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If Red Bull makes Max a gravestone, it’ll read:

Max Verstappen.
Four-time World Champion.
First omega in Formula One.

If the media makes him a gravestone, it’ll read:

Max Verstappen.
Driver.
Omega.
Slut.

Neither feels right. Or enough. Which is a shame since Reb Bull and the media are single-handedly responsible for the way he is perceived in the public eye.

In truth, Max knows that there is only person who could get his gravestone right. But he doesn’t talk to that person anymore, hasn’t done so in weeks, so he might as well give up hope on being remembered correctly, posthumous.

He doesn’t even have much hope for being remembered correctly while still alive either, given how this journalist keeps asking him invasive questions. Right before a race he’s starting from pole.

“There are rumours circulating about you potentially having entered a serious relationship. Are these rumours true?”

“Fans believe that there has been a recent change in your suppressant regime, leading to you becoming slightly fat. Any comments?”

“Last month, an alpha claimed he has spent one of your heats with you as a part of an alpha service agency. Are those claims true? Are you sexu– uh romantically engaged with him?”

Rumours. Claims. Alphas.

Each time, Max refuses to answer and each time, the journalist moves onto some questions about tyres and lap time, just to keep face, before eventually coming up with another lewd question.

Anna stands beside him, a glare plastered on her face, but there’s not much she can do about it. Red Bull had to put out a hundred statements just to ban alphas from using their alpha voice on Max to coax answers out of him. There’s no telling how much effort it will take to ban omega shaming too.

Thankfully, when Max refuses to answer yet another question about his heat cycle, the journalist runs out of filler questions and Anna gives a tight lipped, “Thank you,” before ushering Max away from the mics and cameras.

“I don’t know why he didn’t let it go after you refused to answer three times!” his PR officer says as they make their way through the hustle and bustle of the paddock.

“I don’t think about ‘why’s when it comes to the media,” Max replies simply, giving her a small shrug. “It’s better for my inner peace.”

“Sure. Great for you,” she says with an unimpressed stare. “But now I have to sit through a three-hour meeting on how to stop journalists like that.”

Ah.

Max has heard of these meetings although he’s never been asked to join. Meetings on how to stop the online abuse in his DMs, meetings on how to stop fans from shouting insults while he’s on the podium, meetings on how to stop paddock personnel from ‘accidentally touching him’.

They’ve been holding these meeting for ten years now. Frankly, Max thinks it’s time they accepted that they’re useless.

“The easiest way, of course, is for me to retire. Or die,” he says.

Anna gives him a weird look. “Don’t joke about stuff like that.”

He’s about to say that he’s not joking but quickly decides against it.

During the driver’s parade, he leans against the railing of the truck next to Carlos, who fills the silence between them with summer plans, winter plans, new restaurant, new movies and anything else that comes to mind. Max listens and adds when he can but remains detached enough that Carlos can skip from topic to topic as he pleases.

“Oh, what happened to that guy who claimed to spend a heat with you?” the alpha asks suddenly, his eyebrows pinching. “I know how to throw a punch or two if he’s still walking around talking bullshit.”

Max laughs because it’s hardly the first time Carlos has offered and certainly won’t be the last.

“No, my team took care of it,” he replies with a shake of his head. “Defamation lawsuit.”

“Will he get in jail for it?” Carlos asks, sounding hopeful, and Max wonders if he’s being serious.

“Of course not. Just has to pay for punitive damages.”

“Good. Send him broke.”

Max can’t help a quiet chuckle from spilling out of him as the alpha pulls him into a small side hug. He was there the first time Max had to deal with such rumours back in Toro Rosso and he’s been there ever since.

But he still knows that Max doesn’t like to talk about it more than necessary, so he quickly moves onto another topic (a new beach bar he’s excited to visit) and Max is about to lull back into the hum of voices and cheering when he feels someone staring at him.

He turns a split second before his brain tells him not to turn and his eyes meet none other than Charles’. Just as his brain suspected.

Charles, standing at the opposite side between Lewis and Oscar, is looking at him and Carlos with a glare, his hands clenched around the railing and his jaw tense in the way it is when he’s trying to hold in words.

The moment he notices Max looking over, he schools his face into something more neutral. More blank. He tells something to Lewis. Lewis asks something back, but Charles is already making his way over to them.

“Charles, hello!” Carlos exclaims when the Ferrari driver comes to a stop, eyes still fixed on Max, face still vacant.

Max stares back, not letting a drop of emotion escape him. This is the closest he’s been to Charles since… that day.

He’s glad scent blockers are mandatory on the paddock because he knows that his scent must be spiking.

“Your scent; it’s like burnt honey when you’re upset.” Charles had said some time ago. “It makes me want to kiss you until you’re happier.”

Max wonders if he’d say the same thing now, if he got a whiff of it. He also wonders what Charles must smell like right now; his ‘upset’ mix of bonfire smoke and rain on dirt or his usual bergamots and sea breeze. He then stops wondering all together because it’s truly none of his business.

“Carlos,” Charles says, acknowledging the other alpha but not really looking at him. “What were you guys talking about?”

“A new beach bar opened up in Saint-Tropez, I was thinking of going during summer break,” Carlos says, either not noticing that Charles isn’t listening to him or not caring. “Want to join?”

“Sure, why not?” Charles sounds cheerful. PR-esque cheerful. “I love a good beach party.”

“And you, Max?” Carlos asks, forcing him to tear his eyes away from Charles’ face. He’s not sure which is worse; the overwhelming burn he feels under his skin when looking at Charles or the horrifying numbness when he’s not.

“Yeah, sure. That sounds fun.” If his voice sounds a bit hoarse, neither alpha mentions it. He hopes the blush at least can be blamed on the cold air.

Carlos tries to keep the conversation going from there, he truly does. He asks Charles about Leo, about his fashion adventures, about fucking boats. But Charles simply gives clipped answers; half-formed sentences or single words. His eyes dart to Max time and time again, as if he’s trying to figure something out.

Charles said, late at night, many months ago, that he loved staring at Max’s face. That he’d never grow bored of it. Somehow, Max knows that’s not the reason now.

When the awkwardness of their little huddle reaches a point of suffocation, Max decides to break away. He gives a half-ass excuse about wanting to talk to the others and Carlos squeezes his shoulder. For the first time, something other than disinterest flits across Charles’ eyes but it’s gone before Max can figure it out.

Just as he leaves, he hears Charles say something to Carlos, his tone as angry as his PR training would allow. He hopes the cameras are busy with someone else.

Fernando ruffles his hair and pulls him into a conversation the moment he nears and Max doesn’t pay much attention to Charles for the rest of the parade. He feels eyes on him again and again, like the laser pointer of a sniper, but he refuses to turn around this time.

But just as he’s getting off the truck at the end of the ride, he smells it: bonfire smoke and rain. So strong it’s slipped past the blockers.

He doesn’t see Charles again for the rest of the weekend.

They walk up to their rented cabin in the mountains drunk and laughing and clinging to each other like their lives depend on it. Max tries to fish around in his pockets to find the keycard, but Charles has his arms around his waist and his face buried in Max’s neck and Max is finding it very hard not to giggle.

“Stop! That tickles,” he says when Charles presses a small kiss over his scent gland. He loves kissing that spot.

“Laughing increases body temperature,” Charles mumbles, smile tangible in his voice. “If anything, I’m doing you a favour.”

“You’re impossible,” Max says with false exasperation, but he can’t help sounding fond.

Charles knows this too because he continues to pepper kisses up and down Max’s neck, his breath, smelling like wine and strawberries, ghosting over Max’s skin.

The snow fall has heightened, the way their ski guide warned would happen, and the sooner they get inside the better. Thankfully, Max’s mind finds the fortitude to focus long enough for him to grab the keycard, and he drags a laughing Charles inside the villa.

The moment the door clicks shut, Charles presses him back against the wall in the entry way, a single motion-sensor light above them illuminating the small corridor.

He kisses Max without another word, his lips soft and gentle and tasting of wine and strawberries too. Max moans into the kiss, his fingers tangling in Charle’s messy hair. Charles’ hands are gentle as they cradle his waist, his tongue slipping into Max’s mouth slowly. It’s like they’re trying to get as close to each other as possible; merge their bodies and souls into one.

They break apart to breath and Max rests his forehead against Charles’.

“Putain, cheri,” Charles says with a breathy laugh, his eyes closed. “I should bring you on ski trips more often. You’re always so flushed from the cold. Like here,” he kisses the tip of Max’s nose, “and here,” kisses one cheek, “and here.” Kisses the other.

He pauses for a moment, seemingly in deep thought, before saying, “In fact, you’re flushed all over.” Then he peppers Max’s entire face with little kisses. His forehead, his nose, his jaw, his chin, his mouth. Max is a giggling, blushing puddle at the end of it.

“And when you wear a scarf, I can only see above your nose. It is so adorable; I wish you could see!”

“I do see, Charles,” he replies with a roll of his eyes. “I look at myself in the mirror you know?”

“Maybe but you don’t see what I see,” Charles protests, cocking his head to the side with a smirk.

What do you see? Max wonders but doesn’t ask. He usually doesn’t care how others see him. Most people don’t see him in a good light anyway but Charles… Max feels like he might like how Charles sees him.

“You say the corniest shit!” he exclaims instead.

“And you love it,” Charles says with one final peck to his mouth.

That I do.

Earlier in the day, Charles had whispered sinful things into Max’s ear as they were carried up the mountain in a gondola. All about what he’d do to Max tonight and how good he would make Max feel.

But the thing is, Charles is a unique type of drunk. He’s not a loud or talkative or horny drunk. He’s cuddly drunk. So, it’s really no surprise when, two minutes later, Charles buries himself under the sheets and makes grabby hands at Max like a baby. Max rolls his eyes with a sigh but lets Charles wrap himself around him like a koala.

“You are so huggable,” Charles mumbles, the amount of wine he’s drunk showing in is voice, “like a big, big teddy bear.”

Max just laughs as his face presses against Charles’ neck, the alpha’s scent warm and comforting and happy. It’s the best thing Max has ever smelt.

“My beautiful, funny, perfect teddy bear,” Charles rambles on, his words slurring together. “You make me so happy, mon chou, the happiest man on earth! I’m sometimes sad and then I remember, oh wait! I’m courting Max! And I’m happy again. You know what I mean?” Max wonders if even Charles knows what he means but he indulges him with a nod and a kiss anyway.

“You make me happy too, schat,” he says, pressing a kiss to his alpha’s cheek.

“I do?!” Charles almost shouts, his voice comically shocked.

“Of course you do,” he says with a smile. “Sometimes, I’d be exhausted after a race and then you come to see me in my driver’s room, or I meet you at the hotel and everything just… feels very peaceful…” he trails off, fingers absentmindedly drawing circles on Charles’ chest. “It’s like you’re my personal little paradise.”

“I’m glad you told me,” Charles replies, pulling Max closer to him. “I’ll come visit you in your driver’s room all the time!”

“Charles,” Max warns with a laugh, “you can’t do that. You need to focus on your races.”

“It doesn’t matter. I want to be a good alpha to you. God, I love being your alpha! I love when the whole world knows I’m your alpha,” Charles mumbles into his hair. “None of them get to cuddle you like I do!” The drunk enthusiasm in his voice reminds Max endearingly of Leo.

“It’s so perfect, chéri! You’re so perfect! Perfect for me!”

Max’s hand stills where it’s drawing a heart over Charles’ actual heart. Charles continues to say sweet nothings – some of them making sense, some not – as he eventually drifts off to sleep. But his words keep playing on a loop in Max’s mind.

It’s not the first time Charles has said something along those lines and it’s also not the first time it’s made Max hesitate. He knows he’s far from the perfect omega – not dainty or submissive or quiet – and he also knows that Charles doesn’t mind, that he loves it even.

But there’s still things Charles doesn’t know about him. Things Max might never get the courage to say.

Charles words flash in his mind like neon light. You’re so perfect.

“I really hope so schatje,” he whispers, “I really hope so.” The only reply he gets is Charles’ light snoring.

Max knows that Red Bull has a separate room to store all the courting gifts he receives during a race weekend. They used to be piled onto a table in his driver’s room but at some point – probably after his first championship – the pile outgrew the table.

He never opens them, never reads the letters. Sometimes he eats a chocolate or two when Rupert isn’t looking but mostly, he gives anything edible to the team to enjoy.

When he and Charles were together, he barely saw the gifts other alphas gave him. He neither knew nor cared about what happened to them. Charles sometimes left gifts in his driver’s room, and everyone knew not to touch those.

Of course, not every alpha trying to court him can talk to him directly about it; most of them send gifts and flowers through his manager or the team. But for the handful of ones who come up to Max on the paddock with wide grins and overconfidence, he has a rejection speech drafted for him by his PR team.

“Thank you, but I’m not looking for a relationship currently.”

“Thank you, but I am focused on my career right now.”

“Thank you, but I would like to maintain a professional relationship.”

Thank you. But.

While there are ones who take the rejection with grace, there are other he’d much rather punch in the face. The ones who can’t take his answer as an answer, the ones who glare at him like he had just spit at them.

He wonders idly which type the alpha standing in front of him is.

They’re outside the Red Bull motorhome, exposed to cameras from every angle. But guiding an alpha holding a rose bouquet into the motorhome would generate fouler headlines than the ones Max is sure are being drafted right now.

“I’m Brendon,” the man says in American accent, flashing him a smile that looks like it belongs on a glossy magazine cover and not in real life. “I’m the CEO of Apex.”

“I’m Max,” he replies, out of politeness, and shakes the offered hand very briefly.

“Yes, of course, I know,” the alpha, Brendon, says. “This is for you,” he extends the bouquet and Max accepts it with a thin smile. He hears a camera click to their right and his eye twitches in annoyance.

“Thank you.” Anna likes roses, right? He’ll probably let her take them. And if she doesn’t, there’s probably a system to dispose of them anyway.

For now, he brings them discreetly closer to his nose to avoid the alpha’s scent.

“You said you’re from Apex?” Max asks with a frown, the name unfamiliar to his ears. “Are you one of our sponsors?” If so, he can go with the ‘keeping things professional’ line.

“No, we sponsor for the Mercedes team.”

Right, Max thinks. More headlines.

“Isn’t it a conflict of interest for you to be here?” he asks, fighting to keep the exasperation from his voice.

“Oh, well, uh… maybe,” Brendon says, a frown on his face as if he didn’t think about the implications of a Mercedes sponsor showing up at the Red Bull motorhome. “I just wanted to talk to you.”

Max gives him a simple nod as a sign to continue. The less he talks, the sooner this will be over with.

“I wanted to ask you out for dinner. Sometime this week hopefully,” he says, with the air of authority of a businessman arranging a meeting.

His scent, a sore mix of charcoal and something thoroughly chemical, suddenly grows stronger. Not enough to be overwhelming but enough that Max’s omega notices. He has to resist the urge to roll his eyes; Brendon isn’t the first alpha to have tried that trick.

“Thank you for the offer,” Max says with all his PR-trained will, “but I am currently not looking for anything romantic.”

“Oh,” Brendon, for all his worth, looks like he expected any answer but that. “Why not?”

Because I’m still not over Char-

Because I have a championship to win.

“I’m focusing more on my career currently,” he replies calmly. The answer would still be no even if he had nothing else to do but apparently, that’s not a polite reply.

“Oh…” The alpha seemed even more lost for words. He wouldn’t be the first one to have never entertained the prospect of a rejection. He would in fact be another one on a startlingly long list.

“Yes, so, again, thank you,” Max says, waving the bouquet around idly. The camera flashes never quieten. He just hopes the Netflix boom mic isn’t anywhere close. “But I have to go now. Lovely meeting you.”

By the time he’s in the garage, he remembers neither what Brendon said nor what he did with the roses.

The incident, predictably, ends up as a tabloid headline, quoted and screenshotted and pasted all over social media.

It almost gains more likes than the picture of him on the top step of the podium.

‘MAX VERSTAPPEN ACCEPTS COURTING GIFT FROM MERCEDES SPONSOR – FUTURE TEAM SWITCH OR PERSONAL ENDEAVOURS?’

Accompanied with a strategic picture of him accepting the flowers, eyes downcast and smile strained but someone captioned as ‘enthusiastic’.

He reads some of it, just to confirm his suspicion and, yes, not a single mention of how he clearly rejected the alpha and walked away. Just a whole lot of speculations about if he’s joining Mercedes or spreading his legs.

He logs off his official social media account until his PR team clears the DMs from ‘fans’.

He buries himself in his nest with Jimmy while Sassy remains at the foot of the bed, her cuddle time for the day already up. The apartment is eerily quiet now. Just the hum of the AC and the touch of sea breeze on the balcony doors. If he holds his breath, it’s like the world has ended and he’s the only human left.

Maybe it’s always been this quiet. Maybe Max just momentarily got used to… him.

He tries not to think about Charles often, even if he fails miserably each time. Sometimes he digs up old memories like picking at a wound; memories of when they were together, late nights at home, stolen kisses on the paddock, secret trips to private islands where no cameras could reach them.

He marvels at them now like they are someone else’s memories, like that life hadn’t been his just a few months ago.

He knows it’s unhealthy (Charles would say it’s unhealthy) but unlike most problems in his life, this one genuinely and completely is his fault. The insults and the lies and the booing he can all blame on someone else and promptly dismiss.

But this… it was all his doing from the start.

He was the one who let Charles court him.

He was the one who thought he was good enough.

He was the one who went and fell in love.

He was the one who agreed to-

Max stops himself before he can finish the thought. That’s not a path he can afford to go down.

He’s told stories about everything he had to sacrifice to get to where he is – the childhood he never had, the friends he never made, all his youth spent on tarmac, inhaling exhaust fumes.

He knows it’s a good narrative, a story to sell. But the biggest sacrifice he made to get his Formula One seat still remains a secret. Probably locked away in a vault in Milton Keynes.

Not even some of the higher ups in the team know about it and if they do, it’s under an intricate web of NDAs.

Max wonders what would happen if it ever got out. He’d probably have to retire due to the media onslaught. On the bright side though, all the alphas who keep trying to court him will eventually stop. What’s the point of courting an omega if-

His phone buzzes from the nightstand. He lazily grabs it, expecting it to be Rupert reminding him of their training session tomorrow morning, but almost drops the phone onto Jimmy’s head when he sees the name.

Charles

1 New Message

For a moment, Max just stares at the screen, unsure what to do. Then Jimmy flicks his tail in his sleep, and the movement spurs his fingers into action. He opens their chat, at the top of the app for the first time in a while, and immediately feels his heart drop.

Charles

This message was deleted.

Three dots appear below the deleted message, an indication that Charles is typing something. Max waits with bated breath as the bubble appears and disappears again and again. He realises momentarily that his fingers are shaking but he’s too transfixed on the screen to care.

Then the bubble vanishes and Max keeps staring but it doesn’t pop back up again.

Whatever Charles wanted to say, he’s thought better of it.

Charles hasn’t texted him in weeks, and he hasn’t either. Their last message is from two months ago: Max reminding him to pick up the stuff he left in Max’s apartment, to which Charles sent a simple ‘ok’.

So maybe this was a mistake? Maybe he chose the wrong Max? Does Charles know another Max? The possibility unsettles him more than he’d like to admit.

When he eventually sets his phone down, he realises that he’s slowly getting used to the quietness around him.

Max isn’t sure what prompted him to say it. He was just playing with Leo in their living room, throwing his favourite green ball for him to catch and laughing as the puppy barrelled towards him once more, asking for another throw.

“Maybe we should get Leo a brother,” he says it very dismissively. The way one would say, “Maybe we should have pizza for dinner,” while passing a pizzeria.

He doesn’t even expect Charles to reply. He’s working on something on his laptop on the couch and might not have even heard him. Either way, Max has almost forgotten what he’d just said when Charles speaks up, voice very measured.

“You mean another puppy, yes?” he asks, eyes trained on Max as he gives Leo some belly rubs.

“Yeah, what else?” He’s still not really in the conversation. They could get a dog. They don’t have to. It’s a very trivial thing for Charles to be looking so serious.

“Nothing I just… for a moment I thought you meant…”

Oh.

Max’s hand stills where it’s petting Leo’s head. His shoulders tense up, his scent souring. He’s not wearing scent patches so it’s only a matter of time before Charles notices.

He turns around, ignoring Leo’s whine, and looks at Charles properly.

“You thought I meant a pup?” Max’s voice sounds strained even to his ears. He can feel his heartbeat against his ribs, burning up his insides.

“Of course, I don’t mean anytime soon,” Charles says, setting his laptop aside. Max walks over and sits beside him, an unnatural gap left between them. He feels like he might need it.

“I mean,” Charles chuckles, carefree and smiling, “we aren’t even mated yet. We have tons of time.”

“But one day… eventually, you want to, yes?” Max asks tentatively. He can feel Charle’s scent – soft and warm and home – and he has to curl his fingers around the edge of the cushion to not burry his face in the alpha’s neck.

“Of course, chéri!” Charles exclaims, his entire face lighting up. Max has seen his excited but rarely this excited. It makes the burning in his chest intensify. “I obviously want to mate you one day and then hopefully… once we’re done racing, we could have a pup. Or two. Or three.”

He seems lost in is head for a moment before he shakes his head, “Sorry, sorry, I’m getting ahead of myself. We can have many as you want. Girls, boys, twins! I don’t care; I know we’ll love them all the same.”

Max knows he should say something. He obviously knew that pups would be a conversation they would have and that he would have to tell Charles the truth eventually… But he thought he had more time. Seems not.

“Do you think they’ll look more like me or you?” Charles asks suddenly, his gaze fixed on a point on the wall, his mind clearly elsewhere.

“Which would you prefer?” Max asks, the tears almost breaking through to his voice. He needs to calm down before Charles notices his distress.

“I would prefer they look like you,” Charles says, smiling so brightly it hurt Max to look at him. “They will have the prettiest mama so it’s only fair they get his looks.”

He reaches out and cups Max’s face, running his thumbs over his cheekbones. Max forces himself to smile and lean into the touch. The sunlight from the window behind Charles makes his hair glow like a halo, the light reflected off his eyes like a lake at dawn.

He looks like all of Max’s dreams combined.

This moment feels like it should be treasured. A part him knows already that he’s reached the end of the time he was given.

So, Max allows himself to dream.

“I would like if they looked like both of us,” he mutters quietly, letting slip words he’s never allowed himself to even think. “With your hair and my eyes. Or maybe my hair and your eyes. Just a little us.”

“A little us,” Charles mumbles back, his gaze filled with love as he pulls Max closer, “I would like that.”

Max has always had a special place in his heart for kids. The media calls it omega instincts, for good or for bad, but he thinks it’s more linked to the sympathy he has for his own younger self.

He knows what it’s like, to be four years old and a fan of a formula one driver.

So, he always takes time for kids – pauses for selfies even if he’s in a rush, waits patiently as they stumble through their practiced sentences with overexcitement, explaining their karting progress to him or asking him random questions like, “Do you watch Marvel?”

He values their genuine interest and enthusiasm over celebrities ‘fans’ who just want his picture without even knowing his name correctly.

So it’s really no surprise that, when one of his mechanics brings their daughter to the garage, Max is instantly enamoured.

She sits on the ledge of the viewer’s box as the team prepares for the race, her eyes running up and down the car. She’s wearing an MV1 cap and holding a Verstappencom lion plushie. And she’s already told Max that she has pillow and a mug too.

Someone had already tried to give her a Red Bull before GP reminded them it wasn’t the best for a six-year-old.

Max sneaked in little conversations with her as much as he could. For a while, she asked about racing. Not generic questions like the media but ones that actually made him think.

“When exactly did you get used to the speed?”

“Have you ever felt like you were actually flying?”

“Do you wish your car could talk? If so, what would he say?”

He answers her freely, in a way he can’t with a mic to his face, and her smile widens the more he talks with her. Eventually, she runs out of questions to ask and instead informs him that her other major interest is Hello Kitty.

A topic Max has no knowledge on, but he still listens attentively and laughs at just the right moments to make her smile.

She’s just explaining to him about Cinnamoroll when her dad walks up to them and gives her a jokingly stern look.

“Baby, Max can’t talk with you all day, he has work to do,” he says, tickling her side gently, making her laugh fill the room.

“Oh, I don’t mind,” Max says. He probably should mind. He hasn’t talked to GP or Hannah yet. But he’s sure he can spare a few more minutes. “She was just telling me about Cinna…”

“Cinnamoroll,” she completes for him. She then turns to her father and says, “Daddy, I’m hungry.”

Max has to hold in a laugh. Kids’ randomness in speaking is something he’d always found cute. Sometimes he too would like to stop talking about something and start a new topic out of the blue.

Her father sends her on her way to the cafeteria and joins Max as he’s zipping his fireproofs on.

“Thank you for keeping her company,” he says. “She was really nervous about meeting you.”

“She’s very sweet,” Max comments. “Smart and funny too. I hope she can come to the garage again sometime.” He’s sure he has more to learn from her about Hello Kitty’s friends.

“She’ll be over the moon when she hears that,” the mechanic says. “Her entire world is Hello Kitty and watching you race. A nice combo really.”

Max rolls his eyes with a smile as he pulls his balaclava on. “She’s very adorable. I bet she’ll be amazing when she grows up.”

“I know right? Having kids is the best mate! You’ll get it when you have pups of your own.”

Max pauses with his helmet over his head.

“Y-yeah… that would be great.”

If the mechanic notices his stutter, he doesn’t mention it. When he gets home after the race, he buys a shit ton of Hello Kitty merchandise and sends them to her.

“Have you seen?” Victoria asks when he answers her call, the irritation palpable in her voice.

“Seen what?” he asks back, munching on his breakfast pancake.

“Some guy told the media he’d give you twenty million dollars to spend a heat with you.”

What?

“What?!” Max shouts, startling Jimmy off the counter.

“It’s all over twitter,” Vic goes on. “People are calling him out on it, but some just say he’s brave. Cunts.”

Max doesn’t mind what anyone says as long as he doesn’t have to comment on it. But he’s sure that the next time he turns up at the paddock, the first question out any journalist’s mouth will be about this. He can already imagine their smug, condescending looks as they prob at him for answers.

“What’s the guy’s name?” he asks, throwing the rest of his pancake in the trash because it tastes like ash now.

“Don’t know, didn’t check.” She sighs like the conversation has already drained her. Maybe it has. “Just be safe okay. And tell your PR team to do something about it. Maybe even your lawyer.”

“I’ll see what they can do.” There’s not much they can do now though. Maybe damage control at best.

Vic hangs up after he gives her repeated reassurances that he will be safe and won’t ‘listen to any alpha bastards’.

The few times he goes on social media after that, he catches glimpses of the news: omega rights activists saying how ‘objectifying’ the offer is, how all his achievements have been nulled down to his body, to his gender.

He’s glad there are so many people agreeing with them but the more they talk, the more attention this gets, and the more shit he’ll have to deal with. One omega rights foundation messages him asking if he’d agree to an interview about the discrimination against omegas in motorsport. He tells them his schedule is too packed and spends all his free time sim racing to deal with the guilt.

He arrives to the paddock late on purpose next time. It gives him an excuse to rush through the crowd and ignore any journalists shouting questions at him.

When he gets to his driver’s room, already imagining the comfort of his nest, he stops dead in his tracks. Standing in front of his door, decked in rosso corsa fireproofs, is Charles. He’s staring at his phone but looks up when Max nears.

Max feels like his heart might jump out of his chest and escape. They haven’t had a one-on-one conversation in a long time. In fact, Max hasn’t seen Charles this close in a long time either.

“You’re late,” Charles mutters, his face unreadable.

“How did you get in here?” Max asks in leu of an answer. He moves to open the door and Charles steps back to give him space. He catches a note of the alpha’s cologne; warm, rich and familiar. Max used to burry his face in pillows and hoodies searching for that scent.

“I just walked in,” Charles says, coming in after him and closing the door. The sight of him in his room is so familiar it tugs at Max’s heart. “No one stopped me.”

“Oh,” Max says because what else can he say. Maybe Red Bull got too used to Charles too.

“I just came here to talk,” Charles says, his eyes momentarily flicking to the nest. Max hopes he doesn’t see two of his hoodies that Max never had the will to remove.

“I saw the news,” Charles speaks up when Max doesn’t say anything, “about what that alpha said.”

Max chokes on his inhale. He tries to cover it with a cough but judging by the concerned look on Charles’ face, it doesn’t work. Of all the people he wanted not to see that, Charles was the first. Such things always upset him when they were together and Max isn’t sure if that reaction has changed or not and he’s also not sure which would be worse.

“I’m so sorry,” Charles says before Max can come up with some excuse to brush it off. “I uh… I knew that alpha. I mean, I’ve met him before… at parties and such. We’ve crossed paths and- Fuck! Max, I fucking laughed with him! I made pleasant small talk and probably took a selfie and merdé! I should’ve punched him in the face!”

“Charles,” Max manages to say, though his throat feels like it’s wrapped in thorns, “you don’t have to apologise. He didn’t even do anything.”

“What you mean he didn’t do anything?” Charles demands, taking a step forward.  His usually calm green eyes are frenzied with anger and Max knows instinctively that his scent would also have soured by now. “The fucker thought he could just buy your time, buy your body! He should be sent to jail!”

“Charles,” Max says again, his omega conflicted between being around an angry alpha and having that alpha angry on his behalf. “It’s really no big deal. I-”

“No, chéri–,” Charles eyes widen the moment the word slips out of his mouth. Max sucks in a breath, his whole body suddenly numb. He hasn’t heard that word in that voice for weeks. He has, sometimes, in his dream, but never this close. Never this real.

“I mean Max,” Charles corrects himself. “Max, he shouldn’t be allowed to get away with this! Isn’t there anything your legal team can do?”

“They’re looking into it, I don’t have an update yet.” He omits the fact that his lawyer didn’t sound hopeful over the phone yesterday.

Charles huffs angrily, his restless energy filling the room. Max has to hold himself back from trying to sooth the alpha. He can almost imagine it; walking up to Charles and putting his hands on his shoulders, massaging them till they drop. Hugging him and playing with his messy mop of hair, letting Charles scent and hug him back.

He shakes his head, throwing the image away. He can’t afford to think like that. This is his own doing, he has to deal with it.

“I saw the room,” Charles suddenly says. “With the gifts. The door was open.” He hesitates for a moment, then seems to find his resolve. He takes a deep breath and says, “Max, I don’t know if you’ve changed your opinion on alphas and courting since we… broke up,” he says the words like they’re shards of glass dragging across his throat, “but if I know anything about you, it’s that you’ll always hate generic alpha attention.” Max lets out a chuckle, even if it comes out a little wet.

“I know you Max,” Charles insists. “And I know you hate this. You deserve better that this. You deserve better than alphas going after your fame and money and body. I don’t…” Charles thinks for a while, reevaluating his words. “I know it’s no longer my place, but I want you to have better experiences than this Max. In fact, I want to… I want to punch all of these fuckers for even thinking they can have you like that. Which I know sounds insane and it’s not my place at all but… I just want you to be happy.”

If this were a few months ago, Max would’ve cried with how loved he feels.

If they were still together, Max would’ve kissed Charles.

If there wasn’t a sea of unspoken words and secrets between them, Max would’ve sworn that only Charles mattered and that he didn’t care about anyone else.

But this is now and they are broken up and there is a chasm of secrets between them.

So, Max just gives him a sad smile and says, “I am happy, Charles.”

Max decided to do it at Charles’ place so that Charles wouldn’t have to drive afterwards. He stands outside the door, his thumb running along the ridges of the spare key Charles gave him for the last time.

When he knocks, he hears Leo’s excited run up to the door and he almost runs away. But he stays standing as Charles opens the door and if Charles notices how Max turns away to avoid a kiss on the lips, he doesn’t say anything.

“Want something to eat?” Charles asks, closing his laptop and making room for Max on the couch.

“No, I, um, I’m here to talk, if you have some time,” Max mumbles, fiddling with the hem of his hoodie. It smells like Charles and he debated over wearing it for twenty minutes but figured he might need the comforting smell on the ride back home.

“Oh,” Charles says, admittedly surprised. “Yeah, of course.”

He sits down as Max joins him, his hand resting on the back of the couch behind Max in the way that makes Max feel held even if he isn’t.

“So, what is it?” Charles asks, casual as ever.

Max takes a deep breath. “Alright. Before I say anything, I need you to know that… when I presented as an omega, I promised myself I would never date. I would never let anyone court me. It was a childish decision at the time but, the more I got to know the world and alphas in general, the more that decision solidified.”  Charles nods along, face open and expressive and so painful to look at.

“When I got into F1… with the way some alphas treated me, the way they still treat me, I never thought I could bring myself to ever trust an alpha or to find happiness with them. To let one into my nest.” He takes a deep breath, the words clawing their way up his throat. “But you… you proved me wrong, Charles. So. Damn. Wrong.”

He reaches out slowly and intertwines their fingers. Charles doesn’t say anything, but he squeezes his hand reassuringly, giving him space to collect his words.

“You made me feel safe, and happy, and content and… you made feel like I was worth your love,” Max feels a single tear slide down his cheeks and Charles wordlessly wipes it away with gentle fingers. Max leans into the touch, knowing this will be the last time he ever gets to do that.

“I will always be grateful for you, for all the happiness you gave me, for all the light you brought into my life. But…” his breath catches. He can feel the words like draggers burying into his skin. He can feel his heart hammering, reluctant to let the words go.

It would be easy, staying with Charles. Feeling so loved and cherished. But Charles deserves better. He deserves someone who can give him the life he wants. Someone who wouldn’t put racing before their relationship.

“But this isn’t going to work,” he finally breathes out, more tears slipping free.

He feels the exact moment the words register to Charles. He breathes in sharply, his hand tightening in Max’s grip. The hand on his face lowers very slowly and the lack of contact feels like a burn.

“It’s not your fault, schatje, it’s me I…” He could say it. He could say the truth. The truth he has been hiding from the entire world for so long. His greatest sacrifice and biggest what-if. But looking at Charles’ wide, shocked eyes, the words don’t come. “It’s my fault and I understand it you don’t want to talk to me anymore but… please just know that what we had will always be the best thing that ever happened to me. I- I know this is sudden, and you can blame me all you want and-”

“Max,” Charles voice cuts off his rant. He sounds so wounded, so lost, that it tears at something in Max. “Baby, I don’t… I don’t understand. What happened? What do you mean this isn’t going to work?”

“I mean,” Max swallows, trying to rip the words out, “that we need to break up. Stop courting.”

“Wha- Why? Chéri, mon chou, I don’t get it.” Charles’ expression turns frantic as he grabs Max by his biceps, his touch desperate but as gentle as ever. “Was it something I said?” he asks, his voice shaking. “Something I did? Baby, whatever it is, I am so sorry. I will do anything to earn your forgiveness. Whatever it was, I didn’t mean-”

“Charles, it’s not your fault,” Max insists, cupping Charles’ face the way he did when they first kissed. “You did nothing wrong, darling.”

“Then why? Is it someone else? Another alpha?”

The thought of it is so horrifying that it makes Max nauseous.

“No, Charles, never,” he shakes his head resolutely. “There will never be anyone else for me. You’re the best alpha I could ever ask for.”

“Then why?” Charles almost begs and Max wants to rip his own skin off. Wants to claw at his face and his arms till he sees red. Anything to make him forget this pain. “Please tell me why so I can fix it.”

“You can’t fix it, Charlie,” Max says with a sad smile, trying to comfort the alpha with his scent but finding nothing but pain in his chest.

“So… what? We’re over? Done?” Max nods reluctantly.

The grip on his arms tightens momentarily before dropping away. Charles turns away and stares at the floor and Max lets him. Neither of them says anything, Max having said all he planned to say and Charles probably not knowing what to say.

Leo stares at them from beneath the fireplace, his tiny mind probably sensing the shift in the atmosphere. Max had hugged him extra hard the last time Leo visited his apartment, as a form of goodbye. He wonders if he’ll get to hug Charles goodbye.

When the silence stretches into discomfort, Max clears his throat.

“I should go um… I didn’t feed Jimmy and Sassy and I have… I have to go to Milton Keynes tomorrow so…” he lets the sentence trail off, unsure if Charles has even heard him. He gets off the couch and quietly makes his way to the door.

Just as he’s about to turn the doorknob, a hand closes around his wrist and yanks him back. He turns, expecting Charles to be angry, to demand answers. Instead, he’s met with a soft press of lips against his own. The kiss isn’t deep or messy. It’s like butterfly wings against his skin and when they break apart, Charles rests his forehead against Max’s, eyes closed.

“Please,” he begs, “tell me how to fix this, baby. I can’t lose you.”

He sounds so broken and desperate that Max knows that voice will haunt him forever.

“If there was any way to fix it, I would’ve done it, schatje.”

He pries himself from Charles’ hold and doesn’t turn back as he steps out the door. He hears a heart-shattering sob behind him just as the door swings shut.

Once he’s in the car, he realises that he didn’t hug Charles goodbye. And he might not get to ever again.

Max can still feel the champagne on his tongue, bitter and stinging but dulled out by the sweet taste of victory. He remembers spraying it at Charles, smile immaculate for the cameras, while George poured his bottle over him.

The loud cheer of his home crowd still resonates in his mind, thrumming under his skin like adrenaline. The euphoria he feels on the top step usually caries late into the night, late into parties, but sitting on the couch of the press conference, he feels it just out of reach, flickering like a mirage.

“Congratulations on your win Max,” a journalist with beady eyes and a crooked smile says through the crowd, “but you qualified pretty low on the grid yesterday. Was the trouble in qualifying due to your heat cycle or…?”

The sigh that escapes him might as well be his soul leaving his body. George sits to one side of him, posture tense and eyes fixed on a point on the far wall, pretending like he didn’t hear anything. Charles on the other hand, smells like a wildfire. Max can hear his angry huffs, getting more frequent as the questions grow. The alpha has shifted his sitting position three times already and moved his mic to his mouth to say something before thinking better of it.

“No,” Max replies curtly, his tone conveying what his words cannot. “Just minor issues with the car.”

The journalist nods, writing something down but Max is willing to bet his entire fortune that the story he publishes will be something drastically different.

Another hand raises at the back of the crowd, a woman with bright red lipstick that stands out in the sea of people like a beacon.

“Question for Max,” she says haughtily. “You are now in your late twenties, an age in which most omegas have already mated and fulfilled their biological duties. Do you plan to do so soon, or will you continue to just race?”

Max feels his left eye twitch. Just race. As if what he’s doing is pointless, a waste of time and youth. As if he’s throwing away something precious to drive around in circles for fun.

The question even gains a reaction from George in the form of an awkward cough. Some journalists shift in their seats, their notes or tablets apparently very interesting all of a sudden.

For a moment, he thinks of telling the truth. He imagines the words leaving his mouth and not being able to take them back as the room descends into chaos. He imagines how George might look at him. How Charles might look at him.

How the journalist might look at him, shocked and speechless, given an answer she never expected.

But before he can say anything, Charles speaks up beside him.

“As long as a driver has a steady contract and performs well, there is no need for you to speculate about anything else,” he says, his tone leaving no room for argument. The expression on his face is one Max has hardly seen from Charles.

The journalist looks surprised, her eyes flitting over to Max, maybe expecting a reply. But when he just nods in agreement and says nothing, she seems to accept the answer she has and awkwardly clears her throat.

“And one more thing,” she says, her patronising glare fixed back into position. “You were photographed yesterday at your hotel with a young male alpha.” Max hears Charles suck in a breath beside him as George coughs once more. “A tall man in an black suit. Is this your new partner or are you simply involved with him sexual-”

“He’s my personal security,” he says through gritted teeth, his anger masked behind the shadow of his cap.

“That still doesn’t answer my question,” she shoots back.

“It answers it perfectly well.” His tightens his hand around the microphone, hoping the cameras don’t see it shaking.

“But the fans would like to know if-” Before he can interrupt her again, Charles beats him to it.

“The fans don’t need to know every detail about the drivers’ lives,” he says, his PR mask breaking and his anger seeping through the cracks. “This is a post-race press conference. If you cannot keep the questions relevant, then do not bother wasting everyone’s time.”

That seems to do the trick, and the journalist mutters an indistinct, “Thank you,” before promptly leaving the room, her cheeks flaming and eyes glaring. If this were a cartoon, she would be steaming from the ears, Max is sure.

He looks over at Charles while the cameramen gain their bearings, but Charles has his gaze locked forward, not a single emotion betrayed on his face.

The questions continue to flow, much less of them directed at Max now and when one randomly is, it’s always racing-related.

Just as they wrap up the conference, he mutters a small, “Thanks for stepping in,” in Charles’ direction to which he only gets a slight nod of the head.

Of all the people Max expected to be standing outside his door at four in the afternoon on a Wednesday, Charles wasn’t even on the list. But when Max reluctantly leaves his nest to address the soft knocks at his front door, he’s met with the sight of his childhood rival, holding a bouquet of light orange flowers and a box of chocolates.

“Hi,” Charles says, his voice wavering slightly.

“Hey, Charles,” Max says, unable to hide his surprise. “Can I help you?”

“Um, yes, well, uh…” he blinks once, shaking his head. “Right, um, can I come in?”

“Oh, sure.” Max lets him in and watches as Charles walks tentatively into his apartment. It’s then that he remembers that Charles has never been to his home before.

He watches as Jimmy, ever curious and desperate for belly rubs from anyone, approaches Charles and sniffs his ankle before sitting down and staring up at him.

“This must be…?” Charles trails off with a smile.

“That’s Jimmy. Sassy’s probably in my nest, she doesn’t leave it often when I’m home.”

“You- Your nest… Yes. Okay.” Charles stares back down at Jimmy who seems to be rapidly losing interest in the newcomer.

“So,” Max clears his throat, still as confused as he was when he opened the door, “what brings you here?”

“Oh, yes,” Charles seems to remember that he’s just walked into Max’s house and not given an explanation yet. “Uh, so, I know this is random but I uh…” Max nods his head, urging Charles to keep talking. “I- you- so I…” Max frowns and leans forward a bit, as if listening in on a secret.

Charles lets out an annoyed huff and when they lock eyes, Max sees a steely determination in them he remembers from karting tracks.

“Max,” Charles starts, his unwavering gaze fixed on him, “I know you’ve said time and time again that you want to focus on your career and I respect that wholeheartedly. So, I’ve tried to keep my feeling under control for very long now but with each day, it keeps getting harder.” Charles shrugs helplessly. “It’s like you keep getting better each day too so… What I’m trying to say is, I like you, Max,” he says the words like they’re coming from his heart, like it’s a piece of his soul tumbling out of his mouth. “I like you a lot. I’ve liked you for… years. I can’t even remember how long. And I know, I know you don’t want anyone to court you so if you want me out of here, you can just say and I’ll leave but, if there’s even a tiny part of you that would like it, I would very much like to court you Max.”

He slowly extends the flowers and chocolates, the slight shaking of his hands obvious.

Max feels like his entire body loses all functions for a moment. The words register in his mind slowly, like puzzle pieces he has but cannot arrange properly. He should say something, but his mouth won’t move. Words won’t form. Jimmy meows at the sudden silence, his eyes flicking from his owner to Charles.

The alpha frowns, his tentative smile slipping away. “It’s… it’s of course okay if you don’t want to. No hard feelings. I mean, we can still be friends and-”

He doesn’t get to say the rest of the sentence as Max moves forward and presses their lips together. The kiss is soft and chaste, and Charles barely has time to react before Max is pulling away. Max cups his cheeks, running his thumb gently over is cheeks.

“Charles,” he says, his voice on the verge of tears, “of course I would like you to court me.” He pecks his lips again. “I would like that very much.”

“Really?” Charles asks, a little dumbfounded. “I just thought since you rejected all those alphas-”

“Those alphas aren’t you!” Max isn’t sure if that even makes sense but with the way Charles’ face lights up, it doesn’t matter. “I’ve known you since we were kids. I trust you. I… I like you too,” he whispers, lost in the depths of those beautiful sea-green eyes. “I like you a lot.”

“Max…” Whatever Charles wanted to say, he drops it in favour of kissing Max again.

“Oh,” he says, suddenly, “these.” He holds up the gifts and Max takes them, bringing the flowers up to his face to hide his blush. He’s never blushed due to courting gifts before.

“They’re beautiful,” he says with an uncontrollable smile, “I love them.”

“Remember when we were in Singapore last year and you said you really liked the chocolates at the hotel?” Charles asks. Max can recall a vague memory of it. He’d been doing a tiktok for the marketing team and they’d ask what the best thing he’d eaten that week was. He didn’t think any other driver had watched it. He didn’t think Charles watched it.

“I got some of that for you,” the Monegasque says, pointing to the red box of chocolates wrapped in ribbons. “I don’t know if you actually liked them but I-”

“You remembered?” Max asks, too stunned to ask anything else.

“Of course I did.”

“But it was more than a year ago and… even I didn’t remember it.” He doesn’t even remember what hotel it was.

Charles smiles at him and it’s the best thing Max has ever seen. It makes his stomach flutter and his heart beat erratically. “The moment I saw that video, I thought to myself that if I ever got the courage to ask to court you, I would buy those chocolates. And I finally got the courage so… here we are.” He spreads his arms and shrugs, and Max just wants to hug him, so he does.

“Thank you,” he mutters into Charles’ shoulder.

“Always. And I’ll be sure to get you more now that I can spoil you with anything.”

Max laughs into the fabric of his hoodie. He thinks of staying right there for a while, bodies pressed together and scents mixing, but Jimmy meows again, louder his time, one paw on Max’s ankle.

Max rolls his eyes and pulls away reluctantly.

“It’s feeding time,” he informs Charles. “You see their fuss? If you want to court me, you’re going to have to deal with that.”

Charles just keeps smiling at him like he’s the entire world. “Anything for you, chéri.”

In the end, Max goes to the beach bar Carlos talked about. The alpha tries to coordinate a date all three of them can manage, as planned on that driver’s parade, and it’s all set until Charles says he has a last-minute photoshoot. Max thinks it’s a lie until he actually sees the pictures, set on the backdrop of some wildlife resort in Africa.

“I’ve been meaning to talk to you,” Carlos says the moment they get seated with their drinks. The sea breeze is strong and loud and drowns out the conversations around them.

“What is it?” Max asks, taking a sip of his Gin and Tonic.

“I talked to Charles recently,” Carlos says, his fingers fiddling with the long stem of his cocktail glass as his eyes dart form Max’s face to the sea and back again.

Well, I would hope so. You’re friends.

“And?” he asks, trying to keep his voice detached. There are some who knew about their relationship and some who didn’t. It was always a rumour the media feasted on, and still feasts on, but he and Charles only ever verbally confirmed it to a few. Carlos is in the few.

The Spaniard sighs and looks at Max properly. “Look, Max, I know that you had your reasons to break up with Charles. I don’t need to know what they are exactly, but I respect them all the same. And maybe, you have moved on from him, and even that, I respect cariño. But Max… Charles has not at all moved on. I know he pretends like he has, because he doesn’t want to bother you but you’re all he talks about. If he’s happy and I ask why, he’s thinking of you. If he’s sad and I ask why, he’s thinking of you.

“Half of what he says are variations of how he misses you. He almost punched me for touching you.” He chuckles like it’s a fond memory to look back on now. “He gets really pissy whenever another alpha tries to court you. Do you know he’s no longer allowed to have his phone on race days? Ferrari worries he’ll see one of those live, clickbait articles and ruin his race.”

Max heard about the phone ban through unreliable sources, but he never asked anyone to confirm. He always figured it was none of his business. Now, he wishes he probed around some more.

“I… I don’t,” he trails off. A part of him has always known that Charles was heartbroken. The night they broke up, the words he said, the look on his face, it was all proof that Charles didn’t want anything to end. Ever.

But Max had thought that, with time, Charles would move on. He’s a highly sought-after alpha; he can find an omega in no time. An omega who can give him everything he wants. If anything, Max was saving him from being tied to an unhappy mating.

“Did you think he moved on?” Carlos asks gently, sensing Max’s thoughts.

“Yeah…” Max averts his gaze. “I guess I did.”

Carlos shakes his head with a sad smile. “Max, I don’t know how much I can tell you. But the way things stand now, it’s not healthy for either of you. Charles said… he said the worst part was that you never gave him a reason as to why you ended things. Just that it wasn’t his fault.”

“And it’s not his fault,” Max says insistently. “It’s completely my fault. I was the one who agreed to let him court me and I was the one who ended things I-” his breath hitches, tears stinging his eyes. “I’m the one that fucked everything up.”

“Max, that is not true.” Carlos reaches across the table and grabs his hand. “Charles wanted to court you since you were teenagers. You know one of the first things he asked me after we became teammates? He asked me how close I was to you since our Torro Rosso days and if you had an alpha. That man wanted you from the very start Max. And he still does. Even if he tries so hard to hide it.

“I’m not saying you need to get back together. I’m just saying you two need to talk it out more than you have. Neither of you have closure. And Charles, he… he needs to know why, Max. He needs to know why it ended, whatever the reason may be. Even if you think it will break his heart, trust me, knowing will be better than the shit he puts himself through now.”

“Please tell me why so I can fix it.”

Charles’ words from that night echo in Max’s mind. He didn’t have the heart to say the reason then, and he might not have it now either. But Carlos has a point. Max can find closure because he knows why it didn’t work out. Why it was never going to work out.

Maybe, if Charles knew too, he could finally let go. He could move on and find another omega. He would see that Max did what he did for his own good.

“Alright,” he tells Carlos, “I’ll talk to him after the next race.”

“Thank you, Maxie,” Carlos smiles, his gaze gentle. “And can I tell you something?” Max hums. “I never invited Charles to the bar.”

Max almost spits out his drink. “What?”

“Yeah, I just looked for a day he had something planned so that you wouldn’t question anything. I’m sorry,” Carlos, to his credit, at least looks sheepish. “I needed to talk to you alone. Anway from the paddock.”

“It’s fine,” Max says with a sigh. “I needed that talk anyway.”

Max keeps his word the best he can. He waits until the race is over so that whatever he says won’t mess with Charles’ mindset. And also until most of the cameras have left.

After he’s taken the celebratory team picture and been drenched from head to toe in Red Bulls, he wonders over to the Ferrari garage, the sea of rosso corsa already thinning out. Charles’ mechanics hurry around his car but there’s no sight of the alpha himself.

He stands by the edge, not wanting to intrude and end up as a headline. Some of them throw him curious looks but he doesn’t see anyone whom he can discreetly ask about Charles’ location from. The last thing he needs is the media finding out that he went looking for Charles post-race.

Just as he’s contemplating calling Fred and asking about Charles, he sees Arthur appear from the back of the garage, headset on and tablet in hand. He looks surprised when he sees Max.

Arthur, much like everyone else in Charles’ close family, knew about them. He’s not sure what Charles has told them about the breakup but whatever it is, their outlook on him can’t be good.

Still, he can trust Arthur not to run to the media. At least for Charles’ sake.

“Hey,” he says when the younger Leclerc brother approaches him.

“Can I help you?” His voice isn’t rude but it’s not friendly either. A perfect detachment to not let Max know how he truly feels.

“I’m looking for Charles,” he says. “Is he around?”

“He already left,” Arthur replies.

“Oh.”

Should he have talked before the race? No, that would have messed with his mind. Maybe he can talk with him sometime before the next race? But that would mean setting up a separate meeting and he dreads the potential text exchange for that.

There’s evidently no good coming from standing in front of the Ferrari garage for much longer so he bids goodbye to Arthur.

“Why are you looking for him?” Arthur asks, just as he’s about to leave.

“To talk,” he replies simply.

Arthur looks like he wants to say something else, but he doesn’t. He just nods and goes back into the garage.

Max texts Carlos about what happened as he walks back to his motorhome, most the back areas already deserted and plunged into darkness as the paddock clears out. Only the sound of his shoes on wet tarmac bounces off the motorhome buildings.

Carlos tells him not to worry too much, that he has plenty of time. No rush, he texts back. But Max hasn’t slept properly since their conversation at the beach bar, guilt keeping him awake late into the night. He doesn’t know if telling Charles the truth will relieve him of the guilt but it will help Charles and that’s all Max cares about.

He’s so engrossed in his thoughts that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching from behind. Then before he knows it, someone’s standing next to him, an arm snaking around his waist. His omega screams danger.

“Damn, it really is Max Verstappen! In the flesh!”

He can’t see the man’s face clearly but judging by the smell, it’s definitely an alpha. A drunk one at that.

“I told you it was the bitch!” Another voice from behind him. Alright, two alphas. “The slut isn’t hard to miss.”

“Who the fuck are you?” Max hissed, shoving at the man holding his waist. He takes a few steps back, but the two alphas close in on him again.

“Damn, you really got a mouth on you huh bitch?” the first man says, his grin shark-like in the low lights. Max catches sight of two VIP passes hanging around their necks. “Someone ought to put that thing to better use.”

He reaches for Max again, for his front, between his legs, and Max’s hand curls into a fist instinctively, a punch coiled in his shoulders.

However, before the man can touch him again, someone spins him around from behind and the familiar sound of knuckles against cheekbone echo into the night. The man staggers back and Max moves away as he falls to the ground.

With the limited lighting, it’s very hard to recognise anyone but Max would recognise that silhouette anywhere. Charles stands there, his hand still balled into a fist, his chest rising and falling rapidly.

Bonfire and rain. So overwhelming that Max’s instincts scream at him to submit. But it’s Charles and his omega knows he doesn’t need to.

“Woah, hey man, calm down!” the alpha still standing exclaims, hands raised in a surrender motion. “We were just playing around.”

The second punch lands much louder than the first, accompanied by a groan of pain. The other alpha stumbles back and hits the back wall of a motorhome, cradling his jaw.

“Just playing around by touching him without permission?” Charles asks, his voice dangerously measured. The first alpha staggers to his feet and Charles is about to punch him again when Max rushes to his side and grabs him arm.

“Charles, that’s enough,” he says quietly. No matter how deserted, the paddock is the last place for a physical brawl.

The alpha who touched him spits on the ground and Max can satisfyingly see that it’s tinted red.

“See,” he says, eyes locked on Max, “the slut likes it.”

Charles moves before Max can react and he watches as a second punch to the face sends the alpha stumbling back again.

He curses under his breath and is about to pull Charles away when he spots the blinking red dot of a camera to their right.

Shit.

The second alpha seems to notice it too and quickly drags his friend to his feet, both their noses crusted red with blood.

“Get out of my sight before I break your fucking faces some more,” Charles growls. Max can feel the alpha’s anger radiating into the air, desperate to protect.

The two alphas seem to realise the gravity of the threat and stumble away, still spewing lewd remarks about Max. He grabs Charles by the arm and wordlessly drags him to his motorhome, away from the camera which he suspects has caught everything.

Only when the door clicks shut does Max feel like he can breathe. In the safe confines of his room, his awareness comes crashing back through the haze of fear and panic. He can feel his heartbeat in his throat, his tense muscles unfurling slightly. His omega seems torn between still fearing for his safety and calming down in Charles’ presence.

For a moment, the only sound in the room is their heavy breathing. Then Max speaks, his voice trembling, “There was a camera. I think it caught everything.”

“I don’t care,” Charles says without missing a beat. His posture is still tense, still ready for a fight, but his gaze is soft as he stares at Max. “I’ll deal with the media later.”

“Charles,” Max steps forward with a sigh, “they’ll hound after you with rumours and questions. You’ll get fined. Hell, they might go to the police and-”

“And I said I don’t care,” Charles repeats, his hands landing on Max’s shoulders. “I don’t care what they say or do as long as you’re safe.” He pauses for a moment, his eyes running up and down Max’s body. “You are safe right?”

“Yeah, I am,” he replies quietly. “You got there before the fucker could do anything.”

Charles sighs in relief, his arms dropping to his sides. “Max, why weren’t you with your team? I thought you had security even within the paddock.”

“I-” Max pauses when he remembers the excuse he has to give; the reason he actually had to walk back alone. “I stayed back while the team left. I was… looking for you.”

Charles frowns, “For me?”

“Yes, but Arthur told me you already left so I decided to head back.”

“I did leave but I forgot my phone in the garage.” He fishes his phone out of his pocket as proof. “Ferrari takes away my phone during races because…”

“Yes, I know, Carlos told me.”

“He what?” Charles asks a bit incredulously.

“Doesn’t matter,” Max says with a dismissive wave. With the adrenaline slowly seeping out of his body, he can feel little else but relief and something deeper and unnameable. Something he now knows he hasn’t stopped feeling for the alpha in front of him. “I’m just glad you were there. Thank you.”

Charles stares at him for a moment, as if there’s something hidden in Max’s face he needs to decipher. Then, he slowly pulls Max into a hug. Too exhausted to think logically, Max melts into the embrace, seeking the warmth of the other’s body.

“I’ll always be there,” Charles whispers, the warm breath ghosting over Max’s ear. He runs a hand up and down Max’s back until his breathing evens out. The ever-familiar scent of bergamots and sea breeze embrace in a cocoon of warmth, making his omega preen. Then, after a beat, “Why were you looking for me, Max?”

This moment feels very fragile. Like that one moment at dawn and dusk where the sunlight is just right. He might never be held like this again. A part of him thinks that maybe he should preserve this; not spoil it with long-hidden secrets. But he knows that if he finds excuses once, he’ll do it again.

Charles deserves to know.

Max steps back from the hug, every nerve in his body screaming at him not to.

“There’s something I need to tell you,” he mumbles, eyes fixed of the embossed team name on Charles’ Ferrari hoodie. “Something I should’ve said long ago but I- I just…” He sighs in frustration.

After a moment of looking at floor, he says, “Remember that day I said we should get Leo a brother?”

Charles’ looks shocked at first but then his face clouds over with sadness; he clearly remembers even if he doesn’t want to. “Yeah and I- I thought you meant pups.”

“Right. And you said that… you wanted them to look more like me than you.” Max takes a deep breath, his hands shaking. “Charlie… the reason we broke up is… you want pups. And that’s something I can never give you.”

He stares at Charles as the meaning of the words slowly sink in. He frowns in confusion at first but then his eyes widen, shock written all over his face. He opens his mouth, adam’s apple bobbing, but the words seem to die in his throat.

“When I joined formula one,” Max continues before he loses his nerves, “they made me sign a general contract and… something else.” He can still remember the document, each sentence burned into his mind, each word flashing before his eyes when he tries to sleep sometimes. “You know why there hasn’t been an omega here before me? It’s because all omegas have the same liability – pregnancy risk. Out for an entire season. Maybe more. And the teams can’t reprimand them or drop them since that would look shitty. When I joined, they could’ve had me on a strict regime of birth control but they wanted something… more reassuring.”

He watches the exact Charles catches on. His eyes flick down, to just below Max’s navel, before landing on his eyes again. Max’s hands shake with the urge to cover up his stomach.

“They said I needed to get a surgery,” Memories come rushing back to him: a sterile hospital in the Netherlands, a medical team under strict NDA, two weeks of bed rest where he avoided looking at his scars in the mirror. Then another two months of cosmetic treatment to remove the scars. Even if there’s still a small mark left.

“And I… I did.,” he says, tears blurring his vision. “I got the surgery. Because I wanted that seat more than kids of my own. I still do. And you… you deserve someone who can give you everything you want Charles. I know I should’ve said something sooner but I-”

“Max,” Charles whispers, interrupting his speech. His voice sounds like cracked glass on the verge of shattering. “You- I-” He laughs suddenly, a bit hysterical, one hand running through his hair. Max is about ask if he’s okay when Charles moves forward and holds his hands tightly

“Max,” he says with eyes so intense it makes goosebumps rise along Max’s arms, “there is nothing in this world that I want more than you. Would I like kids of my own? Sure. Absolutely. But chéri,” the word seems intentional this time, so soft it’s almost a prayer, “none of that matters as much as you. I don’t want an omega who can give me everything I want. You’re all I’ve ever wanted. Just you.”

“But Charles, you said it yourself; you want pups. You said-”

“I know what I said bébé and I still mean it but if it’s ever a choice, if it’s having kids of my own or being with you… Max, I will choose you over and over again.” Charles drops his hands and cradles his face instead, his thumb brushing gently over Max’s cheeks. “If you’re so concerned about what I want, here’s what I really want chéri. I want to wake up next to you every morning and fall asleep cuddled in your nest every night. I want to cook your favourite dish for your birthday and get reminded of you every time I go to the store and see something you like. I want to buy a house with you. Then I want to grow old with you in that house.”

Charles wipes away something from the corner of his eye and that’s when Max realises that he’s been silently crying. Charles just smiles at him with so much affection that it hurt Max’s heart.

“I also want to have petty arguments with you over pointless things,” Charles goes on with a chuckle. “Like what colour to paint the kitchen or where to go for vacation. Afterwards, I want to fuck off and sulk alone somewhere like an idiot. Then, I want to realise how much I miss you and how much I hate being away from you. I want to buy flowers and chocolates and come back to you and apologise for fighting. And then we can paint the kitchen stripes of both our colours and visit both our places for vacation.”

Max can’t help the teary laugh that escapes him in that moment. He can envision it; a domestic life with Charles, shared spaces, shared experiences. A shared life. He can envision and it looks fucking beautiful.

“And maybe, if the time ever feels right,” Charles pauses to rest their foreheads together, noses brushing gently, “we can adopt a pup. Or two. Whatever you want. Anything you want. I just want to live my life with you mon chou.”

“But the fact that I got that surgery… that I chose racing, it doesn’t bother you?” Max asks. It’s the one thought that has haunted him all these years. That made him wonder if he’d end up alone forever.

“Max, the only thing that bothers me is that you had to make that choice in the first place,” Charles says. “And at such a young age too. It shouldn’t be like that. Omegas should be allowed to race under the same conditions as alphas and- Merdé! I just want to punch whoever made you choose like that.”

“So you don’t think I’m… useless?” he whispers the last word, afraid that if he says it too loud, it might become true.

Charles breathes in sharply like he’s been burned. “Useless? Chéri, what are you talking about? You’re the most precious thing in the world to me. This doesn’t change that. This doesn’t change how amazing you are as a driver, person or as an omega. Do you know how good your nests are? It felt like sleeping in a warm, fluffy cloud. And the way you smell! Mon amour, do you know how good it is? I could be having a shit day – bad race, awful media, fight with Lorenzo, it doesn’t matter. I just come home and burry my nose in your neck and everything’s better. You make everything better. So no, you’re not useless. In fact, I’m pretty fucking miserable without you.”

Max stares at Charles’ eyes and the emotions he finds there makes his heart swell with love. Going into this conversation, he never thought he would get to hear words so sweet. He never thought he would get to hear all those endearing nicknames again either.

“I’m pretty fucking miserable without you too,” he tells Charles with a hint of a smile.

“I guess we’re just two miserable fools then,” the alpha mutters, shaking his head. “I’m sorry I ever made you feel like you couldn’t tell me this sooner, baby.”

“No, Charlie, it was never you. It was just me. I’m sorry I kept it a secret for so long.”

“It doesn’t matter,” Charles says slowly, both arms moving to hold Max’s waist. “How about, instead of blaming ourselves we could, I don’t know… kiss each other?”

Max laughs. Truly laughs, eyes squinting and cheeks flushing. He wraps his arms around Charles’ neck and leans into press a small kiss to his lips.

“Like that?” he asks, their breath mingling together.

“No, more like…” Charles pushes him back until he’s braced against the wall. Then he kisses him deeply. Slowly. Reverently. He slips his tongue in and explores Max’s mouth like it’s the first time. His thumbs rub slow circles into the skin of Max’s waist, their scents mingling together. They break apart for air but Max refuses to let go of the strands of hair at Charles’ nape. “That.”

Max smiles, his cheeks flaming ad stomach fluttering. He hasn’t felt this light in a long time. “I quite like that.”

“So,” Charles asks, bringing one of Max’s hands up to his mouth and kissing his knuckles, “what do you say, chéri? Will you let me re-court you?” And this, Max realises, is what he fell in love with. This love which, even after months apart, still feels strong and familiar as it blooms in his heart. Like shrugging on a familiar coat. It’s feeling he can never tire of.

He laughs, shaking his head fondly. “Only if you promise me one thing.”

“Anything,” Charles says and this time, Max knows he means it.

“Promise you won’t paint our kitchen stripes?” Max asks with a smile.

Charles laughs and kisses his forehead. “I promise on my life.”

Max wakes to the feeling of arms running up and down his back and kisses being pressed to his hair. He stretches with his eyes still closed and lets out a satisfied hum when Charles pulls him closer against his chest.

“Morning, mon cœur,” Charles mumbles into the top of his head, voice still raspy with sleep.

“Morning,” Max says, incomprehensible against Charles’ neck. The sunlight is already slipping through the gaps in the curtain and Charles phone is pinging with notification but neither of them make any move to get up.

“The video of the fight has been posted,” Charles informs him like he’s telling him the time. “I hoped they’d make me out to be a knight in shining armour but apparently, I’m a ‘violent alpha who gave into his instincts around an omega’.”

Max laughs, pressing a kiss to Charles’ cheek. “Well, you’re a knight in shining armour to me.”

“Now that’s going on my CV,” he says and Max rolls his eyes before flicking him on the forehead.

One of Charles’ hands trail down his neck, fingers pressing lightly against the hickeys he left last night. If Max closes his eyes, he can still feel the press of lips against his skin, the sting of teeth making him arch off the bed. The hand keeps trailing down, over his chest, down his stomach and-

Charles brushes gentle fingers against one of the scar marks below Max’s navel. It’s almost invisible, faded out with time and treatment. Charles said last night that he’d seen them before, had noticed them on the countless times he’d worshipped Max’s body. But it had never occurred to him that they might be surgery scars.

He pressed small kisses to them last night and apologised for not noticing sooner. Max pulled him up for a proper kiss and told him that the past didn’t matter anymore. But Charles still kept going back, kissing them again and again, pausing only to tell Max how beautiful he was and how much he loved him.

Among all the things Charles loves about him, never would Max have thought to include his scars. But now he can and the feeling feels better than all the top steps of the world combined.

“I was wondering,” Charles says, hands wrapping around Max’s waist. “We still have two weeks till the next race.”

“And?” Max asks, burrowing deeper into his alpha’s embrace.

“If you’re up for it… maybe we can get Leo a brother?” Charles asks, looking down at him with eyes that Max can’t possibly resist. “I’m sure Sassy won’t mind another peasant roaming around. And Jimmy loves any company he can get so…”

Max pretends to think about even though he knows his answer from the bottom of his heart already. He hums and asks, “What are we going to name him though?”

Charles laughs, the sound revibrating through his chest. “I think this might be one of those times where we refuse to agree and I have to bring flowers and chocolates to apologise for disagreeing with you,” he says.

“Well, if you’re going to apologise anyway, might as well agree to everything I say from the start,” Max replies with a coy smile.

“Mon dieu, let me retain some dignity chéri,” Charles says in exasperation, pressing a kiss to Max’s temple.

Max laughs and he feels like his entire soul is alight with joy.

“Never, schatje. I’ll have you wrapped around my fingers for the rest of our lives.”

Charles looks at him with a look of utter adoration. “You already do, baby.”