#charles/delia

[iz1331]

Beetlejuice and Beetlejuice Beetlejuice casts both original and sequel (gonna wait for another one with Willem, Monica, and Adrian if there's gonna be on set)

[yesyesyesyea]

My two obsessions rn are so different yet so similar?

[rtfics]

THANK YOU, Tim Burton, for bringing my favorite in-laws back together. (unmute)

If you watch closely, you can see Winona Ryder trying not to crack up.

[leeeeeeeeech]

Beetlejuice: We need a diversion. I say Y/n gets naked. Lydia: No. Beetlejuice: I could get naked. Everyone: NO!!!

[struggling-with-drivers]

More brainrot thoughts, blame and thank @pucksandpower

Au where Charles is a gold digger and Max is the f1 driver Charles wants.

Okay okay okay so, can you really blame Charles, like can you really blame Charles?

His mom had been arm candy to his dad, that much was by no means a secret. It might have influenced his way of looking at life, more than anyone realised. But it's not like he wasn't influenced by anything else he grew up with.

The opulence that surrounded him, the over indulgences lurking in every corner, the wealth that absolutely did not whisper. Especially not during those few weeks the entire country breathes for Formula racing.

Charles was raised in luxurity, and it was everything he had ever known. The words your face is all you're worth, had been intrgrained into his mind and body since he was a child. He had showed no really skill in any of his subjects, neither any of the 100s of sports his Maman had rotated him through. He was hopeless at seemingly every single one of them, it did however make him a very interesting person, and if there was one thing Charles Leclerc could.

It was talk.

Charles was a great conversationalist, and an even bigger flirt. Cheeky in just the right way, and seemingly obliviously innocent in every other. Except he knew what he was doing, he knew he was a tease, especially when he ran his hand over someone's chest and practically purred into their ear. About how good he could be.

Then he would pull back, bat his eyelashes. Hook, line and sinker. Charles was have an amazing night, and then be showered in gifts and hush money. With an invitation of next time tucked away in his back pocket.

Pierre had called him a practically unsafe escort once, Charles had corrected him, he was in fact being very safe.

Then Pierre had brought along his Formula 1 colleagues, and can you really blame Charles?

Max had seemed so sweet, so forbidden in the crowd of Eden. Charles wanted to sink his teeth into Max, if not for the hush money, but for the way those eyes would look at him when he begged for more.

Then Max had rejected Charles, even after he had touched his chest, even after he had purred in his ear. Max had even resisted the way Charles battered his eyelashes at him.

What Max hadn't been strong enough to do, was look away. His eyes had been fixed on Charles's open shirt since Pierre had introduced Charles to the other. His gaze locked to the way that translucent shirt had a cut so deep, so when Charles bend over, Max could see his belly button. Not that he needed the gap, the shirt itself was seethrough enough on it's own.

Charles had guided Max's hand to his side, and Max had excused himself for a drink.

Abandoning a full drink on the table.

He had needed air.

-

Max didn't see Charles again for a month, and he should have known better, in fact he should have expected the beautiful man to show back up in his life. Because then there Charles was. Right at the Monaco GP, walking down the Paddock, his arm linked with someone else, dressed in all red, supporting Ferrari.

Max should have brushed it off and moved along, so why couldn't he?

Why was the only thing he could think about as he accepted the trophy and got doused in champagne, that a certain beautiful man clad in Red would look better in Blue?

Pierre - who Max didn't think he had talked to more than few times in the last year - had clasped his shoulder, warned him not to be stupid. Then that was it, and Max had seen him move away, hug Charles, and pepper a few kisses on his cheeks, before Charles had nuzzled his way back under the arm of some guy Max didn't know. Not that he cared.

But Charles had looked at Max, even as the Monégasque kissed the cheek of his lover? Keeping the eyecontact, as though he had forced Max to watch, a way to taunt this could be you. He needed to get his shit together, they had met once, and seen each other twice.

Then came the victory celebrations, and Max didn't know how Charles had ended up on his lap, there was plently of spaces left in the booth, but he had picked Max's lap as his preferred seat. Except, Charles hadn't looked at Max not even once. Even he had kissed Pierre hello, right there, on Max's lap.

His eyes had been glued to Charles.

Who did not even look at him once, and Max - fully sober - was feeling so fucking intoxicated. Over this guy, a stranger, a something. Something dangerous, something that reeked of scandals.

When Charles had gotten up, all eyes turned in his direction as he sauntered away. Max knew, for he had looked as well.

Monaco GP was over, and Max could relax, at least that's what he told himself. The world had other plans for him, how had Max never realised how small Monaco really was. That Damned beauty seemed to show up everywhere, at the coffee shop, when he was on a run, even at the paddle club.

Had Charles always been around?

Except, each time he saw the Monégasque a longing feeling spread through his chest, it was followed by the reminder, Charles was always looking at someone else. Max doesn't think he saw the same person twice with an arm around Charles.

Max wondered briefly, in a moment of weakness, and post nut clarity, would the price be worth the feeling of his hands on Charles waist. Then he had chased the thought away, with the unnessecary paperwork, and NDA's and besides. Pierre had said to not be stupid. Pierre - who probably cheered every time Max made a slight mistake - had warned him.

-

Charles knew his effect on others, he was fully aware of each set of eyes that followed him. Nothing thrilled him more than walking through the street, being someone's accessory, and everyone appreciating him. Charles had quickly found himself enjoying a specific pair of eyes, they belonged to a certain Dutchman. Someone Charles would never had imaged being able to get with a few years ago. But that had been when Charles was younger, and now, he had honed his skills well enough.

He knew that it was only about time before Max Verstappen would break.

-

Max will sometimes see Charles hanging around the paddock during the European stint of races. He had convinced himself that he had become immune to the magnetic pull of the charming Monegasque. But it was quite a shock when - after having made the long journey to Suzuka - he sees the familiar perfectly messy hair.

More somber than he had ever seen Charles before. The beauty had traded in his typical Ferrari red for AlphaTauri white and navy, and a guest pass declaring him “Guest of Pierre Gasly.” Then he had joined Pierre on a track walk.

Max had watched as Pierre and his trainer continued making their way around the Suzuka Circuit even as Charles wandered towards the run-off area on the outside of the Dunlop Curve. And then Max watched as the normally composed and aloof man fell to his knees.

Max looked around. No one else seemed surprised to see the Monegasque’s body shaking as he sobbed on the gravel. Max had spotted Daniel across the track with his own trainer and nudged his way over to the Australian.

“What’s up with him?”

"Charles Leclerc?" Daniel questioned, "You don't know? He's Jules- was Jules god son."

"Oh," Is all Max said, he didn't know what else he should have said.

And Max felt so stupid, how hadn't he made the connection before?

No wonder no one else had seemed surprised, that Charles was constantly hanging around the paddock, wearing Red when his friend was in white and blue.

No wonder that in addition to being especially close with Pierre, the older drivers seem to have a bit of a soft spot for him. He probably should have realised there was more going on after hearing someone mention Pierre and Charles grew up together.

They'd all seen that the sport can take and take and take - the sobbing man of front of him was proof enough of that.

Max had barely realised, he was standing in front Charles before the words. "It sucks." Had rushed out of his mouth, and god, the other man snorts. Too taken aback with what Max just said, to have realised he stopped crying.

He looked up at Max, and a brief thought barrels through his mind. Fuck Charles looks good on his knees. But then Max reminded himself that that was probably pretty fucking inapproiate. Instead he reached a hand out, a sort of apology, but definitely an attempt to help to other to forget what Max had just said.

"Thank you." Charles smiled at him, the tears were still fresh on his chins, but Max could breathe a bit lighter when his hand clasped with Charles. He rest his other hand on Charle's back, as he wobbled for a few moments. Before Max realised where they were, retracting his hand to his side, far too fast, far too uncomfortable.

"Thank you." Charles repeated, letting go of Max's other hand. Max made an attempt to not show the disappointment on his face, the way the Monegasque smiled at him, told him he had failed. And Max didn't mind loosing that much when Charles looked at him like that.

-

With a few weeks in the back mirror, and some alcohol in their bodies. Charles had found himself with Max in the driver's penthouse apartment.

Max's lips were moving against his own, but then Max spoke, and Charles just wanted him to shut up. That's why he kissed him to begin with.

"What's your price?"

Charles froze for a moment, before returning to running his fingers over Max's sides.

"Your guilt will tell you tomorrow." He murmured back against Max's lips, so Max was aware of how Charles worked, and for some reason, it hurt.

Charles had never been paid directly, never a predetermined amount, it was all in hush money and gifts, places he had been taken and shown off, the clothes on his body, the drinks in his hands, the jewellery around his neck and fingers. Pierre had once called him a prisoner in golden chains, and Charles had told him he was full of shit.

But then Max cooked him breakfast.

This was not part of the deal, this was not part of anything. This was not how this was supposed to go. Max was supposed to tell him it was a mistake, and pay off Charles to keep quiet. Not cook him breakfast.

"Why- why are you-" His voice failed him, the Monégasque known for his smooth tongue, and tempting words, cannot speak. His greatest weapon had been lowered by a man in a silly apron.

"I don't regret anything."

Charles had been gifted jewels by princes and dukes and lords. He had been gifted Ferraris and Lamborghinis and Bugattis by billionaires. He had even been gifted a yacht by a sheikh once (long story). But this was the first time that he had been made to feel human after. That someone had gifted him the feeling of being wanted for more than his body. And now he feels like crying at the sight of slightly charred toast and scrambled eggs.

Max seemed to panic at the distress Charles was feeling. Unable to understand what was going on, not that Charles blamed him at all.

"I'm so sorry," Max had rushed out an apology at the first sight of potential tears, "are you vegan? Celiac? Fuck I should have asked, I have celery! Do you want celery?"

Charles had laughed at that, tears in his eyes at the sight of the formula 1 world champion reduced to panic because someone like Charles might not like his breakfast.

"I fucking hate celery," Charles had told Max, feeling a lot better, despite the Dutchman's confusion and seemingly oblivion to all the feelings that had been cruising through Charles.

Then one of Max's cats had jumped on the counter and tried to kidnap Charles's toast, and Max had set chase after the cat, and Charles had found himself thinking.

I could get used to this.

[ladylylla]

TA-DAH! 🪲🎉

Back at it again, with the Beetlejuice art, despite it still being the holidays.. now that its winter break I actually have some time to devote myself back into my interests so, yayy more art!

First of all, if youre anything like me this album is a huge nostalgia trip for you, secondly! , this is a redraw of the cover from the scissor sisters album “ta-dah”! Its one of my favorite album covers, and it has just the right amount of people to suit the main cast of beetlejuice 🥳 Also it was my first time drawing about… 70% of these characters so, hopefully I did ok?? Anyways! Enjoy! And also merry christmas happy holidays if I dont post until the new year :))💞💞

[shnikkles]

Designs for Charles, Delia, The Maitlands, and Miss Argentina!

[carly404error]

Doodles of @bisexualbeetlejuice ‘s fic from ages ago that I’m hyperfixated over (“take me where my soul can run”). These took longer than they should’ve, but hey, maybe it was worth it? I do like them a lot tbh.

(Spoiler alert for the fic btw).

[savoirscare]

[jamjamm1339]

More traditional stuff (slight throwback to when I dragged my sister to watch the performance with me)

[gas-station-trackphone]

Eddie and Steve lose a bet with El and their punishment is that they have to dress up as the Barbara and Adam Maitland to her Lydia Deetz for Halloween, and if Steve thought he was feeling Confused™️ before, seeing Eddie in drag makes him feel like he’s never know coherence a day in his life

[royalwhumpness]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice - Reimagined [Fanfic]

Beetlejuice Beetlejuice didn’t quite live up to my expectations. I was disappointed by some of the creative choices, particularly in how certain characters were portrayed and the story direction. This fic is my re-imagining of the movie, reflecting how I feel the characters and story could have been better developed. ’ve removed the fiancée/manager character entirely. I found him unnecessary, and his execution felt lacking. The overuse of mental health terms to villainize him and, by extension, the mental health movement, struck me as lazy and problematic. While his manipulative nature was meant to control Lydia, there was no positive representation to counterbalance his portrayal, leaving the audience with little context for his misuse. Instead, these issues were treated as punchlines, which, in my opinion, trivialized the subject matter. In my version, Betelgeuse’s ex is introduced more subtly, with hints of her greater role as the main antagonist in a potential third installment: Beetlejuice, Beetlejuice, Beetljuice. Her character was completely underutilized in the film, and I felt she was given one of the most anticlimactic ends for any villain. Bob is not in this story. I’ve slightly re-imagined the detective, a character with a lot of untapped potential. On the other hand, Jeremy was the standout character for me and should have been the central antagonist. I’ve developed his relationship with Astrid more deeply, creating a stronger emotional impact leading up to his betrayal. Astrid, in my version, is a more realistic teenager—not the stereotypical brat she was in the movie. She and Lydia have a complex relationship, which, while strained, is more balanced. (Let’s not forget that Lydia herself was once a moody, gothic teen. She had personality, moped around, and resented her stepmother, but her characterization felt more nuanced and authentic than Astrid’s does here.) I was also disappointed by Delia’s treatment in the sequel—she felt like a mere caricature of her original self, and I believe she deserved much more. As for Betelgeuse, he went from being an outcast in the first film—someone you were warned against—to having an office and a legitimate business? That felt completely out of place. Much like Delia, he seemed like a caricature of his former self, and he’s significantly overpowered in this version. I’ve returned him to the chaotic, outcast anti-hero we all know. If you enjoyed the movie, that’s great—everyone has different tastes, and I respect that. But I hope you’ll give this version a chance and maybe find something to enjoy here too. If, like me, you were left wanting more from the sequel, perhaps this re-imagining will help scratch that itch. It’s been a cathartic project for me, and I hope you enjoy the read.

You can visit my AO3 if you'd like instead of reading here! Kudos would be much appreciated <3

PART ONE

“I can’t believe he survived that crash,” Lydia said, kneeling beside Delia and her daughter Astrid in front of her father’s gravestone. His likeness was etched into a chunk of stone shaped like a shark’s fin. Under the portrait, the inscription read:

Charles Deetz Husband, Father, Grandfather Peace Embraces the Dead Ones 1946-2024.

“Yes, well, I can’t believe that dreadful shark has his head in its belly.” Delia replied wryly, dabbing her eyes with a black handkerchief.

Silence hung in the air until Delia broke it with a sharp, ill-timed squawk: “Welp!” She slapped her knees and stood up abruptly. “Time to sell the house.” Lydia’s mouth fell open as Delia walked away, and after a brief moment of shock, she scrambled to chase after her. “Sell? Wha-why? You can’t, I-“ Lydia stammered. Delia silenced her with a raised, gloved hand. “Lydia, I’ve tried dressing this house in as much metaphorical gold as possible, but it’s still painfully clear that it is shit.” She lowered her hand, “I only stayed because your father loved it, but now I can finally rid myself of its stench. Not to mention that it is now an ugly reminder that my husband is no longer here.” With that, she stormed off, leaving Lydia frozen, watching her retreat. Every fragment of her life she held dear seemed to slip through her fingers, and with each heartbreak, the weight of grief grew heavier. She started bracing herself beneath the looming shadow of yet another impending loss.

Astrid came to stand beside her mom, gently placing a hand on her arm. Lydia glanced down at her daughter, and for a moment, she marveled at the beauty she had brought into the world. She saw herself in Astrid’s smile, but her inky black eyes, high and rounded cheekbones, and even her cute, small ears were all her father’s. At 15, Astrid had endured more than her fair share of losses. For years now, it had been just her and Lydia. Before she turned four, her grandparents had been a constant presence, always nearby. Then one day, with arms full of suitcases, they drove off, their car shrinking into the bright summer horizon. Only her grandfather reappeared from time to time, sitting with her to watch the birds while her mother tended to grieving clients. And instead of growing up surrounded by the warm, steadfast presence of her father, Astrid and Lydia had to confront his absence, mourning him when she was barely seven. Lydia placed her hand gently over Astrid’s. “I’m not going to let her sell the house.” Astrid remained silent, but she didn’t need to say anything. Astrid had never shown any affection for the house or its bygone charm. She had never known its vibrant, ghost-filled days. The town was small, and Astrid had eagerly accepted the chance to go to boarding school when she started her freshman year. To Astrid, this place, steeped in Lydia’s memories, was just a house. Instead, Astrid extended a soft, comforting smile before quietly following Delia’s path.

A little while later, Lydia found Delia in Charles’ office, researching how to list the house for sale and how soon after a death it could be done. “Delia, you don’t even live here anymore. I live here, and Astrid lives here. Doesn’t that mean something?” Without looking up from her screen, Delia replied, “You live here. Astrid goes to boarding school.” Lydia just stared. Where there should have been a beating, pulsing red glob of muscle in Delia’s chest, Lydia saw a yawning, gaping void. She watched as it seemed to draw in and distort the light around it, bending and warping everything towards its dark, insatiable center. Noticing the silence, Delia looked up. “Why are you so determined to stay? The Maitlands have moved on, Astrid is rarely home, and your ex-husband and father are both gone. I don’t see-“ She paused, her gaze meeting Lydia’s. The expression on Lydia’s face made her feel foolish. “I’m making an ass of myself, aren’t I?” Lydia responded with a slow, exaggerated nod, her eyes widening and lips pursed as if to underscore the obviousness of the answer. “I have a business here,” Lydia said quietly, “and memories.” Delia’s face softened. Lydia could see that her usual scowl had melted into something of a motherly expression of genuine compassion and sympathy. “Oh, Lydia.” She rose from her chair and approached her, reaching out to gently touch her face. “We’ve never really gotten along, have we? But you’re still my daughter, and we only have each other now.” “Then why are you uprooting my whole life right now?” Delia had no answer. She hadn’t lived in the house for over a decade. She and Charles had bought a condo in New York, allowing her to pursue her artistic endeavors and escape the ghost house. Charles would often travel back and forth, spending months at a time with Lydia and Astrid to indulge in his seasonal bird watching hobby. Meanwhile, Lydia remained behind, raising Astrid, supporting the house with her psychic business, and keeping Charles company during his visits.

“Alright,” Delia began, “I’m going to wait. But I still intend to sell the house.” Lydia started to interrupt, but Delia raised the same gloved hand to silence her. “I’m going to sell it eventually. But I’m not doing this out of spite. I want you to have the chance to move on, Lydia. I’m giving you a year.” Lydia sighed, lowering her gaze. A year might as well have been next week. The pause stretched long. An overwhelming urge to argue or plead spread through her bones and soaked into her throat, but she swallowed it down, managing a quiet, “Thank you,” paired with a soft, sullen smile. Delia’s expression brightened, and she gave Lydia’s nose a playful boop before leaving the office.

Astrid found her mom sulking on the couch, playing with her wedding ring. “You haven’t worn that in forever,” she said, sitting beside her and resting her head on her shoulder. Lydia returned the gesture, gently resting her own head on Astrid’s. She showed Astrid the ring and the inscription inside: ‘I will be with you, always.’ “Why can’t you see him, Mom?” Astrid asked softly. “I wish I knew, Astrid. Why can’t you?” Astrid lifted her head abruptly and shifted towards the edge of the couch, as if preparing to leave. Lydia, sensing Astrid’s frustration, said, “You can see them.” “So you say, but I have never seen one.” “You saw one when…“ “That I remember,” Astrid interrupted, cutting Lydia off before she could remind her, yet again, of the ghost she saw when she was four. It had been just over ten years since then, and she hadn’t seen one since.

“I’m going to ride my bike around town. I’ll see you later.” Astrid said. Lydia reached out to lovingly rub Astrid’s back before she left. “Okay. Be safe.” Astrid gave a slight smile and stood up. She often felt frustrated whenever her mom brought up her ability, or inability, to see ghosts. Thoughts swirled in her mind: Why can’t I see them? Am I not good enough? Are they even real? Would my mom really lie about something like this? She found it best to distance herself in these moments to avoid lashing out at her.

It had happened once before. Lydia was attempting to teach Astrid how to see ghosts, despite not fully understanding her own abilities. Frustrated by her failures regardless of her mother’s guidance, Astrid snapped. She accused her mother of being a fraud, claiming her psychic abilities were fake and that her business cheated clients out of their money. Astrid instantly regretted her harsh words. Though she didn’t see her mother’s reaction, she sensed it— the subtle shift—and prepared herself for what felt like the beginning of a strained relationship. It became routine then that at the first sign of rising anger or frustration, Astrid would remove herself from the situation to avoid confronting it altogether.

Astrid walked out the front door without a backward glance. Lately, her words had grown fewer, the once-eager stories about her day fading into silence. She barely met Lydia’s eyes anymore, and though small gestures of affection remained, the growing distance was unmistakable. Lydia’s heart ached as she watched her daughter go. Rising from the couch, she looked around the empty house. It was now haunted not by spirits, but by the echoes of a time when it was alive with the Maitlands’ presence and her family’s warm company. Longing to reclaim those cherished moments, she wandered through the house. Her eyes settled on her room, and a deep wave of sentimentality washed over her. An irresistible pull drew her toward the attic, driven by a quiet hope that revisiting the past might help her reconnect with what had been lost.

In her room, Lydia pulled out a small drawer from her jewelry box and carefully took out the old, familiar skeleton key. She smiled at it wistfully before heading for the attic. The stairs were draped in cobwebs and spider silk, hinting at years of neglect. Lydia unlocked the attic door and, after a struggle to unstick it, pushed it open and stepped inside. Waves of familiarity and longing enveloped her. Everything was covered in thick sheets and layers upon layers of dust undisturbed on top. It was clear that neither Lydia nor any other Deetz had ventured into this attic in years. She pulled the sheet off the town model and flicked on the switch. The model illuminated, instantly rekindling its old charm and wonder. Lydia leaned on the table, taking in the intricate details of the small buildings she hadn’t seen since before Astrid was born.

“Oh, I miss you so much,” Lydia said with a sigh. “I wish you had never moved on. We could have stayed a family, even in death.” She spoke aloud with the same reverence and cadence as one might when addressing an unseen deity. Speaking with the departed had always come easily to her—unless they had crossed beyond the reach of the afterlife. At that point, she was merely talking to herself. She knew they couldn’t hear her, but she needed to talk to them anyway. She lowered her head. “Why did you leave me?” She poked absentmindedly at a red toy car in a miniature driveway. “I wish you could have met Astrid. She would have loved you both.” She saw visions of Astrid coming home with her class drawings, eagerly showing them off to the Maitlands. She wanted Astrid to experience the joy she felt when they used their silly ghost powers. “You barely knew Richard before you were given your ticket to the Ethereal Express. Gone forever. And now Richard is gone, too. I can’t even see his spirit. My father is gone, my daughter is unreachable, and Delia is going to sell the house.” Lydia rested her head lightly on the table. She could feel the emotions bubbling up in her eyes, but she wasn’t willing to cry just yet.

She straightened up, sniffling back her tears and swallowing the sob in her throat. She lingered for a moment in silence, watching the dust particles swirl around the model town. Her gaze, initially soft, allowing herself to be at ease watching everything blur, suddenly sharpened. A vivid neon red light flickered on in the model, casting eerie patterns across her face. A soundless gasp escaped her as she saw Betelgeuse’s gravestone had materialized, and above it, a marquee sign surrounded by bulbs flashing in a captivating chase illuminated the words: "I'm still here, Lydia." Panicked, Lydia yanked a sheet over the model, turned off the lights, and rushed out of the attic, locking the door behind her before bolting down the stairs.

[lovesarr0w]

NEW 🪲🧃 DISCORD SERVER ‼️‼️ 🫵🏾🤯🤯🤯💥💥💥

I finally got around to trying to make a cool looking little discord server for beetlejuice brain rot & I finally have it finished I think !!!! 🥹🥹 The server is ADULTS only (18 and up), & hopefully it'll serve as a better opportunity to get to know each other & yap together, etc . :D

just a bit of extras : prosh*p / beetleb*bes / beetlel*ds is not tolerated here, feel free to share the link and invite friends who may be interested, & have fun !!! :3

[rtfics]

Beetlejuice: The entire movie in a gif.

[jessicawesker83]

Who thinks that the Maitlands will make a cameo in BeetleJuice BeetleJuice or at least be mentioned?

[struggling-with-drivers]

This is pure brainrot

Been having a lot of thoughts lately, since I can't seem to finish and actual fic, have this idea of some wish au or time travel au or whatever.

Au where Charles got granted a wish to change one thing in his past.

Max is on his knee in front of him, and Charles can't take it anymore.

"Charles will you marr-"

"I did something bad." Charles rushes out, tears already prickling.

"What?"

"Max I did something terrible." Charles repeats himself. "Something horrible."

Max's face twists as he looks up at Charles, a sight that usually would bring him nothing but pleasure, but now it rushes him with guilt.

"Charles. What did you do?" Max is slowly closing the ring box. A loud snap accompanying the motion.

"I- you- we- I'm sorry." Charles breathes out, "I'm so sorry, I had to do it, and you need to know."

Max is getting up from the ground the box clutched in his hand as a look of disappointment washes over his face, maybe even anger with the way his face is turning red.

"Charles, what. Did. You. Do." Max is punctuating each word.

"You were a world champion."

"What?" Max nearly laughs, "what excuse is that?! Charles did you sleep with someone else?!"

"Wha- no, no!" He screeches, "you were a 3 times world champion on your way to your 4th, and I just, Max. Max I made a mistake."

"What do you mean world champion?"

"I got a chance, I didn't think it was real, I was drunk and this guy showed up, and talked about if I could change one thing, and I told him, and I don't know, then everything changed, and chèri I'm so sorry."

"I'll humour you, what did you wish for?"

"Remember when we were 6, the 2nd time we met, I saw your dad hit you over the head. I wished I had told my dad instead of staying silent."

"What do you mean? But you did say something, your parents helped my mom and-"

"No Max, I didn't..." Charles watches as Max's face scrunches, an urge to puke forms in Charles.

"You didn't." Max's voice cracks as he seems to look like a train hit him, a lifetime of memories that aren't his floods his mind.

Max went to live with him mum, the Leclerc's helped them, and Max didn't, he was never left a gas station, he never kept karting, he went to school and was good, he got into university, he kissed Charles. He... Won. A lot Max won a lot and fought with Charles, and called him horrible words, and Charles hated him, and Max kept winning, Max drove fast cars, Charles by his side. Max won 3 championship, nearly a 4th as well. Max didn't go to university for a degree. Max was a formula 1 championship and Charles took it all away from him.

-

Charles had watched Max get hit by his dad when he was 6 and said nothing about it.

During a night out after a race, a club he shouldn't be in considering that he got 9th in a fucking Ferrari, and yet he was. Unable to forget the stiffness of Max's shoulders as Jos didn't even congratulate his son for the win.

When black hair flooded his vision asking questions about his life, his regrets, what he would change, and Charles must have been drunker than he thought.

Because out of everything he regrets, he told the stranger, "I regret staying silent."

And Charles never said about what or when or how, but then he had blacked out. He didn't even remember leaving the bar, but a pair of arms was around his waist, and then he had been shocked when he recognised those hands, and then a gruff voice had asked him why he was awake so early, and Charles...

Charles had let himself fall back asleep, all too content with pretending everything was normal, with how Max looked at him. Max looked so happy whenever he looked at Charles, and Charles just couldn't take anything else away.

So he stayed, and pretended to be the Charles this Max knew, the one who works as a model, the one who listens to Max talk about V8 engines that he's working on for Audi.

Charles hoped that it had all just been a far too vivid dream that had stuck around in the back of his head, muddling his memories, but he knew. He knew what he had done, and he just couldn't take the lightness away from Max again.

Not when he smiles so brightly, not when he looks so relaxed, not when he looks at Charles in the way Charles had wanted for more years than he had ever been able to process.