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Max Verstappen was in love with Daniel Ricciardo.

Normally, there would be no issue with this. Daniel was charming; he was everything Max loved about the world; he was bright and beautiful like the sun-kissed morning after a stormy night, he was the flowers that blossomed in spring, the strokes of colours that framed the long roads they drove down during summer. Daniel was fresh air; he filled Max's lungs and helped him breathe easier. He was the anchor that steeled the ship, or the lighthouse that cut through the fog of Max's mind, calling him to safety.

Normally, there would be no issue. Unfortunately, for Max, the world seemed to hate him because of two glaringly obvious problems with his crush on his ex-teammate.

Number one: Max Verstappen had a name on the skin of his hip, just above the bone, and that name was not Daniel.

Problem number two: Daniel Ricciardo had no name mark at all.

You can see how that's a problem, can't you?

Name marks were a sign of your soulmate, your skin branded with the name of the one person you get to spend the rest of your life with. Max had been privy to many different experiences. For example, Gabi and Isack were young and in love, and Max could always see the edge of Gabi's name pointing out from the cuff of Isack's racing suit. The red lettering popped out against his skin. Or, on the other end, his father's mark that had greyed, colour drained, no longer there. The love he had for his mother was gone with it, or perhaps it had been the other way round, but that didn't matter; the marriage was shattered, they both split, and Max learnt, at a very young age, that soul marks could change colour.

There were three colours your soul mark could be.

Red was the most common one, of course. A sign of true love bound to blossom. George and Alex had each other in the palm of their hands, and Max often wondered how their first point of contact was hand-holding. Secondly, there was grey, a sign of the life that fizzled away, the spark that was no longer there. He knew, as he had witnessed, what that was like, the colour dripping away slowly, like a leaky tap. It was said that the colour change could be salvaged if only partway through, hints of colours still present in the lettering, but Max never truly believed that. Once it started, he felt something monumental would have to happen to reverse it. When you fall out of love, there wasn't much anyone could do. The third was black, a sign of a soul mate passing.

There was another issue.

Max's soul mark was blue.

He had scoured the Internet for answers, trying to search for what results would pop up. Though no one ever mentioned evidence of a differently coloured soul mark, some had theorised about it, but nothing was ever confirmed. The last thing Max wanted to do was go to a doctor or speak with a specialist; he was an F1 driver; the last thing he needed was to be poked and prodded and examined like some test, like he held results for unsaid questions.

Max never brought it up. When the journalists asked or the interviewers pried, he would say I do not see how that is any of your business.

Max took the "it's private" route, which many understood. A lot of the drivers did, especially those who could hide it. Max knew Alonso had Mark just below the collar of his t-shirt; it was common knowledge, but he also never spoke about it. Mark and Fernando were happily married now. Fernando never answered how the placement came about, just that it was meant to be, and he was happy to have finally found his soulmate.

Speculation arose when Max dodged the questions, but he didn't want to have to explain to anyone that the name above his hip was blue, and on top of that, it was the name of another driver. A driver, mind you, that already has a soul mate.

Max was hopping from karting event to karting event, meeting all new types of people and wondering when his soul mate would show up. The name, small and red against his hip, often hidden by clothes, was something he appreciated dearly. Not only did he get to hide it, but it was also an exciting new thing for Max! He was meeting so many interesting people, his father taking him across countries and seas meant that any one of these guys could be his soulmate.

Well, okay, that wasn't completely true.

The soulmate needed to be named Charles.

Max, when he first met Charles Leclerc, hadn't connected the dots. That was because he already had a name that wrapped around his writs. Carlos, in curved letters, spread across the vein that snaked up his arm. Max considered that anyone called Charles he met could be the one, but he was aware that this Charles was taken, and so the battle he enjoyed on track, the rivalry he enjoyed more than any of the other rivalries he had, was something fun. It was fresh, Charles brought a new spark into his life, and Max thought nothing of it; their friendship blossoming.

It wasn't until the accidentally knocked hips that a warmth spread across the bone quickly before dissipating just as fast. Max and Charles held eye contact for a moment, eyes wide, and suddenly Charles dragged Max away from the crowds, hiding between some of the parked cars so no one could see them.

He then immediately started to unzip his racing suit.

"Charles," Max hissed, "what are you doing?"

"Take yours off too, I need to see something," he didn't respond with an answer, just shimmying his suit down so it was loosely hanging below his hip.

"No, Charles, tell me what—"

Max stopped himself, gaping at the exposed skin Charles was showing off. He had hooked his finger underneath the fireproofs, lifting it to expose the strip of skin above his hip.

Across it were three simple letters that spelt out a name: Max.

The name was blue.

Hurriedly, Max undid his own racing suit and fumbled as he tugged the bottom of the shirt up. The name that Max always saw as red had turned blue, at the exact spot where he and Charles had knocked into each other, where the heat had started.

"What does that mean?" Max swallowed thickly, ignoring the way his voice warbled, "Charles, why didn't you say you had my name on your skin too?"

"Because I thought it was weird to have two names! People could laugh at me, or something—"

"But it's blue," Max pointed out. He blinked away tears that threatened to spill. He wasn't sure why he'd gotten so emotional. If his father were to see him now, he surely would disapprove, but he couldn't shake the panic; he couldn't slow the rapid beating of his heart.

"Well, I cannot explain that, but it will be okay," Charles offered.

"We are not soul mates."

For a second, Charles said nothing, hesitating as he stared back at Max. Then, softly, "No, I do not think we are. At least, we aren't meant to be partners."

"You have Carlos," he nodded down towards Charles' hand.

They hadn't met a Carlos yet, at least not one who Charles thought was his soul mate, but whoever it was would be Charles' second half. Max wasn't that; he never considered himself and Charles to be anything more than friends. The feelings people described when they saw their soulmate for the first time— Max never felt with Charles; they had something else, something different, but he didn't understand it. Nor did he know why the name on his skin was suddenly blue.

"And you have someone, no?" Charles asked.

Max froze.

"Where is the second name?" Charles urged, "There is an explanation to this, I am sure of it. You never revealed you had my name on your skin, so what about the other one?"

"Charles, there is no other name," Max responded, and the reality settled, heavy against his heart. That was the truth.

Max had one name on his skin; he only had one soul mark, and it had turned blue.

That meant he had no soulmate.

Max turned around, wiped furiously at his wet eyes with an enclosed fist, and stalked off. Charles didn't call for him, nor did he follow; he let Max leave and let them both drown under the thousands of questions they might never have the answers to.

Back then, Max had been young and naive. So had Charles; he couldn't blame it on either of them for not knowing what it meant. For a while, they didn't mention it, and for a while, they refused to speak to one another. Charles still had a Carlos to search for, and now that Max's secret was known by someone else: he had no soulmate. Sure, the name still stretched across his skin, but Max knew, deep down, that it didn't mean a lifelong, romantic partner; there was something different with Charles. There was always something different with Charles. He felt he could act like himself; he could joke and mess around, and Charles challenged him in a way that no one else could.

Eventually, the pitying looks got to Max, Charles glancing at him from across the track, looking sorry for him, and Max couldn't take it much longer.

"Why are you staring at me like that?"

It was the first thing he said to Charles in weeks, perhaps it had been longer, maybe even a whole month. Max didn't know what to say when it came to Charles, and that scared him. The two of them were always open, yet the words often dried up on his tongue whenever he thought about broaching the subject, so he did what he did best: bury the feelings and avoid them.

Charles also seemed content doing that. Max often caught him staring, or sometimes he would catch Charles examining the name on his writs, poking the soul mark with a finger. It wasn't until Charles started looking at him with real pity that Max grew frustrated.

He needed to speak with Charles.

With the words finally out, having cornered Charles after a karting race to talk about it, Max realised something: he had missed his friend during the time they hadn't been talking.

"Staring at you like what?" Charles tried to feign ignorance. He picked at the nail bed on one of his fingers, scratching at a loose cuticle until it peeled away.

"You're looking at me as if you feel sorry for me, so stop that!"

Immediately, Charles' face snapped to Max, "No, no, that is never what I mean by it. I am just— I am worried."

"Worried?" Max scrunched up his face, confused and a little annoyed. There was nothing Charles needed to worry about; Max was fine. "Why would you be worried about my lack of a soul mark?"

"No, I was worried you were mad at me."

Oh.

He decided to voice that feeling out loud, "Oh."

"Yeah," Charles' voice trailed off. He rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, "I thought you were angry with me. For the name thing."

"No, Charles, I am not angry."

Charles eyed him cautiously, "You're not angry?"

Max shook his head, "Of course not. It is not your fault we are not soul mates. It would be unfair for me to be angry; you should be allowed to be happy with Carlos, whoever that may be."

"But— but, what about you? You do not have another soul mark."

"I know, but maybe that is okay," Max wasn't sure he believed those words; they fell out of his mouth weakly. He took in a breath, knowing Charles was seeing straight through the facade, "Maybe that is okay."

Charles reached out hesitantly, and when Max didn't shy away, he grabbed his hand, "I will always be here for you, though. We still have each other's names on our skin, whatever that could mean."

Max's heart fluttered, he felt his cheeks warm and, in turn, so did Charles'.

"Maybe it is because we were meant to be friends," the suggestion slipped out before Max could stop himself. He cringed inwardly; he didn't want to weird Charles out. If he started blabbering on about how much he valued their friendship and how maybe fate destined them to be best friends forever, Charles might think he was weird!

Thankfully, Charles just grinned, "So, like, friend soulmates?"

Max nodded, the confidence seeping back into him, "Yeah, maybe? Carlos will be your partner one day, but maybe you and I are meant to be friends forever."

"Forever?"

"Erm, yeah, is that," Max stuttered, blush deepening, "is that too weird?"

Charles then yanked Max into a hug, "No, it is not weird! I would love to be friends with you." He pulled away, broke off completely, and offered Max his pinky, "Friends forever, promise?"

Max rolled his eyes fondly, but still interlocked his own pinky finger with Charles', the promise between the two of them solidified. "Yeah," he confirmed, "friends forever."

When they grew a little older, they realised the word they had been looking for was platonic soulmate. It was thrown around a few times, and Charles was the one who discovered it first. On a random Friday morning, he sent Max a text: a screenshot of the definition for "platonic soulmate", because in a world full of romantic bonds, sometimes people found comfort with lifelong friends instead.

He sent a follow-up message that said: Us

Max sent a heart back.

For a while, that was fine. Max sometimes went through slumps, wondering why life had mistreated him by blessing him with such an amazing platonic soulmate, only to strip him of a romantic one instead. Charles still had Carlos, and now the two were inseparable, but Carlos didn't seem to mind that Charles had another man's name plastered on his hip; he understood their friendship was important to both of them and knew Max would never overstep.

Max kept telling himself he was content. Any time someone would talk about their soulmates or ask Max about his soul mark, he would keep his answers brief and as private as possible. He and Charles had managed to keep everything hidden long enough, and Carlos wouldn't tell a soul, so they did not see the need to let anyone else know. They just had to be cautious so that no one else found out; being wary of when they stripped or changed, making sure that if they weren't wearing a top, either the trousers covered the name, or they had some sports tape to wrap over it.

It stayed like that for a while, and nothing seemed to cause problems.

Then came along Daniel Ricciardo.

It didn't hit Max at first. They were introduced to one another, and Max had the added stress of being very young when first thrust into Formula One and into Red Bull, too. He didn't have priorities like finding a soul mate that didn't exist.

So he focused on racing.

He didn't focus on the fact that Daniel could always make him laugh, despite so many others failing, or that Daniel's laugh always made Max's heart skip a beat. Daniel had unwavering kindness; he was caring and tender. He was loud and boisterous in a way that could always light up the room; he could quickly cheer up Max's sour mood. Max ignored the fact that, after a while, his heart would beat a little faster whenever he realised he got to spend time with Daniel. He ignored Charles's comments on it. 

"You like spending time with him, yes? And you always get flustered around him."

He focused on racing.

Racing and performing and pushing himself further and further, so much so that he never noticed Daniel slipping away. He was always so used to the brightness, the joy and laughter, that when Daniel was falling, becoming a shell of himself, Max didn't notice until it felt too late. Daniel was always good at pretending, that was something Max learnt too, a mask, a facade, put up so others wouldn't worry.

Max raced, started climbing, started doing well, and the team saw his potential. He didn't realise that meant the team shifted their focus completely onto Max.

He didn't realise he was in love with Daniel until he was stripped of their teammate status.

Suddenly, Max was told that Daniel was leaving for Renault and that someone else would take his place. Max shouldn't have cared so much. At the end of the day, even your teammate was a rival, so he shouldn't have been so hurt. But it did hurt. He was angry at Daniel for not telling him straight. Max thought they were good enough friends. He was scared and confused about his own feelings.

That was when it dawned on him. He was in love with Daniel.

All the articles he had read, all the books on what it felt like to fall for your soulmate, he was experiencing those things towards Daniel. The fluttering in his stomach, the nerves that sometimes rippled through him, the comfortable feelings they had around each other, flushed cheeks, stuttered words and warm hearts.

Max loved Daniel, and now Daniel was leaving.

Plus, Daniel had no soul mark.

He wasn't shy about the fact. It also wasn't unheard of; some people were born that way, but it was rare. Max recalled exactly when it happened. He hadn't gotten to F1 yet, but he remembered watching the interview. They'd gotten to the topic of soulmates, and someone asked Daniel if he had already found his.

"Oh, no, I haven't," he shrugged casually, "I don't actually have a soul mark."

Murmus broke out across the room as many onlookers scribbled in their notebooks, likely trying to twist it into a story and a witty title for their articles.

"I'm not bothered," Daniel cut in above the hushed chatter, laughing lightly. "I get told all the time that people feel sorry for me, but I'm not bothered at all. If I don't have a soulmate, then that's just how it is, isn't it?"

Max couldn't— he couldn't talk to Daniel because Daniel was content with not having a soul mark, and here Max was, like some pathetic little puppy, tail between his legs, trying desperately to get over a crush that would lead him nowhere.

Daniel was leaving the team. Daniel had no soul mark. Max needed to move on.

So he did.

Well, he thought he did, but Daniel was back to being a major part of his life after a few months of no contact. He was talking to Max as if none of it mattered, as if Max hadn't spent hours after finding out Daniel was leaving pacing his own driver's room and leaving a solid mark in the wall where he punched it.

Max couldn't fault Daniel; Daniel had no idea what Max was going through. He wasn't aware of the internal conflict happening inside his mind. Yet Daniel kept coming back. Despite Max's best efforts to separate them and create distance so he didn't feel suffocated by his own feelings, Daniel never faltered.

Then Daniel was with McLaren and, for the first time ever, Max saw the negativity seep into Daniel's features.

Daniel was hurting; he was showing the world that, and Max had no idea what to do.

He confronted Charles about it once, and all Charles did was roll his eyes, "Go deal with it, he's your soul mate after all."

Max bristled, "Don't say shit like that."

"What? It's true! Carlos, back me up on this one," Charles called out.

Carlos, who was in the bathroom, running products through his hair, shouted back, "I am not getting involved, you two figure that out amongst yourselves!"

Charles sighed dramatically from where he was lying across the bed, "Unbelievable. My own boyfriend is leaving me to fight my own battles."

"There is no battle to fight, Charles," Max scoffed, "I like Daniel, yes, but there's nothing I can do about it. He had no soul mark; that's how it goes."

"But what if—"

"No, Charles," Max cut in but did so softly, "please don't start."

I can't handle thinking about it.

Charles gave him a sad look; it felt as if they were kids again, staring at each other as they got ready for karting, Charles offering up pitiful looks. Though this time they didn't breach the subject, Max looked away, and Charles let him; the silence telling.

He didn't know when he started going to Daniel's hotel room, nor was he sure when Daniel sometimes showed up at his. It must have been sometime after Daniel joined McLaren, one day when he showed up, beer and takeout in hand, Max let him in wordlessly. It became a thing which neither of them acknowledged, content to let it go unspoken.

One day, Daniel was the one to break the silence. The words said quietly, a broken husk of the voice Max had fallen in love with, "Do you think I'm done?"

"What?" Max was sure he had misheard Daniel.

From the bed, Daniel pushed himself up, so he was sitting as he repeated, "Do you think I'm done? Do you think my career is over?"

"No, Daniel, of course I don't," he said instantly.

For a moment, Daniel didn't respond, gaze analysing Max. For once, he felt uncomfortable under Daniel's eyes, an awkward, unfamiliar feeling. "I think you're just being kind."

"No, I am not. I swear—"

"McLaren— they're dropping me," he blurted out.

This time, it was Max's turn to fall silent. Without answering, he stood up from where he was lounging on the floor and perched on the edge of the bed, with enough space between them, but still close enough to say: I'm here.

"You're done?" He asked carefully.

Daniel nodded, eyes downcast as his lashes fluttered rapidly, the telltale sign of a fighting battle against tears. Max knew the feeling well; he was sure Daniel would be crying soon, and Max had no idea how to stop his friend from breaking apart.

"I'm done," he echoed quietly, "they're not keeping me on. They're signing Piastri, I think."

"What— who have you been talking to?"

"No one, Max," Daniel looked up, eyes wet with emotions, "everyone is sorted, no one wants me."

"That can't be true— Daniel, you are an amazing driver, someone surely—"

"No, don't say that, Max. Please don't say that," his voice cracked, the first tear fell, "it's been an uphill battle since you came along— and I'm not faulting you, none of this was your fault! I just struggled to outperform you, and I think that was the first sign."

"You can't be done," Max whispered.

Daniel's brows creased slightly, "What? Max, what do you mean? Of course I'm done! McLaren fucked me about, and now I'm down a seat with no other options!"

"So what? You give up?" Max snapped back, "You lie down and take it? Daniel, you are many things, but you are not a coward."

Daniel sighed frustratedly, hand coming up to run through his curls, "Max, as if I have a say in any of this shit! Don't try to talk like I can do something about it!"

"But you can't go—"

"You keep saying that, but Max, that's what's happened! I'm gone!"

"What about—" he stopped himself.

"What about what, Max?" Daniel prompted.

Max bit his lip and looked away. The thought of Daniel leaving ruined him in a way he wished not to describe. Daniel had talent, and he wanted McLaren to treat him nicer, with the respect he deserved. However, there was something deeper, something more selfish inside Max that made him hate to see Daniel go.

"What about—" he swallowed down his pride, told his ego to stay low, and willed himself to confess, "what about me?"

"What do you mean?" The fight left Daniel, just as it had left Max. When he didn't respond, he reached out and took Max's hand in his own, and softly repeated, "What do you mean, Max?"

"Please do not make me say it," he begged.

"Max, I think you need to say it. Please, let me hear those words and maybe— maybe it will be okay."

Max turned slowly and lifted his free hand to cup Daniel's face. Daniel leant into the touch, melting into Max's fingers. They were closer now, bodies tilting forward towards each other. Breaths mixing, lips inches apart.

"Max?" Daniel tried one last time.

He closed the distance, and Max kissed hungrily, a deep desire raging from within his own heart. Daniel met him there, energy electric, lips cracked, parted slightly as they pulled away.

Then reality hit.

Max never once mentioned his soul mark to Daniel; the only people who knew were his trainer, Charles and Carlos. Even Daniel didn't know; even his father didn't know. Jos always believed that soul mates were a distraction from racing, so when Max didn't pursue Charles romantically, his father was pleased.

Max had Charles' name on his skin; Charles had two names; Daniel had nothing.

The two of them had just kissed.

It felt wrong. Max loved Daniel; he realised that months and months ago, but Daniel was fated never to meet his soulmate because Daniel's soulmate didn't exist.

"Was that stupid?" Max croaked, cheeks warm.

"Maybe," Daniel grinned, lopsided and charming as always, finally sounding more like himself, "but when have we ever been anything but reckless? We're F1 drivers, I think we're all a little stupid."

He paused and frowned when Max didn't respond.

"Max?" Daniel tried, "What's wrong?"

"No, no, it's nothing, I swear— I want this, I want you, Daniel…"

"But?"

"You don't have a name," he pointed out. It felt like ripping off a Band-Aid, all done in one clean swoop, but it still stung.

"Well, yeah, so what?" He shrugged nonchalantly, as if Max wasn't having a breakdown over all of this, as if it meant nothing, "Max, who cares? Unless, like, you have a name on your skin that you've never spoken about? You always tell the press it's private. I assumed you also didn't have one?"

"I—" he stopped himself.

"Do you have a soulmark?"

Max wasn't a coward; he was steady and strong and knew how to handle most things. For example, racing or keeping his head calm when answering stupid questions. He had no idea how to navigate this.

So Max Verstappen did a foolish thing, one he feared would come back and haunt him.

He lied.

"No, no, I don't," because it wasn't a full lie, not really. Max and Charles weren't soulmates in the natural sense; Charles had Carlos, and the two were perfectly content together. Though Max's predicament had never been documented before, and he didn't want to scare Daniel away— he didn't want to be seen as a freak.

Perhaps, in some ways, Max was a coward.

For a second, it looked as if Daniel didn't believe him, and Max was terrified he would continue his questioning, but the expression was gone in a flash. Instead, Daniel brought his hand around the back of Max's head and pulled him in close for another kiss.

The second time it tasted like guilt, Max tried to ignore it.

Daniel was kicked out of McLaren and ended up back in Red Bull. Not as a driver, but the reserve, and it made whatever was happening between them easier to keep under wraps.

Max wouldn't call it a relationship, not really. Whilst he wanted to be able to call Daniel his, he felt it wouldn't be fair; the lie still gnawed at his integrity. They started going out more often, for coffee, for dinner. There were more make-out sessions in drivers' rooms, hotel suites, anywhere the press couldn't see. Never anything more despite Max's yearning. Daniel was up for it too; he'd gently suggest going further, but Max would freeze up and say no, and of course Daniel wouldn't force. He was too kind, too understanding; he never pushed Max to do anything he did not want to do.

Though Daniel didn't understand, Max could never allow himself to indulge because it would mean stripping and showing Daniel the name on his skin.

Charles' name burnt, throbbed against his hip each moment he pretended it wasn't there.

"You're going to have to tell him eventually," Charles told him one day. They were waiting for the driver's parade to start; no microphones were nearby, they'd double-checked before starting the conversation.

"Well, what if I don't want to?"

"And then what? You pretend my name isn't there," Charles prodded a finger into Max's side, "for the rest of your life? Tell me, Max, you want to fuck Daniel, no?"

"Well, I'd actually like him to fuck me—"

"Not the point, I don't need to know the intricacies of your sex life," Charles interrupted, exasperated, "but you do want sex, yes?"

"Of course I do, have you seen Daniel?"

"Well then, what are you going to do about that?" Again, Charles poked his finger into Max's hip, a stab of pain blooming briefly, "because it certainly is going to be an awkward conversation if you leave it too long."

"It's going to be awkward no matter what, I told him I have no soul mark."

Charles gaped at him. Then, "you, Max Verstappen, are the biggest idiot ever."

"Yes! I get it! You don't have to say it so loudly," he hissed. Around them, people started to move. He was being ushered towards the parade vehicle. "I'll try and figure something out."

Charles raised a brow, "Why do I have a sneaking suspicion that you won't?"

"I will," he snapped back, "I'll… do something."

"I bet I'll be saying I told you so in the next few months."

In the end, Max didn't tell Daniel. It wasn't that he didn't trust Daniel— well, okay, there were the deep, dark fears that Daniel would up and leave because, one, Max lied, and two, he had the name of another man on his skin, not Daniel's.

They both got a little bit riskier with where they took the relationship. It was stupid, looking back, that they hadn't checked whether anyone was around. It was down an alleyway in the paddock, they thought they'd snuck away for a quiet moment between themselves, a chaste kiss as Daniel leant into Max.

It was nothing. It was quick. It was a moment between the two of them and the two of them alone; no one had the right to take that away from them.

The next morning, he woke to hundreds of notifications and missed calls from too many important people for there not to be a problem. Daniel was still sound asleep next to him, snoring away. Max had gotten used to sleeping in bed with Daniel now, often slipping away to change in the bathroom as he brushed his teeth, and Daniel, always considerate, never questioned him.

There were a lot of people from the team he should probably have called back first. Christian's messages went unanswered as he scrolled through his phone contacts, finally finding the man he was looking for.

He didn't even have a chance to say hello; Charles was already barking down the line.

"You idiot, you absolute fucking idiot," Charles rambled, "you two are the most idiotic idiots I have ever known because why did you think that would be a good idea? Of course you would—"

"Charles," Max was worried his friend wouldn't hear him with how quiet his voice was, but luckily, Charles stopped, "What are you even talking about?"

There was muttering on the other side, and suddenly a much deeper voice was speaking to him, Carlos' tone smoother than Charles', "Max, are you alone right now?"

"No— Daniel's here with me, he's asleep."

"Wake Daniel up."

"Carlos, what's going on?" His heart was hammering in his chest, beating against his rib cage so harshly he was worried it would burst through it. He put the phone on speaker, placed it in his lap, atop the duvet, and shook Daniel awake.

Daniel grumbled groggily before blinking up at Max. Alerted by the panicked expression, he sat up instantly, "What's happened? Are you okay?"

Max didn't answer; instead, he spoke into his phone, "Carlos, you're on speaker, Daniel is awake."

"Alright, good, okay. You're on speaker too. Charles is here."

Daniel tapped Max's knee. What the fuck is happening? He mouthed.

Max shook his head and shrugged, I have no idea.

"Have you guys spoken to anyone else yet?" Carlos' voice cut through the silence, tension thick. He was serious, and Max's heart sank even more. This was serious.

"No, I— I saw that my phone has hundreds of notifications, but I called Charles immediately. Daniel has just woken up."

"Alright, first things first, after this call ends, Charles and I will come meet you, and you will organise to meet with the Red Bull team. I'm sure they're trying to get a hold of you as we speak," Carlos started, "though I am glad it is me who gets to tell you this. Just so you know, it is not the end of the world, okay?"

"Carlos, you're kind of freaking me out here," Daniel chuckled uneasily, "just spit it out."

"There are photos."

Max felt the world start to crumble. Daniel spluttered, "Photos?"

"Of you two. Kissing." Carlos clarified, "shared late last night, I think they were taken during the day yesterday? You're in the paddock somewhere, and it's shadowed and a little blurry, but everyone can see who it is clearly."

Max felt the world shatter. For once, Daniel was rendered speechless.

"Fuck," was all he could say.

"Try not to go on social media, okay? They are saying— well, there is a lot of support, of course there is, but you know how touchy people can get with soul mark shit, even when it isn't any of their business."

Max wanted to throw up, or cry, or pass out; maybe do all three if he was lucky, and then he wouldn't have to be aware and conscious for the shit show that was about to happen.

"Alright, fuck, okay," Daniel seemed to kick into action. He sprang from the bed and kicked around the clothes scattered across the floor to find something suitable to wear. "We will try. We won't do anything stupid, okay?"

"We will be there as soon as possible," then they hung up.

Daniel was changing quickly, and Max sat unmoving for several moments, blinking at the duvet he'd bunched up in his hands. Max never disclosed his sexuality. In the past, he'd mentioned Grindr, and he said he couldn't remember if his first kiss was a boy or a girl, but this was different. This was proof. Besides, Daniel hadn't come out either. This wasn't fair to Daniel, forcing him to discuss something so private.

His hip pulsed in tandem with his heart, breathing uneasily.

His hip, his hip, his hip.

They would have to discuss the photo. There was no way Daniel and Max could shrug it off or sweep it under the rug, there was no way they could shy away from it, and whilst it wasn't anyone else's place to out them, Max didn't care about that. He didn't care if the world knew about his sexuality; he just kept thinking about his hip. Charles' name was plastered against his skin, letters blue, unfamiliar, and how the world would tear him apart if they found out that truth too.

He was fearful it would tear Daniel apart too.

"Max, you can get dressed, it's alright. We can handle this," Daniel coaxed the duvet from his slowly.

"Daniel, this is not fair."

"I know," Max heard the sad tilt to Daniel's voice, "but we can do this, together."

"Alright," it didn't comfort him in the slightest. His hip was hot, the curves of the letters like a cattle prod pressing into his skin. He couldn't help but brush his fingers over the bone, looking for comfort he knew he wouldn't receive.

When Daniel went to the toilet, Max saw the opportunity to get changed too, making sure his soul mark wasn't spotted. Soon after, Charles and Carlos arrived as they said they would, Charles barreling into Daniel as he opened the door, hugging him tight.

Then he looked over to Max, who was standing awkwardly in the middle of the room.

"Come here," Charles muttered as he took two large strides to meet Max, arms out and waiting.

Max crumbled into the hug.

"I am sorry for yelling. I am not angry at you, I am angry at the world."

"I know Charles," he mumbled into the crook of his friend's neck. Somewhere behind them, Carlos and Daniel were exchanging harried words.

"Have you—" Charles pulled away, "Have you told him yet?"

Max shook his head, shame colouring his cheeks a rosy pink.

"Max—"

"I know, I know, but I can't do it now."

"If not now, then when?" Charles countered, "It will only get worse the longer you leave it Max."

"Let me handle this first, okay? Then— then I'll think about it."

It wasn't a then I'll talk, and Charles knew that, but despite their years of friendship, despite being platonic soulmates, Max knew that Charles would never be the one to tell Daniel. He would always wait until Max was ready.

The problem was that Max wasn't sure if he would ever be ready.

Though he couldn't dwell on that because they were heading to the paddock, and Carlos and Charles made sure to flank them as they practically sprinted through crowds, ignoring the questions thrown their way, trying to dismiss each comment, bobbing and weaving through eager fans ready to record something they could post online for the world to see.

Max, Daniel, what do you have to say about the video?

Any comments?

Are you two a couple? Is that video real?

What about soul marks? Daniel has no—

Max, is Daniel your soul mark—

Max ignored them; he had to, or he would shatter under the pressure of the questions. He'd never cared much about the interviews, or making statements, or saving face, but suddenly it was as if the whole world was watching them, a spotlight centred on the two of them and no one else. Now it was personal; they were trying to peer into him in a way they shouldn't, they were trying to peer into Daniel's soul, too.

Max felt himself falter, tripping over his own feet.

Instinctively, Daniel reached out and grabbed his hand, not caring about the cameras, the yelling, the questions; he just pulled Max along.

When the four of them stumbled into the Red Bull hospitality, the doors slamming shut, it was blissfully quiet for about two seconds before the chaos unfolded inside the walls.

Max and Daniel found themselves in a meeting with many very important people from the Red Bull team. Luckily, no one had thought to invite Jos, which Max was grateful for. The last thing he needed right now was getting an earful from his own father, too. Max was aware they had been stupidly foolish and had gotten caught. He didn't need several people repeating the fact to him, let alone his father; what he needed was their next plan of action.

Which, thankfully, the team had it all figured out.

Not that Max was entirely pleased with it, but it would have to do.

They then found themselves in front of a small crowd, all the journalists pointing their recording devices at Max and Daniel as Daniel spoke on their behalf. Max was fine with that, but he was happy to let Daniel be the one to talk because Max feared his voice would wobble if he tried to speak.

He just hated that they had to announce their private matters like this, with the entire world listening.

"Neither of us wanted to have to speak up like this. It was never anyone else's decision to make; it was only for us to decide when to speak." Daniel spoke clearly, sounding unusually serious, "The fact that it came out like this is unfortunate and unfair. It is, above all else, an invasion of privacy, and that is never something that should be crossed, no matter who we are dealing with. Yes, Max and I are drivers, and a lot of our lives are out there in the open, but this was never meant to happen. But we are not denying it."

A wave of murmurs washed over the crowd. Daniel held out his hand against the table where he and Max were sitting, palm facing upwards. He gave Max a small smile and a slight nod, reassuring him.

This is okay, we will be okay.

Max interlocked his fingers with Daniel.

Daniel continued, "Whilst we disagree with how the information came about, neither of us will deny the photo. It was an intimate moment shared between us, yes, but there will be no further questions on this matter. It is not the first time two drivers have been pictured together, and I doubt it will be the last. Neither of us are allowing the relationship to get in the way of our own personal careers. As stated, we will take no further questions, nor will we be forced to answer anything about soul marks. What Max and I decide is no one else's business but our own. Thank you."

The crowd erupted into a slew of questions as Daniel and Max stood. Despite Daniel saying nothing else would be answered, there were of course people who were hungry for a good article, begging for the next juicy slice of gossip they could latch onto.

Max couldn't pinpoint any of the questions at first, voices overlapping in a cacophony of incoherent shouting.

Except then one sounded out, clear as day.

"So what title would you give this relationship?"

They stalled. It was a question they had both considered, too, but neither had breached the topic, perhaps too scared that if they did, the perfect momentum they'd fallen into would finally break.

However, Daniel leant forward towards the mic so his words would get picked up, "Max Verstappen is my boyfriend. I will be taking no further questions now; neither will he. That is all."

Max let himself be guided by Daniel into a back room, a quiet space where no one could get through. Only staff who were kind enough to give them a moment of peace before the rest of the day unfolded. There was still so much to do, social media posts to make, a proper talk needed to be had with Christian, but all that could wait.

Daniel shut the door behind them.

"We fucking did it," he grinned.

Max forced his hands not to tremble. He cracked a small smile, "Yeah. We did."

"And— I hope that wasn't too much, if I overstepped, then tell me. Max, we can figure it out—"

Max shut him up by kissing him, feeling Daniel's lips like silk against his skin.

They broke apart. "Daniel, of course I want to be your boyfriend."

If he focused on how happy Daniel looked in that moment, Max could just about ignore the guilt trying to sully his mind, forcing him to forget the mark on his hip for a brief moment, to indulge with the man he had fallen for.

Of course, over the next few weeks, there were always questions thrown their way about their relationship. Though he often didn't answer, never commenting. The rest of the grid was supportive, most of the outside world was supportive too, and Max decidedly ignored any hate; he didn't care much about it anyway. He had bigger things to focus on.

Namely, his soul mark.

He needed to tell Daniel. He wanted to tell Daniel.

After everything they had both gone through, it only seemed fair. Daniel still believed Max had no soul mark, as did the rest of the world. Before the world found out, it was only fair that Daniel was told about Max's mark first. Max would wait until they had a break, something longer than just one week between races, and he would tell Daniel.

He would.

He would.

Perhaps what happened next was karma for leaving it for too long, for not being honest with his boyfriend from the day they decided to start fooling around. Max thought being outed, his relationship put on blast, would have been the worst thing to ever happen to him.

Then came the second wave.

It was a Friday, qualifying tomorrow, and Max finished off a good practice session. He'd tied his race suit around his waist for a bit; the heat was sweltering, and he hadn't once considered anything slipping. Even when the suit fell, he still had his fireproof on. He never even entertained the idea that anything bad could happen.

Then the photos came.

He was sitting in his driver's room when a ping sounded from his phone. It was from Charles, with a photo attached.

He opened the message.

I told you so.

Below it was a screenshot of a tweet. Max was bent over, picking something up, race suit hanging loosely around his waist. What caught his eye, though, was the way his fireproof rode up slightly— there it was, just above his hip, a pale sliver of skin, and across it was Charles' name in blue.

The tweet read:

Max DOES have a soul mark??? And it's blue??? And Charles' name??? Okay firstly I have never heard of anyone having a blue soul mark and secondly is it Charles LECLERC???? Is he not with Carlos????? Someone get Ferrari on the phone, I have questions

He thought maybe this was some weird, destined justice, a divine punishment he was forced to face. He hurled his phone across his room, it slamming into the wall before clattering to the floor. Max hoped it was broken.

It burst into life, ringtone blaring, and Max groaned, decidedly ignoring it.

Everyone knew. Everyone knew his secret, and he didn't even get to tell Daniel first; the choice had been taken away from him—

There was a frantic knock at his door, and Max stilled, hoping whoever it was would leave him be, but then terror settled as he realised he hadn't locked it, the handle twisting; Charles let himself in.

"I don't need a lecture right now," Max blurted.

"I think you are aware of how much of an idiot you have been, yes?"

Max nodded shakily.

"I am not here to lecture you; I am here to check if you are okay. How are you feeling?" Charles asked.

Stupidly, Max realised this didn't just concern him anymore. Daniel, of course, was involved, and now Charles had been dragged into this mess, and it was only a matter of time before Carlos had to face it too, since he was Charles' actual soulmate.

"I fucked up," Max whispered.

"Yes, you did," Charles agreed.

"I was gonna tell him, you have to believe me," he tried, but Charles' expression turned neutral, the soft edges hardening, "I was waiting for a break, and then I was going to tell him, it isn't fair that they beat me to it—"

"Max, you have had all the time in the world to tell Daniel," Charles wasn't harsh with his words, but they still stung. The truth struck like a spark of electricity, "You have no right to say they beat you to it. Yes, I agree; it was never meant to be shared like that. But you slipped up, and someone saw."

"Charles," Max hated how weak his voice sounded, "what do I do?"

His friend sighed. He reached out and wrapped his arms around Max, "You make it up to Daniel. You love him, don't you?"

"Of course I fucking love him," Max's hands scrambled to clutch the back of Charles' shirt, "I love him so much, and I fucked up, I wouldn't be surprised if he never trusts me again."

"No, stop that. Daniel could never hate you. Could he be mad? Yes. Will you have to work for the forgiveness? Of course, but talk to him. Tell him you love him, Max."

"Alright," Max broke off, "what about you and Carlos and Ferrari—"

Charles waved a hand, "Don't worry about us, we've got it covered. You sort yourself out first."

Then Max was out the door, searching for Daniel, and found him in one of the empty strategy rooms, quietly sitting alone in the middle, head in hands, elbows resting against the table.

Max rapped his knuckles against the doorframe, "Daniel? Can we talk?"

Daniel took in a shuddering breath before turning to look at Max, eyes red and puffy, tear tracks had carved lines down his cheeks. He wasn't crying anymore, but the sight split Max's heart in two.

"Daniel—"

"Max, what's there to talk about?" Daniel's voice was dull. Max would have preferred anger, yelling, anything that wasn't the sad sound of giving up, "You have another man's name marked on your body, and you never told me."

"I was going to—" then he stopped himself, Charles' words filtering into his mind, "but I didn't. I should have told you. I fucked up and kept waiting because I was too scared."

Daniel didn't respond, so Max continued.

"I fucked up," he repeated, "really, really badly. I know I should have told you, but please believe me when I say Charles is not my soul mate. He has Carlos, and their bond is real."

"Then why is his name on your skin?"

"Have you— have you ever heard of platonic soulmates?"

Daniel blinked at Max. He didn't give any indication of an answer; no words, no nod, no shake of his head.

"In theory, it is something that doesn't exist, but Daniel, there is no other explanation. The name is blue, not red. Have you ever heard of a soul mark being blue before?" Once again, no answer, " Charles and I found out when we were kids. We bumped hips; the names were red before that, and then turned blue. Back then, I was certain someone called Charles would be my soulmate, but the name is blue, and neither of us fully understood it then, though we do now."

Max was breathing hard, chest heaving as he reigned in his panic. He didn't have the right to he scared, not after his own monumental mistake.

"And so you're saying you and Charles are platonic soulmated?" Daniel asked slowly.

"Yes."

"Charles knew?"

"Yes."

"And does Carlos know about this, too?"

Max swallowed, "Yes. Yes, he does."

Daniel finally stood, body resigned. Despite his stature, he looked small. "Then tell me, Max," Daniel hissed, "why did you never tell me?"

"Because I was scared you'd leave."

"And you think this is the solution‽" There was the anger Max had been searching for, jutting out through Daniel's words.

"No—"

"Tell me, Max, when we kissed, did you think of Charles? Every time we made out— I, fuck, you've moaned my name before Max, but was it ever me you were thinking about?" Daniel started to pace up and down the room, weaving around the tables as he gestured, "and then you never wanted sex. And I thought it was because you didn't want to rush things, but it's because you had a mark on your skin and you were too ashamed to show me, isn't it?"

Max opened his mouth to answer, but the words died on his tongue.

"Max, answer me, please," Daniel's voice cracked as he turned his gaze to Max, "if you didn't have Charles' name on your skin, would we have had sex already? Would our relationship be something more than what it is right now?"

Max nodded.

"Fuck!" Daniel kicked a chair, the plastic tipping, bouncing across the floor before tumbling into the wall. "And have you been thinking about the name on your skin every time we kissed? As I told the world that you are my boyfriend, were you thinking about the fucking soul mark?"

A beat. Then weak, feeble, and ashamed: "Yes."

"I can't do this right now."

"Wait, Daniel—"

Daniel was pushing past Max to get out of the room, "Give me some space, Max, I can't handle this all right now."

"I'm sorry," it felt pitiful; it didn't hold the strength Max hoped it would.

Daniel stopped walking and gazed over his shoulder one last time, "I know."

"Will you— can I—" Max had no idea what he wanted to say. Daniel didn't wait to hear whether Max completed the sentence, storming down the corridor and out of sight.

Daniel wasn't in the hotel room when Max arrived, and only Max's belongings were left. He felt that if he hounded Daniel with messages, then he would come across as overbearing, so instead, he only sent one that night:

Be safe.

Daniel read it but didn't reply.

Max wouldn't be able to tell you what happened during that weekend. Qualifying passed in a blur, and whilst some reporters tried to squeeze a story out of Max, he refused to give them answers. He'd already been prepped and trained for it; the two-hour meeting they had first thing had him prepared for anything that would get thrown his way.

Daniel did not show up at the paddock that day.

He didn't show up for the race either, and Max felt an itch under his skin, a shake to his fingers. He wanted so badly to call Daniel and leave an hour-long voice mail about everything he did wrong. Charles advised against it, telling Max he needed to ride this one out.

"You hurt him," he said flatly, "give him time."

Max gulped hard, "And what if he never comes back?"

"Oh, Max," Charles pressed a kiss atop of Max's head, "he will come back, you two are made for each other."

Max knew he should have listened to Charles; if only he had done so in the first place, this whole mess would never have happened. However, Max was very good at ignoring Charles' advice, so a little bit before the race began, he found his phone and sent a few texts to Daniel.

I miss you

I miss you so much

I know I don't deserve you I messed up big time

I can say sorry again and again but I feel like it won't make up for my mistakes

You deserve so much better than this

But I meant what I said Daniel

Charles and I are platonic soulmates but you are the only one for me

It has always been you

I miss you

I hope you are safe right now

Once again, Daniel read the messages, but he never replied.

Max, despite the mounting pressure from his fracturing relationship, won the race. Celebrations were unfolding, and his body moved on autopilot, hopping into the crowd of Reb Bull team members, handling the motions of the victory, but it felt hollow.

He managed to smile on the podium; he pretended to look happy to be there, pretended to be over the moon with another victory. He shook hands, listened to the national anthem, appreciated the roar of the crowd and even shook champagne over his fellow drivers.

It wasn't until the post-race interview that something clicked.

It hadn't necessarily been a question about Daniel; those were off the table right now, but the reporter phrased it in such a way that everyone could understand the connotations.

"You have another win under your belt. Are you celebrating with anyone tonight?"

Someone went to tell the interviewer the question wasn't appropriate, but Max held up a hand to stop them. He picked up the microphone, unusually heavy in his sweaty palm, and began his answer.

"I understand what you are asking," he felt all eyes on him, something he was used to. Still, it now suddenly felt daunting, "You are all wondering why Daniel is not here, you are wondering why I have Charles' name on my hip, and you are wondering if Daniel has a soul mark or not, correct?"

No one answered. Max knew they wouldn't; all of them eagerly waited for him to continue instead.

"As everyone here knows, Charles' name on my skin is blue. Yes, it is a soul mark," he could imagine the riot back in Red Bull if they could hear what he was saying. Lay low, say nothing, they had told him. Max was way past that now. "Charles also has my name on his skin, and yes, this is about Charles Leclerc, and my name on his skin is blue as well. But before anyone jumps to conclusions, let me ask, do you know why the names are blue?"

The murmurs came, but no one directly answered.

"Because we are platonic soulmates," Max filled in, ignoring that someone was standing to the side, calling him, hissing his name under their breath. He could see in his peripheral it was a Red Bull kit. Max made an effort not to look over. "Charles and I started with our names in red, and when we touched, they turned blue. Charles has Carlos' name on his skin, and Carlos has Charles'; they are red names. What Charles and I have doesn't take away from their relationship, nor does it take away from mine and Daniel's."

His voice wobbled. Max took a deep, long breath.

"Charles and I are platonic, nothing more. My heart lies elsewhere. Daniel has never lied to you; he has only ever told the truth; he has no soul mark. Though why should that matter? I was a fool; if anyone needs to be angry at us, then direct it at me, not him."

Finally, Max centred himself to look directly into the main camera, "Daniel, if you are watching this, I love you. Who fucking cares about what's on my skin and what's not on yours? My heart belongs to you, and I hope that can be enough for me to fix the mess I have made."

Max didn't want to add anything else; he couldn't anyway— he was already being rushed away by Red Bull staff, away from the yelling reporters now eager to hear more, through an empty corridor devoid of microphones and cameras.

Christian didn't look particularly happy to see Max, but he didn't look annoyed, per se, either.

"You have just made our lives so much more difficult, I hope you know that, Max," he sighed heavily.

"Yes, and we both know nothing could have stopped me from doing that."

"You're too stubborn, Max. I swear you'll be the death of me one day," Christian fished out a small slip of paper from his pocket, "here."

"What is it?" Max unfolded the paper, a number scribbled against the white.

"It's Daniel's hotel room."

Max's eyes widened, "but what—"

"Go," Christian urged, "talk to Daniel, we can handle the mess around her for now, okay?"

Max was outside the hotel room within half an hour. Nervously, he knocked on the door, not even sure Daniel wanted to see him. Though the door swung open in a matter of seconds.

"You said you loved me," Daniel said in lieu of a greeting.

"Yes. And I meant it," Max promised.

"You said you loved me," Daniel repeated, "you said it for the whole world to hear, and you meant it."

"Yeah," Max sucked in a breath. He felt his eyes grow wet, and he scolded himself internally. He wasn't going to cry.

Daniel reached out, grabbed Max and brought him into the room. When he did, with his palm wrapped around the back of Max's wrist, a sudden warmth sparked against his skin. Instinctively, Daniel dropped his hold, staggering back.

Max had felt the feeling before— years and years ago, when the world decided he and Charles were destined to be friends for the rest of their lives, no matter what.

He glanced down and let out a laugh, disbelieving, because Daniel's name was spread across his wrist and stretching up his arm.

Bold lettering, all red.

Max's name was printed across Daniel's palms, curly writing dancing along the grooves of his skin.

Bold lettering, all red.

"There's no way that just happened. There is no fucking way that should happen," Daniel gawked, "People are either born with, or without a soul mark, there has never been a case like this before."

"I guess we decided our own fates," Max supplied, "the world said to us no, you're not soul mates, and we said fuck you, yes we are."

Daniel glanced at him a little longer, then, in two seconds flat, they pounced on each other; a hand in Max's hair, an arm wrapping around Daniel's back, lips clashing and breaths twisting. Someone's foot kicked the door shut, and they stumbled into the main part of the room, Daniel landing on the bed, Max on top of him.

"Hey," Daniel grinned up at him when they parted, both of them panting, "I haven't gotten to say I love you yet."

"I don't deserve you." Max blinked, slightly confused to see wet splotches on Daniel's face. Wait, fuck, Daniel wasn't crying— Max was the one crying.

"Hey, it's okay, no need for that," Daniel wiped away some of the tears, "don't think like that. You made a mistake, but now you've apologised."

"I'm sorry," he warbled.

"And I forgive you."

"I love you, Daniel," he leaned forward and planted a kiss against Daniel's cheek.

"And I love you too," Daniel said, guiding Max, so their lips met once again.

The night melted away, nothing more than soft moans, gluttonous touches, and the sacred intimacy they shared. Clothes discarded on the floor, bed sheets ruffled, Max running on the high of passion— his mouth dedicated to Daniel and vice versa. His boyfriend's hands roaming where they hadn't been before, desperate touches that brought whisps of blazing adoration, the air in the room saccharine, thick with sugary comforts and heavy with the taste of devotion.

The following morning, waking up in bed half-naked, not caring if Daniel saw his hip, they devised a plan. They did not discuss the plan with the Red Bull team, but Carlos and Charles seemed to like it, and really, that was all that mattered to them.

Two Instagram posts, one posted to Daniel's account and the other to Max's.

It was a photo of Max's wrist and Daniel's palm, their new soul marks facing towards the camera. Daniel captioned his: Hey, if anyone was going to make history by breaking the laws of soul marks, it was going to be us.

Max also used that picture, but then added another one afterwards, one of when he was much younger. His mum had taken it, it was of him and Charles, both of them excitedly pulling down the waist of their trousers just enough to share the blue soul marks pressed against their hips.

Max captioned his post: See how lucky I am? Not just a platonic soul mark but a romantic one too. I really do win at everything.

It was safe to say, the world went wild.

Max and Daniel laughed giddily as they watched fans freak out as the teams and FIA tried to control the fallout. Though when a message came through from Christian: you two are idiots, glad you found each other, they knew it was going to be okay.

Besides, whatever life threw at them next, they had each other.

They lounged in the hotel room as the world outside devolved into madness because of Max and Daniel's announcement. He and his boyfriend curled up on the bed while Charles lay across the floor, and Carlos perched on one of the chairs.

It felt normal— the blue name and red name that marked his skin. It felt good.

"I love you," he whispered to Daniel. He felt a pleasant, warm buzz under the skin along his wrist and arm, exactly where the red lettering sat.

Daniel cuddled Max even closer, "I love you too."