Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

If someone were to describe George Russell in one sentence, the answer would be nearly identical no matter who it was. 

He was many things, sure, but even among his friends, he was most known for just one.

”The perfect student, probably,” Alex mumbled to the hypothetical his friend brought up, “The friend your parents tell you to be more like.”

”Sounds like you’re speaking from experience.” Lando noted, earning a smirk.

”Unfortunately.”

Their chat caused an annoyed George to turn around in his seat, glaring at the two boys behind him. “Be quiet, some of us are trying to focus here.”

Despite his rude tone, it wasn’t unkind; it’s just how George was. He played by the rules, stayed silent during class, and made sure everyone else did, too. Even if he wasn't listened to that often.

”Please, you have to be finished by now. There’s no way you are slower than me at math.” Alex joked, emphasizing his words for dramatic effect.

”I’m doing extra work,” he dismissed, “And I’m hardly convinced that you’ve finished.”

Lando brushed it off, “We did the questions together.”

George gave them a blank stare, baffled. “You, you can’t do equations together, I- how do you expect to learn anything like that? This is why I get better grades than you.”

”That's not very fair,” Oscar suddenly joined the conversation, leaning over from where he was seated next to Lando. “You get better grades than everyone.”

Much like George, Oscar acted like a proper student. He studied hard, stayed quiet during class, completed every extra-credit assignment, and helped his friends when they struggled with homework.

He was the kind of person George respected the most.

And, he had to admit, his words were true. For the longest time, George has been the top student in nearly every subject, tied only with one that he highly suspected only matched his level because of connections to the school board. It was indescribably hard to get into a school as prestigious as the F1 academy, let alone excel in studies this difficult. Besides, how can someone with the common sense of a table do this well in school? George spent more time learning than sleeping, meanwhile he was forced to watch this guy do just as well as him with no effort put in whatsoever.

“He wishes.”

George snapped his head towards the voice, immediately scoffing when he saw that annoying smirk. Speak of the fucking devil.

His eyes locked with those blue ones that belonged to the one and only Max Verstappen. Son of Jos Verstappen, a famous scholar who studied in this academy, only to retire early and send his carbon-copy of a son to learn here years later.

Max Verstappen, the boy with the wisdom of a scientist yet the social intelligence of a newborn.

Max Verstappen, the only other student to ever score perfectly on the school’s entrance exam except George Russell.

Max Verstappen, who always managed to somehow get on his nerves. 

Of course, George wouldn’t grace him with an answer; just as quickly as their eyes met, he turned away, irritation on his face as he returned to the papers on his desk and tried to focus on them.

He could still feel Max’s eyes on him, gaze layering him down, the conversation behind him continuing.

”So, George in one sentence.” Lando spoke up again, humming thoughtfully. “A teacher’s pet suits him well. He probably got all 100s on the midterms, too.”

Alex chuckled, not even attempting to defend his best friend. “Teacher’s pet? More like a kissass.” 

“I can hear you, you know.”

Of course, his comment went ignored, the two continuing to bicker behind him as his mind filled with numbers and calculations. Soon, the noise in the room began to drown itself out, voices mixing, before it was interrupted by the bells ringing to signal recess.

Soon, a familiar silence wrapped around him, a relaxed state that allowed him to focus better.

George liked math. It was straightforward, it was logical, it was full of patterns he could recognize and predict, and most of all, he was good at it.

Something he didn’t like about it, however, was that Max seemed to think he was better than him at it.

”You’re doing it wrong.”

George sprung his head up, the classroom empty except for him, a couple of other students, and Max Verstappen who now stood in front of his table with an unsatisfied expression.

”I didn’t ask for your input.”

”You’re still doing it wrong.”

The casual way he said that, as if George was a stubborn kid refusing to do his homework, made his fist clench around his pencil.

”You already bothered me earlier, haven’t you had enough?” He snapped, tone agitated. He always did this, critiquing small things about George, the way he studied, the way he answered questions in class or exercised in physical ed, he always had something to nitpick about him.

”Maybe I’ll stop bothering you when you get good at math.”

George didn't respond. If he doesn’t, Max might see that he isn’t getting any reactions and finally leave him alone. Of course, he wanted to talk back to him, to let Max know every little thing he found infuriating about him, but that wouldn’t do any good. He doubts any criticism will get through this guy’s thick skull, anyway.

The thoughts kept running through his head, unable to focus properly on his studies.  Before he could notice it, the bell rang again, the next period starting. That’s a 20 minute break gone to waste. Time studying he’ll have to make up for at home.

And when he looked up, Max was gone.

Thank god.

“Did you see the midterm results yet? I swear, my dad’s gonna kill me when he finds out I failed English.” Lando whined as he swung his bag over his desk, his voice filling the mostly empty classroom.

“How can you fail English? You speak it every day.” Charles joked, fishing for his school supplies in his bag where he sat a table across from Lando.

“How can you fail geography? You live here every day.”

Charles’s eyes widened in shock, taking in the comment before a defeated look spread on his face. “…No, I didn’t get to look at them yet.”

”Oh. You might be in for a few more surprises, then.” Lando giggled.

Most exams weren’t like this, being small tests handled between the teachers and students, but the results of both the midterms and finals for each grade would be posted for all to see on a hall near their classroom. The policy was first introduced as a way to reduce paper wastage, even if there were many other solutions that didn’t involve the possible humiliation of students in front of their peers.

However, Charles couldn’t deny that he expected this. The exams were brutal, having nearly a 50% passing rate; it was nearly impossible to study here without failing at least one subject each year.

Well, not if your name isn’t George Russell, at least.

As the conversation went on, more students started entering the class, Carlos’s held-down head catching both of the boy’s attention.

He grabbed the chair next to Charles and settled down with a grim expression.

”You don’t sit here anymore, mate,” He chuckled, but made no attempt to move Carlos away.

”I’m done for.” Carlos muttered, face looking like he was on the verge of giving up on graduating. “They may hold me back a grade next year if I get the same scores on the finals. I was sure I studied enough.”

”At least you didn’t fail geography,” Lando perked up with a silver lining.

Charles frowned. “Or English.”

His face showed something between disappointment and regret. “If you call 55s not failing, then yes.”

A beat of silence passed. Then Lando laughed. 

Soon, the other two joined him, even if bittersweetly.

Their gazes slowly drifted towards the door where entered Pierre, chatting with Yuki as they parted ways towards each of their seats, the former sitting at the far side of the classroom and the latter at his table on the right of George’s.

The sight of the unusually empty table raised a collective thought in their heads.

”Why isn’t George here?”

The three of them exchange glances, trying to think of an obvious solution. George was usually the first to get to class and the last to leave; the perfect student, as they all said.

”Maybe he’s sick and took a day off.” Lando offered, jumping at the most obvious solution.

”And ruin his perfect attendance? I doubt it,” Charles interjected.

“He is probably with Kimi again.” Carlos concluded, knowing that George often tutoring their underclassmen and might be helping him cope with the results. “He must have freaked out as much as I did in my first year.”

“I guess that’s possible,” Charles shrugged, “George will probably be more mad than Kimi is if his tutoring goes to waste.”

That earned a few chuckles.

”I should probably go check up on him, anyway, make sure he doesn’t have a stroke over one point too little.” Lando noted after the laughter died down

Carlos and Charles exchanged glances.

He frowned. “What?”

”It’s okay, we know you’re just looking for Oscar,” Carlos stated, an accusatory look on his face.

”What? I’m not! I like all of you equally, you know,” Lando insisted, but that only got him the same response.

“Sure you do.”

He huffed as he walked away, leaving the classroom to look around the halls. He’d tell them off later, he has someone more important to focus on right now.

And, walking towards the hall where he knew the results would be posted, it didn’t take long to find him in a… worrying scene, to say the least.

”Calm down, George,” Oscar comforted, his voice grounding, but that didn’t seem to help George at all. He was fuming, looking like he was ready to kill someone if they just looked at him for too long. He’d never seen him this mad, face hot red and body slightly hunched over, as if the adrenaline was too much for his body to handle.

“Calm down? You want me to calm down?” George seethed, “Why don’t you tell Verstappen to calm down, huh? Maybe I’ll go tell him myself, if you think I should just ‘calm down’ over this.”

”George, no, listen-“

He was cut off by having his hand swatted away, George walking past him like a man on a mission. He sighed, staring at the ground for a moment.

Lando walked up to him, “What’s his problem today?”

Instead of answering, Oscar vaguely gestured towards the poster hung next to them, displaying every student’s name with their midterm test scores from highest to lowest.

When he looked at it earlier, he was more focused on his own score, maybe a few of his classmates just to see how well they did compared to him; he didn’t even bother looking at George’s grades, he was always at the top, near-perfect numbers displaying his hard work and time spent studying when he should be with his family or friends.

His eyes ran up the list, settling on the highest name, having to stop himself from audibly gasping.

”History, top result... Max Verstappen.”

And it kept repeating. English, Geography, Physics, almost every single one of his grades was just above or tied with George. Of course, he knew Max was smart, textbook smart at least, but this was the kind of complete domination that George had always had.

But then again, it’s not like this meant anything. It was just statistics, a speech when graduating, a title that won’t mean jackshit when starting a professional career.

Still, it felt strange seeing someone who wasn’t George on that #1 spot.

”I… wow, he must be livid.”

”No kidding.”

”At least George has two points higher in math?” Lando offered, even if in comparison to his usual grades, this meant nothing.

Oscar gave a small smile at that, “I doubt he even noticed.”

Lando sighed deeply. This wasn’t good, at least for George. He’s probably storming around the school looking for Max, he wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up choking him or something. Although, knowing Max, he wouldn’t even be able to touch him before getting punched in the face.

He’ll have to find out what was going on with Max’s sudden spike in grades, but that could wait.

It did make him wonder, though, if George was onto something whenever he dismissed Max’s achievements as a bribe to the school board.

The entire day, Max could practically feel George’s glare at the side of his head, even if he kept looking away every time their eyes caught.

Normally, he’d say something, but he didn’t need to; the bright smile he wore told enough.

Finally, he had beaten him. He’d won. He worked his ass off studying after school, late nights spent cramming work he should have done in class, football and karting practices becoming means for calculation and reasoning. Learn by association, learn by recognition, learn by practice, do anything possible for that sweet, sweet result.

He could have done this so much sooner, but finally, he had a goal.

And when Max Verstappen had motivation, he was completely unstoppable.

There was only moving forward. Progressing. Getting better. And most important of all, skipping the day results were posted to let his reputation and George’s anger build up.

”That’s evil, mate, even for you,” Daniel scolded him over a call when he revealed his plan, even if it was accompanied by laughter.

”Not evil, just some harmless fun. Don’t act like you’ve never pulled something like that last year.”

Daniel only grinned, “You should learn from my mistakes, not repeat them.”

Despite this seemingly perfect plan, there was one flaw; he wouldn’t get to see George’s reaction. And as much as he wanted to annoy him by not giving him an output for the unavoidable anger, he would miss out on the golden boy possibly losing his temper.

So he asked his deskmate, Yuki, to give him an update on what went on, just to stay on track.

And now he was waiting to have that conversation after the lesson ends. Watching the clock tick by in the classroom, listening to their English teacher explain some new material Max had already perfected.

Left at the mercy of his own thoughts, the image of George’s face seeing him for the first time after his world crumbled came back to his mind.

He walked into class, taking his seat, watching George’s expression turn from neutral to furious.

The Brit didn’t speak a word to him; as expected, even if a part of him hoped just a little bit that he’d come up and yell at his face. Maybe even get into a fight, a thought that excited him more than he would like to admit.

Over his time here, Max garnered a bit of a reputation, much like George. He was the trouble child, getting into fights and ignoring teachers, stating he couldn’t care less about studying while pulling in all-nighters of work with more Red Bull than blood in his system.

It was the perfect, effortless reputation, at the mere cost of his sleeping schedule.

Thankfully, George was too stuck up to talk back, or he would have to find time for sleep, too, so he wouldn’t get mocked for being shorter.

Max snapped out of his thoughts when the bell rang, announcing the lunch break. Finally. His head snapped to his side, throwing a knowing smirk at Yuki who was having a hard time not returning it.

They both got up, gathering their things before heading out, walking the opposite direction of the lunch hall.

It didn't take long to find an empty classroom; for as massive as their school was, it only had so many students each year, so it was fairly easy to walk in close the door behind them like they owned it, Max leaning on a wall near the door while Yuki took a seat in one of the empty desks.

“Alright, what did I miss? And I want every detail.” Max started, getting straight to the point.

Yuki hummed in response, taking his time, pulling out a well-made lunchbox out of his bagpack. “Patience, mad Max.”

”Mad is what I’ll be if you don’t start talking already.”

”Fine, fine,” Yuki sighed in defeat, the lighthearted conversation continuing as he ripped his sandwich in half, tossing one of the pieces to Max who gobbled it down in a few bites.

”I waited around there like you asked, but when Oscar came and started talking with George, I went back to class. He was absolutely losing it.” He bit into his sandwich, ”He yelled about wasting time and cheating, he probably thinks you bought those grades. Which, you didn’t, right?”

Max rolled his eyes, “In his dreams.”

There was a pause, a small moment of silence, both knowing that the ‘his’ he was talking about wasn’t George. But he digressed as fast as he started.

”Serves Russell right, thinks you can only be smart if you’re a kissass. Did his face go all red like the first time I beat him at an arm wrestle?”

Yuki let out a giggle, “Yeah, he did. You memories his expressions a lot?”

The joke was supposed to be that, a joke, but thinking of the answer made Max do a double take. But instead of saying yes, he muttered “You wouldn’t know. It’s absolutely priceless how mad he gets when he’s reminded I’m better than him. He looks so out of air it’s like he’s drowning.”

”Maybe drowning in your love for him,” Yuki cooed, mocking tone muffled by his food.

Max snickered, taking a step closer to the door and stretching his arms out.

”Right. Because I just love that handsome face so much more than I wanna drown it.”

His voice dripped with sarcasm, turning to open the door just as he finished the last syllable, only to hear a thud.

Followed by another.

Glancing down, his eyes caught two pairs staring up at him from the floor in surprise and horror respectively; Alex and Lando.

He was caught somewhere between laughing and walking over them.

”The fuck are you doing on the floor?”

Lando coughed, quickly getting up and dusting himself off, Alex following suit.

”I was… we, uh, Alex forgot his bag inside,” Lando quickly excused, earning an unimpressed raise of Max’s eyebrow.

”There’s no bags in there.”

More silence, a wave of awkwardness washing over the three, only interrupted by the sound of Yuki’s snickering from inside the room.

Max stepped aside, walking past the two of them without another word. He really couldn’t care less what they were doing on the floor, more focused on getting to the cafeteria before all the food runs out. He barely even noticed Alex and Lando staring at him as he walked away, nor how they started running the opposite direction the second they were sure he wouldn’t look back.

”Lewis,” Alex breathed, practically stumbling in front of the man’s seat, stopping short of falling into him.

Lewis whipped his head around towards the voice, only to frown. ”Alex, Christ, you almost gave me a heart attack,” He sighed, deflating.

“Listen, this is urgent. Seriously. We need-“

”Slow down, first of all,” Lewis said, stopping the two breathless boys to let them catch their breathing. “Sit down.”

As much of an unsocial person as Lewis considered himself, he did his best to act kindly to his underclassmen; he was fond of a few, and word of him must have spread around, especially after helping George Russell with a major research project, and now doing one with Charles Leclerc.

Maybe that’s the reason he would easily find himself surrounded by students seeking help or advice. Like now, when two interrupted his conversation with Valtteri and Sergio.

Lando and Alex each grabbed themselves a chair, doing their best to remain calm.

”Breathe,” he instructed, waiting until he could no longer hear their pants before continuing. “Talk slowly. What is it?”

”Someone has a crush on George!” Lando blurted out.

Lewis stared at them blankly, doing his best to stay collected. Valtteri tried not to snicker on the other side of the table.

”That’s, ahem, a very bold statement,” He said, treating the situation with caution. Instead of playing into it, he decided to be the bigger person and scold them. “Why does it concern me, or you two, at that?”

Alex and Lando exchanged glances. “Well, you were pretty close with George for a while, and you look like you know a lot about relationships, so we thought you might help.”

Lewis didn’t react to the possibly-a-compliment. “Help with?”

”Getting them together, duh,” Lando said, stretching the word as if it were supposed to be obvious.

Lewis frowned.

”You two shouldn’t be meddling in George’s relationships. Trust me, I’ve had my fair share of experiences, and he wouldn’t want you doing that.” His tone painted seriousness, making sure to get his point across. ”If you’re so sure that this is true, either tell George, or leave him be. He’s a smart kid, he’ll know when the right person is… interested in him.”

The statement left them stunned, to say the least. Even if neither of them talked to Lewis much, they never expected their little idea to be utterly rejected, especially to this volume. It almost felt like they were doing something wrong, to be scolded by someone who’s words they hold in high regard.

Of course, this was just how Lewis talked; but it didn't make it less daunting.

Valtteri must have noticed the tension, because he soon spoke up, muttering “You’re scaring them, Lewis.”

”They can handle it.”

Rolling his eyes, Valtteri turned to address his underclassmen instead. “Don’t listen to him, he’s still bitter after his last breakup.” that earned his leg a kick under the table, but he continued. “How are you so sure that it’s a crush?”

”Well, saying you love someone’s handsome face so much you wanna drown it sounds like a crush to me,” Lando snickered.

”Wasn’t it ‘love it’ more than ‘want to drown it’?” Alex corrected, sounding more like a question than a statement.

Lando shrugged, “Tomayto tomahto.”

”This is exactly why you stay out of other people’s dating life,” Lewis grumbled, speaking through bites of cafeteria food.

Sergio spoke up this time, commenting “Sounds like a blossoming romance if I’ve ever seen one.”

”Try getting them to talk to each other, see what happens.” Valtteri encouraged.

”That’s a horrible idea,” Lewis stretched.

”Lewis might be right, this time,” Alex added sheepishly, “They kind of hate each other’s guts.”

”Even better.”

That got the four of them laughing, while Lewis sighed exasperatedly.

And, now that they thought about it, they did hate each other. A lot, actually. Max and George? Sounded like some twisted nightmare, Alex was pretty confident George actually would rather drown than have anything between them happen. Is that why Max was always mocking him? Challenging his self appointed titles? Borderline bullying him, even?

And that caused him to wonder aloud, “Is that what the whole thing with the test scores was for?”

“Yeah, probably,” Lando shrugged, too casually. “Only other way to get George’s attention would be from his apprentice or mentor Hamilton.”

His voice took a mock-British accent with the last part of his sentence, making the titles sound posh. Which was an exaggeration, obviously, even if George did sometimes act like he held Lewis in that high of a regard.

Lewis cleared his throat, looking anywhere but at the boys next to him. “I think it’s time for you to go.”

Sheepishly, they did so, practically hearing Lewis’s sympathy for George while Valtteri and Sergio cracked up laughing next to him.

They walked away from the table, looking for somewhere the two of them could sit.

Alex turned to Lando, flashing him a smile. “I think I have a plan.”

Lando snickered. “Tell me everything.” 

Chapter Text

When Kimi first got accepted to this school, everything was turned against him in an instant.

He didn’t have many friends there, only Ollie, who, although was his best friend, was on a different level than him when it came to performance in exams. He was smart, extremely talented, even, at least that’s what the teachers said, but he had terrible anxiety when it came to tests and struggled dealing with them.

Even his parents, who always encouraged him on, thought that he might need to sit this one out.

And yet, he persisted and survived the first half of the year. Not flawlessly, not even close to that, but he survived.

It was mostly thanks to the tutor he had been assigned as a part of a program his parents insisted he sign up for. Older students would help their underclassmen for a year, and when the time comes, said underclassmen would help someone younger than them, and repeat the cycle.

He was really just hoping for someone to help him with math, really, and thankfully, he was paired with just that kind of person; George Russell.

One of the most successful and impressive students this academy has ever welcomed.

Over time, he’d begun to rely on him maybe a little too much, some would say. Especially his friends who always mocked him for ‘copying George’s old work’. He wished he could, but the guy had morals stronger than his brain.

And, over even more time, George grew used to Kimi’s more clingy side, and went from complaining about the boy taking the seat next to him on the bus every day to just sighing in acknowledgment at his presence.

One of those times being just a few days after the midterm’s results were posted, when Kimi had been avoiding George like the plague.

But, much to his surprise, the other hadn’t even tried to approach him over it. He wasn’t sure if he disliked the lack of attention more than he appreciated it.

For the entire last week, he’d been sitting anywhere he could on the bus that wasn’t next to George. Which didn’t have a lot of space and thus, after days of sitting next to kids he knew not by name or face, he was forced to take the seat next to George, the only one left available.

He moved carefully, shoving his backpack under his seat and looking away. Doing anything to avoid eye contact as he sat down.

A minute. Five more. When it reached ten, halfway through their journey, Kimi finally turned to George, only to immediately frown.

He didn’t even glance his way, too caught up in a book that sat open on his lap, a pen and a highlighter resting between his fingers, highlighting sentences with little comments above them every few moments.

He lasted about three seconds staring at him before speaking up.

“Hey, um, George?”

He looked up, startled at Kimi’s presence but trying to play it off casually. He straightened his posture, perfect as ever, closing his textbook with his pens inside as a bookmark. “Hello, Kimi.”

Despite shifting uncomfortably, he tried to speak up anyway, unused to this… lack of interest from the usually overbearing George.

”Aren’t you gonna ask me about the midterms?” He asked before adding quietly, “We haven’t talked all week.”

George’s expression softened, a hint of sympathy in his eyes that made Kimi frown. Of course, it wasn’t George’s fault that they hadn’t talked; he was the one making sure they wouldn't talk. But like hell was he going to admit that when George looks so willing to take the blame, even if he feels a little bad doing so.

”Oh, Kimi, I’m sorry if I made you feel that way. I just- I’ve been so busy these past few days, I didn’t even think to check up on you. I’m truly sorry.”

Kimi nodded, keeping his mouth shut to stop the admitting clinging to the back of his mind. George offered him a pat on the shoulder.

”So how did the midterms go?”

Right. He hasn’t prepared himself enough for this.

”I, um, they were... It ended up… not that, but just… you know. Pretty much.”

George stared at him blankly. “Kimi.”

Kimi broke. “I’m sorry, okay? I’m sorry. I scored 80 in math, and you helped me so much with it. I swear I thought I knew everything, I was so sure the exam went well. I don’t know what I did wrong, it’s so stupid, and I just barely got a 75 in English, and I-“ “Kimi,”

He stopped when that grounding voice returned, his eyes catching serious but gentle ones.

”What makes you think an 80 is a bad grade? These were your first serious exams in this school, I bet most of your classmates are failing while you’re here acting like you’re getting expelled over an 80.”

”I know that, but I worked so hard on it, and I had your help, and I still only got an 80. It’s nothing compared to what you used to get when you first got here, and I know I’m no George Russell, but I still hoped for a little more.”

George sighed softly. Kimi wasn’t sure if it was supposed to be reassuring or disappointed. “You can’t compare yourself to me. Even when I was in your grade, I came from a much better school, and I excelled much before it. You’ll catch up to me, I’m sure of it, but just give it some time.” A pause. “How did you know what my grades were back then, anyway?”

“I, uh, just a guess,” He excused it.

George didn’t look like he bought it, but let him off with another mini speech about personal achievements before the bus finally arrived, and he could leave.

Thank god that didn’t go on for longer, although he almost forgot to ask George how the tests went for him. Which, he didn’t get an answer to it, really, just a wave and redirection back to Kimi’s own problems.

He’ll go ask around another time, just to make sure.

“Why are we even here? We’ve been learning the same exact stuff for the past three years.” Lando groaned as he sat in class, focusing on anything but Christian and whatever he was writing on the board.

”It’s important to know this grammar perfectly,” Oscar explained, eyes busied on the notebook he was writing in, “And it’s not exactly the same. If it had been, you would have gotten a perfect score on every test.”

Lando frowned. “Rude,”

”Says you.”

Before Lando could come up with some retort to Oscar’s infuriatingly relaxed way of being smug, he was interrupted by Alex’s hand momentarily tapping on his desk, getting his attention. 

“Look,” He whispered, nodding towards the door.

Following Alex’s gaze, he saw that the door was indeed open; Max had just walked in, bag slumped over his shoulder, hood covering his head, but not the slight bags under his eyes. Lando’s eyebrows furrowed as he watched him exchange a few words with Christian.

”What took him so long? It’s already the second period.”

”Beats me,” Alex shrugged, but a slight smirk showed on his face. “Maybe he was busy dreaming about George and overslept.”

”More like underslept, he looks like he’s never even heard of a bed.”

The exchanges were quieter than usual, not wanting to attract too much attention, but Oscar could hear it clearly. He wasn’t much of a guy for gossip, but liked to be aware of things.

And so, he leaned closer, questioning, “What’s George got to do with him?”

Lando and Alex exchanged knowing smirks. “Nothing,”

Oscar frowned. “That’s the least compelling excuse you could have chosen.”

”It’s really nothing,” Alex said this time, his tone much more genuine. “Inside joke. You wouldn’t get it. You know, Max and things he keeps inside.”

That earned another snicker from Lando.

”I didn’t know you were close with Max.”

”He isn’t, not really,” Lando spoke on Alex’s behalf, “At least I get along with him. If Alex even looks at that guy the wrong way, he’d probably get his jaw broken.”

Alex raised an eyebrow in mock offence. “And since when were you and Max such good friends?”

”We hung out a few times, helped him with homework.”

”You mean, he helped you,” Oscar corrected.

”It was mutually beneficial.”

”Sure it was.” 

The conversation drifted off topic once again, Lando’s attention momentarily shifting towards Max, who had just taken his seat next to Yuki.

He caught the small exchange of “Rough night?” And “More or less,” between the two but nothing more. It made him wonder if there was something Max’s friends knew that he didn’t.

Well, it would make a lot of sense. Sure, he was on better terms with Max compared to most people; he tried to get on his good side most of the time, even if they had a small fight or two that thankfully didn’t result in violence.

But he always did wonder what went on inside that guy’s head. It had to take a certain kind of mental state to be Max Verstappen, after all.

So he leaned forward, reaching out and poking Max’s shoulder with the dull side of a pen to get his attention.

The gesture worked magnificently fast; Max whipping around with the speed of light to glare at the disruption.

”What do you want?”

”Where were you?”

Max stared at him like he was asked to recite the alphabet. “What?”

”You’re like, two hours late. I’m surprised Christian didn’t yell at you for it. Where were you?”

He paused, a moment of silence passing, almost looking like he was hesitating. But eventually, he answered, “I overslept.”

Alex then chimed in, “Told you so.”

Lando rolled his eyes. “You win this time.”

”Win? Were you betting on why I was late?” Max raised an eyebrow, his concluding skills surprisingly sharp.

Sensing the danger in that trap of a question, Lando quickly shook his head. “No, no, we were just… you know,” he glanced helplessly towards Oscar, a pleading look on his face that earned a sigh.

”Lando was needing some help with English, as you can hear, and I suggested he speak with you about it. Alex was concerned that it would be unfairly taking away from your own time.”

Max nodded, appreciating the answer. “I… see,”

Yet, of course, Lando couldn’t resist getting in one last “Yeah, like I’m the one who needs help.”

A quiet chuckle from Alex filled the silence that followed, and Max turned around, not gracing that with a response.

Lando almost thought that the interaction was over, that he could go back to studying, or, well, start studying, when he heard Max speak up again.

This time, directed at George, who was sitting with his head down, focused intensely on copying from the board.

”Idiots,” He simply muttered, a passing comment that should have meant nothing.

But George raised his head, a defensive glare shooting at Max.

”Those so-called ‘idiots’ are my friends, thank you very much.”

The only thing that earned from Max is a snort, “Then they should act like it.”

Max gripped the water bottle in his hand as he emptied its contents inside his mouth, water pooling in his throat before thickly swallowing.

Over his years of playing soccer, he’d grown to know just how important hydration is after practice, getting as much water in as possible to drown out the adrenaline still coursing through his body. The coldness of it grounded him, managing to relax after a heavy match or excruciating practice session.

A moment of peace between one battle and the other.

The field his team played on was just a walk away from his house, close enough to get there on foot but just too far to walk after exhausting his legs. His dad would come pick him up, always with some excuse that Max was interrupting him in the middle of, but he still insisted on arriving.

But today, it seemed, that familiar Porsche wasn’t anywhere near the parking lot.

He was left standing there, empty bottle in hand, watching the other kids scatter to their parents or buses taking them home.

One stopped next to him, asking, “You walking home today?”

Max hated the sympathy he could hear in that voice, answering with a quipped “Yes.”

He didn’t bother checking on his dad, calling his mom, or trying to hitch a ride with a different player. He can handle it, just a bit more strain to his muscles that he’d get over. His phone sat silenced in his pocket as he made the thirty-minute-long track, mind focused on the quiet sounds radiating off the streets as he walked.

By the time he’d reached his house, his legs were aching, but he persisted.

He heated up a small pre-made meal left in the fridge while he showered, finishing the food quickly before going to his room. Each bite felt like it was taking him longer than it should have. He wasted enough time on that walk, a break long enough to last him the rest of the day.

Moving out of muscle memory, he settled on his chair, work from the day before sprawled over his desk like challenges waiting to be solved.

Thursday was maths.

He moved with quick precision; pen writing his every thought in cluttered numbers, calculations solving in his head faster than his hand could catch up. He did exercise after exercise, his body resting when his mind wasn’t.

It was only once his pace started to slow down that he decided to open his phone, checking how long it had taken him.

Even without seeing the time, he already knew the answer. Too long. Too slow.

But instead of giving him that motivation he craved, as soon as his screen flashed to life, it was followed by a loud ringtone and bold letters announcing a call.

He contemplated for a moment before answering, putting the call on speaker and tossing his phone aside. Eyes darting back to his pages, as if this were a mere distraction from his work.

”Max? Where are you?” The phone called.

”Home,” He replied shortly.

”Oh.” A pause, “Your dad called me to pick you up from practice, but I don’t have the address.”

”That was two hours ago.” His tone was calm, focused. There was no use getting frustrated over this. He shouldn’t have expected him to remember, anyway.

”I told you that you should send me your schedule, but you still refuse.”

Max rolled his eyes, “I have legs to take me places, and just because you have a driving license now doesn’t mean that you need to drive me everywhere.”

”Not need to, want to,” The voice on the other line corrected, a bit too proud for Max’s taste. “But if that’s what you prefer.”

Another wave of silence passed, Max’s attention focused on the equation he was currently trying to solve. The silent sound of pen scratching paper finally made Sergio speak up again on the other side of the line.

”Are you doing your homework?”

”No.”

”Max.”

”It’s not homework, it’s exercises from the book. I still need to make more progress in math, you saw how I did on the midterms.”

”You mean, a near-perfect score?”

”I mean second place.”

It only took a few seconds for Max to replay the words in his head, realizing how he sounded. He let the pen drop onto his notebook, groaning as he rested his head in his palm. “God, I sound like George Russell.”

He could practically hear the smile in Sergio’s voice, “Not the first time.”

Max frowned. “You’re supposed to be the bigger person.”

”I am. I was offering to take you home.”

”Well, I am home. You can hang up now.”

His words were cold, uninviting, and he knew that. But he couldn’t care enough to change his attitude. Sergio should be more than used to it by now; he’d known Max since a young age, having been a talented kid with high potential and thus taken to special schools and programs to take advantage of his brilliant mind. There, he met Jos, who took the opportunity to have a hard-working influence on his child.

Thankfully for Max, Sergio was nothing like his father wanted him to be. He hoped he’d turn out the same way.

”You should go to sleep,” He then said, “You have school tomorrow.”

”So do you,” Max shot back.

”You can tell me what to do when you turn older than me.”

Max sighed exasperatedly, wanting to argue, but he really didn’t have it in him. After having a particularly tough conversation with his father about his grades the day before, apparently proving he could do so much better than he actually does, he should be spending more time studying than anything.

But soccer was his freedom, and he would never give up on it, no matter how much it was stressed to him that hobbies are useless.

And, unfortunately, said hobby came with a side effect of exhausting both his body and mind.

”…Fine,” He ended up muttering, surprising even himself a little.

Warmth radiated from Sergio’s tone as he added, “Good. Good night, Max. And you did very well on those tests, don’t forget that.”

”Right.”

”I’m proud of you.”

He smiled down at his phone.

“I know.”

George hated weekends.

When he says that, most people jump to conclusions; he noticed they tend to do that a lot when it comes to him. He’s the perfect student; he must love going to school. With these grades, he probably spends all weekend buried in books and learning new things. He has to love it more than anything.

But in truth, he really didn’t. 

What he hated about weekends was that he had nothing to do.

Coming from a childhood of being an exceptional kid, top of all his classes, seeing the massive results of great effort, he grew to spend all his time on his education.

He’d learn the school subjects. Then he’d study books and research of much higher levels than he had any right to understand. Afterwards, he’d practice, perfect it, and learn more. Spend every minute of his free time reaching a level that allowed him to progress to a school like this one.

And now he was there, learning at an incredible pace with enough material to even leave him overwhelmed sometimes.

But the weekends? He was stuck at home. A humbly sized house that felt large when it was empty. A room without much more than a laptop and a bed, both of which are far less entertaining when they’re chosen out of boredom instead of interest.

And so he had nothing to do but study more.

He was always advised to take breaks on the weekends; after all, he spent every minute of his free time rehearsing school material like the difference between 97 and 98 meant anything in the long run, but when he was left alone without a task at hand, he had nothing to do but think.

And that scared him more than anything.

That being said, returning to school wasn’t as fun as people assume it would be for him, either. But being surrounded by people he barely tolerated was better than being around no one at all.

So he bit his tongue and survived another bus ride, listening to Kimi complain about a teacher, a simple “mhm,” or “uh huh,” escaping him every so often, until they finally reached the school and made their way to his class.

He was early, as always.

Oscar was already there; of course he was. George greeted him with a simple “Good morning,” which was returned by a nod.

But the seat next to him had a bag under it, yet no Lando occupying it.

”Where’s Lando?”

Of course, he could be using the bathroom or out with a different group of people. In retrospect, it was a stupid question. Why was he even asking something like that? Was he that desperate for small talk?

”Outside with Alex,” Oscar simply replied, tone cool. “Making a fuss about his hair.”

George raised an eyebrow. “His hair?”

”He didn’t tell you?” Oscar replied thoughtfully. “I think you should go find him.”

Curious, George did so, thanking him before walking out to find whatever had Lando so excited about. The hallway didn’t do much, circling it a few times with no luck in finding either of his friends. So he started a search mission of sorts; speed walking past classrooms, going out into the school’s courtyard, even checking the empty cafeteria for any Alex-shaped signs.

He found nothing, but didn’t give up.

After about ten minutes, not like he was counting or anything to use for complaining in the future, he circled back around to his classroom, which is where he spotted them. Walking inside, a big crowd of kids circling around Alex like a magician during a show.

And one look at his best friend’s blond hair told him why.

”Alex!” He called, finding space between his classmates to step closer to his best friend. “When did you, how… I like your hair.”

Alex turned to him, grin wide on his lips, definitely enjoying the attention. “Right? My mom took me to get it dyed on Saturday. I really like how it turned out.”

”Second best hair in class, I would say,” Noted Carlos, walking past the two who stood at the foot of the door to their class.

Alex rolled his eyes playfully, “You wound me.”

George smiled. He’d missed this bantering with his friends. “I was thinking I might do something with my hair, too. Blond suits you better than it will me, though.” He joked.

Noticing the two talking, Lando made his way next to them, saying, “You’re gonna ruin your curls? Well, I’d love to see someone’s reaction to that.”

He and Alex exchanged glances, making George feel a bit left out.

”Who?” He asked innocently.

Another glance. George frowned.

”No one in particular,” Alex dismissed it, turning to head inside the classroom. 

However, just before he did, another face appeared next to them, eyeing Alex up and down as if he’d made a whole new aesthetic change.

”I really like your…” Max noted, stopping short of Alex, “Me costume.”

”My what?”

Max simply shrugged, “Blond hair, grey hoodie, pretty obvious. Next time, tone down the niceness, though. Ruins the illusion.”

George stared at their interaction, feeling his fists clench at his sides. Here Max Verstappen goes, making everything about himself again. Of fucking course he did. Because if George has one nice thing, Max has to take it away from him.

And to his utter shock, Alex burst out laughing, joined by Lando giggling at his side.

”Looks like I’ll need to up my sense of humour, too,” Alex laughed, complimenting Max.

Complimenting him. Over what? That dumb joke?

”And raise your attitude,” George found himself saying, stepping between Max and Alex defensively, “And most importantly, start acting like a dick.”

Max raised an eyebrow, not backing off, but he swore he saw his smirk growing. “You really know how to flatter a guy.”

”That wasn’t a compliment,” George huffed.

”I know.” Max grinned. “That’s why I’m taking it as one.”

He glanced at Lando, still standing next to Alex, both of them snickering like children trying not to laugh during a really important meeting. What great friends.

”That would make you a complete idiot, then,” He shot back at Max.

It was only after he said that when he realized just how great of a line he was giving Max the opportunity to drop. Something devastating, a clever insult that George will never forget. Something that could haunt him for years to come, always remembering that there was someone better than him. That there is someone better than him.

But instead, Max only shrugged, “Speak for yourself.”

Maybe he wasn’t as smooth as George thought he was.

”I am speaking for myself. I’m a perfectly intelligent person, thank you very much.”

”Really, Russell? Are you?” Max drawled, a mocking edge to his tone that made George want to tear his hair out. “Because even if you can get a perfect score on a little test doesn’t make you any more socially intelligent.”

”What are you going on about?”

”I was just complimenting your friend, and you went in and started to insult me out of nowhere.” He pointed out, giving a moment for his words to sink in, before a devilish smirk took over his face.

George could already feel himself getting red in the face.

”I know I said they don’t act like your friends, but damn, it really is the other way.”

If he was angry before, George’s blood was now boiling. What right did Max have to judge him based on how he spoke to his friends? He was riling him up, and George was giving him exactly what he wanted. He was buying into it. He was giving him that reaction.

He had to stay calm. Even with the irritated look on his face, he crossed his arms, refusing to budge.

”Says the one whose dad probably pays off all his friends,” He scoffed, a little petty, but refusing to back down without a fight.

And said fight seemed to be working a lot more than he expected, proven by Max’s immediate reaction. Like with the flick of a button, his smug expression fell, anger replacing it. 

“Excuse you?”

George kept going, undeterred. “I just figured,” He shrugged innocently, “You’re so insufferable to be around, there’s no way anyone could get along with you if they didn’t gain anything from it. Do you give Yuki a monthly allowance to sit next to you?”

”Keep that name out of your mouth,” Max seethed, taking a step forward, trying to intimidate George. Like that was going to work.

”What are you going to do about that? Pay me off?”

His mocking tone was riling Max so much faster than he expected, to the point it almost felt… satisfying.

He knew he was taking this too far, but he couldn’t stop.

Matching Max’s step forward, George added, “Or will you give the school some money to kick me out, just like you do for those grades you get?”

That was the comment that made something in Max snap.

He went forward, movements precise, his arm twisting so fast that George couldn’t tell if he was going to punch or grab him.

Just as he flinched his eyes shut, the smirk still on his face as he awaited the pain he knew he deserved over that, he felt a gust of air wash past him.

Then nothing.

His eyes blinked open, spotting Lando standing behind Max, hand firmly on his arm, holding him back.

They exchanged a few words; something between “It’s not worth it, mate,” or “Let it go”, but all he could see was his friend pulling Max off and walking with him in the opposite direction.

The hand stayed on his shoulder, almost comforting. Like Max was the one who had almost been… whatever Max was planning to do.

It filled him with irritation almost stronger than before.

George whipped around to face the class again. This thought wasn’t worth dwelling over.

He entered in silence, barely glancing back at Alex, who followed behind him, that previously shit-eating grin on his face now replaced by a solemn look.

He quietly sat down at his desk, fixing his hair with a frustrated sigh.

”George?”

He glanced around, seeing Charles looking at him, concerned.

”Yes?”

”Are you okay? Your face is completely red.”

George touched his face, as if expecting the redness to come off like paint. He leaned back in his chair, trying to relax.

”I’m fine. Just… tired.”

“Tired?”

”Of Verstappen,” He muttered bitterly.

Charles faintly smiled. “Of course you are.”

Chapter Text

Lando liked to consider himself as a smart person. He was enrolled in one of the best academics in the country, did fine enough on most subjects, and had his niche expertise he could rant about for hours. Which, as his friends knew well, he often did.

Daniel, despite not being in his year, often spent time with him and Max, and he’d always listen to his ramblings or gossip. After he left, Lando never quite found a replacement.

He and Max weren’t exactly friends at the time, but stayed on good terms and still talk at times. He got to hear plenty of things about him through Daniel, too.

George and Alex, his best friends, were there before Daniel and couldn’t replace him. Neither did Carlos, whom he considered the closest person to him for a very long while.

And when their homeroom teacher moved Oscar to sit next to him, he hoped that he would be a good candidate.

But that would be comparing salt and water. 

He couldn’t even begin to describe the boy currently sitting next to him, writing away in his notebook so effortlessly that it made Lando feel stupid. He was cold but sweet, polite but self-assured.

A very good friend, but terrible as a study partner.

Oh, how Lando wished Oscar would help him study.

From the first time they sat next to each other, covering a new subject in maths that he struggled to understand, Oscar offered his help, and Lando didn’t understand a single word. Over and over again, until he gave up and blew up George’s phone that evening begging for help.

It’s not that he didn’t try, either. But Oscar sounded like he was speaking a foreign language whenever it came to explanations. Carlos dubbed it ‘speaking Australian’ once, and Oscar didn’t speak to him for a week.

The fond memory coming up in his mind as he debated whether or not to ask Oscar for help made a smile tug at his lips, which his desk mate must have noticed, clearing his throat and catching Lando’s gaze.

”Yes?”

Lando stared at him for a moment, forgetting what he was originally going to ask. “I, uh,”

”Can you not stare at me while I work?” Oscar cut in, “It looks like you’re copying my notes.”

”Right,” Lando muttered, jerking his head towards the front of the class. Their teacher was explaining something to one of the students at the front, not even remotely paying attention to them. But he wasn’t going to argue back, there was no point when it came to Oscar.

Instead, his eyes roamed the students around him, considering his options.

Eventually, he leaned forward, reaching out a hand to pat the back of George’s chair. He looked at Lando over his shoulder, leaning back in his seat, lips pursed in the way he always had them when he was concentrating.

Lando resisted rolling his eyes at the display, instead forcing his tone polite. “Did you do question six yet?”

George glanced down at his notebook for a moment, flipped two pages, then turned back to him. “Of the practice equations or the problems sheet we got last week?”

He narrowed his eyes, “What sheet?”

That was Oscar’s turn to step in, scooting his notebook closer to Lando, letting him look at… whatever the fuck was written on there. A lot of letters and numbers in patterns he couldn’t even begin to recognize.

“What the fuck is that?”

George stared at him, unamused. “Were you not in class last Wednesday? I was sure I saw you here.”

“Yeah, yeah, I was there. It was just, uh…” Lando muttered, trying to replay every class they had last week in his mind, hoping to remember every crucial detail. Nothing seemed really important until he finally caught it.

”Max showed me some paradox with angels, I think we spent most of the class trying to solve it. I didn’t think anything important was going on…” He chuckled sheepishly. 

He didn’t even need to turn around to hear Oscar’s sigh, unable to help but smile at it, while George’s expression turned into something rather agitated.

”Did you now,” He asked, the question asking more like a statement than anything. Lando didn’t miss the way he sent a glare in Max’s direction, before turning around back to his seat.

Lando panicked. “Wait, wait, you still haven’t told me the answer! And what about the other sheet?”

”I won’t give you answers, Lando, for the hundredth time, I show you how to solve them.” He muttered, still turned away from Lando, but his tone softened slightly. “And it’s too long to explain right now. Alex is coming to my house today to study. You can tag along and I’ll explain it there.”

”Could I also join, if possible?” Oscar chimed in, “There’s something in physics I’d like a second opinion on.”

George agreed, and so did Lando, likely talking a little too loudly, as a few more classmates picked up on the conversation.

Suddenly, they had a study group formed, various kids who were struggling agreeing to meet up at George’s place before he could protest. His address was being passed around like a cake recipe, and it clearly had him on edge.

But he kept his mouth shut until Max inquired what all the fuss was about.

Lando rolled his eyes fondly, gaze catching Alex’s shit eating grin. He’ll make sure to mention this at Max and George’s wedding.

Needless to say, George was less than thrilled to go into school the day after the ‘study session’ - in which hardly any studying was done - and his house was left a mess, which he had to clean all alone. Well, Charles stayed back to help, because of course he did, but even he had to go eventually.

All in all, a total of 7 kids rampaged his house, but the one that he was expecting didn’t show.

This especially surprised him, since he was the one that the invitation was targeted at in the first place. Well, before it turned into a giant party, anyway.

George came in more tired than usual, still one of the first in class, waiting ever so patiently by his desk for Lando to come in. He was still ticked off from yesterday, half because he wanted to actually get some work done, but also because he had people insult him in his own house.

”Why can’t you relax a bit?” Was repeated in his ears over a hundred times, and it stung more because it was true.

He wasn’t sure why he couldn’t let himself unwind. Even now, his knee was bouncing under the table, like he was rushing to get the confrontation over with. Always uptight and having to be perfect.

He straightened himself up when he heard the familiar voice of Lando before he entered the class, chatting with someone close behind him.

George’s expression soured when his eyes landed on Max Verstappen, smiling and laughing like he and Lando were old friends.

Were they? Since when did they talk this much? Sure, they were closer when Ricciardo was around, but since that guy left, Max became even more insufferable. He was sure that even Lando noticed that and started avoiding him.

Not giving any more food to those thoughts, he swiftly sprang up from his chair, refusing to return Max’s sudden gaze as he walked towards Lando.

”Good morning,” He greeted briskly, “Where were you yesterday?”

Lando haunted his previous conversation, turning to give George a weird look. Like he was being the dumb one. “At home?”

Right. Of course he somehow managed to forget. “You didn’t come to the study session.”

He watched the gears shift in Lando’s head before he realized what George was talking about, a sheepish smile taking over his expression.

”Ah, right, that. Sorry mate, it totally slipped my mind. Valtteri offered to help me with it yesterday, and I completely forgot you were doing the thing. I go to your house all the time, anyway, a change of place doesn’t hurt.”

George raised an eyebrow, treading the line between walking off and straight up accusing him of lying. Something didn’t sound righteous.

Instead, he echoed, “Valtteri?”

”Yeah, Valtteri Bottas,” Lando quickly explained, “He’s a grade above us, he’s been helping Alex with geography for a bit and I thought I might as well talk to him about-“

”Seriously, Lando? Suddenly you’re the best of friends out of fucking nowhere?”

The taken aback look Lando gave him immediately made George regret his tone of voice, but he was already too deep into this to back down. He crossed his arms over his chest, unable to feel agitated.

It all made sense in his head, after all. All the sudden talk about Max, avoiding coming to George’s place, and now lying to him? It all added up perfectly.

George was too dumb for him now, after Max overtook him as the best in their class. Lando wanted to switch him out, toss him like he wasn’t anything more than a tool to help him with homework and listen to him whine about paddle and tennis competitions going sideways. Like he was that replaceable.

He didn’t give Lando a chance to respond, instead stepping aside and trying to walk out of that room.

Behind him, he could hear Max call out, “What’s wrong, Russell? Jealous?” But chose to ignore it.

Well, he did flip Max off behind his back, to which he could only imagine what profanity Max replied with that was thankfully muffled by the wall as he stormed off.

Fernando wouldn’t call himself and Lewis friends, exactly, but they were acquainted enough to occasionally eat lunch together.

Usually, they only did so to speak about important things - trading exam strategies and notes or delving into more personal topics like social issues. They argued sometimes, not anything big or heated, but disagreements happened as often as not. They held a mutual respect for each other, Fernando valued him as an honorable guy.

Unfortunately, hanging around Lewis often meant hanging around his friends, too.

And even less fortunately, one of those times was now - sitting at an empty lunch table engaged in small talk, only to have someone grab the chair next to him, and another person settle next to Lewis.

”Hope we’re not interrupting anything,” Sergio greeted, setting his food on the table. He kept a space between himself and Lewis, something which Valtteri, who sat next to him, seemed to neglect.

Typical, but he couldn’t say he wasn’t used to it.

”Even if we are, it’s not as important as what I need to say.” Valtteri announced, leaning forward on the table like he was about to share a secret. He even drew out the suspense just enough for Fernando to consider asking.

”I talked a bit with George Russell’s friends who came to you a while ago, remember? They wouldn’t tell me who the kid was, but they still wanted me to help. Of course I agreed, it’s no fun going through your school years with no drama. Anyway, they’re certain it’s required, but he just wouldn’t admit it. So I said they could-“

“Requited?” Fernando cut him off, raising an eyebrow at the choice of words. He hoped this wasn’t what he was thinking.

Valtteri turned to him, smiling in amusement. “Yes, requited. You weren’t there when they talked to us, did Lewis give you the rundown?”

He turned to Lewis in confusion who gave him an irritated expression. “We have better things to talk about than our underclassmen having crushes on each other.”

Fernando wasn’t sure if he should scoff or laugh. So this was what this was about?

He’d heard about George Russell. The kid was brilliant, one of the smartest students to have ever attended this school. And knowing the kind of people this place produced, that says a lot. 

Not that he ever talked to him, either, but he’s heard. A few times from Lance Stroll, the student that he was supposed to mentor if he were to agree to the program Lewis had partaken in with George, which he thought was incredibly stupid, but Lance’s father, a major investor in the school, seemed determined that he was a good fit to help his son.

He felt bad for the kid, too. He had potential, but not nearly as much as someone like George. Lance admired him, wanted to be him. Everyone in their class must.

And meanwhile, here are the people in his class, speaking about him having a crush. Or, was it someone having a crush on him? Doesn’t matter. Either way, it’s stupid and a complete waste of their time.

Before he could say just that, even if it was fully shown in his expression, Sergio spoke up.

”Maybe you should focus more about your own love life rather than Russell’s,” He commented through bites of his food. “It’s funny, yes, but that isn’t our business.”

Valtteri rolled his eyes, ignoring the jab. “Please, don’t tell me you don’t ask Verstappen about this kind of thing.”

”That’s different,” Sergio protested.

A sudden silence settled around the table, an unspoken agreement that left Fernando confused passing through them. He turned to Lewis, eyebrow raised, but received no answer. He didn’t like feeling this out of touch.

”How is it different?” He ended up asking anyway.

Sergio hesitated, taking time to consider his words. “Max is like…” he made a vague gesture with his hand, “He’s different.”

That left him with more questions than answers, but before he could pry deeper, they’ve already changed subjects when someone Fernando didn’t pay attention to stopped by their table and spoke.

He rested his head against his fist, gaze absentmindedly drifting to where their underclassmen usually sat.

Should he be more involved in their lives? In their drama? Should he put some effort into helping Lance? He doubted his father gave him a proper education, and as far as he was aware, he didn’t have an older brother to fill in that gap. Perhaps he should try to show more interest in him.

God, he couldn’t believe those two were actually impacting his thoughts. He looked up just in time to see Valtteri making a crude gesture at James Vowles, a teacher-in-training - which Fernando learned was just a fancy word for ‘graduated last year but is too much of a coward to find a real job’ - as James left their table.

”What was that about?” He asked, and thankfully got a response this time.

”Someone’s mad at me for helping his favourite student with geography,” He explained bitterly. “Bet he’s jealous.”

Lewis rested his forehead in his palm. “I’ll probably regret asking this, but jealous of who?”

“Anyone I’ve ever dated,” Valtteri hummed, making Fernando question why he was still there. “But, in this example, I meant Alex Albon.”

Great. One more name he’ll need to ask Lance about.

“And did you see how mad he was? Absolutely fuming,” Lando spoke on the other line of Alex’s phone that was settled on the table besides him.

”Of course I saw, who do you think he went to after you did him that dirty?” He asked sarcastically, shaking his head at the fresh memory still engraved in his ears.

He barely stepped a single foot on school grounds George had found him, steam coming out of his ears as he dragged him into the privacy of an empty classroom and yelled his head off. He’d rarely ever seen George get nearly that mad, so he did his best to calm him down. He liked to tease him, sure, but he could tell when his friend needed him.

Still, Lando’s laugh echoed through the speaker all the same. “It’s not me who did him dirty, it was Max. Wait, how much did he tell you?”

Alex hummed, trying to recall the conversation.

”Well, you know George, he has tangerpes of angry in him. There’s sad angry, that’s how he usually gets, right? Like when his parents stayed at that business place they own instead of coming home on his birthday. You know, when you’re so angry, you want to cry.”

”I think he did cry that time,” Lando added, the mocking leaving his tone but humour staying in place. “What’s the other type?”

”Well,” Alex continued, unable to hold back a smirk even though Lando couldn’t see him, “There’s the confused kind of angry. When he doesn’t understand something so he gets frustrated and starts yelling. Or, well, you can also call it Max angry. I’ve only ever seen him get that way when it’s something Max did. So I could already tell what happened before he even opened his mouth.”

Lando huffed a little laugh, “That’s priceless,” He paused for a moment, probably wiping a tear from his eye. “What was he so mad about?”

”He thinks you like Max more than him.”

”Seriously? I even told him I was with Valtteri, it’s not like I-“ Lando cut himself off, muttering a quiet “Ohhhh.”

Alex snorted. “Yeah,”

”Did he think I was lying? No- does he think I’m in love with Max or something?”

Alex grinned. “He’d kill you if that was the case. But yeah, he said he was certain you lied to him. He’s scared that you suddenly like Max better as a friend because he got higher scores than him.”

He could practically hear Lando’s disbelief over the phone. “This guy…” he muttered fondly. “Over a few points on some test. He’s getting like this over, what, 3 points? I know Max and I don’t talk that much, but really? He thinks I’ll replace him that easily?”

”Apparently.” Alex said, pausing for a moment, voice turning a bit mischievous. “I told Valtteri, by the way.”

”You- not about Max, right?”

”What? Of course not. I’m not an idiot,” Alex defended himself. “I told him that George is jealous. And you know what he said? We can use that to make George have to talk to Max, then they’ll actually talk about it. Imagine how that conversation goes.”

Lando snickered. “How we do get them to talk, though? George didn’t even look at Max last time. He just gave him the finger and stormed off.”

”He did?” Alex repeated, unsure what to make of that. Even when he gets confused-mad, George usually doesn’t do as little as curse, just for the sake of his reputation. Of course, he’s always been more liberal when it came to Max, but this was a whole new level. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen him flip someone off.”

”Well, me neither,” Lando mumbled after a moment, “He really got that mad, huh?”

Alex sighed, unable to stop the smile forming on his face. It was amusing just how easily Max got on his friend’s nerves. They were hopeless.

“If he won’t talk to him now, we just need to make him angrier, right?” Lando continued before Alex had time to catch his train of thought. “I mean, if he gets so annoyed that he can’t control himself, he’ll have to say something.”

”Wouldn’t they just end up yelling at each other?”

He didn’t have to see Lando to hear the shrug in his voice. “Worth a try?”

”I don’t know how I feel about this,” Alex mumbled, starting to feel a bit bad for his friend. But Lando wouldn’t let the sympathy get the better of him.

”Come on, we’re doing this for him. He’d never talk to Max about it otherwise.”

”Yeah, yeah, alright,” Alex dismissed, taking the phone into his hand again. “I’ll call you back in a bit.”

They exchanged goodbyes before he dialed George’s number, forming the bits of the plan together in his head. George would thank them later, or, hopefully he will, and Max will surely thank them sooner.

The call picked up after four rings to a, “Hello?”

”Have you noticed anything strange with Lando lately?” Alex asked instead of returning the greeting, putting on his best concerned tone. “Any time I try to hang out with him, he’s at Max’s. They’re having a sleepover this weekend, too.” At least that part wasn’t a lie, as Lando initially informed him in the call.

There was a brief silence between them, George’s tone cold and hostile when he finally spoke again.

”When did Verstappen become Max to you?” 

Chapter Text

Max leaned back against the car seat of the Bugatti Chiron, eyes staring just ahead of Charles who sat next to him.

If he had to pinpoint a place and time where they started going to school together, he’d probably say it was in his first week of studying here. He was used to walking to school every day, but the F1 academy was much farther away from his house than anywhere he had ever had to walk on a daily basis.

He was durable, there was no question about it, but he’d be completely drained after walking all those kilometers from his house to school and the other way around. The earliest he arrived home was just around 6 o’clock, and he’d be too drained to do anything.

On the last day of the first week, Charles’s dad offered to give him a ride back home.

It was a casual, kind offer to one of his son’s friends, but Max saw it like affection.

After that first ride, he offered another, then another, and by the second week, he was leaving school with Charles out of habit.

When Charles found out Max was still making the long trip from his house to school, he convinced his dad to make the trip both ways.

But that was only half of it.

Maybe it started way before that, sometime when Max was still in middle school, when his dad delivered that lesson that still rang in his head.

”I’m not paying for any bus, stop being so lazy. You have legs, don’t you? Use them.”

So he did. Back then, he didn’t have it in him to argue back. To shout or scoff like he did today. To stand on his own and protect himself.

So he just did. For years on end. The distance wasn’t too far from where he studied, but to a child his age it might have been. But it was worth it, he supposed, as it always kept him in shape and too drained from energy to cause trouble at his school. At least, that’s what his dad would say.

Max knew it made him weak. He knew that he was avoiding something that could help him in the future, a strength he could acquire from working so hard every day. He knew that if his dad were to find out about this deal, he’d stop him from meeting Charles ever again.

He didn’t tell Charles any of it, but he had a sense that he understood him to a point. After all, why would he offer him help if he didn’t? And why would he agree to Max’s stupid requests of getting dropped off at the back entrance, where no one would see them exit the same car?

Max was forced back to reality when the sounds of the engine around him dimmed out, letting him know they had arrived. He grabbed his backpack, muttering a quick, “Thanks,” to Charles’s dad, before stepping out of the car.

Charles soon joined him, starting to speak about something as they headed for the school, but Max’s eyes caught on something that made him stop in his tracks.

He watched Charles pause, following Max’s gaze to see what he was staring at.

Of fucking course George Russell of all people had to ruin his morning.

And he was looking back at him, a stiff expression on his face, looking as if Max had just caught him in a lie.

Which was ironic, since Max was the one with something to hide.

Oh.

Oh fuck.

”The fuck are you doing here?” Max called before he could stop himself, marching over to George, who was returning his glare.

”Excuse me? This is my school, I’m allowed to go wherever I want.”

Max kept taking steps closer, probably a little too close, until George started walking backwards. What a coward, can’t even handle a little proximity.

”No one ever comes back here,” He stated, which wasn’t entirely true but just enough to be believable. If he saw anyone here, after all, he’d have to find somewhere else to be dropped off.

He can’t afford people seeing him like that. As if he’s just using his friends, like he needs any help. And the last person he needs to have that kind of power over him is George.

”Why now? Who told you I’d be here? What’s your problem with me?”

George blinked, staring at him like he was a madman. He was quite a bit taller than Max, but he didn’t seem to know how to use it.

”What are you on about, Verstappen? I’m just taking a walk. Not everything has to do with you and your egotistical face,” He bit back.

Max finally stopped cornering George when his back was almost against a wall. He looked at him with nothing but hatred, panic, and anger mixing in his blood to create an urgency to do something. He didn’t know what, he just knew it needed to happen. Now.

Something to stop him from telling everyone, to stop him from understanding, to just… just stop this.

”Taking a walk?” He repeated, as if that was the most unrealistic excuse he’d ever heard. “Your weak ass doesn’t ’take walks’, you’d probably be left out of breath just by going up a flight of stairs.”

That caused George to look pissed, clearly taking offense to that. “What the hell is that supposed to mean? I’m actually quite in shape, thank you very much, unlike Mr. Apparently-takes-an-uber-to-school-every-day. Can your fragile little legs not handle it? Do you have Charles carry your books for you?”

Max saw red.

”Watch your fucking tongue,” He sneered, leaning so close he could kiss George without laying a hand on him.

Wait, what?

Max practically shoved himself away, not missing the way George flinched when he moved - probably thinking he was going to hit him instead. He exhaled sharply, trying to calm himself down. There was still anger in his eyes, but some of it was directed at himself now.

So, he did the first thing he could think of, and gave an empty retort.

”Really? In shape? You?”

George scoffed, still a bit shaken from whatever just happened, but found his words much quicker than Max did. “Yes, Verstappen, not everyone who enjoys sports make it their entire personality.”

”Bullshit. If you had something to be proud of, you would be.” Max stated, debating if he should bring up George’s grades - but decided against it in the end.

It’s not worth it. Not now, anyway. Not when he just thought… whatever that was.

He needs to go wash his face down, or wash his emotions down with a RedBull.

Yet, undeterred, George narrowed his eyes at him. “Please, I have plenty of things to be proud of. I’m very good at padel, for one. I’m an excellent swimmer, I used to do a lot of karting and-“

”You? Karting?” Max interrupted, sounding like that word personally offended him. “I’d have an easier time believing you’re a supermodel than anything close to a racing driver.”

George stared at him for a beat, brows furrowed in confusion. It took him until George muttered, “You think I could be a supermodel?” Before he realized what that sounded like.

Just fucking great. What was going on with his thoughts about George today?

”Yeah, well, they say the prettier outside, the uglier inside, or whatever the fuck.”

He didn’t give himself a chance to embarrass himself again after that, instead sharply turning around and storming off.

To pour salt on his wounds, Charles was waiting for him, having witnessed the entire thing, and laughed at him all the way to class. He wished that Bugatti would come back and run him over.

“You’re right,” George announced as soon as he spotted Alex entering their classroom, “Verstappen is stealing my friends.”

Alex gave him a strange look as he reached his seat, setting his books down on the table without breaking eye contact. “I never said that?”

”Yes you have,” George frowned, “You called me about it yesterday. It sounded like a pretty big deal to you.”

A flicker of recognition passed through Alex’s face before it turned humorous. “You mean that I said Lando was being weird?” He looked like he was trying to hold back laughter, which didn’t fail to upset George. “It’s only a Lando thing, you know how he gets. If it bothers you, why don’t you talk to him?”

As if he could ever tell Lando he was upset over this. Of course, his friends were allowed to have other friends even if he didn’t like them. They can do whatever they want, and it’s none of George’s business. Hell, he wouldn’t even care if Lando was suddenly Max’s best friend in the whole world.

“It’s not about Lando, and we both know it,” He replied eventually.

Alex rolled his eyes fondly. “No? Is he stealing any more of your friends, then?”

”Yes, actually, he is,” George quipped, fingers gripping the front of Alex’s desk as he leaned on it. “He went to school with Charles this morning. Who goes to school in someone else’s car? They must have met earlier today, or even yesterday. Since when do Charles’s parents let him be friends with pricks like Verstappen?”

That got Alex’s attention, tone slightly accusatory. “Since when are you and Leclerc friends?”

”I, well,” He muttered, stopping to consider it. Sure, he and Charles weren’t very close with each other, but it didn’t mean they weren’t friends. They never hung out after school by themselves, or even in school without a group, but they talk sometimes. They get along fine, too.

”We’re not really, but the point still stands. Charles went to the study session at my house, remember? Someone probably told Verstappen, and he just had to get back at me. Of fucking course he did.”

”George, do you really think Max… Verstappen cares enough about one conversation you and Charles had to use him to annoy you?”

He didn’t even hesitate. “Obviously.”

Alex’s lips twitched with the faint hint of a grin. “Are you even hearing yourself?”

Of course he was. George knew very well how delusional he sounded, but everything was clicking together. Why else would Lando suddenly be all over Max? Why else would Charles suddenly give him a ride to school, like Max’s family didn’t have the money to buy a private driver for every single student in their school?

So he only doubled down harder. “Remember when I was still working on that research paper with Lewis, and Verstappen started constantly picking fights with him for no reason? I’m pretty sure he still does that today.”

”I’m pretty sure it had more to do with his brother than with you.”

George paused, irritation morphing into confusion on his face. “Brother?”

He wasn’t sure why he was so surprised that Max had siblings. It sounded pretty obvious that his parents, two successful scholars, would want to continue the family name with multiple children. But Max’s brother was in this school?

Alex shrugged, not reacting much to the surprise in George’s tone. “I think they’re brothers, yeah. Sergio Perez, he’s in Lewis’s class. They got into an argument over something, and Max punched Lewis over it.”

“That guy is insane,” George muttered, astonished at Max’s audacity. Sure, he wouldn’t be pleased if someone insulted one of his siblings either, but throwing hands over disagreements was irresponsible and unnecessary.

”I thought you’d say that,” Alex only chuckled.

George was about to continue, maybe start ranting about how irrational Max was, but before he got the chance to, the seat next to Alex was grabbed, and Carlos sat down in it. He glanced between the two of them once, then twice, and on the third one, Alex spoke. “I’ll explain later,” he dismissed, making George raise an eyebrow.

”Explain what exactly?”

He wasn’t sure how to react to Alex’s answer being, “You know.”

Every single time that Charles sat down with Lewis to work on their project, he regretted ever starting it more and more.

He wasn’t even sure how he’d gotten himself to agree to it in the first place. It didn’t even sound good in theory, doing a research paper for extra credit in the eventual SATs, with an older student assigned to him at random. And just his luck, he’d gotten paired with Lewis Hamilton - who had already done this once with possibly the best student in the entire academy and so had expectations for him.

Expectations that Charles couldn’t even come close to fulfilling.

It’s not that he wasn’t talented or that he lacked the skills to take on a project this size, not that at all. But he was under a lot of pressure both in school and in an orchestra he played the piano in, and in both of these cases, he was stuck with possibly the worst teachers he could ever ask for.

Not to mention that he and Lewis, although they got along well together, had absolutely nothing to talk about.

Neither of them was very passionate about the subject, the effects of energy-based engines instead of fuel-based ones on Motorsport cars, and with the contrast between their lives, it felt hard to connect with him.

Whenever they’d meet to work, they end up spending most of the time researching or exchanging explanations, and the little break time they allowed themselves was spent silently on their phones.

The most they managed to get out of their time together was playing mobile chess sitting on Charles’s bed or making small talk through awkward lunches at each other’s houses.

Charles was at a bit of a loss, to be honest, and it took him a particular conversation before he reached the solution.

They were sitting in Lewis’s house, the table between them filled with scattered papers and two laptops opened on the same document. They’d been going at it for god knows how long, trying to find a particular citation Lewis swore he remembered seeing that could save them hours of work.

Ironically, it’s about the same amount of time they’ve spent looking for it.

They didn’t talk too much during this phase, only exchanging notes or suggestions verbally when they were too long to type out. But they were both getting tired, and it must have shown, as Lewis spoke up.

”You want some coffee?”

Charles looked up from his laptop, rubbing one of his eyes. “I don’t drink coffee,” he muttered tiredly, although something to wake himself up did sound good. “Do you have energy drinks?”

Lewis raised an eyebrow, however pushed his chair back to stand up. “You drink energy drinks but not coffee?”

”No, well, sort of. I have a friend who drinks RedBull almost every day, so sometimes he brings me a can or two.”

”That’s hardly healthy,” Lewis hummed, before strolling to another room wordlessly.

Now left alone, Charles fidgeted with his mouse before pulling out his phone. It probably wouldn’t be helping his eyes much to go from one screen to another, but health wasn’t the biggest concern when deadlines existed.

He was about to go and search something up when he noticed a text message notification pop up.

Not three entire seconds passed before his phone rang.

He picked up immediately, not wanting to cause any loud noises that might disturb Lewis’s dog, Roscoe, who was sleeping under the table.

”Hello?”

”Hey,” Carlos greeted on the other end of the line, “Do you know what’s going on with George?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, only responding a few seconds later when he realized the other boy couldn’t hear him. “No? Is something wrong with him?”

”I suspect so,” Carlos explained, “I don’t know if something is wrong, but definitely strange. He was really angry at school yesterday, he yelled at Alex and said your name a few times. I didn’t want to ask about it because he looked mad.”

”He did?” Charles echoed, confusion in his tone as he tried to recall if he’d done anything to George.

Sure, the two of them were definitely not friends, but it’s not like they hated each other or something. They got along well, had a few conversations from time to time, and Charles heard a lot of good things about him through Lewis.

George and Lewis were good friends, weren’t they? They worked on a similar project before, too.

If anyone would know how to get along with Lewis better, it would be George. If anyone could give him some help or advice on how to deal with this, it would absolutely, surely be George.

While he had his eureka epiphany, Carlos continued speaking.

”Yes, he did. And he wasn’t very happy today, either. He dragged Alex to the back of the school first thing in the morning, and when they came back, he was fuming.”

”Well, that’s not uncharacteristic of him,” Charles reasoned, voice going quieter when he noticed Lewis stepping back into the room - suddenly feeling guilty that he was on the phone while in someone else’s house. “Do you mind if we talk later? I’m kind of in the middle of something.”

He heard Carlos sigh into the phone. “Right. Good luck with whatever you’re going through.”

”Tell that to George,” He couldn’t resist retorting, before saying their goodbyes and hanging up the phone.

He barely noticed when Lewis leaned across the desk to place a can of Monster Energy in front of him before leaning back into his chair with his own cup of coffee.

”Ah, thank you,” He muttered, shoving his phone back in his pocket before grabbing the drink.

”No problem,” Lewis waved it off, “Didn’t have any RedBull, so I hope this works.”

It didn’t, really, the two drinks tasted nothing alike, and Charles never particularly liked Monster either. But he wasn’t going to say that after being so rude to his host.

A wave of uncertain silence washed over them, neither speaking for a long moment as each of them sipped their drinks.

It was Lewis who broke it first.

”Were you talking to George?”

Charles raised an eyebrow, momentarily being snapped back into the conversation. “George Russell?” He clarified, as if he knew any other Georges.

Lewis shrugged, like he was trying to play casual. “That’s the one.”

”No, I wasn’t.”

”Right.” Lewis muttered, glancing down at his cup again before continuing. “I just heard his name, and- well, can I trust you to keep a secret?”

Charles stared at him like Lewis had just asked to use his toothbrush.

“Uh, I don’t… what?”

Lewis either misheard or chose to ignore that answer, as he went on to speak anyway.

”I’m worried for the kid,” He confessed, sighing into his coffee. “All the pressure on him is enough, not to mention the expectations he has for himself. I see myself in him, you know? I used to be just like that, the best of the best, until I wasn’t. And then…” he gestured with his hand, “I didn’t take it well. And I wish I knew what to do, but I didn’t. And I’m worried that George doesn’t know, either.”

Charles felt like he was intruding on something, hearing a conversation that wasn’t meant for him. He wasn’t one for gossip, nor for emotional talks like this, and it left him at a loss for words. 

Eventually, he did manage out, “Why don’t you tell him, um, that?”

Lewis grimaced, burying his face in his cup. “It’s not my place.”

Charles wanted to ask if Lewis was asking him to do it, but all he managed to mumble was an exhausted, “Coward.”

Alex should have figured that something was truly off about George when he stopped sitting with him at lunch.

It wasn’t completely his fault, though. He didn’t realize immediately that he was being ignored. Well, he wasn’t the one to notice it either - nor was it Lando who usually sat with both of them.

Instead, it was Carlos who pointed out that Alex had been eating with him all week, with George nowhere to be found.

Sure, it’s not like they had to be glued to each other’s sides, but the absence of a sarcastic comment or inside joke formed through years of friendship was evident.

Lando, who had also joined them for that day, immediately agreed.

”Right? He hasn’t talked to me in days. I tried asking him about a movie we wanted to watch, and he just completely ignored me.”

”That’s really unlike him,” Alex noted, little moments of this sudden attitude change coming back up in his head. “But yeah, he is acting strange. I thought he was just mad that you and Max are hanging out, but he isn’t speaking with me much either.”

Of course, everyone had moments were they wanted to be left alone, but even then, George usually told them outright. Said he was having a bad day or had something on his mind and needed some space.

He didn’t just… pull away. Disappear. Distance himself from them.

Or, well, he supposed that did happen once, but that was Alex’s fault for copying off him in an exam and getting them both punished.

The thought was interrupted by Carlos’s confused mumble of, “Can one of you explain what’s going on already?”

Alex blinked, remembering he still hadn’t told Carlos about what they heard, or, well, any of their plans after it. However, he could already see Lando’s smirk growing, so he allowed him to give the rundown.

”Well, you know how George and Max have been going at each other’s throats since, like, middle school?” He waited for the nod from Carlos before continuing, “And how Max just took his title of best student or whatever it was? And that George is being an ass to anyone who even looks at Max too closely?”

”Sure… and?”

Lando grinned. “He’s jealous.”

Carlos gave him a long, confused stare, failing to understand what he was getting at. “Of?”

”Of Max, obviously,” Lando snickered, “Just look at how he gets whenever Max walks into a room, he becomes a completely different person. He talks about him all the time, too. It’s like he’s not even trying to hide it.”

Sure, it was a bit of an exaggeration, but Lando did have a point. Alex suspected it since the day the two had their first fight, which he hardly remembers what it was even about, and every one of his suspicions were only becoming more true.

But it must have come as a surprise to Carlos, who looked absolutely stunned.

”Why would he… You really think that? Don’t they hate each other? Is Max even…” He gestured vaguely with his hand, which Alex could only guess what that implied.

”He might,” Alex shrugged, “It’s not exactly nice to guess other people’s sexual orientations, but,” He sent a teasing glance Lando’s way, “We might have heard him say something we probably shouldn’t have.”

It took exactly one excruciatingly long moment for Carlos to cover his face with his hands.

”Please don’t tell me more.”

Lando laughed, patting the other’s shoulder only to be rewarded with a half-hearted glare. “It’s not like that, don’t worry, he just-“

”I don’t want to hear it,” Carlos interjected, swatting Lando’s hand away. “I guess it does make sense, though.”

”How come?” Alex replied almost immediately.

“I heard you and George talk about Charles, so I asked him if something happened,” Carlos explained. “After I asked a few times, he said that he watched George and Max fight a few days ago when they went to school together. And now Max doesn’t take rides with him anymore.”

So that was what George was so mad about, Alex thought, only for Lando to question, “Max takes rides with Charles?”

They spent the rest of lunch catching each other up, in the process probably revealing a little too much about their friend. Alex didn’t see much wrong with it, though, as in the end it would all be for George’s sake.

Carlos had some interesting insight into Max’s life, too.

He wonders how much worse their insults would get if George knew Max’s parents were divorced.