Chapter Text
Max had always considered himself a logical person.
People liked to say he was aggressive, stubborn, sometimes an asshole, which - fine - technically that was probably correct. But underneath all of that he was logical.
Things had causes. Things had outcomes.
You brake too late :: you miss the apex.
You trust the wrong strategy :: you lose the race (refer: that ugly horse team)
You marry someone a week before the season opener :: apparently that was also a thing now.
Max leaned against the balcony railing of his apartment and stared at the building opposite his.
Well.
Technically it was the same building. It had just been split down the middle, two mirror halves facing each other like someone had copy-pasted Monaco real estate.
Charles had one half.
Max had the other.
Which meant Max also had a front-row seat to the disaster currently unfolding across the courtyard.
White flowers.
So many white flowers.
They were arranged along the entrance in perfect symmetry, climbing up pillars and archways like something out of a movie about rich people who pretend they're not rich.
Max squinted at them.
"Jesus," he muttered.
Of course Charles would do that.
It was supposed to be a civil ceremony.
A quick courthouse thing.
Sign papers. Shake hands. Done.
Instead, Charles had apparently decided that Monaco should look like a wedding Pinterest board exploded.
People were moving around the courtyard now - family, friends, organizers, someone holding what looked suspiciously like a violin.
Max pressed his lips together.
His chest felt… strange.
Heavy.
Like someone had installed a second engine inside his ribcage but forgot to give it an exhaust.
Which was ridiculous.
Completely ridiculous.
He and Charles had been fighting each other since they were children.
Karting championships. Junior formulas. Formula 1.
Everyone knew that story.
Everyone also knew the sequel.
First Charles hated him.
Then they respected each other.
Then they appreciated each other.
Then somewhere between 2019 and 2026, they'd somehow ended up…
Neighbors.
Friends.
Not best friends.
Max would never say that.
Charles had Pierre for that.
But still.
Max watched as the doors across the courtyard opened and a group stepped outside.
Charles appeared a moment later.
Light suit.
Where has he seen that suit before?
Hair perfectly done.
Smiling that stupid warm smile he had whenever he looked like the happiest person alive.
Max winced.
Right.
He should probably go say congratulations.
It was the polite thing to do.
The neighborly thing to do.
Max stood there for a full thirty seconds considering it.
Then he turned around, walked back inside his apartment, and grabbed his phone.
He scrolled to one contact.
Lando.
The phone rang twice.
"Max?"
"Do you want to play something?"
There was a pause.
"…right now?"
"Yes."
"Uh. Sure?"
Good.
That solved that.
Two hours later Max was destroying Lando in whatever game they had ended up playing.
"Mate this is ridiculous," Lando complained through the headset. "You're cheating."
"I'm not cheating."
"You are."
"I'm just better."
"Yeah well that's what cheaters say."
Max snorted quietly and eliminated him again.
Easy.
Across the screen Lando's character respawned.
Then Max heard a phone buzz faintly through the mic.
A second later Lando went quiet.
Max didn't think much of it until Lando spoke again.
"…Max?"
"Yes?"
"You okay?"
Max blinked.
"What?"
"Just asking."
"Why?"
"Because - "
Another pause.
Max frowned.
"Lando."
"Carlos texted me."
"And?"
"He asked if I knew where you were."
"And?"
"I said probably your apartment because we're literally gaming."
"That was very observant of you."
"Shut up."
Max waited.
Lando hesitated.
"…apparently Charles got married today."
Max stared at the screen.
For a moment he forgot what button did what.
His character ran straight into a wall.
"…yeah," Max said eventually.
Lando was quiet.
Then he asked carefully,
"Are you sure you're okay?"
Max scoffed.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"Well I don't know maybe because - "
Max shot another opponent across the map.
"Look," he said flatly. "I'm beating you every round. Does that sound like someone who's not okay?"
"…fair."
Max leaned back in his chair.
Through the open balcony doors he could still hear faint music drifting from across the courtyard.
He ignored it.
"She looked beautiful," he said.
The words came out automatically.
Lando hummed softly.
They didn't talk about it again.
The internet, unfortunately, had other ideas.
By evening half the fan pages were already speculating.
Someone had posted blurry video of the newly married couple.
Another claimed they'd seen Charles in a suit.
Max discovered this when a message popped up from Daniel.
mate
is he married
Max typed back.
idk
Three seconds later his phone rang.
Max sighed and answered.
"You're his neighbor," Daniel said immediately. "You would know."
"Apparently not."
"Come on."
"I'm serious."
Daniel paused.
"…you sound weird."
"I'm not weird."
"You're weird."
Max rolled his eyes.
"Good talk," he said and hung up.
Later that night his phone kept buzzing.
Oscar.
Kimi.
Ollie.
Gabi.
Various messages that made absolutely no sense.
Memes. Random questions. A photo of a cat wearing sunglasses.
Max stared at the screen.
They were trying to distract him.
Subtle.
Very subtle.
He ignored all of them.
Then another message arrived.
Arthur.
Max opened it.
I didn't know, Max
A second message followed.
None of us thought it was gonna happen this soon
Max exhaled slowly.
Another message.
I'm sorry.
Then another.
Are you okay?
A pause.
Then:
That's a stupid question.
Max stared at the screen for a long time.
Eventually he locked the phone and placed it face down on the table.
Across the courtyard the lights were still on.
Two days later, Max was packing for Australia.
His suitcase lay open on the bed while he debated how many team shirts he actually needed.
His phone buzzed.
Lando.
its finally here
Max frowned.
what
Three dots appeared.
Then:
check insta
Max sighed.
Of course.
He opened the app before his brain could stop him.
Charles' post was the first thing that appeared.
Charles and Alexandra.
She was laughing.
Charles looked like someone had handed him the world.
The caption mentioned the civil ceremony. The real wedding would be next year. Family and loved ones.
Max stared at the screen.
He didn't follow Charles. Charles didn't follow him either. That had been a running joke for years.
Still, they had a system.
Charles liked Max's announcement post about his kid.
Max liked Charles' engagement post.
Balance.
Unspoken.
Easy.
Max told himself he wasn't going to read the comments.
Which lasted approximately three seconds.
His thumb scrolled.
Thousands of replies.
Fans losing their minds.
Congratulations in different languages.
Then the memes started appearing.
Max read the first one.
Two bullet shots heard at Red Bull and Williams
He blinked.
Scrolled again.
someone go check on max and carlos
Another.
pierre gasly found crying in the club
Max snorted before he could stop himself.
Great.
Fantastic.
His emotional suffering had become community entertainment.
Another comment caught his eye.
max verstappen punching the air right now
Max leaned back in his chair.
Charles Leclerc got married a week before the season opener this man fears nothing
max verstappen just set the fastest lap in grief
charles really said enemies to lovers but with someone else
red bull and williams HR departments currently on suicide watch
max verstappen about to win the championship out of spite
"Well now I kind of have to," he muttered to the empty room.
He kept scrolling.
More jokes.
More congratulations.
More photos of Charles looking like he had just unlocked the good ending of life.
Max's thumb hovered over the like button again.
Still couldn't press it.
He locked the phone.
Set it down.
And stared at the ceiling for a long moment.
Problem solved.
Australia was loud.
Team meetings. Engineer briefing. FIA discussions. Media obligations.
Max liked it that way.
Noise was useful.
Noise meant you didn't have to think.
By the time the GPDA meeting started he had almost forgotten about -
"Max."
He looked up.
Fernando was standing next to him. "Have you tried the car yet?"
Max grimaced. "Yes."
Fernando nodded knowingly.
Max asked him, "The vibrations still an issue?"
Fernando sighed dramatically.
"I'm gonna die in that car."
Max laughed softly.
Nearby, Esteban was explaining something completely unrelated about cycling. Ollie was talking about his holiday.
For a moment everything felt normal.
Then the door opened.
Charles walked in.
Every driver turned.
"Congratulations!" someone said.
Then another.
Then another.
Max watched the congratulations ripple through the room like a chain reaction.
Charles smiled at each of them.
Eventually he reached Max.
They stood there for half a second.
Max cleared his throat.
"Congrats."
Charles smiled.
"Thank you."
Max opened his mouth.
Nothing came out.
This was ridiculous.
Talking was easy.
Max talked constantly.
People literally called it maxplaining.
And yet -
"Oh Max!" Oscar said suddenly, appearing out of nowhere. "I needed to ask you about - "
Max nearly sighed in relief.
Oscar launched into some question about simulator setups.
Charles drifted away toward Carlos.
Crisis averted.
The meeting started soon after.
George took control at the front.
"Alright lads," he said. "Let's talk about your concerns regarding the regulations."
Max already hated where this was going.
Driver after driver shared opinions. Most of them diplomatic. Measured. Reasonable.
Then George looked at Max.
"Max?"
That was a mistake.
Max leaned forward.
"Okay first of all, as everyone knows," he said, "these regulations are terrible."
Max continued.
"The power balance is wrong, the weight distribution makes no sense, and whoever decided this was a good idea clearly hasn't driven the car."
Silence filled the room.
Max kept going.
By the time he finished, Kimi, Ollie, Gabi, Isack, Liam - and the actual rookie Arvind - looked like they had just watched a public execution.
Max noticed.
He inhaled slowly.
Carlos' hand landed on his shoulder.
"Relax," Carlos murmured.
Max leaned back again.
Across the table he caught Charles watching him.
Suspicious.
Thoughtful.
Max looked away.
The meeting moved on.
But the heaviness in his chest came back.
And this time it didn't leave.
Practice sessions were fine.
Well.
"Fine" was doing a lot of work there.
The car felt like it had been designed by someone who hated drivers and Max personally, but he had driven worse things before.
At least this one moved forward when you asked it to.
The new regulations were still stupid.
Max had a list.
A very long list.
He had already explained most of it to the engineers, the FIA, the GPDA, and unfortunately to anyone who made eye contact with him for longer than three seconds.
That helped.
Complaining was productive.
Complaining meant his brain stayed busy.
Unfortunately the rest of the grid still existed.
During one of the paddock walks, he spotted Lando and Oscar talking near the McLaren motorhome.
Which meant Charles would appear eventually.
Like a law of physics.
Max turned a corner before that could happen.
Later, Lando would tell him about the conversation.
Apparently Charles had walked up casually and said,
"Hey, have you guys seen Max?"
Lando, according to Oscar, immediately panicked.
Oscar had described it as "a buffering wheel forming behind his eyes."
Charles frowned slightly.
"Is he okay?"
"Yeah!" Lando said too quickly.
Oscar had then added, very helpfully,
"We think so."
Charles blinked.
"You think so?"
Lando laughed nervously.
Oscar shrugged. "You know how much he hates these new regs."
Charles looked between them for a moment.
Then he nodded slowly.
"Alright."
He didn't ask anything else.
But apparently he looked… thoughtful.
Max wished he didn't know that.
Qualifying started normally.
The car was… manageable. Not good. Not terrible. Just something to fight.
Then Q1 happened.
The car twitched.
For a split second his brain ran through the possibilities.
Wind. Kerb. Rear instability.
Then the rear snapped.
Hard.
Max corrected instantly - years of instinct - but the car was already sliding.
The wall came quickly.
Impact.
The sound was sharp but not catastrophic.
Max sat still for a moment, hands gripping the steering wheel.
Across the radio GP was already asking if he was okay.
"I'm fine."
He flexed his fingers. Wrists. Hands.
Everything seemed intact.
Good.
He unclipped the belts and climbed out of the car.
The first thing he saw when he looked up was a red Ferrari parked a few meters away.
Charles was still inside it.
Of course he was.
Max almost laughed.
Fantastic.
He had crashed directly in front of Charles Leclerc.
The universe had excellent comedic timing.
Then marshals were already guiding Max away.
The medical center smelled like antiseptic and routine.
Max had been there enough times that the process was automatic.
X-rays. Hand checks. Wrist movement. Grip strength.
Everything normal.
The doctor nodded.
"You're good."
"Obviously."
Max grabbed his phone while leaving.
Messages immediately appeared.
Lando:
mate that looked bad are you ok
Oscar:
hands okay?
Carlos:
What did the medical team say? Everything good?
And then -
Charles.
Everything okay with your hands?
Max stared at the message for a moment.
Then he typed back.
yeah fine
Three dots appeared.
Then disappeared.
No further messages came.
Max locked his phone.
Race day began with noise. Fans. Engines.
Max climbed onto the drivers parade truck and leaned casually against the railing.
Starting P20 wasn't ideal.
But it wasn't the worst thing that had happened this week.
He stopped that thought immediately.
The Ferrari truck rolled alongside theirs a few minutes later.
Max didn't have to look to know who was there.
But he did anyway.
Charles stood near the edge, waving at fans.
At some point their eyes met.
Max sighed internally.
Right.
Cameras were definitely pointing at them.
Time to be normal.
He leaned slightly toward the other truck.
"Congratulations again," he called over the noise.
Charles smiled immediately. Warm. Bright.
Max felt something in his chest twist violently.
"Thank you," Charles said.
Then, almost casually, Charles added, "It's your turn next."
Max blinked.
The fans were screaming around them. Engines roared somewhere nearby.
He could very easily pretend he hadn't heard.
Which he did.
For approximately two seconds.
Then he looked back at Charles.
"Sorry?"
Charles laughed lightly and repeated, "I said it's your turn next."
Max's hands tightened around the metal railing.
Hard.
He didn't notice Isack watching him from a few steps away.
Max forced a shrug.
"Yeah," he said lightly. "I know, I know. I'm getting the pressure."
Charles grinned.
"Good."
Then the trucks separated again.
Max exhaled slowly.
His knuckles were still white against the railing.
Later, while walking back toward the garage, Max's brain betrayed him.
It started doing something extremely unhelpful.
Analyzing.
Because if there was one thing Max Verstappen's brain loved, it was finding the exact moment something went wrong.
When had Charles become a problem?
Not a racing problem.
That part was easy.
Charles had been a racing problem since they were seven.
No.
This was something else.
Something far more inconvenient.
Max had theories.
Possibly it started somewhere around 2019, when they had unfollowed each other on Instagram like two dramatic teenagers.
Or maybe even earlier.
Respect was dangerous like that.
Respect turned into conversation.
Conversation turned into friendship.
Friendship turned into -
Max stopped the thought immediately.
The lights in the pit lane flickered on as the race approached.
P20.
Long race ahead.
Good.
Driving was simple.
Driving made sense.
Driving didn't involve thinking about Charles Leclerc getting married.
Max had started from worse positions in worse cars with worse strategies.
So really, logically speaking, this was just a mildly annoying Sunday.
He sat in the cockpit during the formation lap and let the noise of the engine settle into his bones.
This part was easy.
Driving was numbers.
Grip levels.
Fuel load.
Tyre degradation.
Tiny adjustments in braking points.
Everything measurable. Predictable.
Unlike… other things.
"Alright Max," GP said over the radio. "Let's see what we can do today."
Max smirked slightly.
The lights went out.
Max gained three positions before Turn 3.
Another two by the end of the first lap.
People said recovery drives were dramatic, heroic things.
In reality they were just math.
Find the slow cars.
Pass them efficiently.
Don't destroy the tyres.
Repeat.
By lap ten he was already inside the points.
By lap twenty the engineers sounded cautiously optimistic.
By lap thirty someone mentioned the possibility of top five.
Max didn't answer.
He already knew.
The car still felt wrong in places.
The regulations were still stupid.
But he drove anyway.
Lap after lap.
Precision.
Control.
Focus.
For two hours his brain behaved.
It stayed exactly where it belonged: on the track.
Which was nice.
The checkered flag waved.
P6.
Max exhaled slowly.
"Good recovery," GP said.
"Yeah," Max replied.
It wasn't spectacular.
But it was solid.
And solid was fine.
Parc fermé was loud.
Cameras everywhere.
Max climbed out of the car and removed his helmet.
The first person he saw was Kimi.
The kid looked slightly stunned standing next to his car.
Second place.
Max walked over and clapped him on the shoulder.
"Nice job."
Kimi blinked like he wasn't sure reality had caught up yet.
"Thanks."
Max gave him a small nod.
Moments like this were easy.
Clear.
You did well :: you deserved congratulations.
Simple.
Across the area he noticed Charles standing with George.
Third place.
Max looked for exactly one second.
Then he turned around and walked away.
No reason to stand there.
The paddock emptied slowly that evening.
Max packed up, answered a few media questions, and escaped as quickly as possible.
The week ended.
Australia faded behind them.
Next stop: China.
Shanghai greeted them with grey skies and endless traffic.
Max landed, went through the usual routine, and by evening he decided food was necessary for survival.
He texted Gabi.
Dinner?
Gabi replied instantly.
free food? yes
Ten minutes later they were sitting at a small restaurant near the hotel.
Gabi was scrolling through his phone while waiting for the food.
Max leaned back in his chair.
For a moment it felt… almost normal.
Then Gabi's thumb stopped moving.
His eyes widened slightly.
Max didn't even need to ask.
He already knew.
Gabi locked the phone immediately.
Then he looked up and gave Max an awkward, apologetic smile.
Max sighed.
"You can show me."
Gabi hesitated.
"Are you sure?"
"It's fine."
It wasn't.
But avoiding it clearly wasn't working either.
Gabi slowly unlocked the phone again and turned the screen.
A new post.
Charles and Alexandra walking through the streets of Shanghai.
She was leaning into him while laughing at something off-camera.
Charles looked exactly the same way he had looked in Monaco. Like someone who had been handed the world.
Max stared at the photo for a few seconds.
Then he leaned back again.
"Nice pictures."
Gabi carefully set the phone down.
Neither of them spoke for a moment.
Finally Max rubbed a hand over his face.
"This season is going to be one long honeymoon, isn't it?"
Gabi didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
Max let out a quiet breath.
Across the restaurant someone laughed loudly.
Outside the city traffic kept moving.
Normal life. Normal world.
Max tried, for the hundredth time that week, to approach the problem logically.
There had to be a moment.
A specific point where things had changed.
Because problems didn't appear out of nowhere.
They developed over time.
So when exactly had Charles Leclerc become the biggest problem in his life?
Across the table Gabi carefully pretended to study the menu.
Max drummed his fingers against the table.
There was another possibility his brain kept circling around.
One he absolutely refused to examine too closely.
Maybe the problem wasn't when it started.
Maybe the problem was that Charles had always been there.
Every step of the way.
Every season.
Every stage of Max's life since he was a kid.
Which meant -
Max stopped the thought.
Hard.
Nope.
Not finishing that one.
Their food arrived.
Gabi immediately started talking about something rando - tyre deg, simulator work, literally anything else.
Max listened.
He even added a sarcastic comment or two.
On the outside everything looked perfectly normal.
Inside his brain, however, something unpleasantly simple had settled into place.
Charles Leclerc was married now.
That was a fact.
Facts were important.
Facts meant things had clear boundaries.
Clear outcomes.
Max understood outcomes.
He picked up his glass and took a sip.
Then he looked out the window at the Shanghai lights.
Logically speaking, this should make things easier.
Charles had his life.
Max had his.
Separate.
Simple.
Clean.
And yet -
Max rested his forehead briefly against his knuckles.
Because apparently his extremely logical brain had overlooked one small detail.
Charles Leclerc had always been part of the picture.
And unfortunately…
He was everything to Max.
Months Later
Monaco in summer was loud.
Too loud, actually.
Tourists everywhere, boats in the harbor, music spilling from restaurants like the entire principality had collectively decided sleep was optional.
Max preferred the nights when everything quieted down.
Which was why he was standing on his balcony at one in the morning.
The air smelled like the sea.
Across the courtyard the lights in the opposite building were still on.
Of course they were.
Max leaned against the railing.
He told himself he was just getting fresh air.
Not… waiting.
Waiting would be stupid.
He checked his phone.
Nothing important.
A message from Lando complaining about the simulator.
Another meme from Ollie.
One from Kimi that just said "are you alive?"
Max typed back unfortunately and put the phone down.
Across the courtyard a balcony door slid open.
Max didn't look up immediately.
That would be obvious.
Instead he counted to five.
Then he glanced over.
Charles stepped outside.
T-shirt.
Sweatpants.
Hair slightly messy like he'd been running his hands through it too much.
He looked up and immediately spotted Max.
Of course he did.
Charles smiled.
"Couldn't sleep?"
Max shrugged.
"Jet lag."
"You've been back for three days."
Max smirked slightly. "Still jet lag."
Charles laughed quietly.
For a few seconds neither of them said anything.
They'd done this before.
Over the years there had been plenty of random balcony conversations.
Sometimes about racing.
Sometimes about nothing.
Easy.
Comfortable.
Max rested his arms on the railing.
"So," he said casually, "how's married life?"
Charles leaned against his own railing.
"Good."
"Good."
Another small silence.
Then Charles added, "Alex is visiting family this week."
Max nodded once. "Right."
Which meant Charles had been alone in that apartment for three nights.
Not that Max had noticed.
He absolutely hadn't.
Charles studied him for a moment.
"You've been weird this season."
Max snorted.
"That's rude."
"I'm serious."
"I'm always weird."
"Not like this."
Max looked out toward the dark harbor.
"You finished on the podium three times already," he said instead. "That's what you should be worrying about."
Charles didn't take the bait.
"Max."
Something in the tone made Max glance back.
Charles was watching him carefully.
Too carefully.
Max hated that look.
Charles had always been good at reading people.
Unfortunately.
"I'm fine," Max said.
"You punched a table in Suzuka."
"It was a bad table."
Charles blinked.
"…what?"
"It deserved it."
For a moment Charles looked like he was deciding whether to laugh.
Eventually he did.
A soft, tired laugh.
"You're impossible."
Max smiled faintly.
"Yeah."
The wind shifted slightly between the buildings.
Charles rested his chin on his hand.
"You know you can talk to me, right?"
Max almost choked.
Talk to him.
About what exactly?
Hey Charles, funny story, turns out the biggest emotional inconvenience in my life is you.
Yeah.
Great plan.
"About the regulations?" Max said dryly.
Charles rolled his eyes.
"You hate the regulations every year."
"They're still stupid."
"I'm not arguing with you about this at one in the morning."
Max smirked.
Coward.
Another silence settled between them.
Finally Charles spoke again.
"You didn't like the post."
Max blinked.
"What?"
"The wedding post."
Max stared at him.
"You noticed that?"
Charles shrugged.
"You liked the engagement one."
Of course he'd noticed.
Of course.
Max rubbed the back of his neck.
"Yeah well."
Brilliant explanation.
Charles watched him carefully again.
Then something softened in his expression.
Understanding.
Too much understanding.
Max immediately looked away.
"You're happy though," he said quickly.
Charles didn't answer right away.
When he did, his voice was quiet.
"Yes."
Max nodded.
"Good."
Because that was the correct outcome.
That was the logical outcome.
Everything worked out the way it was supposed to.
Across the courtyard Charles was still watching him.
Then he said something that made Max's brain stall completely.
"You didn't come to the balcony that day."
Max froze.
"What day?"
Charles tilted his head slightly.
"The wedding day."
Max's fingers tightened on the railing.
"You could see everything from here," Charles continued softly. "I thought you might come over before we left."
Max forced a small shrug.
"Busy."
"Gaming with Lando?"
Max glared.
"You have spies now?"
Charles smiled faintly.
"Carlos told me."
Of course he did.
Max exhaled through his nose.
"Congratulations again," he said.
Charles leaned back slightly.
"You've said that five times now."
"Just making sure."
Another pause.
Charles was still watching him.
Max inhaled slowly.
Then, as casually as he could manage, he said, "So… am I on the guest list?"
Charles frowned slightly. "What?"
Max shrugged like it didn't matter.
"For the real wedding next year," he said. "Would be a bit rude not to invite your neighbour."
Charles went very still.
The distance between the balconies suddenly felt much larger than it had a moment ago.
"Max," Charles said slowly, "of course you are."
Max nodded once.
"Good," he said.
Like that solved something.
It didn't.
The lights from the harbor reflected faintly in Charles' eyes.
"You know," Charles said slowly, "sometimes I think we're both very stupid."
Max raised an eyebrow.
"Speak for yourself."
Charles ignored that.
"We've known each other almost our entire lives."
"Unfortunately."
Charles smiled.
"And yet," he continued, "there are still things we don't say."
Max felt his chest tighten.
"That's because some things don't need to be said."
Charles held his gaze.
For a long moment neither of them moved.
Charles studied him for another second, like he wanted to say something else. Like he was trying to decide whether to ask a question he wasn't sure he wanted the answer to.
Instead he sighed and pushed away from the railing.
"I should try to sleep," he said.
"Good luck."
Charles paused at the door.
Then he looked back one last time.
"Goodnight, Max."
"Night."
The balcony door slid closed.
The lights inside Charles' apartment turned off a minute later.
Max stayed where he was.
The sea breeze moved softly through the courtyard.
After a while he exhaled and leaned his head back against the wall.
Because apparently the universe had decided that Charles Leclerc would always exist in his life.
Neighbor.
Rival.
Friend.
Problem.
And he didn't know how to live without him.
Max rubbed a hand over his face and laughed quietly to himself.
Which was honestly very inconvenient.
Because no matter how logical he tried to be about it…
Charles was still everything to him.