Chapter Text
Kimi Antonelli hates Charles Leclerc, and he thinks that fact should be legally recognised, written down somewhere official, maybe notarised, because it feels important enough to deserve documentation. He hates him in a way that sits in his chest and crawls up his throat, the kind of hatred that makes his jaw ache from clenching and his hands curl into fists without him even realising he is doing it. It is dramatic and excessive and unfair, and Kimi knows all of that, but knowing something does not stop it from being true.
The worst part is that he did not always hate Charles Leclerc, and that realisation circles his brain like a mosquito he cannot swat. Charles used to be safe. He used to be the adult who bent rules just enough to feel like a co-conspirator instead of an authority figure, the one who slipped him chocolates or pastries when his dad George was not looking and pressed a finger to his lips with a smile that said this is our secret. Charles had laughed easily, listened patiently, and never made Kimi feel like he was too much or too loud or too emotional. Back then, Charles had simply been Ollie’s dad, which meant he automatically occupied a good place in Kimi’s brain because Ollie loved him so openly and fiercely. Ollie talked about his dad like he was the best man alive, like everything good in the world somehow traced back to Charles Leclerc, and Kimi had believed him because Kimi believed Ollie about everything.
So yes, Kimi had liked Charles Leclerc.
He had liked him right up until the moment he realised Charles Leclerc was nothing but a two-faced snake who snuck into his father’s bed when no one was looking.
The car ride with George is so silent that Kimi feels as if he is suffocating, the air thick with things neither of them wants to say. George’s posture is perfect as always, hands steady on the steering wheel, eyes forward, expression neutral in a way that makes Kimi irrationally angry because how can he look so fine when everything is so broken? Kimi presses his forehead lightly against the window and watches the neighbourhood slide by, every familiar street feeling like a countdown to something terrible. His knee bounces uncontrollably, energy sparking through his body with nowhere to go, and he digs his nails into his palm just to feel something that is not dread.
The divorce had been bad, worse than Kimi thinks anyone realises. The fights had been loud and sharp and filled with words Kimi wishes he could erase from his memory, and then George had moved away for a while, a few hours out of the city, while lawyers talked and custody schedules were decided. Kimi had lived with George during that time, had tried to be strong, had told everyone he was fine even while crying himself to sleep because he missed Papa so much it felt like someone had physically ripped his heart from his chest and stomped on it.
He knows, logically, that it was probably a good idea. He knows his parents were miserable together by the end.
That does not mean he wants this.
Now it is joint custody. Two weeks with George. Two weeks with Max. Every. Single. Break. A schedule neat enough to pretend this is all normal. He hates it. Two weeks here, two weeks there. Like he is luggage. Like he is something that can be passed back and forth neatly without spilling its contents.
Kimi stares out the window, jaw clenched so hard it actually kind of hurts. He refuses to acknowledge the familiar streets coming into view. Refuses to acknowledge the house at the end of the cul-de-sac that has always been his. His house. The house he grew up in. The house where he learned to ride a bike and scraped his knee and cried on the kitchen floor while Papa held ice packs and whispered stupid jokes in Dutch to distract him.
And now Charles Leclerc lives there.
George clears his throat. He has been doing that a lot lately. Awkward throat clearing. Awkward silence. Awkward everything. Ever since the divorce, everything between George and Max exists in this tense vacuum where words go to die. They do not fight anymore. They also do not talk. They coexist like two strangers forced to share oxygen.
“Two weeks,” George says, like he is reminding himself as much as Kimi. “Text me if you need anything.”
Kimi nods because if he opens his mouth, he might scream.
This week is the worst one to date.
Because Charles and Max have officially moved in together.
When the car finally stops in front of the house, Kimi’s chest tightens painfully because it still feels like his house even though it no longer belongs entirely to him. He gets out, grabs his bag, mutters I love you automatically, and then George drives away without getting out of the car, without saying a word to Max, without even glancing back at him. Kimi can’t even deny that it kinda hurts.
Max is already on the porch, and the moment he sees Kimi, his face softens completely, the tension draining from his shoulders like he has been holding it all day. He pulls Kimi into a hug immediately, warm and familiar, and Kimi melts into it without hesitation because he has always been a papa’s boy, and no amount of emotional turmoil will ever change that. Max smells like home, like soap and coffee and something uniquely him, and Kimi clings for a second longer than necessary because he can.
“I missed you,” Max murmurs.
“Missed you too,” Kimi says, voice muffled, and for one fragile, dangerous second, everything feels okay.
Max’s hand rests warm and solid between Kimi’s shoulder blades, grounding him, familiar in a way that makes Kimi’s chest loosen just a little. This is his Papa. This is safe. This is home. He lets himself sink into the hug, lets himself pretend that this moment exists in a space where nothing else matters, where houses do not change, and families do not fracture, and no one new gets added to the equation without permission.
Then a voice floats out from behind Max, light and fond and entirely too comfortable.
“Mon amour, you’re going to smother him.”
Kimi stiffens instantly.
Max laughs, actually laughs, the sound soft and easy, and pulls back just enough to glance over his shoulder. “I’m not smothering him, Charlie.”
Charlie.
Kimi’s eye twitches.
Charles Leclerc stands just inside the doorway, one hand resting casually against the doorframe like he belongs there, like this has always been his spot. He is smiling, that same warm, familiar smile that used to mean safety and now feels like betrayal, wearing a friendly face. He looks relaxed, at ease in a way that makes something sour coil in Kimi’s stomach.
“Hi, Kimi,” Charles says gently, like he is testing the waters. “I’m really glad you’re here.”
Kimi straightens, taking a small step back out of Max’s arms, suddenly hyperaware of the space between them and the way Charles is watching him, careful and quiet. “Hi,” he replies, the word stiff in his mouth.
The silence that follows is thick and awkward, stretching just a second too long. Charles opens his mouth like he might say something else, then hesitates, clearly reconsidering. Max notices immediately.
“Alright,” Max says quickly, clearing his throat. “Uh. Come on in, champ. You must be tired.”
Kimi nods, grateful for the rescue, and steps inside.
The house hits him all at once.
At first glance, everything looks the same, and that almost makes it worse. The walls are the same colour. The floors still creak in the same places. The familiar smell of home still lingers in the air, but the longer Kimi stands there, the more the differences start to jump out at him like they are trying to be noticed. There are plants now, too many of them, clustered near the windows and along the shelves, green and thriving. The throw pillows on the couch are different, softer and more decorative than the old ones Max used to insist were purely functional. There is a faint scent of something citrusy in the air that Kimi knows, with a sharp twist of irritation, is not Papa.
His gaze drifts to the wall by the stairs, and his chest tightens.
There are new photos.
One of Max and Charles standing together in the kitchen, laughing, their heads tipped toward each other. Another of Oscar and Ollie at what looks like the beach, both sunburned and smiling. None of them are framed extravagantly, nothing loud or in-your-face, but they are there, quiet proof that life has been continuing in this house without him.
“This is weird,” Kimi mutters under his breath before he can stop himself.
Max glances at him. “What is?”
“Nothing,” Kimi says quickly, shaking his head. “Just. Tired or something.”
He does not miss the way Charles watches him from across the room, concern flickering briefly across his face before he schools it back into something neutral.
Before the silence can settle again, there is a sudden rush of movement from the hallway.
“Kimi!”
Ollie appears like a burst of sunlight, skidding to a stop in front of him with enough enthusiasm that he almost trips over his own feet. His hair is messy, his smile wide and completely unguarded, and the sight of him hits Kimi straight in the chest.
“You’re here,” Ollie says unnecessarily, like he needs to confirm it out loud to believe it.
Kimi’s face warms instantly. “Yeah,” he says, and he cannot stop the grin that spreads across his face in response. “I had no choice. I am legally obligated.”
Ollie laughs, bright and loud. “Wow. Rude. You could at least pretend you wanted to see me.”
“Who would want to see your stupid face?” Kimi replies, rolling his eyes.
Ollie beams. “Liar.”
Charles exhales softly, something like relief passing over his face, and gestures toward the stairs. “Ollie, why don’t you show Kimi to his room. He probably wants to get settled.”
“Yeah,” Ollie says immediately. “Come on.”
“I already know the way,” Kimi says without thinking, the words slipping out sharp and defensive. “It was my house first.”
The second the sentence leaves his mouth, he regrets it.
The air goes painfully still.
Max shifts uncomfortably. Charles blinks, clearly caught off guard, his mouth opening slightly before closing again. “Right,” he says quietly. “Of course. I just meant—”
“I know,” Kimi cuts in, heart pounding. “I just- Yeah.”
Ollie looks between them, sensing the tension like a bloodhound, and immediately jumps in with the enthusiasm of someone determined to fix things whether they asked him to or not.
“Yeah, but you might not know the way to my room,” Ollie says cheerfully, slinging an arm around Kimi’s shoulders without hesitation. “Which is the far superior destination anyway. You should see how I decorated! added posters and everything, it looks completely different from my old one.”
Kimi snorts despite himself. “You added posters?”
“Several,” Ollie says proudly. “I also almost died trying to stick glow-in-the-dark stickers on the ceiling!”
Max lets out a small laugh, the tension easing just a fraction. “Go on,” he says, waving them toward the stairs. “We’ll be down here if you need us.”
Ollie steers Kimi toward the staircase, talking the entire time. “Also, fair warning, my floor is a disaster, but in my defence, I had other things to do. Actual important business, you know”
“Important business,” Kimi repeats. “Which was?”
“Waiting for you to get here,” Ollie says easily.
Kimi’s heart stutters.
──── ୨୧ ────
Upstairs, Ollie finally lets go, opening the door to Kimi’s room with a flourish. “Behold!”
Kimi steps inside and stops short.
His room is the same.
The bedspread is still the one he picked out years ago. His desk is still shoved against the wall at a slight angle because he never bothered to straighten it. His posters are still up, a little crooked, untouched. Even the faint scuff on the wall near the door is still there, a mark from when he slammed it too hard during a pre-teen meltdown that now feels like a lifetime ago.
“Oh,” Kimi breathes, emotion catching unexpectedly in his throat.
Ollie watches him carefully. “They didn’t change anything,” he says softly. “Max said it was your space. Completely off limits to my dad’s redecoration crusade.”
Kimi swallows. “Yeah.”
He drops his bag onto the floor and sits on the edge of the bed, running his hands over the familiar fabric like he needs to prove it is real. For the first time since he arrived, something inside him settles, just a little.
At least this is still his.
Ollie flops down beside him. “See. Not all bad.”
Kimi huffs a quiet laugh. “Debatable.”
Ollie snorts immediately, the sound loud and unrestrained, and for the first time since arriving, Kimi feels his shoulders drop as they both start laughing properly, the kind that comes easy and natural, like they never stopped doing this, like nothing ever changed. Ollie tips backward onto the bed, one arm flung dramatically over his eyes.
“You have no idea how weird it’s been without you,” Ollie says. “I keep turning around in class like you’re going to be there, and then you’re not, and then I remember you abandoned me.”
“I did not abandon you,” Kimi says, offended on principle. “I was forcibly relocated.”
“Same thing,” Ollie replies. “You left me alone with Isack, and he does not emotionally support me.”
“Hey,” Kimi says, grinning. “That’s not true. He emotionally supports you by making fun of your stupid life decisions.”
“Exactly,” Ollie says, pouting. “It’s so mean.”
They sit up again, facing each other, knees knocking together. Ollie studies him for a second, expression softening just a little. “So,” he says. “How’s the fancy new school?”
One of the worst parts about moving away with his dad has been the school situation. George had done his best to relocate as far as he was legally allowed, putting distance between them and Max without crossing the line into anything the court might consider too extreme. Kimi hadn’t really had a choice in the matter. He’d simply gone with him, the move happening around him faster than he could process.
At first, they’d tried to keep things normal. Max had insisted Kimi stay at his old public school for stability (and because it was closer to his house), clinging to the idea that at least one piece of his life shouldn’t change. But the commute quickly became unsustainable. Early mornings bled into long afternoons, homework squeezed into train rides, exhaustion settling deep into Kimi’s bones. He was already dealing with the emotional fallout of the separation, and the constant back and forth only made it worse. He was burning the candle at both ends, trying to hold onto a life that was slipping through his fingers.
Kimi still remembered when George finally put his foot down and suggested relocating schools. It sparked another fight. Max accused him of trying to keep Kimi away on purpose, said it was just another scheme. But the argument lost its edge when it became obvious that Kimi was genuinely struggling. Max saw it and eventually backed down, like the good dad he was.
So now Kimi attended a new, fancy private school instead of his old public one, like all his friends. George had tried to reassure him by calling the old school “a little shabby anyways,” as if that made anything better.
Kimi’s smile falters, just a bit. He shrugs. “It’s… fine. Just different.”
“That’s a bad sign,” Ollie says immediately. “You hate different.”
“I do hate different,” Kimi admits. “But it’s closer to Dad’s place, so at least I don’t have to commute two hours every day anymore. That part is nice. I was basically living on trains before”
“Okay, yeah,” Ollie admits. “That part’s good. You looked half-dead last year.”
“I was half-dead,” Kimi says. “I don’t know how I didn’t collapse.”
“You survived on iced coffee and spite,” Ollie replies. “It was honestly impressive to watch.”
There’s a small pause, not awkward but heavier than before, and Ollie fiddles with the sleeve of his hoodie before speaking again. “Still sucks, though. I hate that you’re not around. School’s not the same without you.”
Kimi’s chest tightens in a way he does not want to examine too closely. “Yeah,” he says quietly. “I hate it too.”
Ollie clears his throat and immediately barrels forward like he always does, allergic to sitting in feelings for more than ten seconds. “Okay, but you missed so much. Like, genuinely, I don’t even know where to start.”
“Start with the worst,” Kimi says.
“Oh, easy. Gabi.”
Kimi snorts. “Is he still obsessed?”
“Still obsessed,” Ollie confirms. “ And Mr. Hulkenberg remains as oblivious as ever.”
“I can’t believe Gabi is pining after our gym teacher,” Kimi sighs.
“Nothing has been able to stop him,” Ollie says. “Gabi keeps ‘accidentally’ being the last one in the locker room, and Mr. Hulkenberg just keeps telling him to hurry up and stretch more, but Gabi keeps insisting on getting a demonstration first so he can do it ‘properly,’ but we all know it's just an excuse for him to stare.”
“That’s tragic, mate.”
“It’s painful to watch,” Ollie agrees. “Like my secondhand embarrassment levels are through the roof.”
“And Franco?” Kimi asks, already bracing himself for something absurd.
Ollie’s eyes light up. “Okay, so. Don’t freak out.”
“That sentence never ends well.”
“He got us fake IDs.”
Kimi stares at him. “No, he didn’t.”
“He did,” Ollie says proudly. “For that rave near the old warehouse. The one we’ve been stalking online.”
“Where did he even get the money for that? Those were so expensive!” Kimi asks.
Ollie grins, clearly enjoying this. “He’s selling bootleg merch.”
“You’re joking.”
“I wish,” Ollie says. “He’s selling fake shirts out of his locker. It’s like a full operation. He has Paul running around like a headless chicken trying to keep Mr. Briatore distracted while he steals supplies from the office.”
“That’s double illegal.”
“He calls it ‘fundraising for a good cause,’ the good cause being our night out, of course,” Ollie replies. “Also, they look kind of real, so I don’t think anyone suspects anything.”
Kimi collapses backward onto the bed, laughing. “I move schools, and you all immediately start committing crimes.”
“We needed at least some supervision,” Ollie says seriously. “This is on you.”
“And Isack?” Kimi asks. “Please tell me he’s still sane.”
Ollie groans. “Barely. He got paired with Liam for media studies.”
“Oh no.”
“Oh yes,” Ollie says. “They have no idea what they’re doing. None. Zero.”
“Don’t you have to submit video essays for that? What do they do because I can’t imagine Isack Hadjar of all people sitting still to watch and analyse anything that isn’t anime!”
“TikToks,” Ollie says. “Like, really dumb ones. They keep filming skits, fighting about editing, and then sending them in.”
“Does the teacher even accept them?!”
“No,” Ollie says flatly. “She keeps rejecting them, and instead of fixing anything, they just make new ones and argue more.”
“That sounds about right.”
“They nearly threw a tripod at each other last week.”
Kimi laughs again, real and unguarded, and it hits him all at once how much he missed this. Not just the stories, but Ollie himself. The way he talks too fast, overshares, and fills the silence without even trying. Ollie has always been there, steady and constant, before the divorce and after it, through late-night calls and bad days and moments Kimi pretended didn’t hurt.
The thought settles uncomfortably deep in his chest, heavy and undeniable.
This is not a stupid crush anymore. This is love. He loves Ollie.
He has been wanting Ollie for so long that it feels woven into him, dreaming of something he knows he cannot have now. Because Charles Fucking Leclerc exists. Because Charles is dating Papa. Because if Kimi even thinks about acting on this, his family tree will turn into a fucking wreath because, in a weird and twisted way, they’re related now, and the idea of dating Ollie, his pseudo stepbrother, makes his stomach churn violently.
“You okay?” Ollie asks, nudging his shoulder. “You went quiet.”
“Yeah,” Kimi says too fast. “Just tired.”
Ollie squints at him like he doesn’t buy it at all, but lets it go anyway. “Fair. You just survived Dad’s House.”
Before Kimi can reply, the doorframe creaks.
“Boys,” Charles’s voice says lightly, poking his head in, “dinner’s ready.”
Kimi closes his eyes.
Of course it is.
──── ୨୧ ────
The walk down the stairs feels longer than it should, every step tightening the knot in Kimi’s stomach as the smell of food drifts up from the kitchen. It smells good, annoyingly so, like something warm and familiar that he does not feel ready to deal with. Ollie walks beside him, shoulders brushing every few steps, completely unaware of the internal catastrophe happening next to him, humming softly to himself like this is just another normal evening.
The dining room is already half set when they get there, and Oscar is leaning over the table, carefully lining up cutlery with the kind of focus that suggests he has done this a thousand times before and would really like everyone else to stop making it harder than it needs to be. He looks up when he hears them, dark hair falling into his eyes, and his face immediately breaks into an easy smile.
“Sup,” Oscar says.
Kimi blinks, a little caught off guard by how normal and effortless Oscar is, and nods. “Yeah. Hi.”
“Good to have you back, mate”, Oscar says, gesturing vaguely with a fork. “At least I’m not handling this shitshow alone anymore.”
“That bad, huh?” Kimi says.
Oscar snorts. “Don’t even get me started.”
Kimi has always liked Oscar. He is cool. Unfairly cool. He is nonchalant in a way Kimi desperately wishes he could be, and clearly done with this family and all of its feelings, which Kimi respects immensely. Oscar was the one who found him hiding in the attic after Papa and Charles announced their relationship. He had lied to Papa and told him that the attic was empty, and sat with Kimi as he silently cried. He was also the one who made sure to reassure Kimi and calm him down so he didn’t explode on Papa and accuse him of something stupid like abandoning their family.
“Need help?” Kimi asks, walking up to Charles, the words tumbling out before he can think too hard about it. He needs something to do with his hands, something that makes him feel useful.
“Oh, no, you don’t have to do anything,” Charles says automatically from the kitchen doorway. “You’re a guest—”
The word hits Kimi like a slap.
Guest.
In his own house.
Charles freezes mid-sentence, realisation dawning on his face, and he clears his throat awkwardly before grabbing a stack of plates and shoving them into Kimi’s hands with a little too much force. “I mean. You can help. Please help. Here. Plates.”
Kimi stares down at the plates, heat crawling up his neck as his brain spirals wildly. Guest. The word echoes over and over, ugly and sharp, because guests do not grow up here, and guests do not have rooms with posters and trophies, and guests do not sit in the same chair their whole life because it is always been theirs. He forces a tight smile and nods.
“Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”
Ollie shoots him a look, confused, but Kimi avoids his eyes as he sets the plates down, moving carefully, deliberately, like if he messes this up, he might actually combust. Charles hovers nearby for a moment like he wants to say something else, then thinks better of it and retreats back to Max’s side.
That should not hurt as much as it does.
When they finally sit down, Kimi’s chest tightens again as he realises Charles is sitting right next to Max, their shoulders brushing easily, naturally, as if it's always been this way. Kimi swallows hard and moves toward the chair beside Ollie instead, sliding into it with stiff movements.
He has always sat beside Papa. Always. From high chairs to booster seats to real chairs, his place has been right there, close enough to lean into Papa’s side, close enough to steal food off his plate and whisper dumb jokes. Another thing Charles has taken without even trying.
Now Papa is across from him, close but not close enough, smiling at Charles like the world has finally settled into something soft and good.
Kimi focuses on his food.
The conversation starts easily, flowing between Papa, Charles, and Oscar in a way that makes Kimi feel like he is watching from behind glass in the spectator’s seat. They talk about groceries and errands, about how Ollie forgot to take the trash out again and swore he would do it tomorrow.
“I said I’d do it,” Ollie argues. “Eventually.”
“You said that three days ago,” Oscar replies without looking up. “The trash is starting to look sentient.”
Max laughs, shaking his head. “Ollie, don’t forget you’re also on dish duty tonight.”
“Yes, sir,” Ollie says dramatically.
Max turns his attention to Kimi then, eyes warm. “How’s school been, Kimi? You settling in okay?”
Kimi shrugs, poking at his food. “It’s fine.”
“That’s not an answer,” Max says gently.
Kimi keeps his eyes on his plate, bracing himself for a follow-up question he doesn’t want to answer. Instead, Max leans back in his chair, a small smile playing at his lips.
“You know,” Max says, reaching for his phone on the table, “I got an email from your school counsellor this week.”
Kimi’s fork freezes halfway to his mouth. “What?”
“Mm. Apparently,” Max swipes at the screen, pretending to read, “you’ve made ‘remarkable progress in settling into the school community.’” He glances up, amused. “Her words, not mine.”
A flush creeps up Kimi’s neck. “She sent that to you?”
“She sends a well-being update every week,” Max says casually, setting the phone back down. “It’s a parent perk at your new school.”
Kimi stares at him, horrified. “I’m seventeen, and they send parent emails about me like I’m in kindergarten?”
Max chuckles softly. “Looks like it.”
“And you actually read them?” Kimi’s voice pitches higher.
“Of course I read them.” Max looks almost offended by the question. “Kimi, I love reading anything about you. Even if it’s just a report that you visited the nurse for a papercut.”
Kimi’s face goes crimson. “They wrote to you about the papercut?”
Max laughs, bright and easy. “It said, and I quote, ‘Kimi required a small adhesive bandage for a minor papercut to his left index finger. He returned to class promptly afterwards.’”
“Oh my God.” Kimi drops his fork and buries his face in his hands. “I can’t believe this. That’s so embarrassing.”
“It’s not embarrassing,” Max says, still grinning. “It’s adorable. I have such a clumsy son.”
“I’m not—stop.”
Max reaches over and gently tugs one of Kimi’s hands away from his face. “Hey. I’m teasing. But for the record?” His voice softens. “I do love knowing. Even the small stuff. Especially the small stuff.”
Kimi peeks at him through his fingers, cheeks still pink. “You’re so weird.”
“Weirdly invested in your wellbeing, yes,” Max agrees easily. “Now, the counsellor also mentioned you’ve been joining in more during PE, which is good. Because—” He picks up his own fork, tone shifting to something more casual. “Maybe you’ll finally wanna go for that morning run with me? Oscar and I usually go every day at around 6.”
Oscar nods. “It’s nothing intense. Just a little bit of exercise.”
Kimi looks up and instantly replies. “Yeah. I’d like that.”
He definitely would not like that. Kimi hates waking up early in the mornings. He likes his beauty sleep, thank you very much. Papa has been trying his entire life to get him to come along, and he’s finally succeeded today. Not because Kimi actually wanted to, but because Kimi can’t stand the fact that Papa has already established a routine with Oscar. Oscar, who is one ring away from potentially becoming his kid.
Max blinks, looking surprised. Like he can’t believe Kimi said yes, but then smiles widely. “Good. I’m looking forward to it”
And for a moment, it almost feels okay. Almost.
Then Charles leans closer to Max, murmuring something in French that makes Max laugh softly, his whole face lighting up in a way that makes Kimi’s stomach twist.
“Mon amour,” Charles says fondly, brushing Max’s hand under the table.
Oscar sighs loudly, muttering under his breath, “I’m begging you to stop flirting at the dinner table.”
Kimi nods in agreement immediately. “Please.”
Ollie snorts, then grins mischievously at Oscar. “At least they’re not as bad as you and Lando-”
Oscar’s foot comes down hard on Ollie’s under the table.
“Ow,” Ollie yelps.
“No fighting at the table,” Charles says automatically, not even looking at them.
Kimi stares at his plate, brain screaming as Ollie starts aggressively waving his fork at Oscar, promising vengeance. Looking at the happy family scene in front of him, he can’t help but spiral.
This is a nightmare. A sitcom special episode. A social experiment designed specifically to torture him. Just the sight of Max and Charles, the happy couple, makes him sick.
He hates this. But more importantly, he hates Charles Leclerc.
He hates that Charles is awkwardly nice. He hates that Papa is happy and that Dad is probably eating his dinner all alone back in the cold new house. He hates that part of him understands that the divorce was probably for the best, but another part of him wants to scream until the universe fixes itself.
He hates that he wants his parents back together and Ollie as his boyfriend, and Charles gone forever.
He hates that none of those things can happen at the same time.
And it is only the first day.
Two weeks suddenly feels like a lifetime, and he wonders how he is supposed to survive this shitshow without completely losing his mind.