Work Text:
“How are you, mate?” Alex asked Max, clapping a hand to his back.
“I’m good, you?” Max said, taking a sip of his drink. All around them, the life of the club buzzed, the music swelling as bodies pressed close against one another on the dance floor. Max leaned against the bar as Alex ordered another drink.
“Yeah, I’m doing well. How was your break?” Alex drummed his fingers against the counter as he spoke.
“Just spent it with family, or on the sim. Or dealing with my cats. They can be very chaotic. Well, you probably know better than anyone,” Max laughed.
Alex grinned. “Mate, they are crazy.”
The two drivers continued talking as the club thrummed around them. Most of the grid could be seen relaxing at tables or out letting loose on the dance floor. Alex’s drink arrived, and Max suggested moving to a table. The Thai agreed and they picked their way to a relatively quiet spot.
One driver Max hadn’t seen yet was George, but he figured the Brit had either turned in early or was coming later. George usually stood out in a crowd, not that Max particularly paid attention. The flashy diva was just hard to miss. He scanned the club again, and was about to ask Alex about his wayward friend when Alex suddenly said, “Nice of you to finally show up.”
Max furrowed his brow in confusion and glanced back at the club, but his view was now obstructed by George, who was standing right beside his seat. Max let out a yelp, almost slipping out of his seat. The Brit looked completely unbothered, and instead answered Alex with a wry grin.
“I believe it’s called being fashionably late.”
Max blinked at George, trying to remember when he could have arrived by his elbow. How could he have missed him? He could see the whole room from his spot and he definitely had not seen the Mercedes driver. He shook his head, blaming the alcohol and the fog machines for messing with his senses.
A couple of weekends later, the sun beat down on the three drivers that had arrived at the padel court. Alex and Lando set their stuff down on the first bench, already ribbing each other. Max followed, squinting his eyes in the brightness as he dropped his bag on the second bench and started to tie his shoes.
“Mate, you fully squealed. Like, little kid in a candy store.” Alex grinned, a laugh escaping him.
Lando stamped his foot, pointing his racquet at Alex threateningly. “I would like to see how you act when a giant spider lands on your head.” He shuddered, as though the mere memory of the incident was enough to send him back there.
“Thank goodness Oscar was there, or I think you would have cried.”
“I would not have cried,” Lando said indignantly.
“Sure, sure, whatever you say.” Alex laughed again, patting Lando on the back.
Max had been half listening to their conversation, busy getting ready. He surveyed the court and the gate, but no additional Englishman had shown up yet. As he bent by the bench to readjust his shoelaces, he heard Alex speak again.
“Took you long enough.”
Max looked up at that, and nearly toppled over in shock. George stood right next to him, hair band in place, shoes on, padel racquet in hand, and placing his bag down on the other end of the bench. Max blinked at him, while George merely chuckled when replying to Alex.
“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t find my bag.”
Max was reeling from the sudden appearance. The gate usually creaked, the sun was shining, and the path that led to the facility could clearly be seen from the court. There was no plausible way George could have snuck up on him, and yet, here he was, all perfect and ready to play as if he wasn’t actively causing Max distress.
The next weekend found Max fidgeting while he waited on the couch for Lando and George to come in for their post-race interview. He kept a particular eye out for the Mercedes driver, positioning himself so there was no way he could miss him coming into the room. The only door into the room was propped open, and Max had a clear view of the hallway leading up to the room as well.
Lando came in, sitting on Max’s right, sipping his drink genially. He looked at Max, who was still staring intently at the entrance.
“You okay, mate? What’s going on?”
Max shrugged, and said, “I want to see George come in. He has this way of just,” he waved his hands about, “appearing out of nowhere.”
Lando raised his eyebrows in amusement. “Oh, really? Have we been paying attention to a certain someone lately?”
Max shook his head without taking his eyes off the entryway, muttering under his breath, “Obviously not like that.”
Lando hummed. Then he said, “Took you long enough to show up. Someone’s been waiting for you.”
Confused, Max whipped his head around to Lando, who stifled his laughter behind his hand. He had only taken his eyes off the doorway for half a second, but when he shifted his gaze back, George sat primly beside him, adjusting his hair with his hand.
Max’s eyes widened and he bit back a yell as George stared at him, eyebrows coming together in a questioning look.
“Everything alright, Max?”
Max made a strangled noise and asked, “How did you get in here?”
“Through the door, like everyone else?” George cast an appraising look at Max.
Before he could say anything further, the moderator came in and the interview started. Max kept side-eyeing George, assessing him and wondering how he could have come in without Max noticing him at all. One does not simply miss a freakishly tall British driver walking into a room, right?
Max walked alongside Charles through the paddock, a few race weekends after the interview scare. No one bothered them with media duties yet, but it was only a matter of time before someone approached with an inane question. There were a few drivers milling around their team hospitality units, lounging or filming content, but the main area was free. One specific altitudinally blessed Mercedes driver was absent from view, but Max wasn’t falling for it again. He had been staying hypervigilant for weeks.
“I think Leo might be lonely,” Charles was saying as they sidestepped a reporter talking about the upcoming race.
Max barked out a laugh before asking, “What makes you say that?”
Charles raised his eyebrows, unimpressed at his friend’s reaction. “What, your cats don’t miss you?”
“Eh, they have an automatic feeder, plenty of toys, and each other to annoy,” Max said dismissively. “I think they miss me, but they don’t need me. You cart Leo around like he’s royalty. I’m sure he’s fine.”
Charles shook his head lightly. “I know, but I don’t bring him everywhere and the sitter says that he whines a lot,” he said, then hesitated before adding, “Should I get another dog?”
Max laughed, and squeezed Charles’ shoulder. “You worry too much. Leo is already spoiled enough, and now you’re thinking about getting him an emotional support buddy?”
They neared the Ferrari hospitality unit, and Max had yet to see anyone in black and silver around the paddock.
Then, Charles frowned at Max before asking, “Well, what do you think, George?”
Max stiffened instantly, and slowly turned his head to see the Englishman pursing his lips in thought, standing beside him as if he had been there the whole time.
“I don’t have pets, but if you think Leo needs a companion, you could get another dog. You know him best,” George answered.
Charles nodded at the advice and Max continued to stare at him in disbelief, blinking several times and rubbing his eyes aggressively. George glanced at Max, his eyebrows crinkling in amusement.
“Mate, you look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
It took a few more moments for Max’s mouth to work properly, but he finally squeaked out, “How long have you been standing there?”
George laughed, his curls bouncing on his head as he clapped Max on the shoulder. “That’s a good one, Max. See you guys around.”
As quickly as he had appeared, he was gone, clasping hands with Charles before walking off.
Max turned his attention to Charles. “Where did he come from?”
“What do you mean? He just popped in to say hello.” Charles furrowed his brow. “What’s gotten into you?”
Max exhaled, long and slow, running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know. I simply don’t know.”
The race the next weekend was brutal, Max managing to claw out a P3 despite his car actively working against him. After the media circus wrapped up and Max was released from his team debriefing, he headed for the parking lot, the setting sun casting shadows around him. There were a smattering of people still around, but most had already packed up and left. The night hummed softly with faint celebrations elsewhere, but Max was lost in thought until a posh accent broke his reverie, materializing at his side.
“Good race today.”
Max whipped his head around, biting a scream down as his heart nearly leapt out of his chest. “Oh my God, where did you come from?”
George matched his stride with a playful smile on his face. “I saw you walking and I wanted to say good job.”
Max released a long, suffering sigh, and closed his eyes briefly. “You need a bell.”
George giggled, his hand coming up to gently brush against Max’s arm. “Do I? I think you just need glasses.”
Before Max could respond, George disappeared into the night. He absently touched his forearm, rubbing the spot George had brushed.
The music blared out into the cool, Monaco air, but Max was barely listening. He continued swirling his drink in his hand, watching the ice cubes clink together. Since that night, he hadn’t been able to get George completely out of his mind. The Brit popping up without explanation or warning countless times jostled his well-established peace of mind, and Max couldn’t decide if he wanted him to keep doing it or stop. While keeping an eye on George for his own sanity–a bell being too much to ask for apparently–he found that he didn’t mind looking at the Englishman.
He observed that George could be a total goof for social media, but when the lights went out, he became the epitome of precision and speed, filled with quiet determination. He flitted around the paddock, speaking to most drivers, taking his GPDA director duties completely seriously while also trading gossip. He could be concentrating on race data one second and be laughing with Alex the next, looking completely free. Having spent weeks witnessing these small moments, Max realized he may have misjudged him and frighteningly, he may want to spend more time with him. However, he was also no closer to learning how the Brit continually appeared out of nowhere.
Max sighed into his drink and scanned the room again. His gaze immediately caught on a rather tall silhouette standing outside on the balcony. Though the figure stood in shadow, Max recognized the curls and the shape of the shoulders instantly.
He pushed off the wall and threaded his way through the crowd to ease the balcony door open, careful not to make noise. George didn’t turn around though, head tilted back, staring out at the night sky as if it held all the answers, elbows braced on the railing.
Max smirked, and sidled up next to George. “Nice night, isn’t it?”
“Ah–oh, it’s you.” George inhaled sharply before laughing softly. “You’re learning.”
“You’ve still got me beat,” Max admitted and shrugged. He took a sip of his drink before continuing.
“I’ll figure out how you move around so quietly, don’t worry. It’s only a matter of time.”
At that, George smiled like a Cheshire cat, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “I see,” he said and leaned towards Max, his voice dropping to a whisper. “As long as you keep paying attention.”
Max’s breath caught, his fingers tightening on the drink. “Do you sneak up on anyone else or am I just special?”
“I’d say you’re very special,” George murmured, the words lingering in the slowly shrinking space between them.
Max’s heart hammered in his chest, and he searched George’s face for any hint of teasing but George’s eyes remained steady and unwavering. Before he could second-guess himself any more, Max closed the distance between them with a kiss, his free hand coming up to rest on George’s neck. George let out a quiet gasp before deepening the kiss, wrapping his arms around Max’s waist and pulling him closer.
The months passed quickly after that night, race weekends blurring together until they were almost at the end of the season. Max stood in the paddock, talking to the rookies who surrounded him in a loose circle. Their attention was pinned to Max, absorbing everything he was saying. It happened without fanfare, but Max will forever remember it as one of his greatest achievements.
As he was mid-explanation, Max heard the faintest whisper of fabric, the slightest change in the air, the barest hint of movement, and he smiled.
“There you are.”
The rookies stared confusedly at him until George’s arm draped around Max’s shoulder, the other driver appearing in the previously unoccupied space next to Max seemingly from nowhere.
Kimi let out a rushed “Oh my God” and gasped for breath, Gabi took a step back after a very dignified shriek, Isack and Franco released a string of curses, Jack pointed in disbelief, and Ollie yelled out “What the–” before frantically looking around the paddock.
George laughed at their distress and kissed Max on the cheek, whispering in his ear, “Found me.”