Chapter Text
Charles Leclerc is entirely happy for his brother. No jealousy (heavens knows Charles didn’t want a woman), no annoyance at planning the wedding, no issues with the processes themselves. Arthur and Lise are objectively a perfect couple, and Charles has no notes.
And yet, this one little thing.
Arthur had insisted on hiring Verstappen Co. for his wedding planning- Alex and Lily loved them, Liam and Isack, Jenson and Daniel (who had a few issues with a kid so much younger than them planning their wedding, but ended up being sufficiently pleased)- there!s no reason for worry. Arthur wants a top tier wedding, and Verstappen Co. are going to provide. Heck, they’ve planned royal weddings in other countries- what’s one little Monegasque wedding?
Charles’ anticipation for such an amazing wedding fades the moment a large, sour faced man and what could be presumed to be his son, although much softer looking, enter their home.
“Thank you so much for coming out here,” Arthur is already beaming, that sellout, “I know you have many more high profile events to tend to. I really appreciate it.”
“Yeah, this was one of our smaller ones, eh?” the older man chuckles heartily as he steps into the villa. He looks to the younger man with a raised eyebrow. “Denk je dat we deze dames aankunnen?”
The younger man grins and nods, though not without slight retreat from, eh, it’s easier for Charles to assume the man is his father. The son does not answer the claim and looks back to Arthur, holding out a hand.
“Arthur, so good to meet you. I’m Max Verstappen, and this is my father Jos Verstappen. We’re here to ensure that your wedding is everything you and Lise could ever want it to be,” Max smiles brightly. His hair seems brown, but the golden highlights are caught by the sharp sunlight entering through the upper windows. With its slightly messy style and the translucency of his hair, Charles can’t help but note that Max almost looks like a lion.
By the time Charles is done analysing Max’s spirit animal, Max and Jos are already sitting Arthur down at the dining table. “So, tell us about you and Lise, where did it start?” Jos is asking as Max jots down occasional notes.
Over the course of an hour, Charles learns that weddings are about far more than just the marriage. He was not previously aware that napkin shape and floor mat texture were options, but he also expects no less from the Verstappens.
“Charles, what do you want to see in the wedding for the groomsmen?”
Charles blinks. “What?”
Max is talking to him, as it turns out, looking intently to him for an answer with that little face that Charles might already be somewhat interested in slapping. No way Max looks that… crisp all the time. Fake little lion.
“Oh, uh… really whatever Arthur wants,” Charles blinks. “It’s his wedding, his choice on everything.”
“As the best man, you get to make some decisions too,” Max answers. “Arthur already said he trusts you on this. What colours do you have in mind for the suits, knowing that Arthur is wearing dark green?”
Suit colours… complimentary matches, wait no, complimentary would look bad. What happened to Arthur’s wedding being, well, Arthur’s?
“I’ll decide soon, I’m thinking a lighter green or a soft lavender could go with it?” Charles attempts, and assumes by Max’s expression that he’s quite incorrect. Whatever that condescending little sucker wants, he can have it. What does Charles care if he makes no decisions for himself?
“I think you’d look pretty good in a beige,” Max shrugs. “You've got the eyes for it.”
Jos laughs loudly, his tone bouncing through the high walled room and almost drowning out Max’s softer voice. “Beige! We don’t want them looking like a band of homos, do we?” he grins, scribbling something into his notebook.
Charles feels himself recoil from Jos, almost ready to throw up when Max smiles to his father at the… joke? Strong term, really. Great, so this is what we’re working with. Lovely. How simply lovely.
“Anyhow, Arthur, do you have thoughts on the floral arrangement, or will that be up to Lise?” comes Max’s next question.
Back to the Verstappen Plan.
__
Charles is left staring at Jos’ latest email to him, Arthur, and Max about the specific tailoring, venue dates, and flower sizes. Arthur seems just as overwhelmed by information, based on the fact that he gave Charles his email login and told him to make sure that whatever the case, he was married by October 2. That means Arthur goes and does grooms activities like cake tastings and wine samples, while Charles is left to inspect every last flower for the possible bouquets.
Not that Charles has ever had a problem with flowers- he quite likes them, actually. In his opinion, Monaco has far too few plants, and they could stand a bit of floral work. Even the scents raise his mood, and roses draw him in especially. The sweet, entrancing scent of a blood red rose, it’s too much to ever forget once he’s scented it. Plus, looking for flowers is one less difficult thing Arthur has to do, which is alright in Charles’ books.
“You look like you just walked into a wall.”
Charles whirls around to face the unfamiliar- semi familiar- voice. “Excuse me?”
And of course it’s got to be Max Emilian Verstappen, inside his house. It’s been one whole day and Charles hasn’t recovered from having to interact with him yesterday- Charles would definitely say he deserves a sabbatical at this point.
“Spaced out, mildly disturbed, actually thinking about nothing?”
Heaven help his patience with this man.
“No, Max, I was looking at flowers but I got a bit distracted,” Charles mutters, closing his laptop and folding his arms in annoyance. “A man can take two minutes for himself.”
“I’d hope that man still spent more than two minutes helping plan his brother’s wedding,” Max echoes. A slight grin dances on his face that Charles wouldn’t have caught if he wasn’t observing the Dutchman so closely. “Are you actually doing anything right now?”
“Well, I-”
“Right, then, get up,” Max replies, “We’re going out into the world now.”
Charles is amazed at the fact that he does actually stand up- he didn’t anticipate Max actually having any authority over him. “Where are we going?”
Additionally, the fact that he didn’t just slap Max, that’s… that’s something.
“About… fifteen minutes away,” Max says after a moment of thought. “But I can make it ten..
The sneaky little bugger, he still hasn’t answered Charles’ question, but Charles is just going to let that go by this point. Clearly, Max has nothing else to say. Or at least, not to Charles.
__
“SOMEBODY TOLD ME, THAT YOU HAD A GIRLFRIEND…”
Okay, maybe Max lied about fifteen minutes, and maybe Charles didn’t anticipate them resorting to early to mid 2000s queercoded karaoke at full volume (seriously? Sweater Weather before this?). Alas, here they are.
Quite impressively, Max seems to be paying attention as he drives and screams out the window. Charles would generally be a bit less afraid for his life if he hadn’t seen the manoeuvres Max had been pulling to cut through traffic. He’d also be singing a bit louder under usual circumstances, but that is once again a different issue.
The only other thought Charles has is to wonder, how does Max know these lyrics? He already heard Jos make some… controversial comments about men who like men; it’s quite a surprise to hear this from Max now.
“I really should apologise,” Max says after the song tapers out, still breathless from the final chorus. Charles looks up interestedly, because he’s sure Max has plenty to apologise for. What for, he’s not sure, but he’d like an apology nonetheless for Max’s general state of existence. “I assumed you like The Killers without listening. You do, right?”
Charles is pained to admit that yes, he very much does. Not that Max really has to know that, right? Who cares that his playlist is full of songs Max already played?
“So you do,” Max muses, grinning as he meets Charles’ eyes. “Your expression betrays you, Charlie.”
“Don’t call me Charlie,” Charles stiffens upwards.
“Okay, Charlie.”
Max hands the phone to Charles with the music open. “Put on your favourite, yeah? I don’t even know what music you like. Is it more like The Killers, if y’know what I mean?”
Well yeah, maybe it is, but would you quit reading me like a book? Charles really didn’t take Max to be the psychoanalyst type.
Unfortunately, Max is already jumping with excitement as the first notes of The Adults Are Talking comes on, and Charles immediately regrets anything that made Max happy. This song is supposed to be his own, his classic hype song. Quite a shame he has to find a new song and never hear this one again. And The Killers are out too, at that.
“You listen to The Strokes?” Charles asks. The disdain is unintentionally leaving his voice as he listens to his song play behind them.
“Oh, I love The Strokes,” Max grins. “This is one of my favourites, but my top is either Soma or Red Light.”
Right then, where on earth is he pulling this knowledge from?
“I didn’t take you as the type for The Killers or The Strokes,” smiles Charles. “When did you start listening?” The goal now is to squeeze any, any, ammunition from Max. Please, let him find fault with the man.
Max shrugs and shakes his head. “I kind of grew up on both,” he replies, “Hot Fuss was my favourite but I wasn’t allowed to listen to it, so I binge it whenever I can now.”
“Oh? Why weren’t you allowed?”
Max is silent a moment before laughing to himself silently and looking down, then back up to the road. “My dad didn’t like how it talked about men,” he chuckles softly. “It was my job to agree with him entirely.”
Really, Charles can remember why he initially shut down to Max and Jos as wedding planners. Sure, they had top reviews and beautiful photos, but every photo was a straight couple in some generic venue eating their cake and kissing. Lovely plan and whatnot, but… where was the variety? Charles scrolled quite far through Max and Jos’ pages to find any sign of queer weddings, and the best he got was a bride who wore a pantsuit. Surely there were a few, just a few, queer folks waiting to be married by the Verstappens?
__
At some point, every blessed rose looks the exact same.
Yes, yes, petals fall and reds change. But… really? Is there any difference?
This is not the first time Charles has this thought as Max drags him away to view an array of peonies that could somehow smell any different from the magnolias or poppies.
“Er… Max, don’t they all look like flowers? Arthur said he wanted red, I think that’s all we need to know, right?” Charles mutters. They’re flying past the lilies now and Charles does find himself a bit nauseous at the range of scents coming for him all at once.
“No, it’s all different,” Max shakes his head. He hands Charles a sunflower and flicks the petal gently. “Sunflowers have an entirely different mood from lotuses, and lotuses are so much more oomphy than something plebeian like daffodils, yeah?” He turns to take a fallen petal from a nearby rose and place it into Charles’ hand, taking the Monegasque man by the wrist and opening his fingers. Charles certainly doesn’t feel his face heat up a bit as Max presses the petal into his palm so gently. That’s not…
It’s fine.
“It’s well worth your time to learn the meanings of flowers, Charlie,” Max says as he checks his notebook in relation to the daisies in front of him. “Roses are for passion and romance, of course. That’s what your brother wants to see at his wedding, not some flower that represents grief or rage.”
Charles looks up interestedly, because he’ll try giving Max five seconds to surprise him. “Really, now? And what flowers would represent being too devoted to the meanings of flowers?”
Max blinks. “I suppose devotion would be camellias, or…” he pauses. “You were messing with me.”
“That I was,” Charles grins, giggling and tossing a packet of seeds to Max. “How about these?” he asks. The packet is just simple red roses, but Charles did like the shape on the front.
“Those look quite nice,” Max comments. “Is Arthur the flamboyant type of would he prefer a more reserved option?”
“Er, well, he’s straight…”
Max laughs brightly, in a way that Charles has to look up and see what the expression on the Dutchman’s face might be. He looks… happy. More so amused, maybe- Charles has briefly seen happy Max and it’s got less sinister air than this version of Max.
“Alright then,” Max grins, taking the seeds. “We can get these and grow a few, then see what Arthur thinks and see how they come in overall. Are there any others you want to pick up as samples before we leave?”
Fast forward about an hour, and there are most certainly a few options on the table. Charles must be holding at least ten bouquets of snipped red flowers to take home, heavily narrowed down from the previous thirty he was so attached to.
“I do like these,” Charles admits as he passes yet another red flower, which, in Max’s opinion, may be the exact same as the fourth one Charles ‘sampled’. Max knows he really isn’t much better- he’s holding eight, and one more is being cut by the florist.
“I never thought I’d be the one telling you to calm down with the flowers,” Max laughs. “We’re trying to make this easy for Arthur and just give him a few to pick from, eighteen may be a few too many, hmm?”
Charles pauses, and then shakes his head. “If we both drop two, that’s sixteen, which is a lovely number, and Arthur will surely be able to choose a few if we chose our favourite sixteen of the, ahh, hundred we reviewed?”
Ninety eight to be precise, not that Max was counting or anything.
“We really ought to get back soon so these can go in water, though,” Max replies. And of course, Arthur does not have all year to make the decision. Charles Leclerc going overboard with artistry, who saw that coming? Max does consider the possibility that everybody saw it coming and he just needs to know Charles better, an option he’s not entirely opposed to.
Charles nods and grasps for another bouquet falling out of his arms. “I’m okay with dropping these in the car.” And, of course, returning home. It's been nearly three hours with Max being misguided about the length of the road trip and Charles forming an emotional connection to the flowers.
The car, as surprising as it may be, has very little room for nineteen bouquets (they had cut down to sixteen when Max insisted on three more) in large paper bags, and Charles and Max are left with flowers in their seats and on the floor as they drive home. Interestingly enough, the drive does seem much shorter now that Charles isn’t bent on murdering Max. They sing, chat, plan, joke together for the full ride home, and it’s surprisingly… okay?
__
Getting home, they heave all the bags inside with no small degree of difficulty and lay out the bouquets next to each other on the floor to observe, after filling up nineteen cups with water to put these flowers in.
“Those camellias are really nice next to the daisies,” Max notes, pointing to two different vases and pulling them together. “We can also do alternating lilies and camellias for a bit of white here and there, if he likes.”
“He likes all flowers,” Charles grins. “As long as we include roses, he’ll be happy, that’s what he told me.” Charles looks out at the sea of flowers in front of them in satisfaction, because who knew he had the ability to sensibly pick a floral display? Perhaps Max truly taught him well (a cursed thought).
They work through a series of different arrangements before deciding that camellias will be featured alone, roses as well, and then lilies will go with a leafy garland and some undetermined red flowers, By the time they're done, ther's petals and water all over the floor and Charles has to admit the house smells nicer than it did a few hours ago.
A single lighter red, not quite pink, bouquet in particular catches his eye, one he didn’t remember himself picking. He takes a flower out of the cup and holds it to Max. “Which one was this?” he asks. “I thought we were avoiding the pinks for the reception?”
“Oh, I picked that one out for you,” Max replies. Like it’s nothing? “A carnation.”
And once again, Charles is at a loss for words. The carnations are simply lovely, and they look wonderful next to all the other dark coloured flowers. But most striking is the fact that Max could bring himself to care. Perhaps Max doesn't hate him?
“Max, thank you,” Charles stammers, not looking at the flower. “It’s beautiful.”
Charles would prefer to say he kept his cool, but this is as aspirational he could ever hope to be. Instead, Max sits right next to him playing with a rose and Charles fights to hold a calm, polite smile and think later.
Max only smiles brightly in response, that same way he’s been doing all afternoon.
__
His computer is down to 6% battery, but that doesn’t stop Charles from booting it up and opening Google with an absolute mission.
|Search Google or type URL
He stares at the screen in deep thought, because he knows it started with a c. The flower still sits in his hand, gazing up at him in disdain and disbelief at the fact that Charles forgot so fast.
Candide
Enlightenment era novel by Voltaire about optimism and Dr. Pangloss? Not quite.
Carnelian
A red rock. Somehow, further from the goal.
Carnation
There it is! He sees his (Max’s) flower on the screen in bold colour, though not nearly as fragrant or bright as the perfect flower in his hand.
Carnation meaning
What? He's curious.
Carnations signify love, devotion, distinction, and fascination. Red carnations represent deep love, affection, and admiration, seen usually on Valentine's Day or dates. Pink carnations are seen commonly on Mother’s…
His carnation isn’t pink, it’s light red. Still red, right? It counts.
It counts.
He doesn’t read any further.