Chapter Text
It was the same thing over and over and Max Verstappen was starting to grow impossibly tired of it. Filling up his entire vision were reporters, microphones and cameras alike while they took turns pestering the podium winners of the Italian Grand Prix with the same annoying questions as always. Max was starting to think that either they didn't actually watch the races or they simply didn't care to come up with interesting questions to ask.
Once again he had gotten stuck surrounded by orange as Lando Norris sat to his right and Oscar Piastri sat to his left. He knew he had nothing to complain about though, he had won, that was all that mattered.
But he still couldn't help but wish he was anywhere else at that moment as he was forced to listen to Lando actually answer the stupid questions they were being asked.
“When you came out onto the podium there was kind of a mixture of cheese and boos. I was just wondering what your reaction to that was,” one of the reporters asked Lando and he answered in a much calmer fashion than Max would have been able to muster. But he had always known that the McLaren drivers were much better than him when it came to conversing with the press.
“Umm, yeah, I mean I don't know. I heard them but I just don't mind it. I heard the cheese louder than the boos and at the end of the day the cheese from my girlfriend were the loudest of all so I'm happy with today.”
Max had to actively force himself not to roll his eyes. With so many cameras pointed at him he knew how dangerous a grimace could be. Even the slightest down turning off the corners of his mouth could cause him to get a visit from his PR team the next day.
They were always on him after all, making sure he kept up a respectable appearance to the press. But that was made so difficult when he already knew how that answer from Lando would be translated into a question for him.
“That's true, there were certainly a lot of girls cheering in the stands today,” the reporter agreed before turning to look at Max the way he had already been expecting. “How about you, Max? Was any particular girl cheering for you too?” He asked, Max not daring to hesitate as he grabbed his mic to answer.
“I'm sure there were plenty,” he said with no particular emotion showing on his face. People knew he hated these conferences, even his PR team had given up on changing that part of his image so he knew there was a little bit of passive aggressiveness he'd be able to get away with.
And if any question deserved it, surely it’d be this one.
“I'm also sure of that,” the reporter countered easily, a laugh accompanying the words that made Max think that either his aggression had been a little too passive this time or the reporter was actively choosing to ignore it. “The question was if there was a specific girl whose cheers you were listening out for.”
Max had been asked that same question worded in every way imaginable over the years. Back when he had first joined Formula 1 it had felt more teasing however. Back when he had been just a teenager and the question had been sprinkled in between the noise surrounding this new talent arriving at the scene.
It had been easy to laugh off back then, but with every birthday he had become older the question had started sounding more serious.
Do you have a girlfriend?
The question haunted him because since the first time he had been asked the answer had always stayed the same; No.
It was made worse when he sat between two races younger than him that both did in fact have girlfriends, of multiple years even.
Sometimes it felt like half the reporters he came across had simply accepted that he was a single loser while the other half clung to this idea that, actually, Max did have a girlfriend and he simply wasn't making it public.
In reality the reason for Max's lack of female companionship was much simpler, he was gay. But that didn't contradict what half the reporters knew either, because no matter what gender he was attracted to he remained a single loser.
“The only thing I was listening out for was my national anthem,” Max didn't engage with the question. He wanted someone to change the topic, at this point he'd welcome every generic question about his performance.
But for some reason today in particular this reporter didn't seem willing to give up that easily. “We all know how much you love making the world listen to the Netherlands anthem, but if you were to win your fifth title this year don't you think it'd be nice to have someone there to listen to it alongside you?”
It was like this guy had no shame. Vaguely Max noticed the way Oscar and Lando glanced at each other, and Max had to keep reminding himself that there were a lot of eyes on him. No matter how out of line the questions he was asked were, he needed to choose his words wisely. His PR team had told him that enough times for it to finally stick in his memories.
“Whether or not I win another title depends fully on the rest of the season,” Max started as smoothly as he could muster. “And if I do end up winning, I assure you I’ll have my family and friends, the Netherlands and the whole world there to listen to it alongside me. One more or less girl won’t make a difference. Not to me anyways.” It wasn't the best answer, he knew that, but it was the only one he could come up with in that short amount of time.
“So I take it you still don't have a girlfriend?” The report then asked outright, maybe just to clarify. But to Max it sounded dangerously close to provocation.
Still.
The word echoed in his mind.
Usually he had an easy time ignoring what people thought of him. It didn't matter after all, he was here to do what he loved the most and do it well. Whether people thought he was too aggressive, dangerous or egotistical shouldn’t matter to him, shouldn’t affect him, but for some reason today that word rubbed him the wrong way.
It got under his skin with the way it suggested there was something wrong about the way he still didn't have a girlfriend. It was no one's business but his own that he didn't have one, or more specifically, didn't want one.
“What is it to you?” Max asked, more of the irritation making it into his voice.
He should stop, he knew that. He should laugh off the reporter's taunt and be the bigger person. But he couldn't bring himself to do it. Not this time.
“I just find it hard to believe,” the reporter admitted, something smug about the way he said it. “You are a handsome four-time world champion with crowds cheering your name yet you are sitting here seriously trying to convince me no girl has come knocking at your door?”
It was a low blow, even for someone who gets paid to cause controversy. And as much as Max likes to believe that he had matured out of his teenage hot-headedness he couldn't help but regress.
“It's not that they haven't come knocking,” Max clarified, far too aware of how childish this discussion was. “It's just that I have no interest in making women stay.” It was partially true, and Max watched as the reporter's eyebrows raised in surprise. Not only his however but plenty of the surrounding reporters as well.
“And how exactly do you mean that?” The man continued questioning and it only helped irritate Max further. It was like everyone around him was being purposely dense.
“I don't like girls so why should I be out there hoping for them to cheer for me?” Max snapped, the world's loud and angry in a way that almost managed to drown out the instant effect of the statement.
The flash of cameras went off while a gasp passed through the crowd of reporters that filled the room. Besides him Max felt both McLaren driver's eyes snap to him while somewhere he heard people rushing from one side of the room to another.
He knew this kind of reaction, he recognized it from previous press conferences where he had allowed the taunts to get to him. He realized a moment too late, like usual, that he had taken it too far however, letting a truth slip past his lips that he had managed to hide away for so long.
But what was done was done.
“Are you insinuating that you are not attracted to women?” Someone asked him, but he wasn't able to make out which of the blurred silhouettes it had come from. The faces in front of his eyes were blurring together as flashes continued going off.
“Does that mean that you're gay?” Another question was thrown at him, many more not far to follow.
Max wasn't even given the chance to answer however as a producer screamed directions to end the conference, no more questions, they were done.
It was more than Max could have wished for as he became aware of the aftertaste the word he had just admitted left in his mouth. He was gay and he had just admitted it on live television.
Around him hell broke loose, or maybe that's just how it felt for him. Someone grabbed him by the arm, not harshly but firm enough to get him to move as he was led away from reporters, cameras and mics alike.
A naive part of him had hoped that he'd be able to ignore the world around him until tomorrow. That he’d be able to walk away from this like he had from any other PR slip up he had so far and get a good night's sleep while his PR team took care of everything. Or that at the very least they’d allow him to fully window after the race before bombarding him with whatever campaign they could come up with to fix this.
But Max wasn't that lucky, and instead of being allowed to go through the motions of his after race rituals he found himself in a Red Bull conference room. Around the table were the five people that made up his PR team, a few faces he recognized but didn't care to remember the names of that had to do with managing sponsorships and of course Christian Horner. Whenever there was a crisis the team principal was there to manage the solution.
“Max, what was that?” Christian asked into the room. Out of everyone present he was the only one not sitting around the round table and instead passing around the room. The other people were either on their phones or laptops, probably checking every social media and news site imaginable to gauge how far the news had spread.
And solely based on their expressions Max could tell it had already spread far.
“A stupid question deserves a stupid answer,” Max defended himself simply. It was a motto he lived by after all.
“It wasn't a stupid answer, it was a reckless one. Especially since it isn't true-”
“It’s true,” Max cut the principal off instantly. “You know it is.” Max had already come out to Christian a long time ago after all. And although the older man hadn't at all reacted badly, even back then Max had felt like he hadn't actually believed him, or he simply didn't want to. Outside of Christian no one on the team knew, in general barely anyone knew, but now the cat was out of the bag and Max wasn't sure if he'd be able to take it back. Whether or not he even wanted to.
“All right,” Christian said slowly, not taking his eyes off Max. “It's true,” he repeated the words and Max watched as some people looked up from their devices. For a minute the words hung in the air. It was the first moment of silence Max had felt since before getting into his car that afternoon.
Without the noise of racing cars and the hustle of reporters around him Max noticed how fast his heart was beating and not only that but he finally became aware of the aching in his body. The adrenaline from racing and the subsequent win had made it easy to ignore but now Max was realizing how exhausted he actually was.
“We have to do something about this,” Christian broke the peace again and Max couldn't help the humorless laugh that bubbled out of him.
“There isn’t much you can do about it, believe me I've tried.” There have been plenty of nights in which Max has given into a girl cheering for him. Getting photographed with them probably being the thing that had kept the media from realizing his sexuality in the first place. But in the end it didn't make a difference. Max couldn't force himself to like something he simply didn't.
“Not like that,” Christian clarified, dragging a hand down his face. “We need to save face in front of the sponsors.” Something about that wording made Max frown.
“We've already been contacted by a few, they want to know what the hell is going on,” one of the women responsible for sponsoring contracts spoke up.
“I don't think a statement will be enough this time,” a guy from the PR team said, his eyes switching between his phone and his laptop. “Brushing it under the rug and hoping they forget about it won't work either,” he added, Max's eyes napping back to Christian as he heard him sigh.
“We still have half the season to go, we can't afford to lose either sponsors nor public support. We've been in too much controversy as is.” It felt like Max wasn’t even in the room with them anymore considering how they were talking about the whole thing. This wasn't only about sponsors after all.
Red Bull has been in and out of the media a lot recently, and more often than not for the wrong reasons. One controversy following the last. But Max didn’t want to find himself in the middle of that mess, just another headline to add to the list.
“What the fuck are you on about? This has nothing to do with racing.” Max found his voice again, loud and angry. But he knew he was fighting a losing battle before even finishing the thought.
“Are you being serious? This has everything to do with racing.” Christian started, matching Max's voice in both volume and emotion. “No sponsors means no car.” It felt infuriatingly demeaning being talked to like that, but Max forced himself to dial back his irritations.
“I know that, but there's no reason for sponsors to care about my sexuality. Performance is what matters.” For just a second Max thought he had made a good point, at least until he watched Christians start shaking his head.
“Maybe to us. But sponsors don't care about the sport, they care about selling a product. And if your sexuality starts to interfere with their sales you could have a hundred word titles and it still wouldn’t provide you with a car.”
Max had always prided himself on not being naive, having grown up quickly and learned to understand the world around him from a young age. But for some reason he had clung to the hope that this exact thing would never happen, that by the time he reached Formula 1 a driver's sexuality mattered just as little as whether or not they were right-handed.
Max should have let go of that hope the day he signed his Formula 1 contract with Red Bull. Max should have especially let go of that hope the day he had come out to Christian to just end up agreeing to keep his sexuality a secret in order to not scare away sponsors.
If he had done it back then he wouldn't have to be confronted with it again now.
“People already know,” Max said, weekly, the words scraping against this dry throat.
“You have to take it back,” someone from his PR team said. “Say it was a badly worded joke and one big misunderstanding.”
Max started shaking his head before she even finished talking. “I can't do that.” His voice had lost most of its volume and Max couldn't help but think the exhaustions of the day were finally catching up to him.
“There is no other way,” Christian agreed, the words feeling like a betrayal.
“I'm not denying my sexuality to save face in front of sponsors. If they have a problem with it I don't want their money anyways.” Although he couldn't muster himself to be loud he at least managed to make his anger heard through his voice.
“This isn't about you though,” Christian said, “This is about the team, a team that is dependent on those sponsors. Whether you want their money or not, we need it.”
Max knew that they did. It was the only way to stay competitive. The season wasn't going as well as they had hoped and they really needed everything they could get. But having to compromise this part of himself still didn't sound good. Until now he has been able to justify it with himself, but with every race the question about his lack of a girlfriend had gotten more and more tiring. He wasn't sure if he'd be able to go back to that if the questions gained an underlying judgment on whether or not this whole thing had really just been a so-called ‘misunderstanding’ after.
He respected himself too much to put himself through that.
“What we need is to win,” Max stated again, coldly. All his anger had burned out and what he was left with was the sober feeling reminding him of what he was here for in the first place. He was a Formula 1 four time world champion, not a celebrity or model bending to a company's every wish. “I know I can win, and either sponsors choose to be on the winning side backing me up or they can go sponsor losers. But I'm not denying my identity for their profit. Not anymore.”
The decision was final on his part, and he made sure it came across to everyone present as well. He had set boundaries like this before after all. He was willing to do whatever it took to win when sat in his car, but outside of it he wouldn't allow himself to be a political puppet in companies' money games. It was a part of the sport, he knew that, but he didn't want to have to actively contribute to it.
And he knew everyone present could tell he was serious about this.
“All right,” Christian said, dragging his hands down his face like he had already done earlier. He always did that when he was stressed. “We have to do something though.” That much Max could at least agree with. Leaving it uncommented would only make it snowball out of control even faster.
“We have one week until the next race,” one of the PR people reminded them. “We need to keep sponsors happy until then. If Max wins we can all forget about it again.”
“You can't seriously think it will be that easy,” someone else from the team disagreed. “If he wins there will be even more eyes on him, we need to usher a statement first.”
There were a lot of if’s Max didn't like. “I will win,” Max clarified as if he knew it to be a fact. Truth be told it was only his false confidence talking. If it was literally any other race he would have an easier time meaning it, but the next race on the lineup was Monaco. A race that his team knew as well as him he had always been on the fence about.
In the Monaco Grand Prix what really mattered was qualifying, it could make or break the actual race considering the tight track and lack of space basically kills any overtaker attempt. But Max also knew that half of what separated a good driver from a great one was their mentality. If he believes he will win, he will.
“And you're confident in that?” Christian asked him. It was a genuine question, he wasn't being demeaning or condescending, instead he wanted a truthful assessment on whether or not they could count on another win next week.
“Nothing has changed for me, I'm still the same person.Aand whether people cheer or boo me has never affected my driving before.” Max wasn't here to be liked after all, he was here to win.
And Christian knew that. “All right,” he said again, but this time it sounded decided, final in a way. “Max will not deny his homosexuality,” he stated the fact again and Max nodded just to once again confirm it. “But he won't confirm it either.” That caused Max nodding to stop as his eyes snapped to the team principle again. “We will usher a complaint to the FIA about reporters not respecting driver's privacy and pray the other teams will back us up. And we will write to sponsors to please wait until the result of the Monaco Grand Prix before making any decisions about their future support of the Red Bull Racing team.”
At least it was a plan, Max wasn't sure how much he trusted it however.
“And you think that will be enough?” The woman from the sponsoring team asked, giving voice to the question floating in everyone's head.
“We will not use the word sexuality once, we will frame it as a general infraction of privacy and assure the sponsors that this is all just fabricated internet drama that won’t translate into sales numbers. After Monaco we will see what further actions we need to take.”
For a moment people thought about it. Max for one wasn't sure how much ‘not confirming’ differed from simply denying his sexuality altogether but he wasn't going to argue. His body was aching and like this they had at least agreed on a plan, meaning he'd finally be allowed to get back to his hotel.
“Okay, I’ll get started on writing that,” someone from the team said, people starting to move again, checking phones and laptops as they all suddenly knew exactly what they needed to do.
“Max,” Christian called his attention, “Go get some rest, we are flying to Monaco tomorrow.” It was all Max had wanted to hear. Rest was exactly what he needed right now. “And don't do anything, no pictures, no interviews, no post and especially no stranger sneaking into your hotel. We can't afford anything right now.”
Christian warned him and all Max could do was nod. He was absolutely exhausted, and even if he had wanted to, he couldn't imagine ever sneaking someone into his room when he felt like this.
Somehow and ended up in his bed, even though he wasn't fully able to remember how. It didn't matter, as soon as his head hit the pillow, sleep had overwhelmed him. For those few hours he spent in dreamland he had been able to completely forget about the chaos taking place around him.
And Max ended up sleeping surprisingly well in the end, at least until his alarm had gone off and he had been hurried out of his hotel and into a private jet that took him the relatively short distance to Monaco.
~~
As it turns out ‘keeping sponsors happy until the next race’ had been easier said than done. During the nine hours that Max had been asleep the news had only continued spreading. And during his roughly one hour flight they had started receiving responses from the sponsors. Some better than others as he was realizing once he found himself again sitting around a round table.
A monacan coffee cooling down in front of him instead of an Italian one.
“At least no one is pressuring us to drop you,” a guy from the PR team said, trying to find something positive, though he didn't sound all that convinced either.
“I'd find that less insulting actually,” Max said bitterly as he took a sip from his coffee, finding it to be both too hot and too bitter for his taste. He hadn't been asked if he wanted it, instead it had just been placed before him but he was seriously starting to consider asking for a Red Bull instead. Them, subsequently enough, being one of the sponsors not making a big deal out of this.
But then again, Max has basically become the brand's face at this point. They couldn't replace him. He knew that and he knew that Red Bull knew that too. And as it seems the other brands also knew, but it didn't stop them from being nasty.
“I will not get a girlfriend,” he felt the need to clarify again after the idea had been brought up by a spokesman of one of the sponsors. It would ‘reflect the company's values better’ as they have put it, but Max couldn't imagine anything worse.
“And nobody is asking you to,” Christian assured him, a hand shortly coming down to rest on Max's shoulder. Max wanted to shake it off immediately.
“He literally just read it out. They want me to find a girlfriend.” Max pointed out, repeating the bottom line of what the email that had been shared a moment ago consisted of. Unlike yesterday not the entire PR team was present today. It was just two of them as well as one of the sponsoring people and Christian. Max had hoped that having less people present would make the discussion easier, but he was finding that he felt just as helpless and overlooked as at every other meeting of this nature.
“Okay, okay, they did say that,” Christian admitted as he pulled back his hand from Max's shoulder again. “But that's not really what they meant.” Max frowned, not really following. Though he knew that he had never been good at reading between the lines of business talk like that. That's what his PR team was there for.
“They want us to regulate your public image,” Christians spelled it out for him, but it didn't help him understand all that much more.
“You already do that,” Max pointed out, but with the way Christian glanced at the other people present Max couldn’t help but feel like they had already talked about this before he had arrived. They had already flown over last night then, Max realized, they had pulled an all-nighter to come up with a new plan when the first one clearly wasn’t working out the way they had wanted.
“More than we already do,” Christian clarified, continuing before Max had a chance to interrupt him. “Max, you need to understand that this isn’t only about you being gay. The way you give interviews has caused us trouble before.”
“Us or sponsors?” Max asked, feeling that familiar irritation rise inside of him.
“Both,” Christian admitted and it almost surprised Max how easily he had confessed it. “Red Bull itself as well as multiple of our high profile sponsors and the FAI feel like you promote a hostile working environment with the way you react to certain questions.”
Max had heard things like that before, but up until now he had felt like his team had always been on his side in that regard. Agreeing that stupid questions warranted stupid answers. And if reporters were allowed to run their mouths, so was he. But as if over night it felt like something had shifted within their team. Max didn’t like that.
“So although you agree that the reporter was out of line for asking me things like that and although I've already explicitly said I won't take it back, you want me to continue hiding my sexuality to not make any sponsors uncomfortable?” Max said just to make sure he was getting it right, his voice lined with mockery as the worst felt insulting even though he was the one saying them.
“Not exactly,” the woman from the PR team chimed in. “We won't force you back in the closet, but we can't just leave it as it is either. The public and sponsors alike are demanding definitive answers. Keeping it ambiguous won’t work, so you will have to confirm your sexuality again, outright,” she told him, the other people nodding in agreement.
On its own it didn't even sound that bad, but Max knew not to trust it. There was a catch somewhere and it didn't take long to follow.
“But just having you make a post or something won't be enough for the sponsors.” She paused for a moment, not because she didn't know what you wanted to say but rather because she was trying to find the right words to use. “Brands associated with you, and us, have been concerned about your public image for a while now.”
That's what it always came back to after all; his media training. And not even lack there of, because he had gone through plenty over the years. But rather just that when it came down to it he still always managed to say the wrong thing. He had been trying to improve on it but sometimes it feels like the reporters were just praying to get a reaction from him. Just like it had been the case this time.
“The point is,” the PR woman continued. “With this new information about you out in the open they are worried it might lead to more headlines. That you will find yourself in situations that could damage the company's reputation as well as yours.” She had clearly put a lot of thought into her wording but it didn't help make it any more understandable. Confused, Max found his eyes wandering to Christian.
“They are worried you’ll be photographed fucking a guy,” He said bluntly, and it was something Max could finally understand. “And they want us to assure them, and prove, that that won't happen.”
“It won’t,” Max said immediately. If that was all the sponsors wanted to hear this would be easier than expected. The last time Max had actually slept with another guy had been back when his age had still started with a one after all. The further ahead he had come in this sport the more paranoid he had become of his secret coming out.
Over the years he has sneaked far more girls into his hotels than guys. Out of the fear of being caught and wanting to fix himself. It never worked of course and as he grew up he had learned to just accept his feelings. Alongside the reality that he could either be a Formula 1 driver or be in a happy relationship, not both.
“Just saying that isn't enough,” Christian said, because of course it won't be. “They want to be sure. More specifically, that if you are already into guys it'll at least be someone respectable.”
The words sounded twisted. Both like an insult as well as an accusation and Max didn't at all like the sound of them. “First of all, I haven't been in a relationship in years. Second of all, who the fuck gets to decide who is or isn't respectable?” It was all so ridiculous and if it wasn't also so infuriating Max might have laughed.
“Apparently the sponsors with the most money do,” the lady responsible for managing the sponsoring contracts said and at least she had the decency to sound sarcastic as she said it, although Max already knew that she fully meant it.
“And what exactly does that mean for me now?” Max asked, his eyes finding Christian once again.
“That means we want you to enter a PR-relationship with a so-called respectable man so we can keep control of your public image. It would be a completely decent and appropriate relationship so sponsors won't be scared of, as well as helping soften your public image and putting you in a more flattering light.” Christian said and the idea sounded just as unappealing as being made to date a girl.
It was pathetic to think Max had sunk low enough to need his PR team to play matchmakers and pay for a fake boyfriend to make him more respectable. Whatever that meant.
“And who might this respectable man be?” Max found himself asking.
The entire proposal sounded so stupid it could have been a reporter's idea. But despite that Max knew in the back of his mind that he wouldn't be getting out of this one. He had been reckless, allowing his emotions to get the better of him and it made him end up here. With the whole world aware of the fact he was gay and an overly convoluted plant make sure they won't hate them for it.
“You see, that's kind of the only thing we haven't figured out yet,” the PR lady confessed and Max found his eyes shifting back to her. One of his eyebrows rose up, he would have thought that’d be the first thing they’d think of securing before pitching the idea to him.
“It’s tricky,” her colleague continued. “It has to be someone who meets the sponsors expectations, but also has to do with motorsports in some way so people won't become suspicious. The obvious choice would be to just hire an actor but people would overanalyze his past in seconds and realize things don't add up.” He finished and Max was starting to get a headache from all of this.
He could be training and or preparing himself for the next race the same way he was sure all his competitors were. But instead he was stuck in this meeting about a plan that didn't even have the foundation to ever work.
“And what about if I, completely hypothetically, just go and find myself a boyfriend?” Max asked, but he was made to feel stupid for the question instantly.
“No offense Max, but avoiding that from happening is exactly what we are doing this for,” Christian said as bluntly as before. He had never been one to sugarcoat things. “The sponsors don't trust you to find someone who isn't as hot-headed as you,” he chose the word carefully. “So I think it'd be better if you kept the matchmaking to us and just stick to the plan.”
Partially it was insulting, both the notion that he wouldn’t be able to make someone interested in him that quickly as well as the idea that even if he did it wouldn't be someone ’respectable’ enough. Even though he still wasn't sure what exactly that meant.
Another part of him was thankful however, the part of him that had witnessed both men and women shy away from him, distancing themselves once they realize the way he presented himself to the media wasn't that far off from the person he really was; hot headed, unnecessarily risky, so utterly full of himself while also constantly struggling with burning insecurities on whether or not he was good enough.
He had never been able to make anyone stay. So maybe his team paying for someone to at least pretend they liked him was an idea that hadn’t sprouted out of thin air. Like this he at least won't be able to embarrass himself.
“In that case I’ll stick to driving,” Max decided. “Let me know once, if ever, you find this Prince Charming but I have more important things to worry about right now.” Mainly qualifying. Something he knew would become an even bigger worry once it approached.
“You do that,” Christian agreed, though he didn't sound completely convinced. “Stay away from the press, don't say anything at all to them and if you can avoid the other drivers as well.” Christian was paranoid, Max could see that, and he knew that it wasn't a good omen for the weekend that was to come.
But he kept the thought to himself as he made his way out of the meeting room and continued out the building through a back door. There was a chauffeur waiting there, and whether or not he had actually been waiting for Max didn't matter to him, he instructed him to take him home all the same.
He didn't slack off today, even if the frustrations of the day would have made it oh so appealing. Instead he went to the gym of his apartment building, sweating out all the stress and anger that had been building up inside him.
That was the upside of racing in Monaco after all. He was home. Not that he had any right to call this place or this country his home, that honor still belongs to the Netherlands, but over the years Monaco had truly felt like a new home for him.
He had moved into this luxury apartment around ten years ago, and although he was oftentimes busy traveling from one hotel to another the times he was able to simply enjoy himself here became all the more special. Especially during the season.
It was familiar. Something he really needed when the world around him became so noisy.
He continued his training like that the following days as well, exercising both alone and with his personal trainer, only stopping when the social media team forced him to record some new content. They were trying to drown out the noise about the recent scandal with substanceless videos. It only half worked.
Max also made sure to follow Christian's advice, he didn't have to be told not to engage with reporters twice. But avoiding the other drivers proved to be more difficult than he had expected.
Over the years Max had learned to be more open, to see the people around him as much as friends as he considered them rivals. But that change was gradual, and the belief that every other driver on the grid was one more obstacle in his way to a championship title was deeply planted inside him.
Years of hearing his father repeat the sentiment had made sure of that. But as naturally as building those walls from his childhood back up felt to him, the other drivers seem to try their best to not allow him to shut off fully.
Yuki, being his teammate and all, was the closest to him, at least by proximity. Red Bull made sure their little fake boyfriend plan wouldn't get out so not even Yuki was allowed to know about it. But the Japanese driver had made a point of coming up to Max and, be it somewhat clumsily congratulating him on coming out.
Max understood that the whole situation was a mess, but that encouragement from his teammate did actually mean a lot. Just like the endless messages that had flooded his phone following Sunday. Whether it was a message from Lewis Hamilton genuinely encouraging him for once or the Mcclaren boys assuring him they had his back, it made Max get rid of an anxiety he hadn’t even fully realized he had been holding on onto.
He didn't respond to any of them though, he couldn't bring himself to. Whether it was out of shame, a fear of looking weak or simply because he was trying to follow his team's principles orders he wasn't sure. But leaving it alone felt easier.
Once he had another win under his belt people would forget about it anyways.
Because if he did answer, allowed himself the comfort of support a little too long his mind might start to wonder if maybe it would be all right for him to be a little more himself, both on and off the grid.
It was a dangerous thought, at least as long as he wanted to keep winning with Red Bull. And he did want to keep winning with Red Bull.
Avoiding the other drivers wouldn't work forever though, Max had known that. But it still came as a surprise when he saw a splotch of red walking around the front of the Red Bull garage on Thursday, a good two hours before the practice race was meant to start.
“Brave of you to walk around here, don't you think Leclerc?” Max said, Arthur Leclerc turning around on his heels in an instant.
He was Ferrari's second driver for the season alongside Hamilton. The decision had been highly controversial, especially since it had led to the demotion of Carlos Sainz. But Max had to admit that the kid had been doing pretty well so far.
“Max! I wasn’t like- doing anything.” Arthur looked nervous all of a sudden, having been caught red-handed. But Max's eyes didn't stay on him for much longer, instead they shifted to the man standing next to him.
He was dressed in the same burning red but it wasn't a driving uniform but rather a regular jersey. The Ferrari logo on his chest wasn't the only thing he had in common with Arthur however, because as Max's eyes raised to the other's face he felt his breath hitch.
He looked like a blatant copy of Arthur, or more accurately, Arthur looked like a blatant copy of him.
“Charles,” the name escaped Max’s lips almost involuntarily as he slowly accepted who was standing in front of him. He hadn't seen the guy in years, not since their karting days, and he couldn't help but notice what a handsome man he had grown into since then.
His hair looks darker than Max remembered, and it was curlier nowadays. His eyes were still the same shining green but his dimples had become even more pronounced. And right now they were on full display as a wide smile broke out over Charle’s face.
“Max,” he greeted, holding out his hands and Max didn’t hesitate to clap it. Back in the day they hadn’t always considered each other friends, rather true rivals, but those days seem so far away now.
“How have you been? What are you doing here?” Max asked, forgetting all about the ‘don't talk to other drivers’ thing as well as the fact it was most definitely against the rules for the Leclerc brothers to be snooping around his garage.
“Come on, you don't seriously think I'm going to miss my brother's first F1 race in Monaco of all places.” Charles answered easily. It was no secret that Arthur was proud of his heritage and as it seems that extended to Charles as well.
“And I was just showing him around,” Arthur chimed in again, the French accent sounding more pronounced in his voice than his brothers. “He was just curious and I didn't think you'd actually be here,” he added, sounding strangely guilty for his assumption.
“It's alright, don't worry about it. As long as you don't start deconstructing my car I don't actually care,” Max assured him. He knew his engineers and especially Christian would disagree, but the mechanics were busy working away at the car and with Max already talking to the pair no one else deared to step in.
“Yeah, well I don't think Ferrari will be all that happy with me if they find out I'm hanging out around here either.” Arthur pointed out, more to himself than the others.
“And we surely don't want you causing trouble in your first season,” Charles told him, teasing in that way you could only be with his siblings. “Get moving them,” he told him as he shoved Arthur lightly in the opposite direction of the Red Bull garage.
“Hey! You aren't allowed here either,” Arthur complained and Max couldn't help the smile it brought to his lips.
“Why not? He's an independent spectator. Look, he even got the VIP pass and all,” Max pointed out, grabbing the badge that hung around Charles's neck to hold it up in demonstration.
“It will just be a minute,” Charles then assured his brother after a short laugh had escaped him, that finally made the Ferrari drive continue towards the Ferrari garage, leaving Max and Charles alone for a moment.
At least if they ignored the engineers and mechanics working on both Red Bull cars behind them.
“So, what's up?” Max asked when Charles didn't. It was almost strange talking to him again after so long.
“Nothing much really, I just wanted to see how everything looks nowadays. See it from the inside for once.” There was something close to reminiscence in his expression and Max could imagine where it came from. He had once dreamed of being an F1 driver too afterall, just that it had never ended up working out for him. “But I won't lie either, I was kind of hoping to run into you,” Charles then said, catching Max off guard.
“Is that so?” The other hummed in response.
“I know we were never really friends.” For some reason Max wanted to interrupt him, to tell him that they were friends. But then again, Max had never really learned the difference between friends, rivals and just friendly acquaintances. Growing up it had never mattered. Any other kid in a car was automatically classified as an obstacle.
Charles didn’t give him a chance to speak up anyways. “But if I had the chance I just wanted to let you know that I think that what you did was really cool.” It felt different from other praise Max had received over the years, most of all because he wasn't entirely sure what it was for.
“Thanks,” he said nonetheless to not seem ungrateful, but his uncertainty seemed to carry into his voice as he watched Charle’s expression soften slightly.
“I saw it live, and I thought it was really brave,” he added some more context without actually naming it. And Max was kind of grateful for that. “It is true, isn't it?” he then asked.
“Yeah, yeah,” Max immediately confirmed, the last thing he needed was for Charles Leclerc of all people to think this whole mess had been some kind of backwards PR stunt. But then Christian's voice rang through the back of his mind. He wasn't meant to talk to anyone about this and he especially wasn't meant to confirm anything to anyone. Not until Red Bull had decided how to officially announce it publicly.
His eyes involuntarily shifted to the mechanics at work around the car. It was noisy enough and Max and Charles stood far enough away for them not to be able to hear anything anyways but Max still felt strangely watched. Eyes occasionally glancing up at him before quickly looking down at the car again.
“I see,” Charles' voice broke Max from his thoughts, his eyes snapping back to the man in front of him. “Still a sore subject within the team?” It wasn't as much a question as it was a statement. But Max still found himself nodding slightly.
“Not really within the team though, most of it sponsors.” Charles' once again hummed, but as he did his hand found Max’s shoulder.
“For what it's worth, I think it was a good thing to say out loud.” The touch felt unfamiliar, but Max couldn't deny that he liked it. There was something comforting to be found in the heat radiating off Charles.
“Thank you, mate.” And he did really mean it. He had never figured it out, but something about Charles had always drawn him in. Maybe it was his driving, or maybe it was his accent. But sometimes Max regretted having allowed his obsession with Formula 1 to get in the way of what could have been a proper friendship.
But then again, if he hadn't set his priority straight back then he wouldn't be a four-time world champion today.
“Well either way, I should probably get going before I actually get thrown out.” Their catching up had to come to an end eventually, he knew that, but Max still found himself severely disappointed by that fact.
“I’ll see you around,” Max told him while the other started walking back in the direction his brother had also left in. Charles simply waved back at him, throwing one last smile over his shoulder. But even when he turned his head straight ahead Max continued looking after him until Charles disappeared out of view fully. It was only then that he walked back into the garage again.
“You can get ready for the race already,” someone told him and Max just noted. He needed to clear his head. Today was important practice for Saturday and Sunday.
~~
The next day as he sat in the back of a cap towards the paddock he went through the practice race in his mind once more. He had already lost more sleep over it than he wanted to admit, but he couldn't stop thinking about it. The corners haven’t been as smooth as he would have liked them to be and he hadn't really been able to keep control of the car.
They were problems he had complained about before but once again the changes the mechanics had made hadn’t helped all that much. Max could only hope that he’d do better during qualifying.
“Christian wants to see you,” someone told Max the moment he had stepped into hospitality. It was certainly not something you wanted to hear first thing in the morning, but a part of Max had already been expecting it. There was a lot of Christian could scold him for.
His bad performance yesterday certainly being among them. If Max couldn’t deliver on his promise to perform that weekend he’d be in even deeper trouble. He didn't have to ask what room Christian was waiting in, he knew, and so Max once again found himself entering the same conference room as the day before.
The first thing he noticed upon entering however was a splotch of red in between the black uniforms of the Red Bull team.
“Charles?” Max asked the moment his eyes fell to the Monegasque. For a second he felt confused by his presence, until you remember the circumstances of the meeting the day before. “If this is about him hanging around the garage yester-” Christian raised a hand to get him to fall silent.
“It’s not,” the older man assured before gesturing for Max to sit down. “Not only, at least.”
Max made a point of leaving an empty seat between himself and Charles as he sat down around the conference table. Besides Charles there were the same people present as the day before and something about that made Max feel uneasy. He had been expecting to be confronted by strategist and mechanics, not the PR team again.
“You know that letting unauthorized people into the garage is against the rules, but this time you actually did as a favor by allowing it,” Christian told him and Max momentarily found himself glancing at Charles, unsure of where they were going with this.
“Your little chitchat didn't go unnoticed by the public,” the woman from the social media team spoke up, turning her laptop around for him to take a look. And what stared back at him were somewhat blurry pictures showing the moment of him and Charles talking after Arthur had already left.
The angle wasn't the best and the pictures had clearly been taken with a phone. But there was no denying it was them, not with both the last names written in large letters over the spread of the backs.
And it wasn't just one picture either, it was quite a few. Of them just talking, of Charles putting his hand on Max's shoulder and of Max's eyes lingering a moment too long when Charles had turned to leave. And Max couldn't deny that they had looked like, well, friends. Or at the very least friendly.
“What about it?” Max asks, growing suspicious of where they were trying to go with this.
“This could be the solution to our little dilemma,” the guy sitting next to the social media lady said, sounding far too excited for Max’s liking.
“What?”
“You see,” Christian started again. “Charles has a connection to the sport without being an actual driver. He is publicly close to Ferrari but has no actual job in the team meaning there's no risk of corruption there. And most importantly of all he hasn't been in a public relationship in well over two years. He has repeatedly spoken out in favor of the LBGT-community in the past and has over all a very favorable public image. He's the perfect boyfriend.”
Heat rose to Max's cheeks, embarrassed as his eyes found Charles again. But the man hadn't said a word so far, and he didn't look like he was planning to. He looked as if all of this was normal.
“Once again; what?” Max said, sounding more exaggerated this time around.
“We were looking for someone to play your ‘Prince Charming’ as you put it, and we actually found someone,” Christian told him, and although the words were registering with him, they still felt severely overwhelming.
“I never said Prince Charming.” He totally had. But he didn't need Charles to know that. “And secondly, I still think this whole plan was a terrible idea to begin with.”
“We understand that, but what's done is done. Starting from today Charles Leclerc will be your boyfriend, at least in the public's eye.” The decision was final, Max could tell, but that wouldn't stop him from arguing against it.
“You can't just decide that,” he said, the woman from the PR team answering his complaint immediately.
“Actually we can't, your public relations are our responsibility.” Max knew that, he had read his contract before signing it after all, but he had never thought that they had meant it that literally.
“And what about you?” Max turned to Charles, he was his last hope considering he wouldn't get anywhere arguing with the others. “So you’ll just agree to this crazy thing?”
“Actually he already did,” Christian chimed in again and Max glared at him. He wanted to hear it from Charles.
“They said they had discussed it with you,” Charles finally said, the slightest bit of unease making it into his expression.
“They did,” Max confirmed quickly, he didn't want Charles to think that Red Bull was an uncommunicative mess, even if sometimes it seems like it. “But I didn't think they'd pick you.” It was a moment too late that he realized how accusatory his voice sounded. He wasn't upset that it ended up being Charles, he was upset that they had gone through with it at all.
“It fits though,” Charles said, if he was offended by Max's comment he certainly didn't show it. “People know we used to kart together. They know that I hang around the paddock frequently and with my brother racing for Ferrari it makes sense we wouldn't have wanted to make our supposed relationship public. It ticks all the boxes.”
It was true, and as much as Max wanted to argue against it he couldn't find a single flaw in the plant. But there was still something that didn't quite click in his brain. “But why would you agree to this? What are you getting out of this?” Max watched as Charles opened his mouth to answer but before he could Christian cut him off.
“Oh, don't worry about that. Charles will be compensated accordingly.” Of course he would be. But the idea that someone had to be paid to pretend to like him made Max cringe. It was embarrassing really, and in some ways it bruised his ego.
“We will have to find a way to announce your relationship. Preferably before the race tomorrow.” The PR team moved on to a new topic. “You will also both need to be briefed on how to act, and more importantly, how to interact with each other and reporters.” Max didn’t miss the way she looked at him as she said the last part. “Charles, If you'd be so kind as to follow me. The briefings will take place individually, and I still need a few signatures from you to be able to use your pictures,” she continued as she stood up, Charles mirroring the motion.
“Sure thing,” he said, his smile remaining on his face as he followed her out. Max seriously couldn't understand how he could just roll with things so effortlessly.
What followed were a solid two hours of media training. Two hours that he could have very much used to train for the actual spot that he was a world champion in, but he knew he wouldn't be getting out of this. And in the end it didn't end up being as bad as he had feared.
Max actually learned quite a lot about Charles. Although it was a little strange hearing it from a PR person instead of Charles himself. But Max assumed that that's just how it worked even though he seriously couldn't imagine where they had gotten any of this information from.
He learned that Charles did Karting up until he was 13 years old before taking part in some single-seater formula races and ultimately quitting the spot at 15. He graduated high school and went on to study music while switching between different jobs before eventually settling as a sales associate for some luxury Boutique in Italy. That was all the basic information, what really caught Max's attention however was Charles supposed dating history.
Since he was 16 Charles had multiple long-term girlfriends. His last relationship with a French designer having ended well over two years ago after almost four years of being together. Hearing that made Max wonder if Charles was being told the same private details about his life as well right now.
The way he had never been in a relationship that had made it over the sixth month mark. The way he went through periods of bringing back a different person to his hotel every night. Or even how Charles perfectly fit his type; dark hair, bright eyes and most importantly an actual interest in Formula 1.
Most men that fit that description weren’t into other men the way Max would have needed them to be. Just like Charles wasn’t. It was tragic reading, but Max had never been the type for self-pity.
Instead he was the type to suck it up and move on. Just like now as the PR woman moved on to instructing him how to navigate any and all questions about this new relationship. Supposedly he and Charles were friends way back in the day, that was at least partially true. They had on and off contact over the year until at the beginning of this season when they had re-connected after meeting at a pre-season party. From there things have moved pretty quickly for them. The uncertainty of how the public might react being the driving factor in making them want to keep the relationship secret. But now that the cat was out of the back they wouldn't be hiding anymore.
It sounded like a fairy tale, at least when the PR woman said it. But Max knew the reality didn't look like that, and he knew that if Charles wasn't literally paid to be with him something like that would never have happened, especially not to him.
Nonetheless Max tried to remember all the details of this fabricated falling in love story, he knew that he'd be asked about it plenty soon enough. By the end of it he felt almost as drained as after a normal training session. It was almost ridiculous how taxing things like that were for him.
But acting simply didn't come naturally to him like it seemed to for all the other drivers on the grid. Lewis certainly knew how to play the media, so did Norris and Oscar, but the only thing Max was any good at was driving. And not even that wanted to work out for him this season.
“Finally done too?” Charles' voice broke Max from his former train of thought as he exited the conference room, far behind the rest that had already trickled out.
“Seems like it,” Max confirmed, joining Charles leaning against the wall. It looked as if Charles’ session had passed a lot faster than Max’s. Maybe because there was less to recap about Max's non-existent love life, or because Charles simply had an easier time remembering the rehearsed answers for the media.
“My coach said we should get together and get to know each other sometime. So we're more natural for the cameras later.”
“They told me something like that too. would be better sooner rather than later though,” Max remarked. Even though it was the first day of their ‘relationship’ they would already have a lot to do. A photo shoot had been scheduled for them later today, tomorrow their relationship would be made public and, hopefully, after a win a second round of pictures would be published to really cement their new found romance.
Max was used to having his life be scheduled and controlled by other people like that, but he couldn't imagine that that was the case for Charles as well.
“You should focus on getting a good position first,” Charles told him.
“Maybe,” Max agreed. He knew it should be his absolute priority right now, Monaco was very unforgiving when it came to making any mistakes in qualifying.
But with all the meetings and discussions on how to act in love the PR people had really gotten in his head. He couldn't imagine focusing on driving with all the information about Charles floating in his mind.
“I have to meet with my engineers and afterwards have a go at the sim but maybe we could meet up before the photoshoot?” Max suggested. The schedule would be a little packed and after the shoot he’d probably have to meet with the strategist and most likely be forced to at least give one interview so the public didn't go entirely starved but Max could handle that. He had grown used to it.
“Sounds like a plan,” Charles agreed, his dimples once again becoming visible, adding that charm to him that Max knew people were naturally drawn to. It was something he knew he lacked, but if some of Charles' charm could rub off on him that could really go a long way.
“I meet you here at, let's say 2:30?” Max offered. It would have probably been nicer to invite him to his home, but Max knew what a mess it was, so although a Red Bull meeting room wasn't the most romantic place to get to know each other, it would have to do. It was not like this was an actual date or anything anyways.
Charles agreed with an easy nod before they set out in different directions.
The meeting with the engineers brought a nice change of pace, momentarily allowing Max to focus on his car. Yuki joined them too, and together they went over all that was good, and even more importantly all that was bad about the car. Between the two of them they had vastly different preferences when it came to the car, but when it came down to it Max’s would always be prioritized.
He had always thought that it was better when a team had a clear number one. It avoided the drama that McLaren were starting to face, trying to play both sides equally. But Max couldn't deny that he felt bad for Yuki when he watched him fighting and losing battle to get at least something.
But Max just likes his car with a hyper responsive front end. Even now when he found himself having some trouble with it too, he knew it would be worth it in the end. All he needed was to fall back into rhythm with the car. The meeting dragged on longer than he would have liked it to, but he knew it was important. Afterwards he had someone drive him home again so he could immediately jump into his home sim racing setup.
There were different setups and facilities he could have practiced on at Red Bull too, but Max preferred his home set up the most. It felt quieter, allowing him to fully emerge himself in the racing. At least usually it did. Today his brain simply didn't seem willing to get into it. Max found himself making mistake after mistake, crashing in corners he had never had a problem with before.
He tried taking a break, eating something, going through the breathing exercises he had been taught to get back in his element. But none of it helped.
By the time he got the proper lap in he felt more frustrated than anything. Qualifying was tomorrow, if you didn't get pole position he might as well wave goodbye to half his sponsors and the dream of a fifth title win. Maybe even Charles would want to end this makeshift game of pretend once he saw just how much of a loser Max was.
The thought of the Monegasques passing through his mind made Max pause for a moment, hadn’t he agreed to meeting him? Max grabbed his phone from where he had thrown it to the side earlier, his heart rate spiking as he saw the time; 2:46.
He was already running 15 minutes late. That's what happens when he makes plans for himself instead of leaving it up to someone else. Max jumped out of his seat, his clothes were sticking to him uncomfortably and he could only imagine what a mess his hair must be. He was most definitely in need of a shower, especially since he was meant to pose for pictures later. For a second he felt frozen in place, overwhelmed by all he had to do, but as he watched a minute pass on his phone screen he started moving.
He'd have to apologize to Charles for standing him up.
Max did his best to hurry in the shower, but brushing his teeth and at least trying to style his hair into obedience left him with barely any time to spare before the 3:00 p.m. photo shoot. He ended up driving back to the circuit himself instead of calling a cap, and although he had done his best he still ended up arriving 5 minutes late. A woman immediately hurried him towards a fitting room as soon as he entered. With the race weekend coming closer and closer the space around Max got busy and busier.
He was ushered past all of it. Someone applied makeup to his face while someone else took care of fixing his hair once and for all. All the while someone else briefed him on the kind of pictures that would be taking today. Max was only able to half listen before he got handed a fresh jersey and a pair of black jeans. They probably knew that there was no point in trying to get him to wear anything fancier. Max put it on with all the fight, and after those 15 minutes of getting ready he finally joined Charles and the photographer in the comment area of Red Bull hospitality.
Any other people had been ushered out and lights had already been set up. The pictures were meant to be casual after all, showing them hanging out like any good socially adjusted homosexual couple would.
But when Max’s eyes fell to Charles he felt his breath hitch.
The man wasn't wearing the fiery red Max had grown to expect from him, instead he wore dark pants and a soft gray sweater as well as plenty of silver jewelry. It complemented the red and blue background much better than any Ferrari merch would have, but the thing that really stuck out to Max was that he looked good. Well, he had known that. He had realized it the moment he had seen Charles all grown up after so long. But being all stiled and in professional lighting drove home that fact once more. He was pretty.
“Charles already helped me set up the light, if you could just take a seat next to him that would be wonderful, Max,” the photographer broke Max out of this hopefully not too obvious staring. Max wasn't sure if he had met him before, and he wasn't sure what exactly Red Bull had told him about the nature of this photoshoot either, but it didn't really matter. Instead Max did as he was told and took a seat on the couch next to Charles, not too far away but not too close either.
“Hi,” he greeted as he got settled, feeling both shy and awkward.
“You stood me up,” Charles said in return, clearly not one to be beat around the bush. It made Max cringe inwardly as the sound of a picture getting taken rang through the room.
“Sorry about that, time got away from me,” he turned to look at Charles, praying he'd understand he was being genuine.
“Maybe smile a little,” the photographer instructed and Max watched Charles effortlessly slip a smile onto his face as he turned his whole body more towards Max, he almost looked like an actual model like this. He was photogenic, even Max could see that.
“It's fine,” Charles told him, his smile not wavering at all and Max reminded himself to force a smile onto his own features as well. “But you could have at least let me know you wouldn't make it.”
Max had a hard time keeping the guilty look off his face as he shifted somewhat uncomfortably under the other gaze. “I don't have your number,” he gave us an excuse. It wasn't the best one but at least it was true. Charles also repositioned himself, shifting closer.
“How good is your memory?” He then asked, his voice lower than it had to be and Max felt a tickle of his breath against his cheek. His mind going blank for a second.
“Not very,” he confessed when thoughts started making sense again. What followed was a warm laugh, an airy one that made Charles' whole body vibrant. Max wasn’t sure if it had really been caused by what he had said or if Charles was just doing it for the pictures, but Max also chuckled despite himself.
“That's very good,” the photographer complimented, Max had almost forgotten that they weren't alone. “Maybe we could also get some on the balcony as well.”
Charles and Max follow the photographer outside without question, allowing themselves to be posted closely together with Charles leaning on the railing looking down at the streets below while Max leaned on it facing the camera.
“Do you think you'll have a free minute for me at all today?” Charles asked, sounding almost careful. With his face not in view of the camera a more natural expression had settled on his features, something almost thoughtful. Max found himself regarding it for a moment.
“You said it yourself, performing tomorrow comes first.” Max watched as Charles stood up a little straighter, once again being the one to shift closer as he placed both hands on Max’s shoulder, leaning into him. It made Max freeze, but he forced himself to continue smiling, far too aware of the clicking of a camera all of a sudden.
“I did say that,” Charles picked up the conversation again, his voice lowered again as if he wanted to make sure that only Max heard him. “But I think this whole thing is starting to get to you. You need to clear your head.” He was probably right but Max had never been one to let others in.
“And you don't think you'd distract me even more?” Max counted, lowering his voice to match Charles and only realizing a moment too late just how close they actually were. Charles lifted his eyes to meet Max’s and like that he could make out all the individual shades of green and blue the mixed inside them.
“That's perfect guys,” a voice broke them from the strange bubble they had found themselves in. “We've got everything we need. Max, you can go to your meeting, the strategist will already be waiting for you,” the photographer said, seeming pleased with the results of today.
Charles' body heat disappeared as he stepped away again and Max used the opportunity to flee. But before you could get far he felt a hand wrap around his arm.
“You said you didn't have my number,” Charles reminded him, holding out his head. And although it took Max a moment to understand what the other wanted he eventually fished out his phone from his pocket and handed it over, watching Charles type in his number with practice ease. “If something opens up for you, text me, and if you need anything else too,” Charles told him as he handed it back.
Max wasn't entirely sure what he meant by that but he nodded anyway.
And Max would have loved to text him, to have an excuse to hang out with Charles even outside of the strange arrangement. But as the afternoon turned into evening and the evening turned into night it became all the more obvious that he didn't have a single free minute in which he could have texted the other.
The interview he gave was staged, every question and answer pre-written to make sure he came across the way Red Bull wanted him to. As someone capable of being loving and caring off track, a respectable gay man that didn't sleep around or wore pink fishnets.
And although Max has never been the type to want to do that, he had admittedly found himself judging people who did in the past, he couldn't help but want to stand up for them now. To tell Red Bull and their sponsors that there was no right or wrong way of being gay. But he didn't, there was too much on the line for him too.
After spending his entire life working for this he wouldn't risk losing it over being the ‘wrong kind of gay’. Instead he gave the answers they wanted to hear. Telling the story of how he and Charles supposedly reconnected after years of not being able to stop thinking about each other. How their favorite activities were watching movies bundled up at home or listening to classical music. How they still laugh about stories from way back in the day.
Saying all that to the camera made Max inwardly cringe, especially since he hadn't even managed to commit to a half hour meeting with the other.
How was anyone meant to believe that they were a couple when Charles was so obviously out of his league? Charles was handsome, intelligent and social whereas Max was starting to fail at the one thing he had ever been good at.
By the time Max had gotten back to his car to drive home the sun had long set, disappearing behind the horizon that stretched before the port town. He took the same way home that he had taken to get to the paddock, avoiding the closed off streets. There was barely any traffic and he was grateful for that, he hoped no paparazzi had caught sight of his car. He didn't want to think about what they might write if they did.
That was the reason why Max preferred being driven around doing the season after all. He felt more secure hiding in the back of an unknown car, even though he knew there was no way of actually hiding. The media would find a way to get to him sooner or later, they always did. The questions would reach him and he'd have no other option and to answer.
Why have you decided to come out exactly now? Has to do with your performance in the current season? Do you think having a hot boyfriend will distract the public from your poor performance?
Max slapped down on the brakes, his knuckles white from how hard it was gripping the steering wheel. He was lucky there was no car behind him. He closed his eyes for a moment, grounding himself before slowly pressing down on the gas again. He was almost home anyways
Max reminded himself that the questions were all in his head. Sure, he had made some mistakes this season so far but he'd make up for that. Tomorrow.
When he packed his car in his private garage he remained in place for a few more minutes. Just breathing, the way he had been taught before races to calm heart rate. Usually it worked, but today it didn't seem to make a difference.
His hand found his phone, as if that could help him. He unlocked it anyways, hoping to find anything to distract him from the race tomorrow and to his surprise he found himself kicking onto his most recently added contact.
Charles had said he could text him if needed anything. Max still wasn’t sure what he had meant by that exactly but that didn’t really matter. Even if he did it wasn't like there was anything he could ask for, what could Charles do?
Just because Max felt like he was on the brink of a nervous breakdown didn't mean he had any right to bother Charles this later at night. He wasn't even sure what he was so upset by.
The media being mean to him? They've been much worse before.
Feeling like he was losing his edge? He had overcome insecurities before. He had felt like this before, and he had always persevered anyways. Even without anyone there to cradle him, so why was he suddenly longing for it?
All this talk about relationships was actually getting to him, Charles had been right. Because of course he had been. Still, Max knew he wouldn't be able to sleep unless he texted the other at least something, even if just to show him that he hadn’t forgotten about him.
Good night
It was uncreative, barely anything at all, but it was all Max could come up with in the moment. And to his surprise he actually received an answer.
Rest well, you’ll do good tomorrow
The answer wasn't much either, but it was enough to distract his heart enough for it to stop racing.