#also not beta read at all sorry for any mistakess

[xiaoluclair]

6

6. eyelid kisses // lestappen // [ rating: G ]

[First Class, 3.6kg] Package for:

STADSOMVERT 16 4500 HASSELT BELGIUM EARTH

[First Class, 0.01kg] Accompanying letter: Salvation.

Max Verstappen goes missing on April 1st 2026. It is not an April Fool's joke. Still, it doesn't stop Charles checking his shower every evening, the undersides of hotel-brand soap bars, just in case. Maybe it's all a bad dream.

(It isn't.)

On March 31st 2026, they have an argument. Charles hardly remembers how it started. He remembers Max though: smell sour, there in the apartment but not There. He remembers how it ends: grabbing his keys, the glow of Jimmy's eyes from the end of the hallway, the door slamming.

He remembers after:

Just come home, Max texted.

Charles didn't.

No one questions the fact that Charles is the one who first reports him gone. Mainly because only a few people know he did: Christian Horner, the Kumpen-Verstappens, Pierre Gasly, Lando Norris.

Christian is unavoidable. He calls Victoria first. Pierre is his best friend. Lando dreams it.

Christian exercises 'ignorance is bliss' for the most part. How do you know? he asked.

He didn't come home, answered Charles.

He could've Died, offered Christian after another moment. Charles can just about hear his heartbeat over the line. It's too fast for the truth — besides, they both know April is not anywhere near September.

They'd been fighting. The people who know: Charles Leclerc, Max Verstappen.

(The people who know: Charles Leclerc.)

It was over inconsequential things, mainly. His therapist, when he asked her a hypothetical — say two people kept getting annoyed over silly things — said, Often, it can be a deeper problem.

How would they know that? said Charles, worrying over his claws.

Usually by asking about it. By talking about it.

They don't though. Maybe that's the problem.

"If you still could, pizza or pasta?" Carlos asks him.

"Pasta," says Charles automatically. It must be the eighth time he has been asked this year.

"Monaco or Italy?"

"Monaco, of course."

"Sunset or sunrise?" Carlos asks him. That's a new one. For this year, anyway.

Charles says, "Neither."

"Neither," repeats Carlos, grinning. "Not even sunset?"

Charles shakes his head.

"Then what is your favorite time of day?"

Smiling, chest caving in on itself, Charles looks out at the docks at the bright blue sky. "Right now."

Charles goes through motions:

Racing, because he loves it. (Supposedly if you go fast enough, you can travel through time.)

Hunting, because he has to feed. (There Earth is not limitless; the hiding places are not endless.)

Reading, because it is good to pass the time. (Mysterious Disappearances of the Nineteenth Century.)

He finds multiple accounts of people disappearing on their Death day or within the few days prior.

Maybe it is far-fetched. April 1st is 182 days before Max's Birthday. 182 is not a significant number on any of the solar, lunar or beluar calendars.

Still. Before, he would stay up, kiss the skin over Max's blue eyes as they dreamt.

Then he would go for walks, think about kissing the skin over Max's blue eyes as they dreamt.

Now he collates excerpts, photocopied library documentation, Wikipedia articles. Soon he'll have enough to write his own dissertation probably. Why The Love Of Your Life Randomly Disappeared: The 143 Possibilities.

[First Class, 4.2kg] Package for:

CHARLES LECLERC 15BD PRINCESSE REYMOND 98000 MONACO

[First Class, 0.01kg] Accompanying letter: Find my son.

Do you think he's just pissy because he hasn't Changed yet? Pierre pondered.

Charles, pacing and unable to find the solace he'd hoped for, shook his head. Max would not be like that.

Have you asked him?

No, was the answer. He hadn't. I do not need to.

Pierre's nose wrinkles. Charles remembers that Fae hate being lied to.

Two days into Summer Break, he flies to Switzerland.

"Charles," says Sebastian when he opens the door. "Nice hat."

"Thank you," smiles Charles, touching the finishing sun hat to his shoulder-to-ankle dungarees. "I wanted to ask you a favor." And, before he has pried off his shoes, reaches into the bag on his back and pulls out the 2021 WDC trophy. The replica, anyway.

Sebastian takes it carefully. "Come on," he says. "This could take a while."

They come up empty.

"Maybe," starts Sebastian, stops. "Go in with it."

Charles steps into the Ponogan immediately. He's beyond questioning things now. If Sebastian asks him to cut off a leg, he will. He sits, curling his legs around the trophy, fingers finding the row of MAX VERSTAPPEN, MAX VERSTAPPEN, MAX VERSTAPPEN.

Sebastian closes his eyes. The runes on his chest glow louder than before. A large beating fills Charles's ears.

It quietens down after a minute.

Sebastian blinks. He looks at Charles; he smells apologetic. "He is not Gone," he says.

Which is better than he had before, so. "Thank you," says Charles.

In Suzuka, Charles meets Victoria Verstappen. Meets again.

"He said he was having dreams," she says after she has ushered them back into Charles's Driver Room. "He just did not want to worry anyone."

"Dreams?" asks Charles. Of course he didn't.

Victoria nods. "Weird ones, every night. He never told me what they were about, but. He mentioned God one time."

"Max does not believe in God," says Charles, because he cannot think of much else.

"I know," says Victoria. "And he was still Human. I think he thought he was going crazy, Charles."

Why didn't he tell me?

Because it's Max. His brick-headed, independent Max who bulldozers through it all in bright spaces. Because it's Charles. Brick-headed, independent Charles who shoves it all down in dark corners. Because Pierre said have you asked and his therapist said have you asked and Charles said why would I.

Max had been worried about not Changing. Just not for any of the reasons Pierre considered.

Max, who had been having dreams.

Max, who had been having Dreams.

Unsurprisingly, Lando does not take kindly to Charles turning up at his hotel room after the race in the middle of the night.

"I need your help," he says. "Please."

Lando stares at him, nose buttoned up at his soggy clothes. He replies, at last, "Come grab a towel first."

Max does not believe in God; neither does Charles. Let this work, he prays as he steps across the doorway. Let this work.

Lando finds him still at the hotel three days later, slightly wet with rain. Yuki's signature takes up the front of his hoodie. "I got a thing," he says. "Woke up with it in my hand."

He shoves a flimsy notebook tear-off into his hands. One edge is tentacled; it came off a ring-binder. Charles unfolds it, "Thank you, thank you—" please, please—

On September 30th 2026, Charles has nothing more than dreams. Almost. Not quite though, not anymore.

Come Home, the note says.

The dining room light is on. He should have more on him than apartment keys and a phone, but that only occurs after he walks through the door. Max looks up from the far seat, a ring of light around his head.

Charles doesn't remember the distance from the entrance to the table being so long.

"I am home," he whispers into Max’s whitened hair. It is soft on his cheek. His nose bumps against the light stapled to Max's skull, his forehead. "You are home." Max clutches at his back.

He pulls away, points to his mouth. Opens it. A hoarse sound comes out. Charles thinks, okay, nods. And then Max points to his face, to the side of his nose-bridge. Charles blinks away his own surprise, leans down and Max's lashes flutter.

"We will figure it out," he promises. "Together."

He kisses the skin over Max's golden eyes.