#no read more im on the app we die like binotto's career

[maxemilianverstappen]

"If you took away racing from either of them, Charles wasn’t sure if there would be anything left."

I saw this line in drivestraight's lestappen fic we go way back and since it also fits into my 2022 fic idea, I got inspired to write this:

"What do we have in common other than racing?" Charles asked rather cruelly, apparently taking a strange sense of satisfaction out of the way how colour rose on Max's cheeks and his eyes widened before he averted them for a second only for them to zero in on at Charles as he went on speaking.

"If we weren't drivers, we wouldn't even have met even if we'd live in the same neighborhood." He clearly believed into what he was saying, judging by the flippant way he was smiling at Max's put down expression.

"Even if we had met by some bizarre happening, we would have never seen each other again." He shrugged and leaned back onto his elbow, a picture of uncaring aloofness.

"You'd think I was snobbish, I'd think you are just some guy... What's there for us to do a double take at each other on the off chance that we'd ever met? Nothing..." He answered his own question with a finality to his statement that it took Max a moment to utter what was on his mind in a way he hoped Charles wouldn't just dismiss as if swatting at a fly.

"Well, you are handsome..." Max offered with all the honesty in the world, his voice getting a bit high pitched with nervousness, sorely aware of what he was insinuating. But there was no shame in admitting the obvious, so he went on. "And even though you'd think of me just as 'some guy', I'd certainly do a double take at you if I had seen you at the cafe on the corner or at the grocery store or at wherever we'd both frequented." He was practically confessing his attraction here even as he tried to act casual about his admission. But the way he wasn't able to keep the eye contact longer than a few seconds at a time totally belied his expectation for a softer and maybe a shier smile in answer.

But nothing of the sort came. "And you seriously think I would notice you the way you'd notice me..." It wasn't a question. It was a merciless let down.

Max blinked at the way Charles observed him with an emotion on his face that he resembled to disdain. Suddenly, it was so hard to swallow, so hard to just stand there and continue talking as if he wasn't being rejected in the most cruelest of the ways. He unseeingly looked at his gintonic glass and completely losing his joy, he put his drink back onto the bar counter where Charles was relaxing against just so he could do something.

"I... I know I am not that handsome." He accepted as he had done many times before, even in front of the cameras, jokingly calling himself much more merciless stuff. It was always easier to hear it first from his own lips instead of others saying that about him. He didn't care. He really didn't give a damn about his looks. It didn't hurt him as much as what Charles had just said about them having nothing else between them other than racing. Yet, Charles didn't even shake his head at his admission, not even out of courtesy and, wow... He really must have meant nothing to him other than being the current fastest guy that he had to beat to feel better about himself, huh...

"But... Why is it so hard to look at me the way I am, Charles?" He asked, head tilted a bit to the side, lips pressed together and hands pushed into his jeans pockets, uncomfortable just the way his heart felt in his ribcage. "Why is it so hard for you to actually look at this some guy?"

Why is it so hard to love me?

Charles visibly squared up his shoulders as if he was utterly bored, fed up even, but he never lost the eye contact with Max like one would scold a child. "Sometimes people just don't seem interesting enough, you know. Not exactly only due to their looks..." He pushed out his bottom lip and shrugged in disinterest as if he couldn't be arsed to even mull over why Max would even feel offended.

"I see..." Max was morbidly impressed with Charles' sharp and stone cold logic, eyebrows raised and face betraying all his disappointment in himself, in Charles, and in everything else. "So, my only merit is my racing craft." He nodded, matter of fact and as neutral as possible even though he felt sick in the stomach at the way Charles only watched him in silence, neither denying nor confirming. Well, silence was a sort of confirmation in and of itself, so...

He shrugged and dug his hands deeper into his empty pockets. "Don't know if I want to be a source of entertainment for you anymore, then." His face contorted into a show of mild disgust at the way this talk turned out, at the way he finally had seen some sort of emotion flitting across Charles' face for a second other than that icy merciless apathy. "But then again, you'll always find your entertainment elsewhere, right?" He figured in a deprecating manner, but didn't know what he loathed more: his love for racing and thus being a part of Charles' world or Charles readily agreeing with him.

"There are many other talented guys on the grid other than you and me, Max."

"Of course." Max agreed, too, smiling edgily with a bravado that he didn't actually have in him at that moment. "You go enjoy your mighty battles... Because I will win many more championships in the meanwhile." He derided, equally cold and cruel, wanting to hurt Charles as much as he had hurt him tonight, wishing he actually cared about championships more than how he believed Charles didn't give a damn about him as a person. He set his jaw and hastily turned around to get away from the other man and disappear among the party goers as soon as possible.

Charles watched him storm off and with each step Max took away from him, he deflated and lost a bit of his nonchalant and confident air. He turned back to the bar area, his shoulders slumped and his eyes losing all their fire. The glass of dry whiskey in his hand felt like a beacon of consolation; so, he chugged it all down in one swing and grimaced at the bitter punch that burned down his throat and settled in his gut like some nasty unforgivable sin. He pushed the glass away on the perfectly polished bar counter and the barman looked at him in question.

"Another..." He demanded, rubbing a hand over his face harshly. But as he watched the barman pour him the drink, he shook his head at himself and decided. "Leave the bottle here."

He was absolutely fucked. So, he might as well get wasted and hope to forget about the way he had just destroyed Max's heart. The dirty blond beauty that just sat beside him and looked at him with sea blue eyes might also help.

Yeah... That should just do the trick.

Max would eventually get over it anyway.