vegas. The victory should’ve been something to celebrate, but Max had barely acknowledged it. His face was as hard as ever, but there was a weight to him now, a darkness Charles could feel even from a distance. It was like the win didn’t matter to him, not in the way it should have.
"Honestly, it's like he'd do anything for that trophy," Lewis was saying, shaking his head. "No wonder he drives like he's got something twisted going on."
"Yeah, he's obsessed," George added with a smirk. "If it were me, l'd probably feel bad if I had to win by tearing down everyone else."
Lando chimed in, crossing his arms. "Guess if you're that empty inside, maybe winning is the only thing that matters."
Charles's blood ran cold. Before he could react, Max had already turned, his face pale with anger, and approached the group, his voice shaking with a quiet fury.
Charles watched as Max stormed toward Lewis, George, and Lando, who were laughing and talking amongst themselves, just a few steps away. He could already feel the tension building in the air. The comments—those same, hurtful comments from all season—had to be weighing on Max’s mind.
Max stopped in front of them, his eyes blazing with fury. Charles could see his jaw tightening, his fists clenching, his shoulders tense. For a moment, no one spoke, and Charles could feel the suffocating silence between them.
Then Max broke it.
“You think I’m obsessed, huh?” Max’s voice was rough, his words sharp and accusatory. It hit Charles like a punch to the gut, hearing that familiar hurt in Max’s tone. “You think I’m some cold, heartless asshole, don’t you?”
Lewis, surprised, glanced at Max, but before he could say anything, Max continued, his voice trembling with anger and emotion. “I don’t race because I want to. I race because it’s the only thing that makes me feel like I’m worth something.” Max’s fists were shaking, but his eyes burned with the same intensity Charles had seen a thousand times before, the same intensity that kept him pushing forward even when it seemed impossible.
Max’s voice cracked slightly as he spoke, and Charles could see him fighting back the urge to just scream it all out. “I don’t care about the fame or the praise. I don’t care about the trophies. I care because if I don’t win—if I don’t prove myself—then I’m nothing. You don’t understand. You don’t understand what it’s like to have your whole life built on someone telling you that you’re worthless unless you win. That you’re not even a person unless you’re at the top.”
Charles felt his chest tighten, the pit in his stomach hollowing out. He knew where this was coming from. He knew exactly what Max was saying. Max wasn’t just talking about racing; he was talking about years of torment, years of being conditioned to think that success was the only thing that could justify his existence. And Charles had seen it all—seen it when Max was a kid, barely ten years old, being screamed at by his father, told that losing was the same as failure. Told that being anything less than perfect was unacceptable.
Max continued, his voice louder now, shaking with a mixture of rage and pain. “Every time I step into that car, every time I race, I’m doing it because it’s the only way I know how to survive. You think it’s just about winning? It’s not. It’s about proving that I’m not a waste of space. Proving that I’m not just a disappointment.”
The words hit Charles like a dagger. He knew what Max was going through, what he had been going through for years—ever since he was a kid, raised under a father who demanded nothing less than perfection. But hearing Max say it out loud, in front of everyone, made it all feel so real. So raw. Charles could barely stand it.
“You all think I’m obsessed with the title, that I only care about beating everyone,” Max spat, stepping closer, his voice a growl now. “But you don’t know what it’s like to have nothing but that. To have nothing to hold on to but the idea that if you don’t win, you’ll lose everything.”
The words were breaking out of Max faster now, the pain seeping through every sentence, every word. Charles could see the anger on Max’s face shift to something darker, something much more vulnerable, and that’s when it happened.
The first tear came silent, more flooding down his face rapidly. “You think I don’t care? You think I don’t know I’m not perfect? That I’m a demon for wanting to win?” Max’s voice rose, desperate. He was shaking now, his chest heaving. “I’m not perfect! I’m not some machine! I’m just trying to survive!” His fists clenched harder, and the outburst seemed to come out of nowhere, as if all the pain, all the weight he had been carrying, was spilling out at once.
The silence that followed was deafening. George, Lewis, and Lando stood frozen, eyes wide, unsure how to respond. The guilt and shock on their faces were palpable, but none of them moved. Max didn’t wait for them to say anything.
Without a word, he turned on his heel and stormed off, leaving them all standing there in stunned silence. Charles could see the way Max’s shoulders were hunched, his fists still tight at his sides, his whole body radiating a raw, uncontrollable emotion. The sight of him walking away, shoulders shaking with anger and grief, made Charles’s heart ache.
Charles turned back to the others, his expression dark, fists clenched at his sides. The sharp sting of anger in his chest felt like a dam about to burst, the silence Max had left behind suffocating and oppressive. But Charles wasn’t going to let it sit. Not after what they’d just done.
“What. The. Fuck. Is wrong with you?” Charles’s voice was sharp, cutting through the tension like a blade. George flinched at the outburst, and Lewis stepped forward cautiously, but Charles held up a hand, stopping him. “No. Don’t. Don’t try to excuse it. Don’t you dare.”
“Charles, we didn’t mean—” Lando began, but Charles rounded on him, fury radiating from every word.
“Didn’t mean? What exactly didn’t you mean, Lando? Mocking him? Calling him obsessed? Acting like he’s nothing more than some heartless machine who only cares about winning?” His voice cracked under the weight of his anger. “Do you even hear yourselves? Do you even understand what you’ve done?”
Lewis tried again, his voice softer, apologetic. “It was just banter, Charles. We didn’t realize…”
Charles’s eyes flashed, his voice trembling with fury. “Banter? You think that was just banter? You don’t get it. You have no idea what he’s been through. None of you do.” He gestured between them, his gaze piercing. “You’ve all been worth something, even when you lose. Every single one of you. People love you. They remind you that you’re still good enough, still deserving of respect, of kindness. Max has never had that. Never. Not once in his life.”
George shifted uncomfortably, opening his mouth to speak. “Come on, Charles. We all have people counting on us-”
Charles cut him off, voice rising. “ITS NOT THE FUCKING SAME GEORGE!! Do you know what it’s like to grow up with someone who tells you, every single day, that you’re worthless unless you win? That you’re nothing if you fail? Do you?” His voice cracked, but he pushed on, relentless. “Have you ever been seven years old and had your father—the person who’s supposed to protect you—look you in the eye and tell you you’re a failure? To scream at you that you’ll never be good enough? SEVEN? Do you even know how tiny he was at seven? How tiny we were?”
Charles’s breath hitched as his emotions threatened to spill over. “You think this is just about racing? For Max, it’s not. It’s about survival. It’s about proving to himself that he’s not the worthless kid his father told him he was. That he’s more than the broken pieces his father left behind.”
His gaze bore into George now, his voice trembling but unwavering. “You’ve seen the pressure, yes. But you haven’t lived it. You didn’t watch his father drill it into him, over and over, that perfection wasn’t just expected, it was demanded. That making a mistake meant you were disposable. You didn’t see what it was like first hand. I did. I lived it with him. I saw how it crushed him, how it…” Charles’s voice faltered, but his anger carried him forward. “How it’s still crushing him. I watched, day after day, race after race. He was so… young. So innocent. Cute eyes, squishy cheeks, the whole deal. And I watched as that adorable little boy was torn apart piece by piece by that bastard.”
Charles swallowed, tears flooding heavy now. “One time, I crashed out. It was my own stupid mistake, took a corner too fast. My dad patted my cheek, told me to keep my chin up and took me to get ice cream. Max was second. I came back after a few hours, looking for a piece my kart. Max’s dad was still there, screaming at him while Max just stood there. He was staring at the ground, cheeks bright red. His face haunts me to this day, the sorrow and anguish.”
Lando’s face paled, guilt written all over it. George stared at the ground, shifting uneasily. Even Lewis seemed at a loss, his usual calm shaken. Charles’s voice softened but lost none of its intensity, the words weighted with raw emotion.
“Do you have any idea what it took for Max to even say those things out loud? To admit how much it’s hurt him? And you… you just tore him apart. Mocked him for it. Treated his pain like it was some kind of punchline.”
Lewis took another hesitant step forward. “We’re sorry, Charles. Truly. We didn’t…”
But Charles shook his head, cutting him off. “Sorry isn’t enough. Not this time. Not for this. You don’t get to apologize and walk away like nothing happened. You don’t get to fix this with words. Because this?” He gestured in the direction Max had gone. “This is irreparable. The damage you’ve done? You can’t just take it back.”
He stepped back, his chest heaving as he tried to steady his breathing, but the anger still simmered beneath the surface, hot and unrelenting. “Max doesn’t need your pity. He doesn’t need your half-hearted apologies. He needs… he needed you to understand. But you didn’t. And now…” Charles’s voice broke, but he shook his head. “Now it’s too late. I don’t know if I can fix it.”
The three of them stood frozen, guilt and shame etched into their faces. Charles’s gaze swept over them one last time before he turned on his heel, his steps purposeful as he strode away.
He didn’t waste another second on them. Right now, all that mattered was finding Max.
Charles had been searching for what felt like hours. His heart was pounding in his chest, each beat filled with worry, each step taken with mounting fear. He’d seen it before Max stormed off—the cracks in Max’s tough exterior, the toll the constant pressure took on him. But today, it felt different. The weight had been too much, the constant comments, the endless jabs from their fellow drivers, from the media, from everyone. It had pushed Max to the edge, and Charles could feel it. He had seen the flash in Max’s eyes earlier, the moment before he stormed off. Something in Max had broken. And Charles was scared that this time, he might not be able to piece him back together.
He turned the corner toward the back of the paddock, hearing a faint noise—a thud, followed by a dull, sickening crack. His breath caught in his throat as he recognized the sound. Without thinking, Charles ran toward the noise, dread pooling in his stomach.
When he saw him, everything in Charles’s chest twisted painfully. Max was standing with his back to the wall, fists raised high, pounding into the concrete again and again. His knuckles were raw, bleeding, but Max didn’t stop. His face was contorted, teeth gritted as he slammed his fists into the wall with a fury that made Charles’s heart break with every blow.
“Max!” Charles shouted, taking several quick steps forward, his voice filled with desperation.
But Max didn’t even look up. His face was flushed, eyes wide with a mix of rage and something darker, something that cut deeper than the anger he was showing. Max’s breaths came in ragged, uneven gasps, and with each punch, he seemed to be tearing himself apart.
“Max!” Charles shouted again, his voice hoarse with concern, stepping forward quickly, his hands reaching out to grab Max’s arms. Max pulled away violently, not even sparing Charles a glance.
“Let go of me!” Max hissed, his voice strained, the anger in it thick and cutting.
“Stop, Max,” Charles pleaded, his voice softer now, trembling. “You’re hurting yourself. You don’t have to do this.”
Max let out a harsh laugh, but there was nothing but bitterness in it. “I don’t deserve anything else,” he spat, the words laced with self-loathing that tore through Charles like a blade. “I’m nothing. Just a… just a goddamn monster.” His voice cracked on the last word, and Charles could see the way his hands shook, the way his entire body trembled with rage and anguish.
“You are not a monster,” Charles said, his voice thick with emotion. But Max didn’t seem to hear him.
Max’s next punch landed with such force that Charles felt a pang of fear in his chest. Max’s hand was bleeding, his knuckles torn, but he didn’t stop. He raised his fist again, the rage so overwhelming that it blinded him to everything else. Without thinking, Charles lunged forward, grabbing Max’s wrist before he could strike again.
“Max, please!” Charles shouted, his voice rough with a mixture of anger and fear. “You’re killing yourself. You don’t have to be this way. Stop! Stop it!”
Max’s eyes finally met his, but they were wild, unseeing. His chest heaved, face flushed with exertion, and his lips trembled. For a moment, everything stopped—Max’s whole body frozen in place as he looked at Charles with an expression so raw, so broken, that it shattered Charles’s heart into a million pieces.
Max’s breath hitched, and then, without warning, he collapsed. His body went slack, his legs giving out from under him. Charles barely had time to catch him, his arms wrapping around Max’s waist just in time to stop him from crumpling to the ground.
Max gasped for air, his body shuddering uncontrollably as he was held against Charles’s chest. His hands clenched into fists, shaking violently, but Charles gently pried them open, taking Max’s bruised hands into his own, holding them steady.
“I… I can’t do it anymore,” Max whispered, his voice trembling as he clung to Charles. His chest heaved with each ragged breath, like he was trying to suck air in but couldn’t get enough. “I don’t know how to be anything but this. I just… I can’t.”
Charles’s heart cracked as he lowered Max slowly to the ground, his arms wrapping around him tightly, pulling him into his lap. Max was still shaking, his body weak and broken, and Charles held him close, pressing his forehead gently against Max’s as his fingers threaded through his disheveled hair.
“Max, listen to me,” Charles whispered, voice thick with emotion. “You are not a monster. You are not worthless. You don’t have to be this strong, you don’t have to be perfect. You just… you just need to be you. And that’s enough. You’re enough.”
Max trembled harder, his hands clutching at Charles’s shirt like a lifeline. “But I’m not,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “I’m never enough. I try so hard… but it’s never good enough. No one likes me. They all think I’m just a… just a monster. I just… I don’t know how to be anything else.”
Charles’s chest tightened with pain, the weight of Max’s words almost unbearable. Max’s voice broke again, the pain in it too raw, too real. And Charles… Charles didn’t know how to make it better. He didn’t know how to fix the years of torment, the years of Max thinking he was nothing. He only knew that he couldn’t let Max believe that, not anymore.
He moved, gently lowering Max’s trembling form to the ground. The cool asphalt felt hard beneath them, but Charles stayed with him, curling his body around Max’s, holding him close, refusing to let him go.
“Max…” Charles murmured, his voice shaking with an emotion that felt so deep it hurt. “You are so much more than this. I see you. I see all of you, and you’re worth every ounce of love and care. Don’t you dare believe anything else. You don’t deserve this pain. You deserve to be loved, Max. You deserve everything good.”
Max’s sobs broke free again, desperate, raw, and Charles held him tighter, cradling him as if he could somehow protect him from all the years of suffering, from all the abuse and hate Max had carried for so long.
“I’m here,” Charles whispered, his voice filled with fierce tenderness. “I’m here, Max. You’re not alone.”
Max collapsed fully into him then, his tears soaking Charles’s shirt, and for the first time in what felt like forever, he stopped fighting. His body slumped against Charles’s, the weight of his brokenness settling in Charles’s arms. Max was finally allowing himself to be cared for, to be held, and the force of that realization nearly shattered Charles’s heart.
Max wasn’t a monster. He was just a man, a man who had never been allowed to be anything other than what the world had made him.
Charles kissed the top of Max’s head, holding him as tightly as he could without breaking him. “I love you, Max,” he whispered into his hair, the words thick and full of so much unspoken pain, but also tenderness. “I love you. You are more than enough.”
Max’s sobs finally started to quiet, his body sagging against Charles’s, and Charles held him tighter, as if that could erase the years of torment that had built up inside him.
But for now, Charles could give him one thing: comfort, warmth, and the promise that he was no longer alone.
Max’s sobs, though still quiet, continued to shake his body, his breath ragged and unsteady. But as Charles held him, his heartbeat steady against Max’s, the tension in Max’s body slowly began to fade. It wasn’t instant, and Charles could feel every ounce of the strain Max had been carrying for years—years of loneliness, of fighting alone, of having no one to turn to.
Charles tightened his hold, burying his face in Max’s messy hair as if to shield him from the world. The soft, shallow breaths they both shared felt like an unspoken promise, an understanding that for this moment, nothing else mattered.
Max’s hands, the ones Charles had held over the years, hadly bandaged so carefully, now rested limply against Charles’s chest. The rawness in them had dulled a bit, but the physical and emotional exhaustion still clung to Max. The blood from his hands was staining his shirt, the Ferrari red darkening, but that was the last of Charles’ concerns. Max was the main focus right now.
“Why… why can’t I be enough?” Max’s voice was so quiet, so broken, and it tore through Charles’s chest like a sharp knife. He couldn’t believe Max had even let those words slip past his lips, couldn’t believe he thought, even for a second, that he wasn’t worth all the love Charles had to give.
Charles kissed the top of Max’s head again, the gesture tender, but there was an undeniable fire in the pit of his stomach now. He couldn’t let Max believe that, not for a second. Not when Max was everything to him.
“You are more than enough,” Charles said again, his voice stronger this time, insistent, as if the weight of his words might finally settle into Max’s heart. “More than anyone could ever deserve. You’re perfect the way you are.”
Max’s breath hitched, his whole body trembling once more, but this time it wasn’t the violent, frantic kind of shaking. It was softer. A surrender. As if he was finally letting himself feel something he had locked away for so long.
Charles adjusted his position slightly, pulling Max in closer until their bodies were pressed together completely. Max didn’t pull away. Instead, he melted into Charles’s arms, his face still hidden against Charles’s chest, but now with less resistance. It felt like Max was giving in, allowing himself to feel the comfort that Charles had been offering him from the very beginning.
The silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It wasn’t empty. It was full of understanding, full of the rawness that came from letting go of years of pain. Charles didn’t have to say anything more; his presence alone seemed to be enough to ease Max’s burden.
Max’s hands, finally starting to relax, slowly crept up to wrap around Charles, gripping him in a way that showed just how desperate Max was for this touch—how starved he was for affection, for someone who didn’t just see him as a machine or a competitor, but as a person. Charles felt a pang in his chest, knowing how long Max had gone without something as simple as this.
He tightened his hold, his body shielding Max from everything—the past, the pain, the world outside. For now, Max could rest. For now, Max didn’t have to be the strong one. He didn’t have to be the one carrying the weight of it all.
And Charles was okay with that. In fact, he needed this. He needed to hold Max, to remind him of his worth, to show him that even when everything felt like it was falling apart, he wasn’t alone.
Max’s grip on him tightened once more, and Charles felt the wetness against his shirt, though Max wasn’t sobbing anymore. It was just the quiet, steady breathing that filled the air between them now. Charles gently stroked Max’s back, urging him silently to stay close, to keep holding on for just a little longer.
Max’s voice was soft, barely above a whisper, but it still hit Charles like a punch to the chest. “I don’t know how to… be loved like this,” Max admitted, his voice thick with raw vulnerability.
Charles didn’t have to think twice. He cupped Max’s face gently in his hands, tilting his head slightly to meet his gaze. “I’m here,” he said, his voice steady despite the weight of everything. “I’ll teach you. You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to earn it. I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere.”
Max’s eyes were dark, full of pain and uncertainty, but there was a flicker of something else there—something new, something soft.
Charles pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, resting there for a moment, feeling the warmth of Max’s skin, the steady beat of his heart. It was all Charles needed to feel grounded in this moment—this fleeting, fragile moment where everything felt like it might finally be okay.
“I’m not going anywhere, Max,” Charles repeated softly, his hands tracing soothing patterns along Max’s back. “I love you. And you don’t have to be anything more than yourself.”
Max’s grip on Charles’s shirt tightened, his fingers curling slightly as he allowed himself to lean into the comfort, his body still trembling but no longer fighting it. Charles let out a breath, knowing that this—holding Max, offering him this kind of love and reassurance—was all he could give right now. And it was enough.
Charles led Max back to his hotel room, supporting him with a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. Once they were inside, Max looked everywhere but at Charles, his cheeks flushed, as if he was trying to shrink into himself. Charles saw the way Max fidgeted, the uncertainty in his eyes, and he could feel him pulling back emotionally, like he was about to put up that wall again. Charles wasn’t having it.
“Sit,” Charles said softly, guiding Max toward the bed with a hand on his shoulder. Max tensed, looking down at the bed and then at Charles, like he was about to argue.
“Charles, I—I’m okay,” Max mumbled, shifting awkwardly, his fingers fidgeting at his side. “I don’t… I don’t need you to—”
Charles’s expression softened, but his grip remained firm as he urged Max to sit. “Max, let me take care of you. Just for once, let someone look after you.”
Max swallowed, his gaze darting down as he sank onto the edge of the bed, his hands in his lap, his shoulders hunching as though he wanted to hide. He tried to protest again, his voice a shy whisper. “I don’t need—”
Charles crouched in front of him, taking Max’s bruised hands gently. “You do need this, Max. And I need to give it to you,” he said, his voice unyielding yet full of warmth. He began cleaning the cuts on Max’s knuckles with quiet, steady concentration, ignoring Max’s small protests and the way he tried to pull his hands back.
Max’s cheeks flushed a deeper red as Charles continued to tend to him, his eyes darting away again. “I… I can do this myself,” he murmured, barely audible. He shifted as though he wanted to get up, to escape the care and attention that felt so overwhelming.
Charles simply shook his head, not letting go. “No, you can’t. And I don’t care if you’re not used to this. I’m here now.” His thumb brushed gently over the fresh bandage he’d just applied, and Max’s breath caught.
When he finished, Charles didn’t hesitate—he stood and guided Max up, tugging him toward the bed again, pulling back the covers. “You’re getting in,” he said firmly, his tone leaving no room for argument.
The way Max shifted his weight, avoiding eye contact, his face turning a deeper shade of pink by the second—Charles could see it, that shy, nervous instinct to bolt. But Charles was determined; he knew exactly what Max needed, even if Max wouldn’t admit it.
“Come on, Max,” Charles said softly, gesturing to the bed. “Get in. You need rest.”
Max bit his lip, his gaze fixed on the floor, and shook his head slightly. “I… I’m fine, Charles. I don’t need to—”
“Max,” Charles interrupted, his voice a gentle but firm insistence. He took a step closer, reaching out to brush his fingers against Max’s arm. “Get in the bed. Please.”
Max’s cheeks flushed even more, and he took a small step back, raising his hands like he was trying to fend Charles off, a faint, awkward smile on his face. “I… I really don’t need to lie down. I mean, I can just sit here. Or—”
“Max,” Charles repeated, a bit more firmly this time. He crossed his arms, raising an eyebrow as he looked at Max, waiting. He wasn’t about to let Max wriggle out of this so easily.
Max’s eyes flickered to the bed, then back to Charles, clearly torn. “I just… I don’t want to make you uncomfortable, you know? I don’t need… it’s okay if we just—”
Charles took a step closer, closing the distance between them. “You’re not making me uncomfortable,” he said, his tone unwavering. “You’re just making this harder than it has to be.” He tilted his head slightly, his eyes soft but resolute. “Why are you fighting this so much?”
Max’s shoulders hunched, his fingers fidgeting nervously as he looked down, clearly embarrassed. “I… I just don’t want you to feel like you have to take care of me. I don’t need to be a burden,” he mumbled, his voice barely audible.
Charles’s expression softened, his heart aching at the vulnerability in Max’s voice. He took Max’s hand gently, leading him toward the bed. “You’re not a burden, Max. You never have been.” He tugged on Max’s hand, giving him an encouraging look. “Trust me. Just get in.”
Max took a shaky breath, glancing at the bed, his face still flushed. “But… but what if I take up too much space? Or… or if you don’t have enough room?” He was stalling, clearly reluctant, his eyes darting to the door as if contemplating an escape.
Charles chuckled softly, shaking his head. “I don’t care about that, Max. There’s plenty of room. And I want you here.” He gave Max’s hand a reassuring squeeze, his gaze warm and steady. “I want to hold you. Stop making excuses.”
Max hesitated, glancing back at Charles, his cheeks still tinged pink, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes now—a hint of hope, maybe even a touch of relief. But he still shook his head, mumbling shyly, “I… I don’t know if I’m good at this. I don’t know how to…”
Charles rolled his eyes, an affectionate smile tugging at his lips as he stepped closer, his arms slipping around Max’s waist, gently pulling him closer until their foreheads nearly touched. “Max,” he murmured, his voice low and unyielding, “you don’t have to be ‘good’ at anything. Just get in bed and let me hold you.”
Max let out a shaky laugh, trying to look away again, but Charles caught his chin, guiding his gaze back. “I’m serious. Stop fighting this.”
Max swallowed, his face still deeply flushed, but he looked at Charles with a vulnerability that was almost heartbreaking. “I… okay,” he finally whispered, his voice barely a breath. But as he moved to climb into bed, he hesitated one last time, casting an uncertain look at Charles. “Are you sure?”
Charles didn’t answer with words. He simply took Max’s hand, guiding him firmly into the bed, pulling the sheets up around them both, and wrapping his arms around Max’s shoulders. He held him close, tight, in a way that left no room for doubt, his chin resting gently atop Max’s head. “I’m sure, Max,” he whispered. “I’m not letting you go.”
“Charles… I—” Max stammered, his voice barely a whisper. He looked like he was about to get up, his hands twitching as though he didn’t know where to put them. “I’m not… I don’t know how to do this.”
Charles tightened his hold, his arms warm and steady around Max, refusing to let him pull away. “Good,” he said simply, his voice low and comforting. “Because you don’t need to know how. I know, and I’m not letting go.”
Max shifted again, clearly overwhelmed, his face a deep shade of pink as he tried to find the words to argue. “But… Charles, I don’t want to bother you. I don’t know how to…” He trailed off, his voice growing softer, more vulnerable, his gaze fixed anywhere but on Charles.
Charles’s hand found Max’s, holding it firmly. “You’re not a bother. Not to me. Never to me. I’m not going anywhere, Max.”
Max’s breath hitched, and he tried to turn his head away, clearly fighting to keep up his walls. But Charles’s hand came up to gently cup Max’s cheek, tilting his head back until their eyes met. “You don’t have to run. Not from me. I’m not letting you hide from this. From us.”
Max looked up at him, visibly torn, his hands clenched in the fabric of Charles’s shirt, as though he was afraid to hold on but even more afraid to let go. His lips parted, but no words came out. He was completely vulnerable, caught in that moment, and Charles knew he’d finally let himself feel it—the comfort, the safety, the acceptance.
Charles’s voice softened as he leaned in closer, his forehead resting against Max’s. “You’re allowed to let go. You don’t have to be strong with me. Just be you. That’s all I want.”
Max’s resistance melted, his body finally relaxing as he leaned into Charles, his breathing deep and shaky. Slowly, tentatively, his hands reached up, fingers trembling as they curled around Charles’s shirt, holding him close. He let out a quiet, shaky breath, his face still flushed but now filled with something softer, something almost shy but deeply trusting.
“I… I don’t know why you… why you care so much,” Max whispered, his voice barely audible as he allowed himself to settle against Charles’s chest. He was hesitant, shy, his head ducking down as though he didn’t feel worthy of it.
Charles’s arms tightened around him, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along Max’s back. “I care because you’re everything to me. Because you’re worth it.” His voice was fierce, possessive, like he wanted Max to know that he wasn’t just saying it—he meant it with every part of himself.
Max’s grip on him tightened, his body pressing closer as he finally let himself sink into Charles’s embrace. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice filled with a quiet gratitude, an acceptance he’d been holding back for so long.
Charles smiled, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of Max’s head, his heart swelling as he held him close. “You’re safe with me, Max. And I’m not letting you go. Ever.”
Max closed his eyes, finally allowing himself to rest fully against Charles, his breathing slow and steady as he surrendered to the warmth, the safety, and the promise of love he’d been so afraid to believe in. Charles held him through it all, unyielding and protective, knowing that this was only the beginning of everything he’d waited so long to give.
Charles tightened his hold, feeling Max finally melt against him, the last traces of tension slipping away. Max’s breathing slowed, his face pressed gently into the crook of Charles’s neck. Charles could feel the faint warmth of Max’s breath against his skin, and his heart ached with both tenderness and relief. It had taken so much for Max to let his guard down, to let himself be held, and now Charles wasn’t about to let him go.
He brushed his fingers gently through Max’s hair, his other hand tracing slow, soothing circles along Max’s back. Each stroke was meant to remind him that he was safe here, that he could let down every wall he’d spent years building. “You’re safe now, Max,” Charles murmured softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “I promise you. You don’t have to do any of this alone.”
Max’s grip on Charles’s shirt tightened just a little, his fingers curling into the fabric, grounding himself in the warmth that Charles offered so freely. He still looked a bit wary, like he was half-expecting to wake up and find it all gone, but with every soft stroke of Charles’s hand, that worry seemed to fade, replaced by something softer, something more at ease.
Charles pressed another gentle kiss to Max’s temple, his lips lingering as he whispered, “You’ve carried so much on your own, but you don’t have to anymore. I’m here, Max. And I’m staying. No matter what.” The words came out with a fierce determination, an unbreakable promise that Charles was already prepared to keep.
Max shuddered slightly, the emotion catching in his breath, and he finally lifted his eyes to meet Charles’s. “You… you really mean that?” he asked, his voice small, barely a whisper, as if he still didn’t fully believe that anyone could want to stay, could want him.
Charles gazed down at him, his thumb brushing along Max’s cheek, soft and reassuring. “With everything I have, Max,” he replied, his voice thick with sincerity. “I’ve been waiting to show you this. To show you that you’re not alone, that you never have to be again.” He shifted closer, wrapping his arms more securely around Max, feeling his heart beat against his own. “I’m going to be here to hold you, to catch you when you fall, to remind you every single day that you’re worth this.”
Max let out a shaky breath, his eyes glassy with emotion, and he sank deeper into Charles’s embrace, as if finally letting go of the last piece of resistance he’d been holding onto. He nuzzled closer, pressing his face to Charles’s shoulder, breathing in the warmth and comfort of being held, of having someone willing to carry his burdens with him.
Charles held him close, his hand resting over Max’s heart as he whispered, “You deserve this, Max. You deserve to be cared for, to be loved. And I’ll remind you of that as many times as you need.” He tightened his hold, his fingers threading gently through Max’s hair, grounding him in the quiet, steady rhythm of their shared heartbeat.
Max’s voice was barely a breath, full of raw, hesitant vulnerability. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can do this perfectly. I’m not used to it… to needing anyone.”
Charles smiled softly, brushing his lips over Max’s hair. “I don’t need perfect, Max. I don’t want perfect. I just want you.” He let the words sink in, pressing another kiss to Max’s head. “I know it’ll take time. And that’s okay. We have all the time in the world. I’m not going anywhere.”
Max’s breath hitched, and he pulled back just enough to meet Charles’s gaze, his eyes filled with a fragile hope that broke Charles’s heart and made it swell all at once. “Promise?” he whispered, his voice so quiet, so afraid to believe.
Charles cupped Max’s face in his hands, his thumbs tracing gentle circles over Max’s cheeks as he looked him in the eyes, unflinching, his own voice full of absolute conviction. “I promise, Max. You’re stuck with me.” His lips curled into a soft, reassuring smile as he added, “No matter what. I’m here, and I’m not letting go.”
A tear slipped down Max’s cheek, but he didn’t turn away this time. He let it fall, his defenses finally crumbling as he leaned back into Charles’s arms, letting himself be held, letting himself feel the comfort and warmth he’d fought so hard to push away. His voice was a barely audible whisper as he finally, truly, allowed himself to believe in Charles’s promise.
Charles stroked his back in long, soothing motions, his voice soft, a steady presence in the quiet room. “We’re going to face everything together, Max. You don’t have to be alone ever again. Not with me. I’m here to hold you, to share the weight, to make sure you know every single day how much you mean to me.”
Max’s grip on him tightened, and he exhaled, a deep, shaky breath that seemed to carry away a lifetime of loneliness, replaced by the warmth of being loved. Charles could feel it—the way Max was slowly letting himself believe, letting himself feel safe. And he knew, as he held Max close, that he would be there, steadfast and unyielding, ready to protect him, to care for him, to give him all the love Max had been too afraid to ask for.
For now, in this quiet, fragile moment, that was everything. And Charles held him through it all, whispering soft promises into the dark, knowing that they had finally, finally found something they’d both been searching for.