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It was not the first time they had danced together, but it was the last time.
"I'm going to miss you," Charles idly comments, his eyes closed while Max guides him around the room, hand gentle on his, the other draped around his waist.
Max hums, something quiet under the play of classical music. A genre of music Charles could only imagine Max did not like in any way, from any angle, from any pitch, yet here he was. "Don't get stuck up on it."
"Do you think I'm so childish?" Charles rebuts, a smile pulling at his lips.
"From years of racing with you, yes, I've gathered you are."
Charles snorts, shaking his head slightly. "I can't say you're exactly any different, Max,"
"Never."
The two of them share a quiet laugh. It felt freeing.
It had been a while since Charles had won a race, let alone his home race, and yet Max was leaving him the very following day — whether it was a cruel joke from the universe or a result of the rule 'for there to be good, there must be bad also', he wouldn't know.
The two of them never step on eachothers patent leather shoes, shoes Max doesn't fancy wearing and shoes Charles finds complimenting. They never disrupt eachothers flow, their rhythm, they simply do and it goes. It works. It clicks together, gratifyingly, like the last peice in a plentiful, strenuous puzzle.
Charles opens his eyes to the dim-lit room, the golden light blanketing the room. When they revolve around, Charles can see their silhouettes cast upon the walls. "What do you think you are going to do after you retire?"
Max hms, brief this time. "So you can come bug me about it?"
"Maybe." Charles smiles. He doesn't think it had left him since they began their dance. "But seriously, Max. Everyone is wondering, and I am too. You are too mysterious about it."
Max breaths gently, taking them back a few steps, then left, and forward. "I don't owe anyone an explanation."
"And me?"
Max pauses his speech, thinking. He can hear him think. His breathing changes ever so slightly when he does. Not that it is often, Charles has just memorised it. "I don't have a plan. Maybe I'll move to GT or Endurance, but I haven't fully committed to anything yet."
"Is it just a ... spur of the moment, thing?" Charles leans away from his spot close to Max's neck. "It sounds like you."
Max looks him in the eyes. They are so dark in this light - Charles wants to see the bright, pale turquoise that they are. When he answers, his voice is flat, yet light, how it always is talking to Charles. "Formula One isn't what it used to be. The regulations are still bad as they were in 2026."
Charles watches Max's eyes drift, inevitably drawn back to Charles'. It was quiet, intimate. Close like they have been many times before, in young and in old. In the form of hugging, in dancing, in racing side by side yet never making contact.
"I was expecting this, Max, but I will still miss you. More than anyone else who says they do." They had gradually slowed to a halt in the middle of the grand, golden room, bringing the music to a soft stop with them.
They holds the eye-contact. The form. The quiet intimacy lingering in the open air. "I believe you. Always, Charles."
He smiles. When Max became so sappy, he couldn't pinpoint an exact moment in time, but it was most definitely some point during their waltz. Max must have seen the rosy tinge bloom on Charles' cheeks, because he kisses him, gentle, slow and soft, the antithesis of the aggressive 'Mad Max' on track.
Max brings him close, his arm warm against his waist like an easy fireplace, his hand tender and flat against the expanse of his back.
Their lips part. Charles blinks his eyes open, looking to Max, who was already watching.
"Let's go outside," Max offers, "one last cigarette."
"I'm not supposed to have those," His smile is small, soft, teetering on the edge of bittersweet. They share gazes before Charles gave in. How could he ever deny Max (and his own desire for nicotine)? "... okay. Fine. I'll wait outside. Don't take too long, it's getting cold."
Max smiles, leaving to find his jacket. Charles wanders out to the balcony.
The air hits him, and it's pleasant, carrying the faint smell of the sea. Up here, leaning on the fence, he gets a wide view of the harbour, full of yachts and a few lingering people walking by them. The ocean sparkles under the pale moonlight, bouncing off small waves.
Max follows, pulling Charles' attention back to him like a magnet. He has a cigarette box, Caballero, and a blue lighter.
He wastes no time pulling a single cigarette out, hiding the box back in the cave of his pockets. The lighter clicks on, a small fire erupting, bright and orange in the darkening light, mesmerising. The end of the cigarette lights in embers.
Charles watches Max take a drag, how his lips part and close around it. He holds the smoke in his lungs just enough to feel the sting, blowing it out of his mouth in wispy, diaphanous swirls. It disappears peacefully into the cool night air.
Max passes it over and Charles takes it between his middle and pointer finger. It's been a while since he last smoked — maybe a year ago. Coincidentally, his last time was also with Max.
He takes a short puff, the taste of smoke and nicotine something he will always enjoy, notably when he wasn't actually supposed to be. Always breaking the rules with Max.
Charles passes the cig back to Max, breathing in the solemn air of their final night together.
He won't make a fuss about it — there was no need to fight something inevitable, as much as his heart burns and writhes in his chest when it is brought up.
Charles rests his head against Max's shoulder, eyes fixated on the gentle rock of the oceans waves and the moons rays trailing up to the far horizon.
A quiet breath leaves his lungs. Max pulls another string of smoke from the lit cigarette.
There will always be a tomorrow. Even if that tomorrow doesn't include Max.