Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The venue was perfect.

Too perfect. White flowers everywhere. Chairs in neat rows. The kind of lighting that probably cost more than a kidney. Everything screaming "we spent too much money on this" and "Charles planned everything down to the napkin folds."

Max stood in the groom's suite. Tie undone. Jacket half on. Staring at his reflection like it had answers.

It didn't have answers. Just his face. His very-about-to-get-married face. His very-about-to-marry-Charles face. His very-just-had-sex-with-his-best-man-in-a-supply-closet-forty-minutes-ago face.

That last one didn't show. Probably. Hopefully.

"You've got that look," Daniel said.

Max turned. Daniel was sprawled on the couch. Bow tie perfect. Suit perfect. Best man perfect. Affair partner perfect. Looking completely relaxed like he hadn't just been pressed against a shelf of cleaning supplies while Max-

"What look?" Max asked.

"The 'I'm doing mental math' look. Very serious. Very concentrated. What are you calculating? Odds of getting caught? Probability Charles finds out? Chance someone saw us?"

"I'm not calculating anything."

"You're definitely calculating. I can see it. Very obvious. You get this little wrinkle." Daniel pointed at his own forehead. "Right here. Appears when you're stressed. Very cute. Very telling."

"I'm not stressed."

"You're extremely stressed. You've checked your phone six times in the last two minutes. You keep looking at the door. You're standing like someone's about to burst in and accuse you of crimes."

"I'm getting married in forty-five minutes."

"And you had sex with me forty minutes ago. Very efficient timing. Very organized."

Max closed his eyes. Breathed. Tried to find that thing he used to have. That calm. That focus. That ability to compartmentalise that made him a four-time world champion.

Not working. Compartments broken. Everything leaking into everything else. The Max who loved Charles. The Max who kept sleeping with Daniel. The Max who was apparently capable of having a full affair two hours before his wedding and his biggest concern was logistics.

Not guilt. Guilt would be normal. Guilt would be expected. Guilt would make sense.

Max didn't feel guilty. Max felt stressed about timing. About getting caught. About the fact that Daniel's cologne was probably still on his jacket and someone might notice.

What did that say about him as a person? Probably nothing good. Definitely nothing Charles would want to hear.

"Stop spiraling," Daniel said. "I can hear you spiraling from here. Very loud spiraling. Echoing."

"I'm not spiraling."

"You're absolutely spiraling. Classic Max spiral. Starts with the forehead wrinkle. Progresses to the jaw clench. Ends with you snapping at someone. I'm familiar with the pattern. Very predictable."

"I don't snap at people."

"You snap at everyone. It's your primary communication method. Snap first, apologize later. Very Dutch. Very efficient."

Max wanted to argue. Couldn't argue. Daniel was right. Daniel was always right about the Max things. Knew him too well. Had known him too long. Knew exactly which buttons to push and when to push them and how to make everything simultaneously better and worse.

"We can't do this anymore," Max said.

"Do what? Talk? Exist in the same room? Participate in your wedding? Be specific."

"You know what."

"Say it. Use your words. Communication is important. Very healthy. Therapists recommend it."

"The sex, Daniel. We can't keep having sex."

"Why not? We're very good at it. Excellent chemistry. Ten out of ten. Would recommend."

"I'm getting married."

"In forty-four minutes. Yes. I'm aware. I'm the best man. I have a speech prepared. Very touching. Might make people cry. Definitely has double meanings you'll catch and Charles won't."

"That's worse! That makes it worse!"

"Does it though? I think it makes it funnier. Comedy gold. Subtle innuendo. The audience by which I mean you will appreciate it."

Max grabbed his tie. Started tying it. Needed something to do with his hands. Something that wasn't grabbing Daniel. Or strangling Daniel. Or doing other things to Daniel that were absolutely not appropriate forty-four minutes before marrying someone else.

"This is insane," Max said.

"Little bit."

"We're insane."

"Definitely insane. Fully unhinged. Completely off the rails. But that's what makes it fun."

"It's not fun! It's stressful! What if someone finds out?"

"Then someone finds out. We deal with it. You're very good at dealing with things. Crisis management. It's literally your job. Well. Your job is driving fast and complaining about the car. But you're also good at crisis management."

"This is different."

"How?"

"Because it's Charles! Because I love him! Because I'm marrying him in forty-three minutes and if he finds out I've been sleeping with you he'll-" Max stopped. Started again. "He'll be hurt. Very hurt. Devastatingly hurt."

Daniel's face changed. Just slightly. That thing that happened when Max said real things. When the jokes stopped working. When reality pushed through.

"Then he won't find out," Daniel said. Simpler. Clearer. Actually serious for once.

"How can you be sure?"

"Because the only people who know are you and me. And I'm not telling. Are you telling?"

"No."

"Then we're fine. Perfect secret. Perfectly hidden. No one suspects. No one knows. No one will ever know."

"Kimi knows."

Silence. Real silence. Daniel processing. Daniel's face doing the thing. The 'wait what' thing.

"What?"

"Kimi. Kimi Antonelli. He walked in. Earlier. During. He saw us."

"The child?"

"He's not a child. He's eighteen. He drives for Mercedes."

"The one who looks twelve?"

"He's eighteen!"

"But looks twelve."

"Yes but he's not twelve he's a legal adult with a professional racing career and he walked in on us and he saw everything and now he knows."

Daniel sat up. Actually sat up. Actually looked concerned. First time all day. Maybe first time all month. Daniel didn't do concerned. Daniel did chaos and jokes and refusing to take anything seriously.

But he looked concerned now. Very concerned. Maximum concern.

"Okay," Daniel said. "Okay. When did this happen?"

"Twenty minutes ago. Right after we-  right after. I was fixing my shirt. You were fixing your hair. He opened the door. Supply closet door. The one near the kitchens. He saw us."

"Did he say anything?"

"He said 'Oh my god' and then he left. Very fast. Very disturbed. He looked traumatised."

"Traumatised?"

"Like he'd seen something he couldn't unsee. Like his childhood innocence died. Except he's eighteen so it's not childhood innocence it's just regular innocence. But still. Dead. Very dead. We killed it."

Daniel started laughing. Actually laughing. Full laugh. Head back. Hand on chest. The kind of laugh that meant he found something genuinely funny instead of just mildly amusing.

"This isn't funny," Max said.

"It's extremely funny. The tiny child-"

"He's not a child-"

"-the tiny Mercedes driver walked in on us having sex in a supply closet at your wedding and you're worried about his innocence. That's hilarious. That's comedy gold. That's the best thing I've heard all day."

"He could tell Charles!"

"He won't tell Charles. Why would he tell Charles? He doesn't even know Charles. They've met like twice. You don't tell someone you barely know that their fiancé is cheating on them. That's not how human interaction works."

"What if he does though? What if he decides it's the right thing? The moral thing? What if he has a conscience?"

"Then we bribe him."

"We're not bribing him!"

"Why not? Bribery works. Very effective. Very simple. Money talks. Everyone has a price."

"He drives for Mercedes. He's rich. He doesn't need money."

"Then we bribe him with something else. Insider information. Paddock gossip. Setup secrets. Everyone wants something."

Max finished his tie. Looked at himself in the mirror. Tie perfect. Suit perfect. Face less perfect. Face stressed. Face very obviously stressed.

"This is a disaster," Max said.

"It's not a disaster. It's a minor complication. Very manageable. Very solvable. We'll talk to him. Explain the situation. Ask him politely to not say anything. Very diplomatic. Very mature."

"When have you ever been diplomatic?"

"I'm diplomatic sometimes. Occasionally. Rarely. But I can be. When properly motivated. And I'm very motivated. Your happiness is important to me. Charles's happiness is important to me. Your marriage is important to me. Therefore Kimi's silence is important to me."

Max turned around. Looked at Daniel. Really looked at him. Daniel on the couch. Daniel in his best man suit. Daniel who'd been Max's teammate. Daniel who'd been Max's friend. Daniel who'd become something else. Something more. Something complicated.

Something Max couldn't have. Shouldn't have. Wasn't supposed to want.

But wanted anyway.

"Why are you helping me?" Max asked.

"Because I'm your best man. It's literally my job. Says so in the title. Best man. I'm the best. I'm helping. Very straightforward."

"That's not an answer."

"It's the only answer you're getting."

They looked at each other. Moment stretching. Something passing between them. Something Max didn't want to examine. Didn't want to name. Didn't want to acknowledge as real.

A knock on the door. Loud knock. Very loud. Emergency knock.

Max jumped. Actually jumped. Guilty conscience jump. Even though he didn't feel guilty. Just felt caught. Potentially caught. Possibly about to be caught.

Daniel got up. Opened the door. Christian Horner stood there. Team principal suit. Team principal face. Team principal energy.

"Max," Christian said. "We have a problem."

Of course there was a problem. There was always a problem. Problems were Max's natural state. Problems and chaos and terrible decisions.

"What problem?" Max asked.

"Your side of the venue. It's very . . . empty."

"Empty?"

"Empty. Compared to Charles's side. Charles's side is full. Family. Friends. Half of Monaco apparently. Your side has Daniel. Some Red Bull personnel. That's it. It's very unbalanced. Very noticeable. People are starting to comment."

Max had known this would happen. Had known his side would be empty. Had invited people. Some people. Not many people. Not his father. Definitely not his father. His father wasn't invited. His father would never be invited. His father could rot.

His mother had said maybe. His sister had said maybe. Both maybes had turned into no. Both nos had hurt but Max understood. His family was complicated. His family was difficult. His family was not the kind of family that showed up to weddings and pretended everything was fine.

So his side was empty. So what. So Charles's side was full. So everyone would notice. So it would be awkward.

Could be worse. Could be his father showing up. Could be his father making a scene. Could be his father ruining everything like he ruined everything.

Empty was better than that. Empty was safer.

"It's fine," Max said.

"It's not fine. It looks weird. It looks like you don't have anyone. Like no one cares about you. Like you're alone."

"I'm not alone. I have Charles."

"Charles is marrying you. That doesn't count. You need people on your side. Your side of the venue. Physically. In seats."

"I have people. You just listed them. Daniel. Red Bull people. That's people. Plural people."

"It's not enough people. Charles has his entire family. His mother. His brothers. Extended family. Friends from Monaco. Friends from karting. Friends from school. His side is overflowing. Your side looks abandoned."

"Then people can sit on my side. Problem solved. Very simple."

Christian sighed. That sigh. The Max sigh. The why-do-you-make-everything-difficult sigh. "That's not how weddings work."

"Why not? They're just seats. Just chairs. Charles's family can sit on my side. Fill it up. Make it balanced. Very logical solution."

"Max-"

"I don't care about the sides Christian. I don't care if mine is empty. I care about marrying Charles. That's what matters. That's what this is about. Not the seats. Not the balance. Charles."

Christian looked at him. That look. The proud look. The you're-a-good-kid-even-though-you're-difficult look. The I'm-not-your-father-but-I-care-about-you look.

"Okay," Christian said. "Okay. If you're sure."

"I'm sure."

"Charles's family is going to notice."

"Let them notice. They'll understand. Charles understands. That's what matters."

Christian nodded. Clapped Max on the shoulder. Fatherly clap. Not-his-actual-father-but-close-enough clap. "You're doing good kid. Really good. Charles is lucky."

Christian left. Door closing behind him. Leaving Max and Daniel alone again. In the groom's suite. Forty minutes before the wedding. Still stressed. Still worried about Kimi. Still trying not to think about supply closets.

"Your side is empty," Daniel said.

"I noticed."

"Doesn't bother you?"

"Should it?"

"Normal people would be bothered. Normal people would care about wedding aesthetics. About balance. About how things look."

"I'm not people."

"No. You're definitely not people. You're Max. Max doesn't care about aesthetics. Max cares about winning. And Charles. Winning and Charles. That's the whole list."

"That's not the whole list."

"Name one other thing."

"You."

Silence. The bad kind. The real kind. The kind where Daniel actually stopped talking because Max said something he shouldn't have. Something too honest. Something too real.

"Max," Daniel said. Quiet. Careful. Not Daniel voice. Just voice.

"Forget it. Doesn't matter. Doesn't mean anything. Just stressed. Wedding stress. Normal wedding stress."

"Max-"

"We should go. Check on things. Make sure everything's ready. Very best man activities. Very appropriate."

Daniel looked at him. That look. The seeing look. The knowing look. The you-can't-lie-to-me-I-know-you-too-well look.

But he didn't push. Didn't ask. Didn't make it a thing. Just nodded. Just accepted. Just let Max pretend nothing had changed.

Even though everything had changed. Even though Max had just admitted Daniel mattered. Even though they both knew what that meant.

They left the groom's suite. Walked down the hallway. Side by side. Best man and groom. Friends. Something more than friends. Something they couldn't name. Something they couldn't have.

Something that was going to destroy everything if they weren't careful.

But Max had never been careful. Had never been good at restraint. Had never been the person who made smart decisions about feelings.

Max made smart decisions about racing. About tire strategy. About when to push. When to hold back. When to attack.

Max made terrible decisions about everything else.

The hallway opened into the main venue space. People everywhere. Guests arriving. Charles's family arriving. His mother. Pascale. Beautiful in her dress. Crying already. Happy crying. Mother-of-the-groom crying.

Lorenzo and Arthur behind her. Both in suits. Both looking proud. Both looking happy. The Leclerc family. Together. United. Supporting Charles.

Max's side of the venue: empty chairs. Some Red Bull shirts. Christian talking to Helmut. GP adjusting his tie. Daniel next to Max.

That was it. That was his family. His team. His people.

Not a family. Not really. But close enough. The people who'd chosen him. The people who'd stayed. The people who cared even when Max made it difficult.

Even when Max made terrible decisions. Even when Max had affairs before his wedding. Even when Max was a disaster.

"It's fine," Max said. To himself. To Daniel. To the universe.

"It is fine," Daniel agreed. "You have Charles. That's all that matters."

"That's all that matters," Max repeated.

A crash from the side entrance. Loud crash. Dramatic crash. Someone-fell-over crash.

Everyone turned. Max turned. Daniel turned. The entire venue turned.

Kimi Antonelli was on the ground. Security guard standing over him. The guard looking apologetic. Kimi looking furious. Absolutely furious. Murder furious.

"I'm not a child!" Kimi yelled. Italian accent thick. Frustration thicker. "I'm eighteen! I drive in Formula One! I'm on the guest list! My name is literally on the list!"

The guard was holding a guest list. Checking it. Looking confused. "I don't see a Kimi Antonelli-"

"It's under Mercedes! Under the Mercedes section! Look under Mercedes!"

"There's no children listed under Mercedes-"

"I'M NOT A CHILD!"

Max looked at Daniel. Daniel looked at Max. Both thinking the same thing.

The person who'd walked in on them. The person who knew their secret. The person who could destroy everything.

Was currently being detained by security for looking too young.

This wedding was going to be a disaster.

Chapter Text

The venue was perfect.

Actually perfect. Not too perfect. Just perfect. The exact amount of perfect Charles had imagined when he started planning this wedding eight months ago. When Max had proposed. When Max had gotten down on one knee in their apartment in Monaco and said "Marry me" like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Like they hadn't spent years dancing around each other. Years of tension. Years of almost. Years of what-if.

And then Max had just asked. Simple. Direct. Very Max.

Charles had cried. Obviously cried. Immediately cried. Had said yes through tears and Max had laughed and pulled him close and everything had been perfect.

Like now. Like this moment. Standing in his groom's suite. Suit perfect. Hair perfect. Tie perfect. Everything perfect.

Charles looked at himself in the mirror. Groom Charles. Married Charles. About-to-be-married-to-Max Charles.

His chest hurt. Good hurt. The kind of hurt that came from being so happy it became physical. Became real. Became something living in his body.

"You're crying again," Pierre said.

Charles touched his face. Wet. When had that happened. When had he started crying. Hadn't even noticed. Too busy being happy. Too busy thinking about Max. Too busy imagining the rest of their lives.

"Happy tears," Charles said.

"Obviously happy tears. You've been crying happy tears for eight months. Since Max proposed. You cried for three days straight. Your eyes were so puffy Pascale thought you were sick."

"I was happy!"

"You were aggressively happy. Violently happy. Your happiness was concerning. I was concerned. Everyone was concerned."

"You can't be too happy."

"You can definitely be too happy. You were too happy. Maximum happiness. Overflow happiness. Happiness that needed medical attention."

Charles laughed. Wiped his eyes. Tried to stop crying. Couldn't stop crying. Didn't want to stop crying. This was his wedding day. He was allowed to cry. Encouraged to cry. Expected to cry.

Pierre was adjusting his tie. Even though his tie didn't need adjusting. Even though everything was already perfect. But Pierre was being Pierre. Being the best man. Being the friend who'd been there since they were eight years old racing karts in the rain and crashing into each other and becoming inseparable.

"I can't believe this is real," Charles said.

"It's real. Very real. Very happening. In-" Pierre checked his watch. Fancy watch. Best man watch. "-thirty-eight minutes. You're getting married in thirty-eight minutes."

Charles's stomach flipped. Good flip. Excited flip. Race day flip. Pole position flip. The kind of flip that meant something important was about to happen.

More important than pole. More important than wins. More important than anything.

This was Max. This was forever. This was the most important moment of Charles's entire life.

"What if I cry during the vows?" Charles asked.

"You'll definitely cry during the vows. We've established this. You cry at everything. You cried at Toy Story 3. You cried at a commercial about soup. You're going to cry at your own wedding vows."

"What if I cry so much I can't say the vows?"

"Then you cry and eventually say the vows. Take your time. No one's rushing you. It's your wedding. You can cry for as long as you want."

"What if Max doesn't cry? What if I'm crying and Max isn't crying and everyone thinks it's weird?"

"Max will probably cry. He cries about you constantly. You just don't see it. He's very sneaky about it. Very private. But he definitely cries. I've seen him. At the last race. When you won. He was crying. Trying to hide it. Failed completely."

Charles smiled. Max crying at his win. Max being proud of him. Max loving him enough to cry. Max being Max. His Max.

"I love him so much," Charles said.

"I know. Everyone knows. It's very obvious. Very public. You talk about him constantly. Max this. Max that. Max is so talented. Max is so smart. Max is so handsome. It's disgusting. I'm disgusted. Everyone's disgusted."

"You're not disgusted."

"I'm a little disgusted. But also very happy for you. Mostly happy. Like seventy percent happy. Thirty percent disgusted."

Charles's phone buzzed. Text from his mother.

We're here! Arthur tried to trip Lorenzo on the way in. Lorenzo threatened to push him into the fountain. See you soon mon petit. I love you so much.

Charles showed Pierre the photo attached. His mother. Lorenzo. Arthur. All dressed up. All smiling. All here. His family. His people. The ones who'd raised him. Supported him. Loved him through everything.

Through karting. Through Formula One. Through the hard years. Through losing. Through winning. Through falling in love with Max.

"They're here," Charles said.

"Of course they're here. They love you. They love Max. They wouldn't miss this. This is the most important day of your life. Obviously they're here."

Charles felt the tears again. Coming back. Threatening to ruin his careful composure. His perfect appearance. His ready-to-get-married face.

"Stop making me cry."

"I'm not making you cry. You're making yourself cry. You're very emotional. It's your natural state. Emotional and French and dramatic."

"I'm Monégasque."

"Monaco is basically France. Close enough. Don't argue geography on your wedding day."

Another text. This one from Max.

Stop panicking. I can feel you panicking from here. We're getting married. It's going to be perfect. I love you.

Charles's chest did the thing. The Max thing. The I-love-him-so-much-I-might-die thing.

He texted back. How did you know I was panicking?

Because you're you. You panic before everything important. Very predictable. Very cute. Very Charles.

I'm not cute.

You're extremely cute. I'm marrying the cutest person alive. Everyone's jealous. Very lucky.

Charles smiled at his phone. At Max's words. At the evidence that Max knew him. Really knew him. Knew the panicking. Knew the overthinking. Knew the way Charles needed reassurance even when everything was fine.

I love you.

I love you too. See you in thirty-six minutes.

Don't be late.

I'm never late.

You're always late.

Not today. Today I'm early. Very early. Earliest I've ever been. Breaking records.

Charles laughed. Put his phone down. Looked at Pierre. Pierre was watching him with that look. That fond look. That my-best-friend-is-getting-married look. That I'm-so-happy-for-you look.

"He texted you," Pierre said.

"He did."

"He knew you were panicking."

"He always knows."

"That's because you're very obvious. Very transparent. Your face shows everything. Can't hide anything. Worst poker face in history."

"I don't play poker."

"Because you'd lose immediately. Everyone would know your cards. Very bad at deception. Very honest face. It's endearing. Max loves it."

Charles felt warm. That Max-loves-it feeling. That being-known feeling. That someone-sees-me-and-loves-me-anyway feeling.

"We're really doing this," Charles said.

"You're really doing this. Marrying Max. Forever. The rest of your lives. Growing old together. Very romantic. Very permanent. Very serious commitment."

"I know it's serious. I want serious. I want Max. I want forever."

"Good. Because Max wants the same thing. He's obsessed with you. Everyone can see it. The way he looks at you. The way he talks about you. The way he exists around you. It's very obvious. Very sweet. Slightly nauseating."

A knock on the door. Not gentle knock. Aggressive knock. Fernando knock.

Pierre opened it. Fernando stood there. Suit perfect. Hair perfect. Face doing that thing. That Fernando thing. That I-know-something-you-don't-know thing.

"Fernando," Pierre said. Suspicious. Very suspicious. Maximum suspicion. "What are you doing here?"

"Congratulating the groom. Paying respects. Observing the union. Very normal wedding guest behavior."

"You're never normal. You're always planning something. What are you planning?"

"Why do you assume I'm planning something?"

"Because you're you. You're always planning. It's your default state. Planning and scheming and being mysterious."

"I'm here as a guest. Simple guest. No plans. No schemes. Just here to witness young love. Very touching. Very emotional. Very symbolic of changing times in motorsport."

Charles stepped forward. Intercepted before this became an argument. Before Pierre and Fernando started their usual dynamic. The suspicious Frenchman and the cryptic Spaniard. "Thank you for coming Fernando. It means a lot. Really."

Fernando looked at him. Really looked. That assessing look. That reading-people look. That I-can-see-your-soul look. 

"You're happy," Fernando said.

"I am. Very happy. The happiest."

"Good. Happiness is rare in our sport. Should be protected. Should be celebrated. Should be maintained at all costs."

"I will. We will. Max and I will be happy. We'll make it work."

"Marriage is difficult. Racing marriages more difficult. Two competitors under one roof. Egos. Ambitions. Championships. Very complicated."

"We've talked about it. We have plans. We'll make it work."

Fernando nodded. Once. Sharp. That Fernando nod. The acknowledgment nod. "Good. You're prepared. Preparation is important. But also." He paused. Dramatic pause. Maximum drama. "Be ready for surprises."

"What surprises?"

"Life surprises. Marriage surprises. Today surprises. Weddings always have surprises. Some good. Some bad. Some very entertaining."

"Fernando-"

"Enjoy your day Charles. You've earned it. You and Max. You've both earned happiness." Fernando turned. Started leaving. Stopped. Turned back. "Also. Your security is detaining a Mercedes driver at the entrance. Thought you should know. Very awkward situation. Boy looks twelve. Claims to be eighteen. Very confusing for everyone involved."

Fernando left. Just like that. Cryptic information delivered. Maximum mystery. Zero explanation.

Pierre closed the door. "What was that?"

"Fernando being Fernando."

"He said surprises. What surprises? I don't like surprises. Surprises are bad. Nothing good comes from surprises."

"He's just being cryptic. It's his thing. There are no surprises. Everything is planned. Everything is perfect. Nothing will go wrong."

"Something always goes wrong."

"Nothing will go wrong today. Today is perfect. Today is my wedding. To Max. Nothing could go wrong."

Famous last words probably. Tempting fate. Jinxing it. But Charles refused to believe anything could ruin this day. This perfect day. This day he'd been planning for eight months.

"Also did he say security is detaining a Mercedes driver?" Pierre asked.

"He did say that."

"Which Mercedes driver?"

"I don't know. Lewis? George? Kimi?"

"Why would security detain Lewis or George? Everyone knows them. They're famous. Very recognizable."

"Then it's Kimi. Must be Kimi. He looks young. Very young. People mistake him for a child constantly. George complains about it."

"Should we help him?"

"Security will figure it out. They have a list. They'll check the list. They'll let him in. It's fine. Everything's fine."

Pierre didn't look convinced. Charles wasn't entirely convinced either. But Fernando had delivered the information and left. Classic Fernando move. Chaos and departure. His signature.

"We should check on things," Pierre said. "Make sure everything's ready. Very best man activities. Very responsible."

They left the groom's suite. Walked down the hallway. Past rooms where other people were getting ready. Past staff arranging flowers. Past the evidence of eight months of planning becoming real.

The main hall was visible from the hallway. Through the windows. Through the open doors. Charles could see it. His perfect venue. His perfect wedding. His perfect day.

Chairs in rows. White flowers everywhere. The aisle. The altar. Everything waiting. Everything ready. Everything about to become the setting for marrying Max.

Charles stopped. Just looking. Just taking it in. Just feeling the weight of this moment.

"It's beautiful," Pierre said.

"It is."

"You did good. Very beautiful venue. Very romantic. Very you."

"You think Max will like it?"

"Max will love it. Max loves everything you do. It's embarrassing. He's completely obsessed. Makes heart eyes constantly. Everyone notices. Everyone comments. It's become a meme in the paddock."

Charles laughed. Max making heart eyes. Max being obsessed. Max loving him publicly. Obviously. For everyone to see.

Good. Charles wanted everyone to see. Wanted everyone to know. Wanted the whole world to understand that Max was his and he was Max's and they were forever.

They walked closer to the main hall. Charles could see guests starting to arrive. His mother. Lorenzo. Arthur. All seated. All on his side. The Leclerc side. Family side. The side that was filling up fast.

More people arriving. Friends from Monaco. Friends from karting. Friends from school. People Charles had known his entire life. People who'd watched him grow up. People who were here to watch him marry Max.

His side was full. Getting fuller. Overflowing almost. So many people. So much love. So much support.

Charles looked at Max's side. The other side. The groom's side. The side that should be equally full.

Wasn't full. Wasn't even close to full. Just some chairs. Some Red Bull personnel. Christian Horner. Helmut Marko. GP. A few mechanics. Daniel Ricciardo.

That was it. That was Max's side. His family. His people. His support.

Charles's chest hurt. Bad hurt. The seeing-something-sad hurt. The understanding-something-painful hurt.

Where was Max's family? His mother? His sister? Anyone?

Charles knew Max's relationship with his father was bad. Very bad. Jos wasn't invited. Would never be invited. Max had been clear. Firm. Final. Jos Verstappen was not welcome at their wedding. Not welcome in their lives. Not welcome anywhere near them.

Charles had agreed. Obviously agreed. Had met Jos once. Once was enough. Once was too much. The man was awful. Terrible. Everything wrong with fathers concentrated into one person.

But Max's mother. His sister. They were supposed to come. They'd said maybe. Maybe had become probably. Probably had become...

Silence apparently. Absence. Empty chairs on Max's side.

"Where's Max's family?" Charles asked. Quiet. Concerned. That concerned feeling.

Pierre followed his gaze. Saw the empty side. Saw the imbalance. Saw the same thing Charles was seeing.

"I don't know," Pierre said. Carefully. That careful voice. The handling-something-delicate voice. "Maybe they're running late?"

"Maybe."

But Charles didn't think they were running late. Running late meant they were coming. Running late meant they'd arrive. Running late meant Max would have someone on his side.

This looked different. This looked like not coming. This looked like absence. This looked like Max being alone.

Except Max wasn't alone. Max had Red Bull. Max had his team. Max had the people who'd chosen him. Who'd stayed. Who'd supported him through everything.

Max had Charles. Would have Charles. In thirty-two minutes Max would have Charles officially. Forever. Permanently.

That was enough. That had to be enough. Charles would make it enough.

"I should talk to him," Charles said.

"No," Pierre said. Immediately. Firmly. "You can't see the groom before the wedding. It's bad luck. Very bad luck. Terrible luck. Everything will go wrong."

"That's superstition."

"It's tradition. Important tradition. Wedding tradition. You can't break tradition on your wedding day. The universe will punish you."

"The universe doesn't care about wedding traditions."

"You don't know that. Better safe than sorry. Talk to him after. After you're married. After everything's perfect. Then you can talk about the empty chairs."

Charles wanted to argue. Wanted to go to Max. Wanted to make sure Max was okay. Make sure Max wasn't sad about his empty side. Make sure Max knew Charles's family was Max's family now. Make sure Max understood he wasn't alone.

But Pierre was right. Tradition. Superstition. Bad luck. Couldn't risk it. Couldn't risk anything going wrong. Today had to be perfect. Today had to work.

"Okay," Charles agreed. "After. We'll talk after."

They kept walking. Past the main hall. Past the arriving guests. Past Charles's overflowing side and Max's nearly empty side. Past everything that made this real.

A commotion at the side entrance. Loud commotion. Yelling commotion. Someone-very-angry commotion.

Charles turned. Saw Kimi Antonelli on the ground. Security guard standing over him. Kimi looking furious. Absolutely furious. Murderously furious. The kind of furious that came from being treated like a child when you were a professional racing driver.

"I'M NOT A CHILD!" Kimi yelled. "I'M EIGHTEEN! I DRIVE FOR MERCEDES! I'M ON THE LIST! CHECK THE FUCKING LIST!"

The guard was checking. Looking confused. Very confused. Maximum confusion. "I don't see a child on the list-"

"BECAUSE I'M NOT A CHILD! I'M A FORMULA ONE DRIVER! MY NAME IS KIMI ANTONELLI! LOOK UNDER MERCEDES!"

Charles walked over. Rescue mission. Poor Kimi. This happened to him constantly. George had warned Charles. Had said "He's going to get stopped by security. He always gets stopped. He looks twelve. Everyone thinks he's twelve. It's his curse."

"He's with me," Charles said. "He's on the list. He drives for Mercedes. He's invited."

The guard looked at Charles. Recognized him immediately. Groom recognition. Let go of Kimi. "Sorry Mr. Leclerc. Didn't realise. We have a strict no-children policy. Just following protocol."

"I understand. But he's not a child. He's eighteen. He's a professional driver. He's supposed to be here."

The guard apologised. Helped Kimi up. Looked embarrassed. Probably felt bad. Probably should have checked the list first before tackling a teenager.

Kimi stood up. Brushed off his suit. Looked at Charles. "Thank you. This happens everywhere. Constantly. I'm so tired."

"George mentioned it. Said you get stopped a lot."

"Everywhere. Restaurants. Bars. Clubs. Hotels. Airports. Everywhere. I have ID. I show ID. No one believes the ID. They think it's fake. They think I'm twelve. I'm eighteen. I'm a legal adult. I drive in Formula One."

"I know. I'm sorry. People are dumb."

"People are very dumb. Extremely dumb. Maximum dumb." Kimi adjusted his tie. Straightened his jacket. Tried to look dignified after being tackled by security at a wedding.

"Is George here?" Charles asked.

"He's coming. He's always late.."

Charles smiled. George being late. George being British. George being George. "Well you're here now. Come in. Find a seat. Enjoy the wedding."

"Which side should I sit on?"

"Either side. Doesn't matter. Sit wherever you want."

"I'll sit on Max's side," Kimi said. "It looks empty. Someone should sit there. Make it less sad."

Charles's chest hurt again. Kimi noticing. Kimi caring. Kimi being kind about Max's empty side.

"That's very nice of you. Thank you."

Kimi nodded. Started walking toward the main hall. Stopped. Turned back. Looked at Charles with that look. That I-know-something look. That I-saw-something look.

"Congratulations Charles. You and Max. You seem very happy. I hope it stays happy."

Something in his voice. Something odd. Something knowing. Like Kimi had information. Like Kimi had seen something. Like Kimi knew something Charles didn't.

"Thank you," Charles said. Uncertain. Confused. That confused feeling.

Kimi walked away. Into the venue. Leaving Charles and Pierre standing there. Both confused. Both wondering what that was about.

"That was weird," Pierre said.

"Very weird."

"He said 'I hope it stays happy.' Why would he say that? Why wouldn't it stay happy? What does he know?"

"He doesn't know anything. He's eighteen. He's a kid. He doesn't know anything about marriage or relationships or anything."

"He's not a kid. You just told security he's not a kid."

"He's not a kid but he's young. Very young. He doesn't know things. He was just being nice. Just being congratulatory. Nothing weird. Nothing suspicious."

Pierre didn't look convinced. Charles wasn't convinced either. But there was no time. No time for suspicion. No time for worry. No time for wondering what Kimi meant.

Twenty-eight minutes until the wedding. Twenty-eight minutes until Charles walked down the aisle. Twenty-eight minutes until Max became his husband.

Everything else could wait. Everything else didn't matter. Only Max mattered. Only forever mattered. Only the two of them mattered.

Charles took a breath. Centered himself. Found that calm. That focus. That racing focus. The thing that made him a Ferrari driver. Made him a winner. Made him capable of handling pressure.

This was just pressure. Different pressure. Better pressure. The pressure of marrying the love of his life.

He could handle it. He could absolutely handle it.

Nothing was going to go wrong.

Everything was going to be perfect.

His phone buzzed. Text from Max.

Twenty-eight minutes. Can't wait. Love you.

Charles smiled. Texted back. Love you too. See you at the altar.

See you at the altar.

Perfect. Everything was perfect. Everything was going to stay perfect.

Charles believed it. Had to believe it. Refused to believe anything else.

Today was his wedding day. His perfect day. His Max day.

Nothing could ruin it.

Chapter Text

Kimi Antonelli was having the worst day of his life.

Not the worst day. That was dramatic. But definitely top ten. Maybe top five. Definitely up there with the time he crashed in front of Toto during his first test. Or the time he forgot his race suit at the hotel. Or the time George made him do media training for six hours straight.

Today was bad. Today was very bad. Today involved seeing things. Things he couldn't unsee. Things that were burned into his brain forever. Things that would haunt him until he died.

Things involving Max Verstappen. And Daniel Ricciardo. And a supply closet. And activities that should not happen in supply closets. Especially not supply closets at wedding venues. Especially not two hours before one of the participants was getting married to someone else.

Kimi sat in Max's side of the venue. The empty side. Sad side. The side with like six people. Compared to Charles's side which had approximately one million people. Maybe not one million. But a lot. A concerning amount. An overflowing amount.

Max's side: Kimi. Some Red Bull people. Daniel Ricciardo who was the affair person. Christian Horner who looked stressed. And some mechanics who looked confused about why they were at a wedding.

Kimi was sitting very still. Trying not to think about it. Trying not to remember. Trying not to see it every time he closed his eyes.

Wasn't working. Keep seeing it. Keep remembering. Keep wanting to bleach his brain. Or his eyes. Or both. Definitely both.

He'd been looking for a bathroom. Simple task. Very basic human need. Find bathroom. Use bathroom. Return to venue. Attend wedding. Easy.

Except nothing was easy. Nothing was ever easy. Because Kimi had the worst luck in the world. The absolute worst. The kind of luck that meant he walked in on things. Private things. Things he had no business seeing.

He'd opened the wrong door. Supply closet door. Not bathroom door. Doors looked the same. How was he supposed to know? He was eighteen. He was new to fancy venues. He was new to weddings. He was new to everything.

And there they were. Max and Daniel. In the supply closet. Very clearly not discussing racing strategy. Very clearly not having a friendly pre-wedding conversation. Very clearly doing things that people in committed relationships should not do with people who were not their fiancé.

Max had seen him. Eye contact. Direct eye contact. The worst kind. The kind where both people knew they'd been caught. Where denial was impossible. Where the truth was just there. Unavoidable. Terrible.

Kimi had said "Oh my god" and left. Immediately left. Speed walked away. Almost ran. Would have run but that would have been suspicious. Would have drawn attention. Would have made people ask questions.

So he'd walked very fast. Very purposefully. Very much like someone who had not just witnessed his childhood hero cheating on his other childhood hero two hours before their wedding.

And now he was here. Sitting in the venue. Sitting on Max's empty side. Waiting for a wedding that probably shouldn't happen. That definitely shouldn't happen. That was built on lies and infidelity and supply closet activities.

What was he supposed to do? Tell someone? Tell Charles? Tell Charles that his fiancé was cheating on him with his best man? Ruin the wedding? Ruin Charles's perfect day? Ruin everything?

Or say nothing? Let the wedding happen? Let Charles marry someone who was actively having an affair? Let Charles be happy temporarily before inevitably finding out and being devastated?

Both options were terrible. Both options made Kimi want to die. Both options meant Kimi was involved in something way above his pay grade. Way above his emotional capacity. Way above his ability to handle.

He was eighteen. Eighteen. He'd been a legal adult for like five minutes. He'd been in Formula One for less than a year. He was a baby. A literal baby. And now he had information that could destroy a marriage. That could destroy two people. That could destroy everything.

"You okay kid?"

Kimi looked up. Christian Horner. Team principal. Max's team principal. Looking at Kimi with concern. With that adult concern. That you-look-distressed concern.

"I'm fine," Kimi lied.

"You don't look fine. You look traumatized. Did security hurt you? I saw them tackle you earlier. Very aggressive. unnecessary..."

"No. Security was fine. I'm fine. Just tired. Long morning. Very long."

Christian didn't look convinced. Adults never looked convinced. They always knew. They always saw through lies. It was their superpower. Seeing through teenage bullshit.

Except Kimi wasn't a teenager. Kimi was eighteen. Legal adult. Professional racing driver. Not a kid. Not a child. Not someone who should be referred to as "kid" by everyone constantly forever.

"If you need anything let me know," Christian said. "You're part of the racing family. We take care of our own."

Racing family. Right. The family where people cheated on each other in supply closets. Very functional family. Very healthy dynamics. Very normal behavior.

Christian walked away. Back to his seat. Back to waiting for the wedding. The wedding that was a lie. The wedding that was built on infidelity. The wedding that Kimi could stop with one sentence.

"Charles's fiancé is cheating on him."

Five words. That's all it would take. Five words and everything would explode. Five words and the wedding would stop. Five words and Kimi would be responsible for ruining everything.

Could he do that? Should he do that? Did he have that right? Did he have that responsibility?

His phone buzzed. Text from George.

Running late. Very late. Sorry. Time is a construct. See you soon.

George was always late. Always. It was his thing. His signature move. Being late and apologizing and somehow getting away with it because he was George and George was charming and George could apologize his way out of anything.

Kimi texted back. The wedding is starting soon. How late?

Fifteen minutes? Twenty? Definitely before vows. Promise.

You better. I'm sitting alone on Max's side. It's depressing.

Why are you on Max's side?

Because it's empty. Someone needs to sit here. It's sad.

You're a good kid.

Kimi almost threw his phone. Not a kid. Not a kid. Not a kid. How many times did he have to say it? How many times did he have to correct people? How many times did he have to exist as an adult before people treated him like one?

More guests were arriving. Kimi watched them. Watched them choose sides. Watched them fill up Charles's side. Watched them look at Max's empty side with confusion. With pity. With that oh-no-look. That something's-wrong look.

Lando Norris arrived. Oscar Piastri right behind him. Both in suits. Both looking good. Both looking like they'd rather be anywhere else.

They weren't sitting together. They were actively not sitting together. Lando went left. Oscar went right. Both on Charles's side because Max's side was too empty. 

But they were sitting as far from each other as possible. Maximum distance. Maximum avoidance. Maximum we're-not-talking energy.

What had happened there? Kimi didn't know. Didn't follow McLaren drama. Had his own team drama. Had his own problems. Like the Max-Daniel affair situation. Like the knowledge burning a hole in his brain. Like the moral dilemma eating him alive.

Yuki Tsunoda arrived. Liam Lawson next to him. Very close next to him. Suspiciously close. Walking in together. Sitting together. Very together energy.

Were they together? Dating? Roommates? Unclear. Very unclear. Maximum unclear. They weren't clarifying. Weren't explaining. Just existing in each other's space like it was normal. Like it was obvious. Like everyone should just understand without being told.

They sat on Max's side. Finally. Someone else on Max's side. Making it less empty. Less sad. Less pathetic.

"Is this seat taken?" Yuki asked. Pointing at the seat next to Kimi.

"No. It's free. All of these are free. The whole side is free. Max doesn't have family here aparently."

"Oh." Yuki looked uncomfortable. That uncomfortable look. That I-just-learned-something-sad look. "That's. Sad."

"It's very sad. His side is empty. Charles's side is full. The imbalance is soo..."

Liam sat down next to Yuki. Very close. Unnecessarily close. They were holding hands under the program. Kimi could see it. Could see their hands intertwined. Could see the way they kept glancing at each other. Kept smiling. Kept existing in their own little world.

Definitely together. Or something. Or whatever they were. 

"You okay?" Liam asked. Looking at Kimi. Actually looking. Actually concerned.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You look like you've seen something. Something bad. Something disturbing."

Kimi laughed. Couldn't help it. Disturbing. That was one word for it. Traumatise. Scarring. Life-altering. Many words. All accurate.

"I'm fine," Kimi repeated. "Just tired. Long day."

"The wedding hasn't even started yet," Yuki pointed out. Helpfully. Not helpfully.

"Long morning then. Very long. Very exhausting. Very ready for this to be over."

They looked at him. Both of them. That look. That concerned look. That something's-wrong-with-the-child look.

"I'm not a child," Kimi said. Automatically. Defensively. The phrase he'd said one million times today. One billion times. Infinity times.

"We didn't say you were," Liam said.

"Everyone says I am. Everyone thinks I am. Security tackled me earlier. Thought I was crashing a wedding. Thought I was a child who wandered in. I'm eighteen. I'm a Formula One driver. I'm on the guest list."

"Security is stupid," Yuki agreed. "Very stupid. Everyone knows you. You're famous. You drive for Mercedes. You're George's teammate."

"George's teammate who looks twelve."

"You don't look twelve," Liam said. Lying. Obviously lying. Kindly lying. "You look. Young. But not twelve. Maybe fifteen."

"That's not better."

"Okay you look twelve. But it's fine. You'll age eventually. Probably. Maybe. Some people look young forever. Could be worse."

Could be worse. Right. Could be worse. Could have witnessed something worse. Could have seen something more traumatic. Could have—

No. No. Stop thinking about it. Stop remembering. Stop seeing it.

Max Verstappen appeared at the side of the venue. Groom Max. Married-in-twenty-minutes Max. Looking stressed. Looking nervous. Looking like someone who was definitely hiding something.

Daniel was with him. Right next to him. Best man position. Affair partner position. Looking completely relaxed. Looking completely unconcerned. Looking like someone who had not just had sex with the groom two hours before the wedding.

They were talking. Heads close together. Whispering. About what? About the affair? About Kimi? About how to make sure no one found out?

Max looked over. Saw Kimi. Eye contact. Again. The second time today. The second worst time. Just as bad as the first time. Maybe worse. Because now they both knew. Both remembered. Both had to exist in the same space pretending it hadn't happened.

Max's face did something. Panic something. Oh-no something. The-kid-who-saw-us-is-here something.

Kimi looked away. Couldn't deal with it. Couldn't deal with Max's panic. Couldn't deal with any of this. Just wanted to watch the wedding. Just wanted to sit quietly. Just wanted to not be involved.

Too late for that. Way too late. Already involved. Already part of it. Already the person with information. The person with power. The person who could ruin everything.

"That's Max," Yuki said. Stating the obvious. Very obvious.

"I know who Max is."

"He looks nervous."

"He's getting married. Everyone's nervous before getting married. Very normal."

"Is it normal?" Liam asked. "I feel like if you're nervous maybe you shouldn't get married. Maybe you should be excited. Happy. Sure. Not nervous."

"People are nervous before big things," Kimi said. Defending Max. Why was he defending Max? Max was a cheater. Max was having an affair. Max didn't deserve defending.

But Kimi was defending anyway. Because Max was his hero. Had been his hero. Since Kimi was a kid. Since Kimi started karting. Since Kimi decided he wanted to race in Formula One.

Max Verstappen. Four-time world champion. The best. The greatest. The person Kimi wanted to be.

And now? Now Max was just a person. Just a flawed person. Just someone who made bad decisions. Just someone who was cheating on Charles Leclerc two hours before their wedding.

Heroes weren't supposed to do that. Heroes were supposed to be good. Supposed to be moral. Supposed to make the right choices.

But maybe heroes were just people. Just regular people. Just people who made mistakes. Big mistakes. Terrible mistakes. Mistakes that hurt other people.

Sebastian Vettel walked in. Casual walk. Confident walk. The kind of walk that said "I'm retired and happy and no longer dealing with Formula One bullshit."

He was officiating. Kimi had heard. Sebastian was officiating the wedding. Which was weird. Which was very weird. Why was Sebastian officiating? Was he qualified? Did he have the authority? Could retired racing drivers just officiate weddings?

Apparently yes. Apparently Sebastian could do whatever he wanted. Apparently being a four-time world champion meant you could officiate weddings for other four-time world champions.

Sebastian walked to the altar. The front. The place where he'd stand and marry Max and Charles. Where he'd say the words. Where he'd make it official. Where he'd bind them together legally. Permanently.

Where he'd create a marriage built on lies. On infidelity. On secrets.

Did Sebastian know? Did Sebastian know about the affair? Did Sebastian know what Max was doing? What Max had done? What Max continued to do?

Probably not. No one knew. Just Kimi. Just the eighteen-year-old Mercedes driver who'd opened the wrong door at the wrong time and seen the wrong things.

Just Kimi. Who now had to decide what to do. Whether to speak. Whether to stay silent. Whether to ruin everything or let it happen.

Lewis Hamilton walked in. Alone. Just Lewis. Looking good in his suit. Looking contemplative. Looking like someone who was thinking about something. Something sad probably. Something complicated.

He walked past Charles's overflowing side. Past all the happy families. Past all the people with their partners and friends and support systems. Walked to Max's empty side. Sat down. A few seats away from Kimi.

Close enough to see. Close enough to observe. Close enough to notice when Kimi flinched.

"Kimi," Lewis said. Not a question. Recognition. "How are you settling in at Mercedes?"

"Good. Fine. It's good." Kimi tried to sound normal. Tried to sound like he hadn't just witnessed his childhood heroes being terrible people.

"George treating you well? He can be intense. Very particular. Very organised. But he means well."

"He's good. Very helpful. Very patient with me."

"Good. That's good. You're talented. Very talented. Excited to see what you do next season."

Lewis was being nice. Being supportive. Being the team member thing. The Mercedes family thing. The we-support-our-drivers thing.

But something was off with Lewis. Something in his posture. Something in the way he kept glancing at the entrance. Like he was waiting for someone. Like he was hoping someone would walk through the door.

They didn't. Whoever Lewis was waiting for didn't come.

That was sad. That looked sad. Lewis looked sad. Trying not to look sad. Trying to look fine. Trying to look like everything was okay when everything was clearly not okay.

Racing was full of sad stories apparently. Sad histories. Sad people pretending everything was fine.

"You okay?" Lewis asked suddenly. Looking at Kimi. Really looking. That Lewis look. That I-see-everything look.

"I'm fine."

"You don't look fine. You look disturbed. Upset. Something happen?"

Everything happened. Max and Daniel happened. The supply closet happened. The affair happened. The knowledge happened. The moral dilemma happened. Everything happened.

"I'm fine," Kimi repeated. "Just tired."

"It's more than tired. I can tell. Been doing this long enough. Can read people. Can see when something's wrong. Something specific. Something you saw?"

How did he know? How did Lewis know? Was it that obvious? Was Kimi's face showing everything? Was he that transparent?

"Just nervous," Kimi said. "Weddings are stressful. Very formal. Very serious."

Lewis looked at him. Really looked. That assessing look. That reading look. Then nodded. Accepted it. Let it go. But didn't quite believe it. Lewis wasn't stupid. Lewis knew something was wrong. But Lewis was giving Kimi space. Giving him privacy. Giving him the option to not talk about it.

"If you need to talk," Lewis said. "About anything. Racing. Life. Things you've seen. You can talk to me. Or George. Or Toto. We're your team. We support you. Always."

Team support. Right. Except teammates also had affairs with each other apparently. Teammates also betrayed each other. Teammates also did terrible things.

"Thank you," Kimi said. "I'm okay. Really."

Lewis nodded. Turned away. Gave Kimi space. But kept glancing at him. Kept watching. Kept being concerned in that Lewis way. That caring way. That I-know-something's-wrong way.

Kimi appreciated it. Kind of. Appreciated the concern. Appreciated the offer. Appreciated not being alone even though he felt incredibly alone. Incredibly isolated. Incredibly burdened with information he didn't want.

More guests arriving. The venue filling up. Charles's side completely full. Max's side less empty but still noticeably sparse. Still noticeably sad. Still noticeably imbalanced.

Fernando Alonso walked in. Lance Stroll behind him. Lance looking tired. Lance looking done. Lance looking like he wanted to be anywhere else.

Fernando was scanning the room. Assessing. Calculating. That Fernando thing. That always-planning thing. Looking at people. Looking at arrangements. Looking at something Kimi couldn't see.

They sat on Charles's side. Obviously. Everyone sat on Charles's side. Because Charles had people. Charles had family. Charles had support.

Max had Red Bull. Max had Daniel. Max had secrets.

The music started. Soft music. Wedding music. The kind of music that meant things were starting. Things were happening. Things were about to become real.

People stood up. The traditional standing. The respectful standing. The here-comes-the-groom standing.

Charles appeared at the back. With his mother. With Pascale Leclerc. Both walking together. Both smiling. Both crying. Happy crying. Mother-and-son crying. The kind of crying that meant love. That meant support. That meant family.

Charles looked perfect. Suit perfect. Hair perfect. Smile perfect. Happy perfect. Completely-unaware-his-fiancé-is-cheating-on-him perfect.

Kimi's chest hurt. Bad hurt. The seeing-something-you-can't-fix hurt. The knowing-something-you-can't-unknow hurt.

Should he say something? Should he stand up? Should he object? Should he ruin this? Should he protect Charles? Should he do something? Anything?

Charles walked down the aisle. Slow walk. Careful walk. Looking at Max. Only at Max. Seeing only Max. Loving only Max.

Max was at the altar. Looking at Charles. Smiling at Charles. Looking like he loved Charles. Looking like this was real. Like this mattered.

Chapter Text

Sebastian Vettel stood at the altar and wondered if this was a mistake.

Not the wedding. The wedding was beautiful. Charles and Max were perfect together. Very in love. Very committed. Very suited for each other.

No. The mistake was Sebastian agreeing to officiate. Sebastian who was retired. Sebastian who had no business officiating anything. Sebastian who had gotten ordained online specifically for this wedding because Charles had asked with those eyes. Those puppy eyes. Those please-Seb-you're-like-a-father-to-me eyes.

How could Sebastian say no to that? He couldn't. He was weak. He was soft. He was a pushover for Charles Leclerc's emotional manipulation.

So here he was. At the altar. In a suit. About to marry two Formula One drivers. Two champions. Two people he cared about deeply.

Two people on different teams. One Ferrari. One Red Bull.

The officiant robes had been a debate. Charles had suggested them. Sebastian had refused. Robes were too much. Too dramatic. Too priest-like. Sebastian was not a priest. Sebastian was a retired racing driver who'd clicked through a fifteen-minute online ordination course while eating breakfast.

"Seb you look constipated," Lewis said. Appearing next to him. Quiet Lewis. Sneaky Lewis. Lewis who moved like a ghost.

"I'm not constipated. I'm thinking."

"Thinking looks painful. Very painful. Should see a doctor. Or a therapist. Probably a therapist."

"I don't need a therapist."

"Everyone needs a therapist. Especially retired racing drivers who agree to officiate weddings. That's concerning behavior. Very concerning. Speaks to unresolved issues."

Sebastian looked at Lewis. Really looked. Lewis in his suit. Lewis looking good. Lewis looking alone. Very alone. No Nico. No partner. No one next to him. Just Lewis. Sitting on Max's empty side. Making it slightly less empty. Slightly less pathetic.

"Where's Nico?" Sebastian asked.

Lewis's face did something. Closed off something. Shut down something. That thing Lewis did when something hurt. When something was too close. Too real. Too much.

"Not here," Lewis said. Simple. Final. Don't-ask-more.

"Is he coming?"

"No."

"Why not?"

"Because he's in Monaco. Probably on a yacht. Definitely being blond. Definitely winning at retirement better than me. Being everything I'm not."

Oh. Oh no. That was sad. That was very sad. Lewis still pining. Lewis still not over it. Lewis still stuck on Nico Rosberg years after everything fell apart. After the championship. After the retirement. After everything.

"Lewis-"

"Don't. Don't comfort me. Don't tell me to move on. Don't tell me time heals. Don't tell me any of the things people tell me. I know. I know all of it. Doesn't help. Doesn't change anything. Doesn't make me miss him less."

"Have you tried texting him?" Sebastian asked. Helpful. Very helpful.

"I text him happy birthday every year."

"Does he respond?"

"Yes."

"That's good!"

"He responds 'thanks' with a thumbs up emoji. One thumbs up. Not even the smiley face. Just thumbs up. That's it. That's our communication. Annual birthday text. Thumbs up emoji. Peak friendship."

"That's... sad."

"That's my life. Very sad. Very pathetic. Very me choosing to stay stuck. Could move on. Could date. Could find someone else. Could be happy. I choose not to. I choose this. I choose missing him. I choose being pathetic. It's mine. My pathetic. No one else's."

Lewis walked away. Back to his seat. Back to Max's empty side. Back to sitting alone. Being alone. Choosing alone.

Sebastian watched him go. Made a mental note to text Nico later. Tell him to send better emojis. Maybe a heart. Maybe two hearts. Maybe anything except a single thumbs up. That was just cruel. Very German. Very efficient. Very Nico.

More guests arriving. The venue filling up. Sebastian watched from the altar. Best view. Worst view. Depending on perspective. Could see everything. Could see everyone. Could see all the drama unfolding in real time.

Lando Norris walked in. Oscar Piastri right behind him. Both in suits. Both looking good. Both looking like they'd rather fight than be here.

They weren't talking. Weren't looking at each other. Weren't acknowledging each other's existence. Just walking. Parallel walking. Aggressive ignoring.

They reached the seating area. Lando went left. Oscar went right. 

Both sat on Charles's side. Obviously. Everyone sat on Charles's side. Except the sad few on Max's side. TThe Red Bull few.

Sebastian's hand twitched. Wanting to move them. Wanting to redistribute. Wanting to make Max's side less empty. Less pathetically sparse. Less obviously abandoned.

But that would be weird. That would be suspicious. That would reveal too much about Sebastian's feelings. His complicated feelings. His very specific team-related feelings.

Best to stay neutral. Look neutral. Be very neutral and unbiased. Very professional. Very officiant-like.

But Lando and Oscar. Opposite ends. Avoiding. Very obviously avoiding.

What had happened there? Sebastian didn't know. Didn't follow McLaren drama. 

Title fight probably. Championship probably. The thing that destroyed friendships. The thing that made teammates into enemies. The thing Sebastian knew intimately. The thing he'd lived through with Mark Webber. Multi-21. That whole situation. Very awkward. Very tense. Very not-discussing-it-even-now.

Racing destroyed relationships. But racing also made weddings interesting. Very interesting. Very dramatic. Everyone had history. Everyone had tension. Everyone had that one teammate they'd rather throw into a gravel trap.

Yuki Tsunoda walked in. Liam Lawson next to him. Very next to him.

They sat on Max's side. Thank god. More people on Max's side. More bodies filling empty chairs. More evidence that Max had people. Had support. Had something.

Sebastian felt relieved. Visible relief. Then felt weird about feeling relieved. About caring so much about Max's side specifically. About wanting Max's side to look good. Full. Supported.

Very normal feelings. Very unbiased feelings. Very officiant-appropriate feelings.

But Yuki and Liam. Very close. Very together. Very clearly something more than teammates. More than friends. More than whatever they claimed to be.

Were they dating? Were they together? Were they acknowledging it?

Unclear. Very unclear. They weren't clarifying. Weren't explaining. Just existing. Just sitting close. Just being whatever they were without labels. Without definitions. Without explanations.

Sebastian wanted to ask. Wanted clarification. Wanted someone to just say what was happening. Communication. Labels. Clarity. Very German needs. Very organized. Very requiring-definitions.

But no. They were young. They were confusing. They were keeping everyone guessing. Very modern. Very frustrating. Very making-Sebastian-feel-old.

Fernando Alonso walked in. Lance Stroll behind him. Lance looking tired. Lance looking done. Lance looking like a hostage. A well-dressed hostage. But a hostage.

Fernando was scanning the room. That Fernando thing. That calculating thing. That plotting thing. Looking at everyone. Looking at everything. Looking at things Sebastian couldn't see. Things no one could see except Fernando.

What was Fernando planning? Always planning something. Always scheming. Always up to something mysterious and vaguely threatening.

They sat on Charles's side. Lance tried to sit away from Fernando. Fernando pulled him back. Lance sighed. Accepted his fate. Accepted being Fernando's unwilling sidekick. Again. Always. Forever.

Poor Lance. Sebastian felt bad for Lance. Sort of. Lance was a grown man. Lance could leave. Lance could say no. Lance could establish boundaries.

But arguing with Fernando was pointless. Fighting Fernando was impossible. Fernando always won. Always. Even when he lost he won somehow. Very frustrating. Very Fernando.

George Russell rushed in. Late George. Always late George. Very British George. Looking flustered. Looking apologetic. Looking like he'd run from somewhere.

"Sorry sorry sorry," George was saying. To everyone. To no one. To the universe. "Traffic. Very bad traffic. London traffic. Terrible. Apologise. Very sorry."

George spotted Kimi on Max's side. Relief. Visible relief. George rushed over. Sat next to Kimi. Immediately started fussing.

"You okay? Security didn't bother you again? You got in fine? You're not traumatised?"

Kimi looked traumatized. Very traumatized.

Sebastian filed it away. Noted it. Would maybe ask later. Or not. Probably not. Not his business. Not his concern. Not his problem.

He had enough problems. Like officiating this wedding. Like remembering the words. Like not accidentally saying "Red Bull" instead of "Max" during the vows. That would be bad. Very bad. Very revealing.

More Red Bull personnel arrived. Mechanics. Engineers. Team people. All sitting on Max's side. All filling chairs. All making it less pathetically empty.

Good. Good good good. More people. More support. More visible evidence that Max had a team. Had people who cared. Had something.

Sebastian caught himself nodding approvingly. Stopped. That was suspicious. That was too obvious. That was very much revealing his bias.

Neutral face. Neutral thoughts. Neutral everything. Very professional. Very officiant. Very not-caring-more-about-one-side.

Christian Horner was already there. Front row. Team principal position. Father figure position. The-closest-thing-Max-has-to-family position.

That hurt. That hurt to see. Max's side. Mostly Red Bull. Mostly team. Mostly people who worked with him. Not family. Not blood. Not the people who should be there.

Where was Max's family? His mother? His sister? Anyone?

Not here. Obviously not here. Clearly not here. The empty chairs spoke volumes. The absence screamed. The imbalance hurt.

Sebastian knew Max's relationship with his father was bad. Was terrible. Was the kind of bad that meant Jos Verstappen was not invited. Would never be invited. Was actively banned from attending.

Good. Jos was awful. Sebastian had met him. Once was enough. Once was too much. Jos was everything wrong with fathers. Everything wrong with parents. Everything that made Sebastian want to adopt Max retroactively.

Couldn't do that. Max was an adult. Max was a champion. Max was too old for adoption. But Sebastian could be here. Could support. Could stand at this altar and marry Max to Charles and be the family-adjacent person who showed up.

That was something. That was enough. That had to be enough.

The music changed. Ceremony music. Starting music. The kind of music that meant things were happening. Things were beginning. Things were becoming real.

People stood up. Traditional standing. Respectful standing. Here-comes-the-groom standing.

Charles appeared at the back of the venue. With his mother. With Pascale. Both beautiful. Both crying. Both smiling. Both so clearly in love with this moment. This day. This wedding.

Charles looked perfect. Suit perfect. Hair perfect. Smile perfect. Happy perfect. The kind of happy that hurt to look at. The kind of happy that was pure. Uncomplicated. Real.

Charles loved Max. Really loved him. Completely. Totally. The kind of love that made people get married. That made people promise forever. That made people believe.

Sebastian believed it. Believed Charles loved Max. Believed Max loved Charles. Believed they were good together. Right together. Meant to be together.

Max was standing at the altar. Looking at Charles. Smiling. Looking like he loved Charles. Looking like this was real. Like this mattered. Like this was everything he wanted.

But.

But there was something in Max's eyes. Something in his posture. Something in the way he stood. Something that looked like guilt. Like stress. Like someone who was hiding something.

What had Max done? What was Max hiding? What was that look about?

Sebastian didn't know. Couldn't know. Shouldn't know. Not his business. Not his concern. Not his place to judge.

His job was simple. Stand at the altar. Say the words. Marry them. Make it official. Make it real. Make it permanent.

His job was not to interrogate Max. Not to investigate. Not to question. Not to demand answers. Not to pull Max aside and ask if he was okay. If he was sure. If he needed help. If he needed an out.

Even though Sebastian wanted to. Even though his instincts were screaming. Even though something felt wrong and Sebastian didn't know what.

Charles reached the altar. Pascale kissed his cheek. Whispered something in French. Something that made Charles tear up. Something beautiful probably. Something motherly. Something full of love.

Pascale stepped back. Took her seat. Front row. Charles's side. The overflowing side. The side full of family and love and support.

Max and Charles stood facing each other. Both smiling. Both looking at each other like no one else existed. Like the venue was empty. Like it was just them. Just this moment. Just their love.

This was real. This was beautiful. This was why Sebastian had agreed to officiate. For this. For this moment. For this love.

Even if something felt off. Even if his instincts were screaming. Even if Max looked guilty. This moment. This love. This was real.

Sebastian cleared his throat. Began.

"We are gathered here today-"

A commotion. Back of the venue. Loud commotion. Crash commotion. Someone-fell commotion.

Everyone turned. Sebastian turned. Max and Charles turned. The entire venue turned.

Kimi Antonelli was on the ground. Again. Security guard standing over him. Again. Kimi looking furious. Again. Absolutely murderous. Maximum rage. The kind of rage that came from being repeatedly mistaken for a child at a formal event.

"I ALREADY CHECKED IN!" Kimi yelled. Italian accent thick. Frustration thicker. "I'M ALREADY SEATED! I'M ALREADY HERE! WHY ARE YOU TACKLING ME?"

"Sir you need to calm down-"

"I'M NOT SIR I'M EIGHTEEN AND I'M ALREADY INSIDE THE VENUE! WHAT IS WRONG WITH YOU?"

George stood up. Rushed over. Very British. Very apologetic. Very George. "That's my teammate! He's already checked in! He's allowed to be here! Please stop tackling him!"

The guard looked confused. Very confused. "But he's a child-"

"HE'S NOT A CHILD!" George and Kimi yelled simultaneously.

Sebastian blinked. Stared. Tried to process. Kimi had already been checked in. Kimi had already been tackled once. Kimi had already sat down. Why was security tackling him again? What had Kimi done? Had he moved? Had he breathed wrong? Had he existed while looking twelve?

The entire venue was watching. Staring. Some people laughing. Some people concerned. Fernando filming on his phone. Everyone distracted. Everyone not focused on the wedding. On Max and Charles. On the ceremony that was supposed to be starting.

"Did he leave his seat?" Sebastian asked. Loudly. To the venue. To anyone who knew.

"He went to the bathroom!" George yelled back. Still wrestling with security. Still protecting Kimi. Very good teammate. Very protective. "He's allowed to use the bathroom!"

"The bathroom isn't outside!" the guard argued.

"YES IT IS! IT'S TECHNICALLY OUTSIDE THE MAIN HALL!"

"BUT IT'S INSIDE THE BUILDING!"

"THAT'S STILL INSIDE THE VENUE!"

This was insane. This was absolutely insane. Sebastian was officiating a wedding where security kept tackling the same teenager. Repeatedly. For existing. For moving. For being young-looking.

Sebastian sighed. Looked at Max and Charles. Both trying not to laugh. Both failing. Both watching Kimi get untackled by George while yelling in Italian and English simultaneously.

"Should we wait?" Sebastian asked.

"Probably," Max said. Grinning. Actually grinning. First real smile Sebastian had seen all day. The guilty look gone. Replaced by genuine amusement. "Poor Kimi. This is the second time."

"Third time," Charles corrected. "He got tackled before the ceremony too. George told me. Security thought he was a lost child. Tried to call his parents."

"He's eighteen," Max said. Laughing. Actually laughing. "He drives for Mercedes. He's a professional athlete. And security thinks he's twelve."

"It's very funny," Charles agreed.

"It's very mean," Max said. Then paused. "But also very funny."

They waited. Watched. Let Kimi sort himself out. Let George handle security. Let the chaos resolve.

Finally. Finally Kimi was seated again. Security dismissed. George sitting protectively next to him. Kimi looking mutinous. Looking like he wanted to fight someone. Looking like he was plotting revenge.

The venue settled. People turned back around. Attention returning to the altar.

Sebastian tried again. "We are gathered here today to witness the union of Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen-"

"ACTUALLY-"

Lando Norris. Standing up. Looking defiant. Looking determined. Looking like he was about to do something stupid.

Oh no. Oh no no no. Was Lando objecting? Was Lando actually objecting? At the beginning of the ceremony? Before they'd even started properly?

"Lando," Sebastian said. Warning voice. Dad voice. Don't-you-dare voice. "What are you doing?"

"I just think-"

Oscar stood up. On the other side. Glaring at Lando. "Are you seriously doing this?"

"I'm just saying-"

"You're not saying anything. Sit down."

"You sit down!"

"You sit down first!"

"No you sit down first!"

"I'm not sitting down until you sit down!"

"Then we'll both stand!"

"Fine!"

"Fine!"

They glared at each other. Across the venue. Across Charles's entire family. Across the ceremonial space. Maximum drama. Maximum disruption. Maximum we-have-unresolved-teammate-issues energy.

Sebastian stared. Everyone stared. This was a wedding. A wedding. And McLaren was having a domestic dispute. In the middle of the ceremony. During the opening words.

"What is happening?" Sebastian asked. To the universe. To god. To anyone who had answers.

"They're fighting about the last race," someone said. Pierre. From Charles's side. Very helpful. Very informative. "Lando thinks Oscar should have let him pass. Oscar thinks Lando should have been faster. They've been fighting for three week."

"This is a wedding," Sebastian said. Slowly. Clearly. Very German. Very precise. "A wedding. For Charles and Max. Not for McLaren team disputes."

"Tell that to them," Pierre said. Shrugging. Very French. Very unhelpful.

"Both of you sit down," Sebastian said. Firm. Final. Very German. Very done with this. "Now."

"But-" Lando started.

"Now."

"He started-" Oscar tried.

"I don't care who started it. I'm ending it. Sit. Down."

They sat. Reluctantly. Unwillingly. Still glaring at each other. Still very clearly wanting to continue. Still obviously having issues. Big issues. Championship-sized issues.

The venue settled again. Everyone staring. Everyone waiting. Everyone wondering what just happened. What that was about. What was going on with McLaren.

Sebastian took a breath. Tried again. Third time's the charm. Hopefully. Please. "We are gathered here today-"

Someone's phone rang. Loud ring. Very loud. Echoing ring. The kind of ring that shouldn't happen at weddings. The kind of ring that came from someone who forgot to silence their phone.

Fernando. Obviously Fernando. Fernando's phone ringing with what sounded like the Spanish national anthem. Very Fernando choice. Very dramatic. Very attention-seeking.

Fernando answered it. Actually answered it. In the middle of the ceremony. At a wedding. During the opening words.

"Sí?" Fernando said. Casual. Like this was normal. Like answering phones during ceremonies was standard behavior. "Ah, sí. No. Estoy en una boda. Una boda muy importante. Dos campeones. Muy simbólica. ¿Qué? No. Aún no han pronunciado los votos. Acabamos de empezar. Ha habido interrupciones. Interrupciones muy dramáticas. Múltiples interrupciones. Seguridad ha reducido a un niño. McLaren ha tenido una pelea. Muy entretenido. Sí, te llamaré más tarde."

Fernando hung up. Put his phone away. Looked at Sebastian. "Continue. Very sorry. Important call. Couldn't be avoided."

Lance had his head in his hands. Mortified. Absolutely mortified. Maximum embarrassment. The kind of embarrassment that came from being associated with Fernando Alonso in public.

"Fernando," Sebastian said. Trying to stay calm. Trying to stay professional. Trying not to scream. "This is a wedding."

"I know. I'm here. I'm witnessing. Very present. Very engaged. Filmed the security incident. Will share later. Very entertaining footage. Continue please."

"You filmed it?"

"Of course. Evidence. Documentation. Very important. Future blackmail material. Very valuable."

"Fernando-"

"Continuing now? Yes? Good. Go ahead. I'm listening."

Sebastian looked at Max and Charles. Both trying not to laugh. Both failing spectacularly. Both shaking with suppressed laughter. Both clearly finding this chaos hilarious instead of horrifying.

Good. That was good. They were laughing. They were happy. They were finding joy in the chaos. That's what mattered. That's what weddings should be. Happiness despite chaos. Love despite interruptions. Commitment despite everything.

Sebastian tried again. Fourth time. Fourth attempt. Surely this time. Surely nothing else would go wrong. Surely they could get through the opening words without more chaos.

"We are gathered here today to witness the union of Charles Leclerc and Max Verstappen. Two drivers. Two champions. Two people who have found love despite rivalry. Despite competition. Despite everything that should keep them apart."

Silence. Beautiful silence. No interruptions. No phones. No objections. No security tackling people. Just silence. Just attention. Just everyone listening.

Finally.

"Marriage is a commitment. A promise. A choice to love someone. To support someone. To be with someone. Through everything. Through wins and losses. Through good times and bad times. Through teammate disputes and security incidents. Through all of it."

Quiet laughter from the guests. Good laughter. Warm laughter. The kind that meant everyone was relaxed. Everyone was enjoying this. Everyone was here for the right reasons.

Sebastian looked at Max and Charles. Both focused now. Both serious. Both understanding the weight of what they were about to do. What they were about to promise. What they were about to commit to.

"Today Max and Charles are choosing each other. Choosing to build a life together. Choosing to be partners. In racing. In life. In everything."

Max and Charles were holding hands now. Looking at each other. Only at each other. Seeing only each other. The venue fading away. The guests disappearing. Just them. Just their love. Just their moment.

This was real. This was beautiful. This was why Sebastian had agreed to officiate. For this. For this moment. For this love.

Sebastian continued. Said the words. The traditional words. The wedding words. The words that had been said at countless weddings. The words that made it official. Made it real. Made it permanent.

And tried not to think too hard about the guilty look that had been in Max's eyes earlier. The knowledge that something felt wrong. The feeling that this beautiful moment might be built on something fragile.

But maybe that was just Sebastian being paranoid. Being overprotective. Being too invested. Being too much like a father. Too much like family. Too much like someone who cared too much.

Red Bull loyalty ran deep. Deeper than logic. Deeper than fairness. Deeper than what was appropriate for a wedding officiant.

But Sebastian pushed it down. Stayed neutral. Said the words. Married them properly. Professionally. With only the appropriate amount of emotional investment for someone who'd known them both for years and cared about them deeply and maybe had some complicated feelings about team loyalty.

Very normal. Very neutral. Very unbiased.

Mostly.