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Checo is back on the grid.
Max remembers thinking about it back when Cadillac started to tease they would be joining the whole thing and again when it was confirmed and speculations about who would be driving for them started. Sergio Pérez was one of the names people repeated over and over, placing him as one, if not the best, choice they had since they were new.
He remembers abusing the use of the auto translate button to understand what people were saying and remembers that most of the comments talked about him deserving better than what he got in Red Bull, that he needed to teach everyone who doubted him how capable he was and more than anything, that he deserved better than Max.
It hurt, even if he didn’t want to admit it. Things between them could have ended better and there were times where he thought they didn’t end in full tragedy just because Sergio was the better person and didn’t let things escalate further but he’s different now.
And sure, it’s not that it has been a lifetime since they parted ways, but even media and fans have mentioned here and there that Max Verstappen is not the same Max Verstappen he was two years ago, not even a year and something inside of him tells him that may be enough.
Max still loves him.
He never stopped, actually. When it all ended, he just convinced himself that everything he felt was a product of the long hours they spent together, that it was the bond they shared as drivers for the same team and nothing else. When Sergio was no longer around him those feelings were going to get away.
They didn’t.
His thoughts constantly went back to him. From the level of understanding they had during a race to how it ended, how the other looked hurt when Max couldn’t add much more after giving him a mostly generic goodbye. He regrets it, of course, he cringes at remembering the moment, anger making him glare at his own reflection in the mirror because that was the moment, his best chance to maybe just hint at what the other truly meant to him.
He knew it made little sense to think about it at that time. With Sergio gone, Red Bull moved on to prepare for the next season, confident that letting go of the other had been the best move, even saying things were going to be better and he had focused on that, keeping himself distracted to follow said strategy until…
Well, two points still sting.
At the end of the day, however, Max finds no use in thinking about that part in particular. The entire world could see what was done to the Mexican driver with the results for this last season and they were free to think whatever they wanted, he still didn’t care about what most had to say about him or what went around him and it’s not as if he needed to add something else. The unexpected firings at the end of it gave them enough material, and Max believes he is now above it. Part of his change and all.
The only thing he has right now is the fact that Sergio will be back and even if they are not going to be around each other all the time like they used to, he will see him, will have the chance of exchanging a couple of words with him, hell, maybe even invite him over just for the old times' sake.
That morning he finds himself anxiously pacing around his room, trying to get ready. Everyone has been called over for a small pre-season event. Nothing official, nothing too extravagant, just a small thing they’re doing in favour of getting everyone together since there’s a new team and new teammates, even when said people are ones they already know.
Max wasn’t particularly excited about it until he remembered Sergio was going to be there.
It was one of the most childish things, he knew, but it had been a long time since he talked with the other and while he knows it’s not that he will jump in to kiss the other or drag him so he is only around him, he wants to believe there’s a lot of things they can talk about it to make things better between both.
He arrives with that thought in mind. He greets the ones around, praises Lando again, seeing how the other still has that shine of euphoria in his eyes thanks to his win and even is thankful to see him dragging Oscar around to let him unknowingly know both are doing well despite the whole thing that happened the year before, and settles with Charles, George and Alex to talk about some trivial things that go around how Christmass went for them. He sees Valtteri arriving alone and spending a while greeting everyone before he reaches where they are, where George and he engage in a conversation that sets them aside.
Sergio arrives a bit late.
Max tries not to smile at how endearing he finds it.
As expected, Sergio soon becomes the centre of attention. Everyone gathers around him to greet him effusively, hugging him, patting him on his back and asking a million questions he effortlessly replies. Max sees him congratulating Lando, who seems to use that to wash away the awkwardness that he felt since it all started.
His eyes finally fall on him.
It’s brief, he looks at Carlos when he walks to him with a joder that makes him laugh, but for Max it's a sign to finally move closer, something that incenses Hadjar to do the same even when Max didn’t even know the other was that close to him.
“Checo,” he says, it still slips out easily from his lips, his smile, too. “Good to see you again, mate.”
“Verstappen, good to see you too.”
Everything seems to stop around him.
He doesn’t register what he tells to the now second seat nor what he says to the rest of people who move towards him, he’s only aware of the sensation left inside his chest and how some are looking at him. Hell, even Piastri can’t hold back the surprise in his normally calm face before Lando pulls him away again.
Verstappen?
He can’t even remember when was the last time he called him that or even if he did in the first place. It was always Max this, Max that, and hadn’t he greeted everyone else with their names? Even Lawson got a fucking Liam.
Whatever it is, he feels disconnected for the rest of the evening because of it and while he does manage to go back to function like a normal human capable of registering what happens around him, he can’t help but go over and over what happened, with his eyes moving to the other who does look at him every now and then but never enough to leave clear what is going on.
It is as infuriating as it is painful.
“He just returned, need to give him some time, you know?”
Max tries not to narrow his eyes. Lewis means well, he’s trying to be helpful and is going out of his way to comfort him, but even when Max changed, he still feels bothered and annoyed by it. He blames it on everything.
“No, yeah, it’s fine,” he says, crossing his arms over his chest. “I know and understand, later will be the time.”
Or so he hopes. It’s frankly hard to think about what’s going to happen now. If calling him Verstappen while around people that know each other caused this kind of reaction, then he doesn’t even want to imagine how it would be in a more uncontrolled environment. He can even imagine the head titles and everything that will follow him the entire season.
And yet, he can’t even think about just letting it be.
It’s not that someone can blame him, he has been dealing with his feelings for his former teammate for a long time now and even when he knew he was going to be forced to face them once Sergio was confirmed as Cadillac’s driver, he, admittedly, thought it would go differently.
Verstappen keeps ringing in his ears.
His own freaking surname sounds like a direct jab at his chest.
How pathetic is that?
They stumble upon each other during a normal day at the track prior to the start of the practices. Max is just there for some last-minute checks; the team is more focused on his new teammate and still trying to figure out Red Bull as a whole now that it is missing so many people.
Sergio passes by jogging right next to him.
He doesn’t say anything to him, though, in his defence, he doesn’t say anything to anyone, he seems to be late and Max tries to keep his heart from jumping at that and the fact that he still looks so good in his suit.
Black suits him, like their blue race suit fit him better than the ones with a lighter colour.
He keeps staring at him until he goes inside with someone who was already waiting for him and while nothing happened, he finds it a bit hard to concentrate for the rest of the day. More focused on finding an opening that lets him approach the other with no success.
And just like that, the season starts and he’s in Australia.
Practices start. Max ends up winning pole position in the first one while Valtteri and Sergio can’t pass Q2, though, it’s reasonable. Experience and all it’s still their first time with this car, and both reaffirm it during their interviews. They’re still satisfied with the results, everyone celebrates, like it normally happens when it’s early season and tension between teams and even teammates isn’t quite there.
That Sunday Max ends up winning and contrary to what a lot believed, Sergio secures himself a tenth place that tastes very sweet for his team. For Max, it tastes even sweeter, getting to see him so happy makes things feel better, even if both weren’t better.
“Congratulations, mate, very good race.”
The irony of all of it is that Max wasn’t expecting it. He is distracted talking with Charles while the younger ones dance, when he feels the clap on the back that made him turn in time to see Sergio’s smiling face congratulating him. He’s sure he looks like a complete idiot.
“You too, you did great,” he says, brain struggling to start working. “Wonderful time, too.”
He’s probably overdoing it, even Charles coughs at his side, but he isn’t sure how to fix it. He has been trying to get this chance and when he gets it, it takes him completely by surprise and unprepared. It’s ridiculous.
“Yeah, well, it’s just starting,” Sergio says after clearing his throat, his smile is still there but maybe not as bright. “See you around.”
He leaves before Max can think of something else to save it, soon getting lost among the mass of people around the small space.
“You need to talk to him,” Charles says, leaning closer. “But like, in a more private setting.”
“You think I don’t know?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at him. “It’s not that I will just knock on his hotel room.”
“Yeah, that would be a disaster,” he concedes with a faint frown. “I’m sure you will find the time, though. He didn’t call you Verstappen this time.”
He didn’t call him anything but as much as he hates to admit it, Charles has a point.
|||
Something Max didn’t take into consideration was how hectic everything was during a season.
Well, no, he didn’t really forget, the whole thing was engraved in his memory and could describe everything in great detail, he just… didn’t think everything through.
At one point he got used to having Sergio around all the time, at one point, he assumed there was always going to be time for both to talk and sit down without being bothered by cameras and even other drivers. Sergio’s time outside of Red Bull felt like an eternity ago and he didn’t even consider it would be more like those days.
His new normal is Cadillac’s team and Valtteri.
Max doesn’t hate him, he’s not that unstable, but it does sting to see them interacting so naturally, so comfortably while he couldn’t even find the time to talk with the other.
A part of him is starting to feel depressed about it. He had been excited to see the other again, hopeful at the idea of talking so he could see he was different. So Max could apologise. But had instead received a Verstappen that kicked his mind into a dark hole.
Maybe he was paying for everything he did wrong.
With a sigh, he pushes his earphones in and does a quick series of stretching to start jogging. The sun starting its way makes everything look beautiful, like a perfect scenario that only has the purpose of helping him relax and escape the troubling thoughts.
Or not.
He doesn’t recognise the one coming towards him for a good couple of seconds, he’s too busy taking in the view and it’s not he’s the only one running at this hour, he has passed many more, but when he looks back to the front he realises he knows that figure.
Both seem to hesitate, Sergio’s stance in particular stings more, but Max ultimately decides to push through because this may be his only chance.
“You still run at this hour,” Sergio says when he stops, he’s panting slightly, a thin layer of sweat coating his forehead. “Should have known.”
“I can see you keep doing it as well,” he says, praying it doesn’t sound weird. “It’s a habit at this point.”
“A good one,” he agrees, though, that damn awkwardness is starting to cling to him. “I’ll leave you to run.”
“Why don’t we go get a coffee instead?” The poor thing almost trips with his own feet. “Unless you have other things to do, of course.”
He sees the million things that cross his mind, the doubts, the hesitation that almost makes him back out on his offer, but he’s just asking for a simple thing, one chance.
“Sure, why not.”
Luckily, a couple of coffee shops are already open and Max chooses the one that looks best and has a couple of people walking out with cups that smell good. Sergio still is a bit of a tense mess at his side, but that wonderful personality he has shines through and keeps him from fully showing it.
“So… how is it to be back?” he asks, trying to sound as casual as possible while they walk back.
“Interesting, feels good,” he answers with a hum. “There’s a lot of changes but I think we’re getting the hang of it. It was only a year, but Valtteri is good at explaining what I missed and everything.”
Swallowing the small spark of irritation, Max nods, he has seen what the other enjoys doing on social media and in a sense, he’s glad he has helped him to make his re-insertion into this more manageable.
“That’s good,” he nods. “I don’t think I would come back if I retired.”
“Well, no one wants their retirement to come after a bad note.”
Of fucking course.
What a genius you are, Max Verstappen.
“Yeah… you’re right.”
It obviously becomes more awkward after that. They continue walking in silence until they turn at the same corner and realise they happen to be in the same hotel.
“So I see you around,” Sergio says, clearing his throat. “Thanks for the coffee.”
“Yeah, thanks for joining,” he nods, reaching for his card before stopping. “See you around, Pérez.”
Sergio’s shoulders become a very tense line, Max believes he’s about to throw what's left of his coffee on his face, but when he turns back, his eyes shine with a much more conflicted mass of emotions.
Pain shines the brightest.
“I could tell it bothered you,” he says, his voice sounding odd. “Everyone could.”
“Well, yeah, I was Max until the end,” he says, his throat feeling tight. “After months of not seeing each other, I wasn't really expecting to get a Verstappen.”
“What were you expecting, then?”
And fuck him, he didn’t think about that specifically. His mind scrambles to give an answer, everything he thought and felt moving wildly inside his head until it finally seems to fall in a word in specific.
“A chance.”
It’s Sergio’s turn to have his mind short-circuiting at the answer. He looks at the other with that same mix of emotions, but after a moment, he frowns, eyes darkening.
“A chance for what?” he asks. “What happened is part of the past, I don’t think you want to also get stuck in that.”
“Not stuck,” he argues. “I want to give something related to that time closure and I thought it would be the best time now and—”
He never really thought about Sergio’s feelings.
It was always about Max wanting to talk to him, wanting to be around him, he never really stopped to think maybe the other didn’t want any of that, fuck, maybe the Verstappen was the clue and he just didn’t get it.
Maybe for Sergio, Max truly was only a teammate and once he was free of Red Bull, he was free of everything.
“Nevermind, I’m just happy you’re back,” he says with a defeated sigh. “Truly happy for you.”
Forcing someone won’t take him anywhere, things have to be genuine and all this time he has been approaching it wrong. It still hurts, of course, but he tries to hold himself together as he turns around and starts walking down the deserted corridor that leads to his suite.
“No, you’re not leaving just like that.”
Sergio, however, appears in front of him the next thing he knows, with eyes still carrying the pain but also frustration. The kind Max doesn’t fully understand but hates seeing in his face. “Sergio—”
“You don’t throw cryptic things and then walk away hoping the other doesn’t care about it,” he says, Max has no idea where his cup went. “You have been chasing me around to talk about it and then you have the chance and suddenly decide to drop it?”
He has noticed… of course he has.
“I just wanted to talk to you,” he says defensively. “It’s been a long time since we talked face to face and… all of that.”
He’s trying, he swears that he’s trying to work around what is going inside his mind, talk about the only thing he has been walking to talk this whole time, but facing it is hard, terrifying even, as if his mind has no idea how to talk about something so personal.
“All of that?”
“Are you trying to torture me or what?” he groans. “It’s just about what happened, it’s been so long and things are different.”
“Clearly,” he agrees at least. “And we talked after that, left things clear.”
“Not everything.”
“Then talk about it.”
“Checo, I swear—”
“Are you telling me you can’t talk?!”
“I fucking love you, okay?” he finally snaps, but turns around to place the damn cup down somewhere before he throws it to the wall, and rubs his face harshly. “I could have done things differently, I could have said things differently and I… I have been dealing with that this whole time.”
The silence that stretches soon becomes a physical thing that aims to press against his chest until he can barely breathe. It’s far from being what Max had in mind, though, he isn’t sure he even had planned what he was going to say and this leaves it quite clear.
In the end, however, he said it, there’s no going back.
“Are you for real?”
It stings, of course, even when nothing has been going according to what he planned, rejection still burns like hell… but he is going to face it, no matter what. Taking a deep and calming breath, he rubs his eyes once, twice, before finally turning around to find the other.
Only to freeze.
There’s a small tremor running down Sergio’s body, his hands balled up into tight fists and his lips pressed into a thin line, eyes gaining a reddish tone. His mind panics, demanding him to do something to comfort him, but he reconsiders, it was he who left him like this in the first place.
“Checo—”
“Who gives you the right to come up with this?” he says, demands in fact. “To disrupt everything just when it’s more manageable— we’re not even on the same team!”
“I know,” he says, lost in what thing to tackle first. “But I’m not trying to cause anything, I perfectly know we’re not on the same team and how we won’t ever be!”
That seems to anger him further.
“I have been dealing with so many damn things only for you to…” He turns his back to him, hands holding onto his head. “You’re unbelievable, Verstappen.”
There’s the Verstappen again.
“I honestly doubt someone has a say in it,” he mutters, still lost. “And that’s why I told you to drop it, I will deal with it on my own. I was hoping for something different, sure, but I’m willing to step back if you prefer it, the least I want is to hurt you.”
Sergio makes a very particular noise at that but doesn’t say anything and the silence extends.
“Loving you is a pain in the ass already.”
And well, he isn’t the first person to call him that, hell, that’s nice even. In Max’s defence, though, he really didn’t plan to fall for him, it happened before he could even understand it and—
Wait.
“What did you say?”
But Sergio doesn’t look back, the small tremor is becoming more prominent and the sight is almost enough to push the shock of what he just heard out so he can only focus on how he’s hurting him.
“I have been dealing with that and the rest of things,” he says, his voice not above a whisper. “The least I wanted was conflicts to follow me again yet you…”
This surely falls in the worst possible outcome anyone could think of while deciding to confess and it’s not that, again, Max decided he wanted to fall in love with the Mexican racer, it just happened. Fuck him, even if he knew about all of this, he doubts he could have avoided it.
Besides.
“You said you love me,” he says, it feels dumb, surely it is but who cares. “It’s not that I will force you to like me or anything, if it’s over, then I can also work on giving it closure and—”
Sergio chooses that moment to turn to look at him and his eyes, while rimmed red and with tears gathering at the corner, are filled with fury.
“What do you think?”
“That… you still like me.”
Max truly believes he’s about to punch him in the face when he’s suddenly walking towards him and while that will definitely cause some issues, maybe he will have to live with it, deal with everything because this was his fault.
He doesn’t get punched, however.
A pair of lips are suddenly against his.
Max thinks about pushing him away, but admittedly, it’s only for a second. His brain only takes that time to register who is kissing him and how perfect it feels. He doesn’t even register he has closed his eyes, he only realises when he opens them when Sergio pulls back.
“Of course I still fucking love you,” he hisses, his eyes closed. “I prayed it would go away last year and when that failed, I thought not being around you would do the trick, but it also failed and now… now I have to deal with it, with you while you’re not even my teammate.”
His heart is racing, every single nerve in his body tingles with a combination of emotions he is struggling to understand, but despite that, he feels it, forces himself to understand what the other is telling to him, knowing he needs to help him.
“I will never force you to do or feel anything,” he whispers, reaching for his chin to angle his head up, making him open his eyes. “Won’t lie and say it will be completely fine, it fucking sucks, but if you want to let go, then, I will do my part so it happens.”
Sergio’s hands come to hold his arms, though, it looks more as if he’s holding onto him. His dark eyes appear to be analysing his face, as if taking in everything that makes Max, Max. “You did change.”
He isn’t sure he has done something that makes it evident, but he still feels proud about it. “I have never been a liar.”
He seems to concede with a shake of his head, his eyes closing as he takes several deep breaths. For Max, it is as if he’s gathering the courage and everything needed to tell him in the nicest way to fuck off his life so he can truly enjoy returning to the F1.
“Will you make the same commitment if I say I don’t want it to go away?”
It’s ridiculous how a fully developed brain takes so long to comprehend everything, but it’s hard to think about it when the warmest and most wonderful sensation is spreading inside his chest. He can’t even help the stupid smile that pulls at his lips.
“Haven’t I been showing it so far?”
Sergio rolls his eyes, his body trembling for a moment before a small smile appears on his face. “This is ridiculous.”
“I can’t tell if that’s good or bad,” he says with a more or less conflicted chuckle.
“It just is,” he mutters, eyes looking up at him. “Let’s… let’s give it a try. If it works, it works, if not, then we know.”
He can only nod, not trusting his voice as his hands slide down his sides to settle on his waist, feeling that it’s a perfect fit and probably his favourite place to rest his hands on. Sergio shivers, but he can now tell it for a very different reason.
“I swear if this ends up making everything worse…”
“Have a bit more faith in me, mate,” he chuckles, pressing his forehead to his shoulder. “You know how I am when committed. So much damn yearning has to pay off.”
Sergio laughs quietly, it’s like music to his ears. “I will believe in you, Verstappen.”
“Keep up with the Verstappen and I will kiss you on my next podium.”
“Are you sure that’s a threat?”
It probably won’t be easy, but Max was made for challenges and when the challenge is making the one he has loved for so long happy, he really has no issues to do everything in his power.