Archive of Our Own

If you had told him two years ago that he would be cultivating a friendship with Charles Leclerc’s soon-to-be wife, George would’ve thought you were crazy.

But as it was, that’s the situation he found himself in. Really, it started from the remodel, getting her contact from Charles for her recommendations on who they had used, and spilled over into complaints about it, and how there was never enough time in the day to see anything through.

Of course it wasn’t the same, he was a driver, with all the pressures, commitments and expectations associated with that, and Alex… followed Charles around, posted on Instagram, and had a dog. BUT, she wasn’t home either way, so the time constraints around the ‘household management’ of it all were still quite similar, and especially now, with the wedding coming up so quickly for her, the chaos could get to you quickly. They were both very hands-on and detail-oriented, and in between messages about moulding and centerpieces and wood finishes and seating plans, they'd slipped into a few brief chats about how freeing it felt to create this new thing, drafting a blueprint for their respective relationships to flourish in, doing their best to erase all memories of the pasts of their partners and stepping forward together. There was a foundation there, a sense of kindred that warmed him.

Then she’d seen something on socials, old things from Red Bull's first-run promos with Max in the garage, and sent him a screenshot. George was confused as to why she would care about Max or Red Bull at all, and that wasn’t really helped when she then texted him “doing God's work 🔥”.

Which, absolutely, he was God’s work: Max looked good. He hadn't gotten his hair cut in a bit then, and it was so thick and fluffy – really, he ADORED it. Especially right out of a balaclava, with his hair sticking up in random bits, UGH, he was fucking delicious; George wanted to twist his fingers in it and yank his head back, drag his tongue up Max’s throat, then push him to his knees and hold him there while he opened his mouth nice and wide… GOD, indeed.

But, he OBVIOUSLY wouldn’t say that, he and Alex certainly weren’t friendly like that, and he doubted she would be quite that crude; he figured a safe bet to gauge a response was a question mark. He felt so stunted sometimes, not being as attuned with his generation as he probably should be, the powers of the almighty algorithm never blessing him with anything current.

Thankfully Alex was gracious, or else chalked their general culture gaps up to the different places they occupied in the world, and she sent him a link to something about the ‘Girlfriend Effect’, saying that it was easy to see that SOMEONE was having an impact on Max’s style, finally.

He had to smirk at the dig at Kelly.

She wasn’t wrong, though. While George wasn’t incredibly pleased at the gender norms that needed to be woven into so many things these days, there was no question that between him and Max, if one of them was going to have a ‘glow-up’ from the more routine exposure to the other, there was no question of who was rougher around the edges, just waiting for a little polish and shine.

George bit his cheek, deciding how to respond: Alex was technically still just a coworker's fiancée, and a bit of distance should maybe be expected. But she was also the partner of his partner’s childhood friend (of sorts), and if she was reaching out to him and being lovely, then wasn't it just awkward if he treated her solely as nothing more than a Yelp list of top businesses for renovations in Monaco? Why not open up a new aspect of himself, chill, fun – really, what’s the worst that could happen?

                   - I wish I could take credit for the hair! That’s more a happy accident.
                   - The skinny jeans though…
                   - 🤷
                   - Things get misplaced in moves all the time.
Alex Leclerc: Omg KINGGG
Alex Leclerc: Do you remember all the ridiculous jeans Charles had? With the stars, and the bleached stripes, and the tears all over?

Okay. This was good. He was worried he would get a little ‘haha’ reaction and that was it, that he was being presumptuous of an actual light-hearted camaraderie, but this was an opening, he could work with this.

… Christ, he was a grown man – it was crazy that just making a friend made him feel this nervous, desperately trying to choose the perfect thing to continue the conversation, not too serious, not too boring, but not going too far.

So she obviously agreed that Max looked much better in a more relaxed fit, now to just play off her, not being too critical –

                   - Ugh, the acid-wash was the WORST!
Alex Leclerc: I know, he wouldn’t listen when I told him how bad they looked.
Alex Leclerc: He thinks they were washed with a makeup bag by accident, and they all got stained
Alex Leclerc: Sometimes you need to go on the offense to make your point
Alex Leclerc: 💅💅
                   - YOU DIDN’T!
Alex Leclerc: Didn’t what 😇

Oh he liked her.

It was hard to have a real opinion on any of the other drivers’ partners – well, excluding Lily… and Kelly, of course. But the women didn’t talk with them, there wasn’t anywhere they would really interact naturally, without planning. And out in the world, they weren’t known well enough for there to be an understanding of their basic personalities presented, outside of the cookie-cutter, inoffensive, every-girl stereotype they were expected to conform to, being barely seen and never heard outside of the occasional Alo post on social media.

Actually… gun to his head, he wasn’t sure he could even say he knew what Alex sounded like. They should really change that, if they were going to be friends. Eyes on them out in Monaco would surely cause rumors, so maybe just a relaxed pop-in? And really, what better way than to bring things full circle, she could come to see how well everything had coming together under her recommendations! Maybe something with less pressure, Max and Charles could be there too, help to fill any awkward pauses. And then might as well have something to munch on, it would be weird to just have them over to just… look around real quick.

George looked around the room himself, trying to look at it from a stranger's view.

Well if we're having a dinner party, we really need to liven the place up a bit.

Everything had come together, sure. But they’d just paid Quentin for his expertise; it didn’t feel earned, properly. It felt like a home, but not exactly like what their home should feel like. Like he’d just stepped into the space and was supposed to feel connected to it, but wasn’t quite there. Actually, he'd never really created any sort of personal aesthetic for himself before; by the time he had moved to Monaco, Albono had already been here for years, and he had mostly just signed up with whatever services he had used to get the place together.

No. Albono was my friend when we were children. It’s Alexander Albon who lives in Monaco now.

There wasn't anything incredibly personal around. No pictures, no mementos, nothing that he could look at and say that it excited him, or brought him back to a significant time or place, though everything LOOKED lovely. That should probably be expected; they’d only been here a few days, and there were surely plenty of things that they had, that they could put around – he could take some things from the office, maybe grab some more things from storage that Carmen had never ‘found a place’ for.

But they needed pictures. God, they didn’t have ANY pictures of the two of them together that couldn’t be found on Getty.

Maybe that was fine. Maybe that could be better, their story documented formally, through the eyes of the world, in bits and pieces they had never seen.

                       - Hey, I need pictures for the flat.
                       - Can you go through media for pictures of Max and I together?
Cara Wickham: What do you mean when you say ‘media’?
                       - Anything! Of just the two of us.
                       - That looks sweet.
                       - Or looks a bit private and personal, maybe.
Cara Wickham: Alright – how soon?
                       - In the next few days, please. Send them to Riviera for 10x15
Cara Wickham: I’ll get you a first batch tomorrow, we can see if we’re hitting the mark. I’ll let you know when they’re printed!
                       - You’re the best! Xx

He pushed off from the counter in the kitchen, making his way to the hallway to find Max. George knew he wouldn’t like it, especially this soon, but, well, that was too bad. Part of being adults was having a rich social life, and they had just about a week till they needed to leave for Australia, so they had some time.

And at least he wasn’t trying to make him spend time with a bunch of vapid models with no personality and a primary focus of upping their follower count by being in posts he was tagged in.

“Darling, can we invite Alex and – oh, you’re joking.”

He was SUPPOSED to be arranging things in the office since there was no reason for the boxes to just be hanging out in the extra bedroom, but Max was full-focus on the monitor in front of him, headset on, assumedly in the middle of some game or another. Boxes were strewn about, some opened, but clearly not touched.

“What happened to unpacking? I don’t want to live in a box fort, Max.”
“I just wanted to relax for a bit. We can close the door if you don’t like to see it.”

It’s fine. It’s not like Max playing games meant that he didn’t care about him, he didn’t need his attention every second. That wasn’t reasonable, and he had planned for Max to have a gaming setup here himself. It wasn’t a way to escape him, George had to remind himself of that. This was completely normal living-together behavior.

But he fucking told me he'd unpack!!

George took a deep breath, and pulled his feelings in to arrange them properly, so he’d hear him. “It’s kind of important to me Max. It IS important to me. Having boxes all over makes me feel like this is some sort of temporary place that you don’t intend to stay at.”

He only glanced up at him briefly, pushing his headset around his neck to hear him at least, but his eyes slipped back to the screen quickly.

“Mooie don’t be silly… it’s just boring, I can have Jack do it whenever.”
“But I want this to be our place. Not me and Jack’s place. This is just like the kitchen, I don’t want to feel like I’m doing this without you.”

George knew he'd added a bit of a pathetic whine into his voice, and after this long, he also knew it would make Max's ears perk up. Probably he should've felt like he was being manipulative, but he didn't: he wasn't faking a bit of his frustration.

The pout was only a little bit excessive.

Max put the controller down and got up, wrapping his hands around George’s waist and nuzzling his ear.

“Baby, you’re not.”
“Can you just humor me, please?”
“Yes, schat, I hear you. Let me finish this round.”

He kissed his cheek, and started to turn back to the desk when George blurted out, “Can we have Alex and Charles over for dinner?”

Max’s eyes popped wide and confused, pausing with one hand stroking against his stomach.

“Alex and Char– Leclerc? What? Why?”
“We've been chatting, I think we could be friends, maybe.”

God, it felt so stupid to say, like he was a kid asking his mother’s permission for a friend to come over and play in the garden.

“You and Charles’s Alex? You want me to leave you alone with a tiny little brunette with tan skin and brown eyes and everything will be fine?”
“Is there something you're trying to say?”

Max rolled his eyes, stern and unyielding; he was so handsome like this, an ocean-eyed prince emanating raw power, all silent and stoic.

He knew Max had the inexplicable block in his mind that refused to let him consider himself attractive; he assumed this was, like most things, due to Jos in some way, probably something like Max accidentally glancing in a mirror as he walked past and being told that the only way he was worth being looked at was if he was holding a championship trophy. He'd made some progress, no longer batting compliments away every time George would give them, at least. He supposed it was a bit like exposure therapy, and, well: Max did generally encourage him to be vocal whenever George liked something.

A little pout was forming on his delicious lips, and really, George couldn't let this go by without calling it out directly.

“Are you actually jealous?!’

Max’s eyes narrowed at him and George had to bark out a laugh. He pulled him back in, squeezing as his hand raked up his bicep. It always delighted him to feel all the muscles Max kept hidden from the world, like his well-tuned physique was a facet of him that only HE really knew. He bit his lip as Max flexed defensively, just that tiny unintended little show of strength enough to make him start to blush.

“I'm not sure if you've seen yourself lately, darling, but I think it might be safe to say my tastes have changed a bit.”

He vaguely looped his arms around Max's neck and leaned in, nosing at his cheek till Max met his lips softly and with sweetness, nothing needy or wanting, and that made him blush deeper, how delicate Max could be with him, with so much care that he felt like one of the things Max held most precious in all the world.

“So you're going to unpack though, yeah?” he said against his lips. “Because we need a bit of a personal touch before they can come over.”
“Mmm, sure, and you will too?”

His eyes opened to see an absolutely cheeky look on Max's face.

It was easy for Max. When they were packing things up for the move to La Renzo, he only had to redirect a few boxes of things he wanted to keep here to one of the back rooms for storage during the renovation. And if he was honest with himself, just that was enough so that George knew he was being a bit annoying, because it was obvious Max wanted to be here; he'd done that without George even saying anything, before he’d even told him about his plan.

“I'll get things from storage this week.”
“This week? You have big plans tomorrow then?”

He didn't– he had kind of wanted to just stay home, see how it felt to be alone since Max would be with Lily, but why not, that would give him something to focus on at least.

“Fiiine. Tomorrow. I'll message Carmen.”

George stopped at his and Carmen’s place to get some of his boxes from storage after he picked up the pictures; it seemed like Cara had sent at least a hundred, so there should be plenty they could use. Max had slept at La Renzo so it would be easier with Lily in the morning, and George had stayed at theirs, his first night in their bed all by himself. He was aiming to get used to it: having a partner, not someone doting on him at every point, accepting that there would be times he was alone and learn how to fill those gaps.

But he was still learning how to manage that, it being so long since he'd had any real period where he wasn't surrounded with either people to push him, or people who thought he could only be his best when being pushed. So, he was glad when Carmen was able to join him for lunch, killing time while reclaiming some of his old ‘normal’, even though it was temporary. It was good to catch up a bit, too; between testing, factory and filming days, and their flat at Memmo finally being ready, they really hadn’t had much time to connect lately, and he was excited to learn how she was spending her time, all the work she’d put into Barriers to launch it and have it stand for itself in some way, especially after having endured the trial and error of the different formulations on her behalf.

When he got home, he was still feeling antsy, and figured it was better to do something productive about it than to work it off by training or having a run; soon enough that would be the last thing he wanted to do, anyway.

So he did what made him feel right; he cleaned. Everything was too pristine, after all, like it had just been put together from a box and set out on display, because mostly, it probably had. There were his choices in it, but not his effort.

As his clothes got covered in a mix of purposeful sweat and water diluting untold quantities of chemicals, he felt good, to actually be doing something himself, seeing the fruits of his labor, even if they only immediately came across as rearranged appliances on the kitchen counter.

… And when you're proud of something, it's only natural to want to show it off to someone. Right?

Maybe Alex is free?

He knew she was home, obviously; she'd vented about how much Charles had apparently already started complaining about packing for Australia since they were going early, and he couldn't just count on a stack of Ferrari merch to be waiting for him, completely oblivious to how she would always need to plan for at least two outfits a day with different shoes and purses lest the world think of her as below him somehow, not putting effort forth. George knew he had it much easier than she did in that regard, so didn't put in about that, but, well, Max had a uniform down to a science on travel days as well, whatever unobtrusively-colored plain shirt from AlphaTauri was next in line in the closet.

It was incredible how good he could look without needing to think about it, really. George tried to make sure he knew that, deploying his exposure therapy by dragging his eyes from his thick thighs to his prominent chest, along his shoulders and ending as his delicious lips. It would still make Max blush, but he wasn't fighting him as much as he used to about it at least.

Oh she would DIE if she saw his side of the closet!

He didn't say it, but George knew it was something of a point of pride of his, how little mind he paid anything he dubbed as ‘fashion’. Max wouldn't care if he gave Alex a peek, surely, he had nothing to hide; he'd probably be arrogant about it actually.

Max wasn't going to be home till tonight, he was pretty sure. There was a LOT of time left till then, and he was pretty sure there was a limit to how much cleaning he could do that he was rapidly approaching. Maybe Alex would like to take a break from whatever drama was being drummed up about the wedding, and just giggle with him a bit while he was looking through the boxes from storage.

Maybe he could invite her over?

Well, Max had said it was fine, anyway. Or, he didn't complain about it, at least. So maybe, he could plan ahead a bit, set something up as a reward of sorts for the work he was doing – at least make it seem to himself like he was doing this for a reason and not just because he didn’t know how to exist as a well-adjusted half of a couple quite yet.

His hands had long-ago pruned over from scrubbing, and it didn’t really matter anyway, because he couldn’t quite remember where he’d dropped his phone down in his haste to get rid of the itching in his fingertips, but he didn't want to lose his courage. He needed to be decisive.

“Hey Siri, text Alex,” he called out.
“What do you want the message to say?”

The response came from somewhere in the kitchen, and he walked towards it, continuing his instruction.

”You should come by this afternoon if you're available period. I'll be here all night comma, would love to chat finally comma, wine glasses are ready exclamation point.”
“Send it?”

It was near the sink, it seemed like, but he couldn’t see it, so he started opening the cabinets.

Was that too forward? Maybe, but when you thought about it, what exactly was he supposed to do, wait for the season to start and find her in the paddock somewhere in fucking Australia when right now, she was only a couple kilometres away? It's not like she would shun him for asking; if she was busy, she would say that, and they could plan for after Melbourne. It was better to just break the ice about it anyway.

“Yes.”

Of course. He found it under the sink, by the various multi-surface cleaners he’d been using, since of course, they couldn’t be trusted by the service to know how to perform more targeted cleaning in a proper manner; that is what the service was for, he supposed.

Well maybe he could look forward to some company now.

He had long ago abandoned his cleaning efforts and gone to the gym anyway, because if he was honest with himself, there was nothing about the appearance or sanitation of their home that was changing at all. He was then not at all able to focus on the book he was trying to read, skimming past the same three sentences over and over till he realized he’d drifted to complaining in his head about their schedule, that Lily’s room was ready and waiting for her, for whenever Kelly decided to stop being vindictive. It was ridiculous, she would be away for over a week at a time, happy enough to leave her with the nannies, and still say she ‘wasn’t comfortable’ with George meeting her until they’d sat down to chat.

Alex hadn't responded. Which he was trying not to have any sort of feelings about; it's not like she was ignoring him. She was probably with the florist or having alterations done. It wasn't like she was just using him as an outlet while she was stressed or something, and they wouldn't chat anymore after Saturday, he told himself.

Incoming call: Carmen 💛

He certainly wasn’t upset at the interruption; on the contrary, it suddenly gave him a new thread to follow in the late afternoon. Maybe he’d left something, or she’d found another box somewhere with precious memories of his childhood; or, as close to memories as he could manage of all that chaos.

“Hey love, what's up?”
“Hi, G, um… Alex is here.”
“What? She's there?”

There was an immediate surge of absolution, that he hadn't crossed any lines with the invitation, that he WAS worthy of someone's time. But he was SURE that through it all he'd told her they were at Memmo… but actually, maybe he'd just assumed Max had told Charles. He went to his messages and clicked into their thread, and–

“What do you mean ‘she’? Alex. Alex Alex.”

There was a thread above theirs. A more recent one. With ‘Alex Albon’, not ‘Albono’, anymore.

Apparently this is what he got for being petty and changing his contact to something less friendly.

Oh fuck.

“... Albono?”
“Yes, did… you have plans? He could hang out here till you… get back.”

SHIT.

“I wasn't planning on going back over there today, um–”
“Sorry, what? Then where is he?”
“Um…”

Christ, poor Carmen. She really was wonderful, that even in the position he’d put her in, she was trying to cover for him. They hadn’t really spoken to anyone about the flat; actually, he thought it might just be Charles who knew, unless there were scheduling things with Redline that meant Gabi would know when Max was less available, and why. It wasn’t like… a SECRET in that way, it just wasn’t broadcasted. But, well, they had thought they'd kept their whole relationship under wraps too.

“Carmen, can you put him on the phone for a minute? I’m sorry for the intrusion, love.”
“It’s fine, was a quiet night anyway. Call if you need?”

He nodded with a humbled and appreciative look on his face, till he realized she couldn’t see him. “Yeah, will do. Thanks.”

He could make out some vague sounds and scant syllables as the phone was handed off, until Alex’s voice was clear and questioning on the line.

“George, what the hell is going on? You ask me over to chat, and now you’re saying you weren’t coming home?”
“About that. Mate, now isn’t an amazing time.”
“I’m calling bullshit. Where are you? You messaged me to chat, so let's chat.”
“It was an accident.”

There was a scoff, like he couldn’t believe George would possibly say that to him, his voice strained when he continued on.

“Don't you think it's about time we spoke properly about everything?”
“It hasn't seemed we have much to talk about lately.”

It wasn't like him to be so blunt, not the old him, the one this Alex knew; his own exposure therapy from Max in action, he assumed, getting comfortable saying the hard things.

“Please, George. I need to talk to you, we have too much history to just drift apart like this.”

‘History’ didn't mean that you should ignore the present in order to honor it, not always. But there was something in his voice that sounded gutted, in a way he hadn't heard before, and to think that was because of him, hurt. If he was honest, there was certainly a part of him that missed Alex. After so much time being close, he was still one of the first few people George thought of when he had a funny story or frustrating rant to share. And it had never stopped being easy for them to have good banter when they saw each other in the paddock, unless the topic turned to Max.

Really, the problem was Alex, and how he refused to treat Max with any respect; he would KNOW there was nothing else for them to have a chat about except that. And, to be honest, fifteen years was a long time to throw away without even giving a solid opportunity to talk things through. So maybe he should give him a little benefit of the doubt and hear him out, because why would he accept an invitation out of nowhere unless he had the intention of apologizing?

“We could meet over here, say… Les Oliviers?”
“ ‘Over here’? What the hell does that mean??”

He REALLY didn't want to start anything with Alex camped out by Carmen, on her phone no less, so decided to just ignore the question. “Fifteen minutes alright then?”

There was a loaded silence that extended till George nearly felt like he'd swallowed static, then a mumbled agreement on the other end, and he went to grab something a small step above house clothes.

He could be hopeful, but really, this could go either way. And if it went poorly, regardless of how things between them had already drifted and stagnated, George knew he wouldn't exactly be happy and springy when he got home.

                 - I’m going to meet Albono for a bit. Get things out.
Maxie 🦁❤️: Why
Maxie 🦁❤️: He’s been a dick
                 - He said he needs to talk to me.
                 - I owe him something after almost twenty years of him being there for me.

He was trying to get better about telling him when thoughts were starting to bubble up, or he couldn't get something off his mind. And part of that was knowing when to ask for support, somehow… It was a process.

Incoming call: Maxie 🦁❤️

Just like clockwork.

“Yes, mijn leeuw?”
“Where are you going?”
“I was thinking Les Oliviers.”
“Have him go to ours. I’ll be there in like an hour, Kelly should be back.”

The idea of letting Alex into their home, their private sanctum only known by a select few, just felt WRONG. Nothing about how he'd acted towards their relationship made him deserving of that much first-hand knowledge about their life.

“Oh really? He can be our first houseguest?”
“I would just… prefer to know what he’s doing.”
“Mhm, that’s another great reason why he won’t be coming over. I don’t want you to come home just to mark me in front of him like the territorial lion we both know you are.”

He wanted it to come out like an indictment, but he couldn’t help the curl the words took as they left his mouth, and he bit his cheek to try to hold the smirk in.

There was a beat before Max’s response, and when it came, his voice had dropped much lower.

“You like that, schat.”
“Not in front of an audience…”
“Not even in Abu Dhabi, hmm?”

George knew he should probably be embarrassed at how easily Max could completely demolish his ability to think straight in under ten words, but he was too busy making sure his breathing didn’t change enough for Max to pick up on it and push forward.

“That… was different.”
“I can see how red you are from here, baby.”
“That’s enough, Verstappen.”

He knew Max was debating their next move – and really, it was his decision entirely, because George knew he wouldn’t put the phone down if the next words came scratchy and demanding, but instead there was a heavy sigh, and he continued with his point.

“So you think this conversation will be fine and calm to have in public.”
“I mean, there’s no reason it wouldn’t–”
“He's just going to be whining about me like he always does now.”

It hadn't felt right to keep it from him anytime that Alex would make a snarky little comment, and he could tell that Max was remembering every last one of them by the bitter grumble in his voice.

“You didn't hear him. He sounded different. Just… really sad.”
“Yeah, I'd be really sad too if I knew I could've had you for years and lost you because someone else actually did something about it. And that's his problem, not–”

The mocking tone wasn't light-hearted in the slightest, the sneer practically punctuation under each syllable. To be honest, his disdain for Alex was fairly well-justified. But–

“If WHAT, did you just say??”

There was simply no way Max was trying to make this entire thing more complicated than it already was, conjuring up new filters to color their relationship into something unrecognizable from what he'd grown up relying on.

“Ugh, it doesn't matter, nevermind schat.”
“I didn't realize we were hiding things from each other now.”

Max let out a long sigh, formed from pure exhaustion. He'd said that Lily slept well when George asked this morning, and knowing that it wasn't a physical strain weighing him down made him anxious, like Max would realize that George wasn't worth any of the stress he brought his way after all.

“He's in love with you, you know that, right?”
“Very funny.”
“I'm not being funny. Daniel saw it before me.”
“Oh, THAT is hilarious. If we want to go down the random-theory-from-social-media route, I've heard YOU are quite taken with HIM.”

Of course he’d warped the ‘for you’ page on his one alt account beyond repair with never-ending reels of Max: hair slicked with sweat after steaming night races; shoulders back, chest out, and buoyed with victory on the podium; or in some interview, innocent as Max could possibly be, in shorts far shorter than George thought he would ever leave the house wearing, his thighs bare and toned, shifting to put one foot under his knee so the shorts slipped higher, trying and failing to pull the skimpy cloth down… it was a problem. That algorithm was far too strong.

But, too, that meant he’d seen all the reels of Max with Daniel. Max giving him prolonged hugs while they giggled and chatted in each other's ear in parc fermé, Max joking about being on Grindr, Max pretending to go in for a kiss, Max and Daniel in a tub together with Max staring down into Daniel’s lap... All taken out of context, like most things were, just Max being Max, getting a laugh with someone who'd been a bit of a mentor and was still a friend.

George wasn’t jealous, exactly. It was just that it was a part of Max’s life he hadn’t been around for; he didn’t have an appropriate reference to even START to understand who he’d been then. But he knew, the stupid little clips were all bullshit, just like most things on fucking Instagram. Christ, the fucking edits of Max and Charles together were near-maddening, but he was ironically happy for their presence, because at least it took attention off the too-poignant observations of ‘#Russtappen’.

Max knew he was beaten and gave in, and really, even if he’d wanted to push about ‘Galex’, he could surely send him five reels of ‘Maxiel’ or ‘Lestappen’ within two minutes that would render his argument obsolete.

“Fine. I don't care. But please stay at the apartment, is what I'm asking you. People love to say their little things they heard here, you know that.”

He hated admitting Max was right. Monaco was small, and gossip was treated like currency in some circles.

“Fine. But if you come in and have a go as soon as you get home, we're going to need to have a talk.”
“Schat, if you want me to be good for you, you know you just need to say… We can play right now, hm?”

My god, he can be absolutely–

He wanted to think infuriating but he knew that was bullshit. Really, the unfortunate thing was that he could be absolutely convincing and tempting. But this was NOT THE TIME, he was supposed to be meeting Alex in a handful of minutes, and right now, he still needed to tell him about the plan change.

“MAX EMILIAN!! Aren't you supposed to be babysitting??”
“I think you mean ‘parenting’.”

He winced for a moment; it was a sore spot, that Max was considered less of a parent because of their travel, but Kelly wasn’t helping things lately either.

“... and she's sleeping. So I can spend ALL the time I want with you,” he purred.

George bit his lip, and when he closed his eyes, he SWORE he could feel Max’s breath on his neck, and–

“Right,” he snapped his eyes open, breaking the fantasy. “I'm going to call Alex. And so you know, it's MAD that you want to play in the same conversation that you tell me you think my oldest friend loves me.”

He hung up without a goodbye, making sure Max knew he wasn’t amused, but then thought better of it. It was funny how earlier he thought of time with one Alex as a reward for his efforts, something to motivate him, and now he needed motivation, something to look forward to, to get through dealing with this other Alex.

                 - Play tonight xxx
Maxie 🦁❤️: I knew you’d come around
Maxie 🦁❤️: Xxxxxxxx

George bit his lip, letting his mind glaze over with thoughts of this evening for just another half a second, then shook himself out of it: it was definitely not the time for that.

He called Alex, luckily reaching him before he'd started hunting for parking.

“Change of plans, can you come to Memmo Center? I’ll leave word at the desk, you can use the garage.”
“What the hell is at Memmo Cent– wait… Oh Christ, George, are you fucking serious?!”

He was about to argue that it was barely further than the cafe when he remembered that Alex had gone by Max's a few times during quarantine, and had always had an amazing memory; he'd been able to retell plenty of embarrassing stories from their childhood in excruciating detail.

“You don't have to come, you know.”

George had to psych himself up to answer when the bell rang; there was no positive inference to be had on how this would go based on how it all came about, nor any of his interactions with Alex in the last six months. He honestly wasn't entirely sure why he had agreed to it now, aside from wanting to spare Carmen from being caught in the middle of this icy dispute.

Alex's face was blank when he opened the door. They didn't say anything, and not wanting to instigate any sort of confrontation in the hallway, George stepped aside quickly to let him in, positioning himself to guide him into the sitting room.

His voice was plainly sardonic as he took a sweeping gaze around, eyes looking everywhere and nowhere all at once, as though trying to impose himself upon their space and dismiss it at the same time.

“So you have a love nest now?”

George was shooting daggers in the back of his head immediately.

“We have a flat. That we've spent months with contractors and interior designers to get how we want it.”
“You're playing house.”
“A bit more than you and Lily are, I think. Fontevielle is a touch closer than the US, innit?”

He kept his face stoic when Alex turned to him; if this was how the conversation was going to start, he had no desire to extend it, and the good-mannered host in him stuck his nose up and decided not to offer him tea.

Despite CERTAINLY not needing his approval in any way, George was suddenly far too aware of the relative emptiness of their space from Alex's continued assessment. They were still getting their bearings here, so while they had picked everything out personally, there wasn't a lot that was actually personalized with their things, not yet. He had the things from his and Carmen's place to go through eventually, Max would unpack, surely. Then add some of the pictures Cara was managing, and everything would all be sorted soon.

But for now, he hoped Alex didn't notice the absence of souvenirs and knick-knacks. At least it looked a little lived in, with a blanket thrown over the back of the sofa and trainers at the door, the calendar color-coded with Max's days with Lily and their factory days on the fridge, and an the odd mostly-empty can of Red Bull that he had intentionally not thrown away because he he wasn’t going to baby Max; either he could clean up after himself or he could increase the cleaning service.

George gestured ahead, where Alex took a sprawling seat on one side of the couch; the casualness of it put a bad taste in his mouth, feeling just on the edge of disrespectful towards their home. George chose the overstuffed side chair at the opposite end of the couch, sitting almost daintily. It was intentional, creating distance rather than allowing the perception that this conversation was starting with them on the same side by sitting nearer to him; he’d said far too much against them for that courtesy.

“Listen, I don't know what you think there is to talk about–”
“Is it real?”

He spat it out, mouth opened for a moment after like he was planning to say more but had surprised himself with how he started.

“Is what real?”
“You and… him.”

The disdain looped around that simple word was positively venomous, but George ignored it. If that was what he wanted to talk about, the entire premise of this gathering was ridiculous from the start.

“Alex, I don't know how to have this conversation again. We've been together for a year, we have a home together, our families support us generally, even Papa came around by the time we left, I don't know what–”
“Your family… by the time you left?? You took him to Norfolk??”

His eyes had popped wide, words tumbling out with a shrill lift at the end.

George just stared at him, one eyebrow cocked in frustration at the outburst, trying to decide how seriously he should take it, if it was even deserving of a response. Apparently he didn't decide quickly enough, because when he opened his mouth, Alex looked like he was a hair’s breadth away from jumping up and shaking him.

“Christ George, how did this happen??”

It was entirely ostentatious, but he chose not to look at Alex, inspecting his nails instead, aiming for unbothered at the way their relationship had deteriorated. It was all an act; he did miss him, after all, but, the old Albono, not this one that made every chat into some sort of intervention attempt.

“Well, you haven't been around, so I can understand why you don't understand.”

George crossed one leg over the other as he spoke, lips pursing when he was done. He could feel Alex’s eyes on him, his face drawn; when George didn’t meet his stare, his eyes quickly became unfocused, drifting to the ground somewhere by his feet, expression pained.

It felt entirely too dramatic, like he was only now learning about them, and was upset that he hadn’t been trusted with the information, but, it had been nearly a YEAR that he’d known. Sure, he had always been baffled by it, never quite getting to what George would consider acceptance of (and certainly not respect for) their relationship, even if he claimed he understood it, but he shouldn’t feel like he needed to justify their being together anymore, not with more energy than he had in the past. It felt like this unfounded anger from Alex came out of nowhere, and was slowly shifting more toxic as time went on. It was completely infuriating, and George was frankly sick of trying to work around it, and it was maybe that spite that made him look directly in his eyes, spearing him through with his frustration.

“Why are you being like this? Do you hate him that much?? I still don’t understand what happened, you can’t possibly have decided that you hate him on my behalf YEARS after we’ve worked through any juvenile quarrels that were, I’ll remind you, only between the TWO of us.”
“I just… need to understand.”

Christ, how many fucking times!! George didn't feel like he was required to answer – knew he wasn’t – but this time, maybe, it could be a flashpoint, and Alex would actually hear him.

He leaned back in the chair, taking a deep breath and letting himself focus on Max, the corner of his mouth pulling up as he tried to say things simply.

“We've known each other half our lives, and a lot of it, we’ve– we're put together the same way. We fit each other. And the ways I need someone… that's how he needs to love someone.”
“What ways?”

His posture had changed, gone a bit more rigid. It seemed like a challenge now, and if he could have ignored the question without Alex acting like he had won something, he would have. But George had let the conversation go too far for that; he hadn’t thought it was naive to think his friends would naturally support him, be on his side rather than antagonizing him –just look at their grid dinner last winter and how the rest of the drivers had treated things!– but here they were.

“Constancy. Warmth, to my very core. Like an equal– everyone has expectations all the time, or want me to get to some place, aren’t just happy with me where I am, having faith in me. Or, they depend on me. I need level ground.”

“And Max is the first person to make you feel that. MAX.” He shook his head, disbelieving.
“Ego-fueled narcissist Max Verstappen makes you feel warmth?! Like an equal??”

Alex flatly had no right to say anything like that, to call anything about him into question. He obviously had never learned a thing about Max in the year and a half they were teammates, just the mask he projected to everyone.

“The way that Max is with me… I know you don't see it, but–”
“You know what?? The way he is with you is liking every single one of Kelly’s Instagram posts minutes after they’re up to keep up this perfect little family bullshit, just fucking stringing you along. The way he is with you is he called you a two-faced loser that he doesn't respect. The way he is with you is he runs into you with his fucking car when he sees something that makes him feel like he doesn’t have absolute control over you!”

It was so easy to grab at individual incidents and try to construct the narrative of a pattern that didn’t exist – well, yes, the fucking Instagram posts, but that was Max’s social team, even Kelly sometimes, he knew. But Max never controlled him, always respected him, treated him like fucking ROYALTY.

“Alex, you don't understand, those were stupid blips, ages ago. He's so much different with me than he shows to the world, you don't see the man he is, he–”
“You know you sound exactly like someone who refuses to acknowledge they're in an abusive relationship? Is that what’s going on?? Does he hurt you? Do you feel trapped with him, is that what it is? You know you don’t owe him anything because of whatever choices he made with Kelly, you don’t need to stay with him–”

George saw red, blazing and furious.

“JESUS CHRIST, Alex! He has never laid a fucking hand on me, and he never would. He's never even thrown an insult my way, even in our worst fights; we don’t speak to each other like children. You don't know him, you don't know us.”
“I know he fucking ignored you for two weeks till you were a fucking mess because he couldn’t handle seeing you with Carmen after a win, when he had no problem making a fool of you and sticking his tongue down Kelly's throat after his like fiftieth pole just a couple months ago.”

George could only stare at him, wide-eyed, and huffed a breath out in a mirthless laugh. It was like Alex was trying to tell him how he should feel, rehash events in their relationship they had already worked through together, when he hadn’t been around for them at all.

“You know, this is actually insane. I get more grief from you about Maxie than I EVER did from Carmen, and she’s the one I broke up with!”

Alex’s lip curled up at the ease with which the familiarity came from him; that was exactly George's intention in saying it, underscoring their closeness.

“I just don't understand! All you've ever wanted is for your life to be normal, nothing complicated: you have a perfect family, perfect girlfriend, perfect career, perfect reputation, perfect everything. And then you go and suddenly find him? To risk or ruin everything you have and make you cry? There's nothing about him that makes sense for you!”

Alex was shouting now, uncalled for and out of nowhere, and George was thankful they'd done this away from the public after all. This conversation was moving somewhere he didn't understand; when he spoke, he chose his words carefully, but firmly.

“I've never said I wanted life to be perfect, and if ‘normal’ was what any of us wanted, we wouldn’t have dedicated our lives to race tracks before we were ten. I want to be happy. Whether you like it or not, Max makes me happy.”
“If this is happy, what have the last 15 years been then? With me, with Carmen?”

George looked at him, stunned and a little unsteady, feeling like he needed to slow down a runway train.

“Getting along, having fun, families being close, yes, that all makes me happy, so of course you make me happy.”
“Right, George, that’s what I meant. Sure.”

George paused, examining him, the slow crawl of dread at the back of his mouth. “What are you trying to say?" he asked, his voice quieter.

Alex shifted on the couch, looking off to the side and biting his cheek, then almost lobbing himself forward, and looking at the floor, legs spread and forearms resting at his knees. He could see his jaw clench a few times, twitchy – Alex was never twitchy.

“You never said a thing about being interested in men before Max started giving you attention. I’ve been here, right here, for fifteen years! Why would you not tell me? It can’t just be him, all of a sudden.”

It took him a second to recognize what Alex was saying, the full context of his resistance over the past year dropping into place slowly. He’d dismissed Max so quickly– fuck, out of all the things he didn’t want him to be right about, this…

Alex looked up, a slight plea in his eye.

“You stood by me through so much, through getting dropped by Red Bull, then getting me the seat at Williams? There was nothing that you got from that. You were always there for me, with all of the things with my mom. No one has ever been there for me like you have. Looked out for me, constantly. And then out of nowhere, you’re just, like, gone. Like our entire friendship hasn't meant anything to you.”

“OF COURSE it does! But Alex…” he started softly, trying not to cause any unnecessary pain, but still needing the boundary heard. “We’re friends. We're best friends, or, we were, but… like Carmen. It's never been different than that. I didn't even know that what Max and I have could exist. But with him, it's like breathing from one body. Like we're part of each other. And anything else just seems so silly to try to compare now. I don’t think you get it.”

“Please George, you act like you’re the first person to ever be in love. But that doesn't mean you should just… get rid of everyone else.”

He paused; he didn't want to have to say it, because once he did, there was no taking it back, an accusation in the space between them capable of causing a permanent and irreversible rift. But it didn't seem there was a way to get through this without putting it all on the table.

“... Apparently Daniel thinks you’re in love with me,” he nearly mumbled.

He couldn’t look at him when he said it. Alex didn’t have an immediate response, just a strange half-laugh, and that somehow made it worse.

“It’s not…” he started, but soon trailed off.

George chanced a glance up, to find Alex now focusing intently at the ground, his brows furrowed together and gnawing at the side of his bottom lip.

“No. I don’t,” he said finally.
“That’s not exactly convincing, mate.”

He looked up sharply, meeting George's eyes, but still with a hesitant frustration painted across his face.

“I don’t. It’s not like that.”
“You’re going to need to explain that, I think. Because it seems to be like something.”

Alex ran a hand back through his hair as he sat back up, appearing almost like he was lifting himself up out of a world of secrets he'd been living in.

It was a silence he couldn’t break, becoming heavier between them with each sluggish second. George almost wanted to scream at him to STOP, to keep them in this uncomfortable limbo that was still better than irreparably changing the relationship they'd known since the beginning of their adolescence.

Instead he stayed quiet, looking at him steadily. He had enough hidden patches in his life these days than to want to nurture more.

“Maybe there was a time. But I don’t. Not now.”

“But you did,” he repeated, giving Alex the option to object, but needing the clarity either way.

Alex sighed deeply, then flicked his eyes up, finally meeting his gaze. He took one more deep breath, and then the words tumbled out in a stream, like he'd also tired of the pretense of things being normal.

“It’s– it was weird, a few years ago, when you first moved. You weren’t yourself; it was hard to see you like that. Carmen wasn’t around, and you were so stressed all the time. I mean Christ, your driving took a nosedive, you went from comfortably beating Lewis to the bottom of the top teams, when Lewis made third!”

It was George's turn to slump and turn away. He knew, of course. He'd not really said it, because it was easy to let people think that year was Lewis making a grand resurgence, a nice story arc in the epic of Formula One, the resolute champion rising from the ashes of a great disappointment to fight again.

There was no way to talk about it then, in a way that didn't cast Carmen as a villain, since Alex didn't know about that part of their relationship, so he just… hadn't. He would love to have been able to blame it on not gelling with the car, which, sure, the rear handled like dogshit and the stiffness in the corners was rough to manage. But his pace hadn't been off from 2022, he was just distracted, flat out. So many stupid mistakes, that he didn't have an excuse for; it was no coincidence Carmen was there for both his podiums and none of his DNFs. Maybe if he didn't have the nagging thought about whether she was fucking her ex during all those weekends of missed calls and broken plans, it would have been different.

And he should've cared more, but it was too easy to tell himself that the RB19 was smoking everyone anyway, the Aston surprising, the rest of the top drivers hitting their stride. Then Carmen had made the decision to move, the weight fell off his back, and he moved forward. It was easier that way, to tell himself that it was over and in the past, so he’d never asked. Much of that time though, had been dark, constantly plagued by the thought that Carmen only came around for the tropical trips he took them on, and all her others he paid for regardless.

“I wanted to make you happy again. And I thought… that in another life, maybe, I would have. But it was barely a thought, because, obviously, besides Lily, you had never said anything about a guy like that. And then Carmen moved here, and you were back to normal, and I guess I just stopped thinking about it, like it was a weird crush or something.”

The honesty was startling in its simplicity. He had expected some sort of theoretical fondness, not something that Alex had played out in his head enough to identify the reasons why it wouldn't work.

It must have shown on his face, because when he turned back, Alex was blushing, looking away and embarrassed.

“Then I don't think I really thought about it till… you told me about you and him,” he said, mouth twisting in a grimace for a second before continuing.

“I don't know. It just kind of hit me, after Jeddah, and he like… very aggressively CLAIMED you, that maybe that could have been us. That maybe I had found the wrong time to realize it, or that he had… ‘awoken’ something in you by making a move. It felt like I lost what we could have been or something, that we’d just missed each other along the way because we weren't looking in the right place.”

Alex was speaking as though he was relating a well-reasoned argument, and not flinging statements that could call into question everything about their friendship.

Then George thought, what if?

What if Alex had come on to him when he was lonely one weekend that Carmen hadn't shown up for him? If his head could be turned by Max when they were in a good place, what could have happened when they weren't? Could things be entirely different right now?

But he threw that thought away as quick as it came. He knew Alex, had known him so very long. There were no new sides of him to uncover. They weren't built the same, with the same drive and internal pressure points that made them tick. There was nothing that could change how he thought of Alex, nothing that could morph their friendship in that way. Everything that had changed, was because it was Max.

Almost as to solidify that fact, even that brief thought of ‘what if’ that had floated through his brain for half a second made him feel guilty, for thinking of something happening a year before Max had been in the picture in any way. Guilt had only come with Carmen months later; not one of the times he had snuck out of their room to see Max, not when he had realized that he loved him, not when they had gone away together to reconcile after a fight ultimately caused because of Carmen. It wasn’t until he knew it was over and was just trying to find the nerve to say that, that the guilt crept in.

And of course it’s not like he’d been looking for Max to begin with. They had nothing to do with ‘looking in the right place at the right time’, because surely, the right time would’ve been about six months earlier, before Kelly got pregnant, and the right place would’ve been… probably anywhere but a hotel bar in Las Vegas. They just HAPPENED. It was unavoidable, really – they would talk all the time now about if something had been different at any point, and all paths always led back to them. They would’ve happened sooner or later, had to, it was really more a surprise that it had taken so long.

“And I only had myself to blame, because I never even tried, not once, not even after we’d had a few drinks some night, when he did the absolute first chance he got, and look where it's all ended up.”

Alex threw a hand up, gesturing around the flat and shaking his head, like this was the life he could have had, if only he had acted first, completely ignoring the contract disparity between them and himself along the way. And even then, Max had put down the deposits and initial retainers after the demo; George had to have Cara basically sneak the final wires to Quentin, and Max was annoyed about it afterwards. But he didn't care if it was Max’s plan, it was his place too, and since they were seeing to that in writing as well, he should feel like he had actually put something into the place.

The actual flat aside though, nothing about how they had gotten here was that simple, and nothing about it could ever have been replicated with Alex.

”Since then, it’s felt like you’ve been rubbing my face in it. In him.”

The grimace on his face had an odd quality to it, unfounded and old, like a memory of a misstep.

But, it wasn't.

“You know it isn't like that. It could only ever be Max.”

Alex looked at him, confused. “No, that’s not my point; I’m engaged, you guys are… I don’t know. But how everything has worked out… shit, Georgie, it’s been so hard watching you like this. All of the struggle with him, so many times that you've gotten hurt – so many times that HE made you hurt.”

George frowned at his evaluation. It wasn't surprising, obviously he knew how Alex thought of their relationship, but he thought that he would have seen something different by now; he thought there was a REASON he had come here, not just more of the same.

He was never going to hear the end of the I-told-you-sos from Max.

“We’ve made each other hurt. I'm not innocent in anything. But the hurt is harder to hide. No one ever asks why you're smiling. And to be honest, it's not been a comfortable thing to talk about with you anyway. When I told Lando, he was giggling and asking who kissed who first, if we were seeing each other regularly, just happy for us. Meanwhile, you tried to lecture me on all of the inner workings of what a proper relationship is supposed to be, all of the reasons that Max isn't a good person, why I wasn't a good person because I wasn't following the ‘normal’ course of a relationship.”

George shook his head and rolled his eyes remembering their impromptu dinner in China that had blown things open wide, then focused his glare directly on Alex.

“You know, my father has been kinder to him than you have? You know his opinions about things, and all he knows of him are the times that we’ve crashed on track. But he saw me happy, and saw how Max was with me, how Mum and Cara were comfortable with him, and that was enough. He didn't need to ask more questions or try to be an obstacle.”
“Well Georgie, when have I seen how Max is with you? He's demanding you come to his hotel room, or glaring at you during the driver's parade, or refusing to spray you on the podium.”
“God, Alex, that was all ages ago, and it was because–”
“I don't really need to know, I'm sure it would take forever to explain. Just, you know that I want you happy. It's just been very hard to see that happening with him.”

George set his mouth in a line, arms and legs crossed tight. With anything, there was a certain point where it stopped making sense to try, and it seemed they were there.

“Well mate, I don't know how to convince you, and I don't really think I should have to.”

Alex's head tilted to the side, thoughtful, and his words came slower, like he was trying to focus on making them right.

“No… I get it, I think. It's…. the little things. With just you two. Not really mine to know.”

His eyes rolled quickly and he broke into a playful grin.

“I mean I guess it's the big things too. Getting Christian fired after twenty years and four championships and spending a few million on you for this place isn't nothing.”

Something about how he said it made George blush, looking away and biting his cheek. So many things between them, the plans they had only vaguely spoken about, everything was for the future that wasn't here yet, still really just hypotheticals that could be withdrawn at any time. But this, here? This wasn't just a place, and it wasn't really a gift. But it WAS a promise, something solid that he could point to when life got hectic and KNOW that they were each other's home.

There was fiddling at the door just then that pulled their attention, and they turned to the sounds of Max entering, dropping his keys and wallet on the foyer table. Judging by some light Dutch cursing, he nearly fell over while toeing his shoes off, and then he was padding into the sitting room with his blue rucksack over his shoulder.

“Ik heb je gemist, geliefde.”

Max dropped his bag on the couch closest to George as though he was planting a flag in the ground, then came up behind him, leaning over the chair and pecking him softly on the temple. He kept one hand at his shoulder, letting a finger drift up and down the side of his neck.

George closed his eyes, appreciating the kiss even though it was flatly transparent that it was not meant as a tender greeting, but as the exact possessive behavior he had expected from him. After the conversation they’d been having though, George thought that reinforcement was probably a good thing.

“Alex.”

His tone was icy, force and focus put into the syllables in an attempt to negate his precious lisp like he was preparing for a fight.

It was probably stupid, but George loved it; when he was sleepy, it would push out more prominently, and George delighted that he was the only one who got to hear him like that now, that unguarded. But it was the simplest thing that made Max, Max, a single passive point of his constant confidence. He didn't care about what others would consider an imperfection in his speech, not like George did; even though he was nearly decades away from it now, the speech therapy from his childhood still flitted into mind regularly, at times making him over-enunciate to counteract the mumbling and rushing that had impacted him then, and remained an insecurity. But Max just owned the lovely stumblings of his tongue, never caring about others' opinions.

“Max. Eventful break; I trust you've enjoyed it.”

Light amusement flickered through Alex's eyes, as though he was seeing a freshly domesticated animal following a command for the first time.

“Mm. Schat, Raymond called, we can see the lawyer Friday morning, if you're not busy.”
“Oh! Nothing planned, darling. Yes. Perfect.”

He knew Max was serious when he’d given him the paperwork on their anniversary, but that was still just another concept, a nice thought. He hadn’t expected him to follow up so quickly, moreso that it would kind of be a ‘when we have the time, we’ll make an appointment’ kind of thing, but Max had told Raymond about it in advance, and was pushing him for everything to be completed before the season started, just in case. It was awful to have to plan for one of them being in a coma (or worse), but for them, necessary.

He leaned down again, kissing his cheek, and whispered a pleased “good,” in his ear with the tiniest nibble to make George giggle, then turned his attention back to Alex.

“Catching up? Or on your way out?””

George rolled his eyes and smiled despite himself; it would read as a challenge to others, further exerting himself upon their conversation, but George saw it for what it was: Max pouting that he had to share him.

He reached his hand up to the one Max had let linger at his neck and placed a quick kiss on it before squeezing it to let him know they would be fine alone. “I think maybe catching up still, darling.”

“Alright. I'll be in the office.”

Max squeezed his hand back once before dropping it, turning to take a couple steps away, when he spoke again.

“Let me know what you two decide for dinner, if we're having company.”

The subtle invitation caught George off-guard, and he could tell it did Alex as well, his eyes following Max as he walked down the hall behind him.

But as he heard his steps get distance from their weighed landmine of a conversation, completely unbothered, George was suddenly bitter: that he'd hidden this from him, treating him like a child who couldn’t handle the truth of an upsetting fact, leaving him to live in blissful ignorance and never mentioning that his best friend was in love with him like it had no relevance to every interaction he'd had with Alex since.

“Actually – give me a second, I need to check on something.”

He stood with purposeful calm, not wanting Alex to suspect there was anything negative brewing lest he latch onto it as another reason why Max was uniquely unsuited to him.

Max had already settled into his chair with a hand on his headset when George entered the office, closing the door behind him for a bit of privacy.

“How long have you known?”

Max’s hand dropped, craning his neck a bit towards him. “About?”

“About Alex. That he– that it was different for him.”
“Mm. Come here, schat.”

He turned fully around, patting his thighs in invitation. Which was ridiculous, with Alex just down the hall, but really, moreso because:

“We’re not playing now. And I’m not sitting on your lap like some child with my feet dangling in the air, Max.”

His mouth twitched, lacing his fingers together loosely across his stomach and slipping down in his chair. He swiveled the slightest bit side to side, his smile growing by the second.

“Mijn perfecte engel, did you forget Abu Dhabi that fast? Maybe we need to make new memories soon…”

Menace.

George knew he was blushing, but refused to acknowledge it, instead going to the overstuffed chaise positioned so it was out of view of a webcam and criss-crossing his legs. “When?”

Max stood with a light groan, chuckling, muttering something in Dutch under his breath as he walked over to him and sat down, pulling George into his lap anyway.

“I’m not a cat.”
“I didn’t say you were a cat.”
“You called me a Bengal.”
“Close, baby. Bengel.” He pecked him on the nose, cooing in his ear, “My little brat.”

“Ugh, Maaaax. When did you know?”

He sighed, pulling him in tight and kissing his shoulder.

“When he flew back with me. Jeddah?”

It should annoy him that Max knew exactly when it was, obviously having responded intentionally with the assertiveness Alex had commented on; if he had that vivid a memory about it after this long, Max should have told him instead of lying and saying he and Alex were ‘fine’.

It DID annoy him.

But if Max knew he was being that aggressive, proclaiming that George was his, THAT confident in them from that early on… that more than negated any annoyance.

Not the time for this.

“Why didn't you tell me?”
“How would that have gone, lief? You tell me to make nice with your friend and I tell you no because he's obsessed with you?”
“You could've–”

Max tilted his head, almost daring him to come up with something that would have reasonably warned him about how their friendship had changed without him being aware.

“What am I supposed to do now? That I know?”
“That's your decision, of course. Is it still the same?”

He knew the question was layered. It wasn’t only if their friendship was still the same, but also if Alex’s feelings had changed, and THAT, he couldn't say for sure, from the wistful way he'd lamented their ‘missed connection’.

“I do have a thought though,” Max pressed. “Were things different, after he got the Williams seat?”
“Well obviously, he was in a better mood about things. Doing things for himself, not being stuck in your shadow.”

“Eh,” he grunted, narrowing his eyes as he arranged his thoughts. “That's not really what I mean. Because in Vegas–”
“Maxie, please do NOT compare us to him,” George warned.

Max rolled his eyes, then continued with his thought.

“No, just listen schat. That was a LOT to do, not something simple he could do for himself, but was too drunk to do, we can say it like that. So maybe that made things messy in his head, like you saved him when no one else did.”
“You're saying you understand why he's in love with me.”

Max shook his head emphatically. “No. I’m saying I don’t think he is. I think maybe he thought he was, because it was the only way he could appreciate you more than he did already.”

It was a nice thought, if only because it meant that nothing had really changed after all.

“You still should've told me,” he grumbled into Max’s neck.
“Mm, I’ll tell you when the next one of your friends thinks they can take you from me.”

George smiled to himself, then extracted himself from off of Max’s lap, biting at his jaw to appear Very Annoyed, and had one hand on the door when he turned back.

“Are you really inviting him to stay for dinner?”
“Is he going to look like he wants to kill me the whole time?”

The little twinkle in his eye was as infuriating as it was adorable.

“So what, he left his girlfriend to come over here and game undisturbed?” Alex tossed out with a chuckle when he came back.

George leveled him with a glare hardened enough to stop him cold.

“Please, Alex, don't act stupid. He's giving us space. He's the one who said you should come over, not me.”
“Whoa! I’m just joking, mate!”
“Mm.”

His grin seemed genuine though, if a bit unsure, and that made sense; they were going to need to re-establish their relationship in some ways, after all this, and there would be some trial and error as they figured out where the new lines were for a while. And, there was no time like the present.

“Do… you want to stay for dinner?” George asked, going for very low pressure, but probably sounding more needy instead.

Alex looked at him with a peaceful smile, nodding.

“Yeah. Yeah, I'd really like that “

They decided on kebabs, and he sent their order to Max after picking out their entrees; yes, it was obnoxious of him, but Max loved kebabs, so it's not like he could complain, and he heard him calling Lezet after a shout and some annoyed squabbling in the other room.

Alex was looking around, puzzled, mouth gulping for a bit like he was trying to catch the right words.

“It looks different, than I remember. A lot different.”
“We renovated. Didn't want to start off with anyone else's touches on the place.”

He'd thought it was a bit extreme when Max had shown him, but now, really, he probably would've gone crazy thinking about how Kelly had touched this same spot opening this cabinet, used this same tub to unwind; she got to touch Max enough for the cameras already, he didn't need reminders of her presence when they were home.

“What, did you gut the place?”
“Yes. Well, Max did before he showed me.”
“He did all this by himself??”
“No, we designed everything together. But, yes, it was a bit of a surprise. I actually thought he was proposing,” he chuckled.

God, that day! Sometimes he thought Max did it on purpose, just to tease him: really, the box he'd put the keys in looked like it was some sort of custom ring box, even if it didn't have the clamshell lid and was a bit larger and thinner. If he'd asked Cara specifically about THAT, and not just the flat in general, she would've ripped him apart.

“You're at the point where you thought a proposal could happen?”
“I mean… I don't think we're quite ready for that, but it's come up a few times. We've talked about it.”

Alex blinked at him, brows knitting. “You have…”
“Not in specifics, exactly? But, we know it's not legal here anyway, not even recognized, it's a whole thing.”

Alex nodded softly, taking the information in and filing it appropriately, when his eyes popped open for a second at a memory.

“You’re seeing a lawyer? Did something happen?”

George hadn't exactly planned on telling anyone. It felt… private. Really, it would almost surely never come up; with all the safety considerations in place, what was the likelihood that something would happen?

“No, just paperwork.”
“What kind of paperwork?”
“Just… in case something happens.”
“Something like?”

It didn't really make sense to try to ignore now though, did it? It was just a safeguard, no one would be surprised, maybe just surprised they'd remembered to do it.

“Like a bad shunt. So we can be there for each other. Make decisions, if we need to. So this place stays with me.”
“... Wow.”

He knew it was a big step, of sorts. Not that there was anything about their relationship that made it trivial or casual, they had ticked all the standard boxes, with I-love-yous and vacations and meeting the parents, now having their own place, but this was official, this was pen and paper declarations of their place in each other's life. This was filed legal documents that they were putting their lives in each other's hands, in the most literal sense.

Alex was staring at him, like he was some kind of optical illusion that he was trying to figure out.

“What happened that morning? Like what happened that made him try something?”

George could only look at him, then snorted a laugh out. It sounded so stupid like this, he knew, like everything with him and Max had been there forever, just waiting for any excuse to come to light.

“I mean, it wasn't really that he tried something. But, I left him paracetamol when he was going to have a hangover.“

Alex raised an eyebrow, plainly skeptical.

“Really. That's all you did? I've known you longer than that, you don't even realize some of the things you do for people, Georgie.”

“I think I've hashed this one out a bit mate,” he insisted. “I dropped him in an empty bedroom, alone, left him tablets, and then ordered us breakfast in the morning. And then he made me so fucking frustrated, he had to serve me food and basically guilt me into eating it. True romance, that.”

Alex's head tilted, brows knit, before nodding thoughtfully.

“Yeah, I suppose that makes sense, anyway.”
“How do you mean?”
“Love isn't grand gestures and rom-com meet-cute bullshit. It's just wanting to be there for each other to ease the hurts, and make the bright days even better. ”

George let himself sink down a bit in his seat, shoulders not quite as stressed anymore. Shaking his head with a soft grin.

“Yeah. You know what makes me happy now? Seeing Max happy.”
“Simp.”

The quiet felt light and easy, like they'd broken down a wall between them, till Alex's face pinched.

“So what exactly happened that I got this text that was an accident to come over?”
“I sent it to the wrong Alex.”
“You’re CHEATING on me?! You have another Alex now?? Who is this?! I was here first, mind you.”

“Alexandra.” When the look on his face didn't change, George added on, “Charles’s Alex.”

“Why the hell is Charles’s girlfriend invited to your love nest? And before me?!”
“We’re… kind of friends now.”

Alex stared at him, lips slightly parted, blinking in silence, till he shook the expression off his face and leaned forward, as if to hear the surely outrageous explanation better.

“It sounds like I have a LOT to catch up on.”

They chatted about the remodel and other Alex till the food arrived. Max got the door and put everything out, then grabbed his kebabs and started towards the office, when Alex called him back. Obviously he had remembered how easy it was to bait Max, and chiding him about running away from scrutiny from George's best friend pulled him back to the dining room with eyes narrowed and a smirk.

Surprisingly, dinner was mostly enjoyable: George had anticipated there would be an awkward strain between Max and Alex, but they quickly bonded over the eccentricities that Carlos had as a teammate. George had nearly forgotten that Max had been with him in Toro Rosso, and all that he had really seen from him was from the GPDA, where he would speak strongly and stubbornly enough, which worked for what support was needed, so he never paid much attention.

Eventually Alex asked what the hell was up with Max and Toto, at which point Max began his rant against the Austrian and everything that he had done to George. After some gloating about his threat over the NLS contract and George's own, they started talking about GT3 cars, since Alex had also ran a Ferrari when he did DTM.

At that point, George more or less tuned out, happy they could exist in the same room without wanting to kill each other, just smiling and watching their faces. He offered to make tea as something to do, and Max took that as his cue to leave them, apologizing for interfering with a quick kiss and a nibble to his hand.

“He's really a marshmallow with you, huh?” Alex stated more than asked when Max was once again dying tragically in a digital desert.

“I HEARD THAT, ALBON!!” came a shout from the office.

“AND AM I WRONG?!” Alex shouted right back with a grin.

Silence. George bit back a smile as Alex continued.

“I know I've been… not the same since you two… yeah. I guess I'm sorry for assuming you were… that it wasn’t real. It felt like every time I looked at you, you were trying to find a new way to self-destruct.”

Alex's mouth twitched a bit, eyes flicking away, awkward and unmistakably embarrassed. Finally: it was an apology, though, one wrapped up in a further judgment.

“I don't really know how to take that...”
“I mean, you're right. No one asks why you're smiling. And I'm a bit of a dick for not trusting you to know what's good for you.”

“A BIT??” came the shouting from down the hall.
“Does he always speak for you?”
“HE LIKES YOU TOO MUCH TO SAY YOU WERE A DICK, SO SOMEONE HAS TO.”

“Isn't Crane waiting for you or something, darling?” he called out, amused, but not disagreeing. Max snickered to himself in response.

But it wasn't necessarily fair to blame the erosion of their friendship entirely on Alex; there were plenty of times that he could've talked to him and didn't, or invited him in, in some way. Really, he had been keeping his and Carmen's arrangement from Alex for years, so he had reason to be immediately shocked, if not completely distrusting of anything from how George had hidden that from him. Max, then, was just an extra scoop of an entirely new concept right on top, so it made sense he would balk at the additional revelation.

“I suppose I'm sorry for pulling away? I know I didn't share as much, so you'd know what was going on, because, well, obviously you didn't want to hear it. But, I don't know, new relationship. Things go into overdrive before they settle into something more normal, I'm sure that was part of it too. And obviously it's been a bit of a… confusing situation.”

Alex huffed a laugh out and rolled his eyes, and really, George couldn't blame him, after everything that had happened in the last year; he knew that was underselling it.

“Mate, everything has been confusing. Confusing is generous. It– not to be a dick, but honestly, it’s seemed like you were on the edge or actively spiralling half the time.”

An eyebrow arched as George's lips pursed. The repeated commentary was coming like tiresome jabs at this point, even if it was intended to show that Alex cared.

“You can stop saying things like that if you're trying to apologize, and half the time is a little dramatic. I’m not going to pretend it hasn’t been stressful, but when we knew it was there, obstacles didn't matter anymore. We've always found our way; we've never let go of each other, even when it was hard.”

An easy grin passed over Alex's face, and he relaxed, hopefully indicating the end of his challenging.

“Yeah. That's what he said. That you chose him in one night.”

So fucking arrogant. But… he wasn’t wrong.

“You know he's always been weird around you," Alex smirked, his voice dropping a little lower. “You never saw it.”

“I highly doubt that,” George retorted, rolling his eyes. He'd done plenty of thinking about their joined past in the last few months, with a handful of little points sticking out that maybe should've made him think a bit, but none of them were because of any sort of indication from Max.

The only sounds coming from the office now were random curses, so Max had obviously put his headset on, no longer listening in, or he surely would have had some sort of pithy response to that.

“Well, I think I would know better, since I've been looking out for you since we were ten,” Alex groaned sarcastically. “It's those little things, and the way he’s always spoken about you. Like you were just special among everyone, that he just KNEW that and wouldn’t consider a world in which you weren’t considered a tier apart from anyone else. You know he rated you higher than me that first year when we were teammates, and you had never qualified in Q2?”

“I was a double champion coming in. You know Max keeps an eye on things.”

The words didn't even feel fully honest to himself as he spoke them, even though they were all objectively true.

Alex kept his eyes on him until George had to look away, feeling self-conscious and stripped bare.

“... Right. That's probably why he asked me for shirtless pictures of you.”
“GOD Alex, he did NOT.”
“He ABSOLUTELY did. Years ago, when you subbed for Lewis.”
“Shut up. You're not funny.”
“I’m serious! It was in a press conference! I can’t believe I never told you this, there has to be a video of it somewhere! Or just call him in here!! MAX!!”

Things lightened. The tension and pointed barbs about how Max behaved as his partner changed to playful teasing; George liked to think it was because of how easy it was to see how they made sense with just a little bit of time together.

Maxie 🦁♥️
1 Text Message

His phone went off on the table, and he glanced at it, then rolled his eyes. “WHY ARE YOU TEXTING ME FROM THE SAME FLAT??”

He could just hear Max giggling, before being immediately cut off with an exaggerated groan and swearing.

Maxie 🦁♥️: https://www.instagram.com/reel/DcbnYS9NK4t/

George unlocked the phone against his better judgment, Alex's voice filling the air after clicking the link.

“Just speaking to him about, about the whole thing–”
“Did he, uh, did he send you already a topless selfie in the Mercedes suit?”

Max was rubbing his hands together like some mischievous cartoon character whose plan is finally coming together.

“Oh, perfect. THANKS MATE!”

George quickly locked his phone with his cheeks burning.

“Lovely to know you two are getting along.”