Chapter Text
The pulsing beat of the party music thumped lowly around Max, the loud noise hitting his eardrums as a sharp contrast to the peaceful night of the streets outside. As he slowly waded through the crowd of people in search of a familiar face, he contemplated the reason for even attending.
Oh right. The possibility of seeing him.
He pushed past people gently, trying not to hurt anyone as he did so, eyes glazing over the faces of the strangers. This party could be organised by Lando, but it still had many people he didn’t recognise — perhaps Mclaren staff or other friends of Lando’s.
Squinting slightly against the glare of the bright pink lights reflected off the large disco ball at the center of the dance floor, Max finally spotted Oscar sitting in a corner by himself, nursing a drink and seemingly staring at the DJ booth. He makes his way over, setting himself down on the plush, leather couch with a soft sigh of relief.
“Hey Oscar, glad I found you, eh? Was getting a tad lost there..” Max mumbles, eyes darting through the crowd still, as if looking for something — or someone.
“Yeah, no worries, it is a lot of people, after all. Lando sure has many friends..” Oscar replies with a light chuckle, though his words were slightly slurred and his voice was raspier than usual. Max noticed that his words carried an odd, sour-sounding undertone, but didn’t pay it much mind. “Yep.” He murmurs back, getting a glass of whiskey from a passing waiter.
Taking a sip, Max leans back, following the brunette’s relaxed posture. Oscar’s eyes flitted over to Max, but only for a couple of seconds, before going back to staring at the DJ booth. Max manages to follow the Aussie’s line of sight, catching the way his eyes narrowed before he spotted Lando at the booth, dancing and swaying with a couple other people.
Max noted the tension that suddenly grew within Oscar’s body, almost like he had seen something he wasn’t particularly pleased to. Oscar had remained leant back against the couch, but kept a white-knuckled grip on his glass, the veins on his arms popping faintly.
“Ah, well.. I’ll leave you to be jealous by yourself, then.” Max chuckled slightly awkwardly as he stood, not wanting to be caught in the middle of anything. A small protest of, “I-I’m not-“ starts before he receives a slight nod of resignation from Oscar as Max retreats, walking toward the almost empty bar.
Perching on a stool, his eyes resumed their original mission — darting around to find the only person he actually wanted to look at — George.
Ah, there he was.
The hopeful expression Max hadn’t noticed he had on fell as soon as he took in the sight.
Oh.
Of course he’s with someone else. The rather tall man beside George was guiding George in dancing, with his arms around his waist of all places. Max felt his jaw clench, his fingers gripping the glass of whiskey tighter than he ought to. Who was that guy and how could he just casually drape his long, gangly arms around George?
Max stared. And stared.
He hoped his eyes burnt holes into the back of that man’s skull so that his brain would be fried and then he could die. He took a long swig from his glass, then ordered another, and continued to look in George’s direction.
Then finally, finally, George catches his eye.
Finally meets his stare.
Their gazes lock, Max still taking sips from his cup and George still swaying along to the beat of the music — with that guy beside him.
For the next few minutes, the world around them seemed to fall away. Bright pink lights vanished into a soft pink background surrounding George’s willowy body, as if they were in those comical movies where a dreamy backdrop would appear whenever the main lead looked at his love interest. Max blinked, mouth slightly open as his lips suddenly went dry.
Love interest? Where had that come from?
This must be an effect the alcohol was having on him, Max decided, he was most definitely hallucinating.
That must have been it.
Shaking his head a little, he kept his gaze fixed on George, unable to look away.
He watched as the other guy pulls George impossibly closer and he feels his eyes narrow. Max felt the urge — to stomp over and pull George away from the guy — grow, and tug at him violently.
Yet he held himself back. He was trying not to be the way he used to be.
Instead, he orders another glass.
Max was fairly certain he looked exactly how Oscar had earlier, with his actions mirroring the Aussie’s exactly. Before he could actually process what his mind had just conjured up, he laughed slightly derisively at his own thoughts. Perhaps George would, too, if he knew.
He couldn’t seem to pull his thoughts away from George. His mind was a traitor no matter the amount of times he had tried.
George George George. That was all Max’s head could come up with.
Well Max was definitely not thinking about George right now. Not about how he looked so carefree and certain in the arms of the other man. Not about how he didn’t seem to want to glance back at Max another time. And certainly not about how George’s body moved so lithely, as if he was meant for the dance floor, to sway and spin — if only it was in Max’s arms that is.
What? Where did that thought come from?
He shakes his head, trying to clear it, though finding himself unsuccessful. The alcohol must really be messing with his head today.
Max sets down the finished glass, having already forgotten the reason for even wanting to be looking for George. As he stood up abruptly, he tried to get to the other side of the outskirts of the dance floor, away from George and the mystery guy.
Just when he realised he probably should find a distraction, he almost immediately bumps into Charles.
“Ah, didn’t think I’d see you here by yourself, Maxie.” Charles pokes, seeing the oddly flustered look on Max’s face. “You look like you’ve just seen your ex strip or something.”
Max chokes, spluttering out a, “What-“ as his skin tinted redder than ever.
Charles just laughs, seeming to revel in the fact that he had left Max speechless and without a witty comeback for once.
Perhaps the influence of alcohol was much stronger than usual, Charles seemed bolder than he normally was. Max swallows, trying to settle down and swat the unwanted picture of George that his mind had just imagined up away.
“Charles, what are you talking about?” Max tries to cover up his mistake in almost exposing his actual thoughts.
Charles just laughs, looking at him coyly, “I know you saw George.”
Max stares at him for a couple of seconds, “Yeah, well, it’s not a big deal. He can do whatever he wants.” This led to an eyebrow raise from Charles, the mischievous grin still plastered across his face.
“You wish it was you, don’t you, Maxie?”
Max could feel his own neck heating up at all the teasing about George, and the taunts were putting images in his head he would likely not be forgiven for.
This was most definitely not the distraction he was aiming for — sure, it distracted him from George’s dancing, but it also circled back to George once again.
Max lets out a quiet sigh.
Charles discreetly glanced over Max’s shoulder, and he catches sight of George looking over to them. As if he were trying to rile George up, Charles placed an arm on Max’s, earning a questioning look from him.
He answers with nothing more than a small smirk and a soft murmur, “I’m helping you.”
Max rolls his eyes, “Stop touching me, Charles.”
His protest, however, was merely met with a resistant raise of an eyebrow and a scoff, eliciting another eye roll from Max.
And without a doubt, George had caught sight of the whole scene unfolding. He could only imagine what they were chatting about, seeing Max blush so terribly. It was a pinkness that looked exactly like the rosiness only George knew how to cause.
A bitter taste settles on his tongue. Unlike the alcohol from earlier, this one made his breath hitch as a wave of sourness washed over him.
What was this feeling?
It couldn’t be jealousy, could it? How long had it been since their divorce already? There was absolutely no reason to be jealous.
It must be disappointment, then, George decides. Disappointment that he wasn’t the only one who could rile Max up so quickly. Disappointment that Max was able to be as comfortable with someone else to the point where they could get to him like that as well.
He told himself he was being stupid. That it wasn’t any of those feelings. What reason would there even be for them?
George lets out an almost inaudible sigh, his body getting slightly numb to the beat palpitating about him. He excuses himself from the embrace of the man, and makes his way to a nearby couch.
He continues watching Max and Charles’s interaction, taking little gulps of alcohol at the same time. His eyes go wide as Charles suddenly places his hand on Max’s arm. George, unable to neither see Charles’s expression from this angle nor hear his words, could only assume the worst.
They must be flirting.
Not that he cared. Max could be with whoever he wanted. It wasn’t any of his business anymore.
He leans back, trying not to think much about it, just as Alex walks over and plops down next to him.
“Hey, Georgie, what’re you doing all by yourself?” Alex asks, his face slightly concerned.
“Just thinkin’ bout some things.” George murmurs. His gaze is still half-fixed on Max’s distant figure, and Alex catches on pretty fast.
“Ah, Max looks quite good today, hm?” Alex almost smiles, his grin more frivolous than George would like it to be. Alex obviously knew exactly how this would mess with George’s head.
George turns suddenly to face Alex, “Max? Look good? I don’t think so.”
“Yeah, ‘cause you know so. Don’t play, Georgie, you know you can’t fool me. You’re clearly still into him.” Alex sighs as he watches George shake his head adamantly.
“It’s been two years, Alex. I don’t think I would still have feelings for him after so long.” George mutters, looking Alex dead in the eye.
Alex’s knowing look doesn’t throw George off. He knows. He always knows. George just doesn’t want to admit it.
He takes another drink of his glass, looking away from Alex. His cheeks felt oddly warmer now.
George’s gaze soon flickers back to Max, but this time, the Dutchman was already looking at him. They lock eyes once more, almost like the previous time wasn’t quite enough for the both of them. George almost gravitates toward Max, unable to withhold himself. It was like Max was pulling him in, and he was unable to escape.
He doesn’t go over, however, and instead just stares on, foolish and wide eyed, like a dumb puppy.
Yet again, it feels like everything falls away for George, and he’s engulfed with an overwhelming sensational feeling. His heart picks up speed, as if chasing after Max, if it could.
Blaming it on the alcohol for his running imagination, he looks away, trying to play it off. However, Alex doesn’t let it go.
He picks up on it and pokes George’s side, “Stop making eyes at your crush, Georgie, focus on me.” He drags the last syllable, making his tone slightly whiny. Jokingly, it seems, though George knows his own cheeks are surely rosy then.
Not because of his tone, but because of the teasing lilt it brought.
George’s reaction brings about a hearty laugh from Alex, “Look at you, you’re-” George cuts him off before he could finish his sentence, “Stop talking about him or I’d start to think you like him.”
Alex laughs again, “Right, right. Wouldn’t want to make you jealous there.”
Their banter goes on, without much mention of Max anymore, to George’s relief. The night feels lighter than it was when he stepped in, all thanks to his favorite friend.
Though the phantom of Max’s presence lingers in the back of his mind, it wasn’t as prominent anymore.
Max, a few more glasses of alcohol later, eyes George and Alex from a distance — almost envying the way Alex was able to casually chat with George without any hard feelings or awkwardness.
Then again, Alex was likeable to everybody.
Max, on the other hand, not so much. He supposed it was part of it. Not everyone was bound to like him, but he didn’t really care about that.
What he did care about, though, was if George liked him.
Max snaps out of his thoughts, realising they had drifted back to George again.
Charles has gone from his side earlier, to look for Carlos so he could leave. Now Max just sat on a plush armchair in the corner, nursing another glass of whiskey in hand and staring at George and Alex. Alone.
He wanted to talk to George again.
He didn’t want another argument.
Yet, every time he tries to speak to George, it becomes a fight and he gets mad at things he didn’t even know he could be mad at.
He sighs, resolving to remain seated at his spot. Max supposed there wasn’t much he could do if George preferred spending time with someone else. It wasn’t like Max needed George’s company anyway.
Oscar had wandered over after a bit, flopping down next to Max. His cheeks were way more tinted than usual, as if he’d had a bit much to drink.
However, his hair was slightly disheveled and his lips were more swollen than was normal.
Max could only draw one conclusion, but decided to just ask anyway, “You good, mate?” He’s met with a small giggle, giving away Oscar’s obvious inebriation, “Yes. Lando just kissed me..” His wistful tone left Max feeling a little more envious than before — Oscar could so comfortably be affectionate with the person he liked, and Max could only sit in silence in a corner like a loser.
Oscar seemed to notice Max’s thoughtful, though slightly bitter, expression, with Max’s gaze clearly fixed on the couch which sat a certain Brit. He mumbles, “Why don’t you just approach him?” — as if it were the simplest thing ever.
Max looks over, his eyes narrowing to slits, “It’s not that easy, mate. He’s just, so gorgeous. It’s hard to talk to someone that beautiful.” He lets out a soft but dramatic sob, leaning against the back of his seat.
Oscar wrinkles his nose, “Is he that pretty?” A small hum of thought in between his words fills up the pause, “Uhh…I would suppose you would think that.” He shrugs. With the number of glasses he’d had, Max’s intoxication was, without a doubt, more than Oscar, evident with his inability to hold any semblance to what he was doing.
“He is. His eyes are so blue — i-it’s like unfairness, you know?” Max babbles, trying to make sense of the conversation.
“You should tell him that.”
“You’re right, Oskie, I will-uh do that.” Max stands, wobbling a little. He strides over to George and Alex clumsily, the effects of the alcohol rendering him rather disoriented.
George was still engaged in conversation with Alex, when Max’s slightly slumped, tilting form drew nearer to them, catching George’s attention. He looks up at the Dutchman’s tinted cheeks, frowning a little.
Max’s bold move to sit down right next to him was definitely not on his bucket list for the night.
“What the hell are you doing?” George mutters.
“I think you’re pretty,” Max’s giggle did not help with George’s own face, which was being dusted a rosy pink color.
Alex chuckles, nudging George closer before excusing himself.
George lets out an exasperated sigh, leaning back against the couch’s backrest again, “Are you drunk, Max?”
Max shrugs, a delighted grin still plastered on his face.
George couldn’t help but find that smile absolutely endearing, even if all he would do if asked about it was deny. His breath hitched as Max suddenly leans in closer.
The scent of the whiskey was slightly sour and George could almost feel the heat of Max’s breath against his cheek. He mutters a soft, “What..” before trailing off as he stared at Max.
“You’re very beautiful.” Max murmurs, followed by an ecstatic laugh, and a silly shake of his shoulders.
He doesn’t move further, though, keeping the close proximity between them. “This is dangerous, Max.” George breathes, trying to calm his racing heart.
Max shakes his head, “No, it’s not..!”
George can’t help but laugh. This version of Max was absolutely adorable. Not that he thought that, of course.
Max’s finger moves to poke George’s flushed cheek, as if curious as to what his skin felt like. George pulls back slightly in surprise, “Max, you should- keep your hands to yourself..”
“You’re absolutely drunk, Verstappen.” George suddenly insists with a firm nod, expression turning slightly stoic — almost like he was trying to conceal his flusteredness, “I-I’ll take you home.”
Max struggles against George’s grip on his arm, “No.. I wanna stay with you…” He almost pouts, nearly causing George to trip at the sight as he tried to stand.
“I’m bringing you home.” George sighs, trying his hardest to be patient with the man clinging tightly onto his sleeve, “Not leaving you.” He doesn’t say the ‘yet’ that’s dangling on the tip of his tongue.
With an almost petulant look on his face, Max stands, wobbling about as he does. George cautiously places an arm around him to support his balance and leads him toward the side exit.
He pushes the door open with his hip, while hoisting Max along with him. Max, thankfully, doesn’t make much fuss besides the small, “Don’t leave me..” when George had to let go of him to close the door.
They stumble to the main street, and George flags down a taxi. With a quick mutter of the address, the driver takes off and George is left to the silence of his own breath and the gentle, occasional nudge from Max. He tries to force himself to relax when Max and his obvious want for cuddles nuzzles closer to him.
The tension was almost inevitably palpable in the small space. The gap between them being close to nothing made everything feel warmer than it probably should have. George knew how much his face was warming up then.
Just when George thought his muscles would snap from how stiff he was getting, the driver pulled up outside their building. He quickly pays the driver and tugs Max out of the cab as carefully as he could. Cursing softly at how embarrased he was getting from the constant attention given by the blonde, he slung his arm back to its place around Max’s shoulder.
George helps him walk, moving toward the elevators. Max’s eyes were half-lidded and sleepy now, energy clearly worn from the whining.
Riding the lift up to Max’s floor — which George still remembered, surprisingly — he sighs, the uneasiness swimming about in his chest was still lingering, almost like it was trying to fill up the shared space between them. He supposed there was not much he could do about it. Perhaps he would stop feeling that way once he could finally leave and return to his own apartment.
Max stirred, looking at George with wide eyes, “Y-Your eyes… are so blue, like the oceans at the beaches we like to go to,” He murmurs, a gentle smile tugging at his lips.
Ah, he looks adorable with that. George startles himself with that thought, refocusing back on the Dutch beside him.
“We don’t go there together anymore, Max. We haven’t for the past two years,” George reminds Max, or perhaps himself.
“Why not?” The whine hits George squarely: why not, indeed. He lets out an involuntary sigh, saying nothing.
“I’d love to go there with you again,” Max mumbles, drawing out the vowels as he spoke, with that same soft smile — the one George hadn’t seen in years, especially with their constant arguments.
It was almost heartwarming to be the victim of that brightness again, as if the agony between them had never occured and they were as innocuous and affectionate as they used to be.
The ‘ding!’ of the elevator reaching Max’s apartment level shook George out of his mesmerised state of fixation on the loving grin on Max’s lips. He guides Max out of the elevator and toward apartment 33, letting go of Max for a minute to fish the spare keys out from under the same potted plant that George had gotten a few years back.
Back when they were still together, that was. He couldn’t help but think, while he was unlocking the gate, about what this could possibly mean. Perhaps Max was still clinging onto what they once were. Then he shook his head at himself, silently chiding his thoughts for running wild. There was just no way, not when Max hadn’t even tried to give signals, or anything for that matter, that he still thought of George.
He opens the door, supporting Max again as he stumbles into the apartment.