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“what would he do if he found us out?”
The weight of Max's question settled between the sheets. The same sheets in which he found himself coming down from a feeling he was never going to get used to, a feeling only one person could bring out of him.
Max wasn’t used to feeling things, he preferred to experience them in a cold, objective and realistic way. It was the armor that successful people wore, the shield against the unpredictable currents of sentiment. Yet, here he was, the echo of his question hanging in the air, disrupting the balance of his -otherwise- calculated world.
“I don’t think he would fist fight you in the middle of the paddock if that’s what you are so afraid of.”
Arthur let out a quiet laugh at his own words trying to mask the deeper truth he wasn’t ready to confront. He couldn’t bother himself with such thoughts when he was laying in Max’s bed with his fingers delicately weaving through Max's hair. Arthur knew he could probably come off as obsessed but at this point the idea didn't bother him; if anything, it felt like a small price to pay for the moments that they stole on begged and borrowed time.
“I’m not joking Arthur. He has every right to feel protective over you.”
Max insisted, his tone carrying a compassionate undertone. Max was, as always, the voice of reason, even though most of the time it was at his expense. He wasn’t afraid to give credit where credit was due, he wasn’t embarrassed to admit his mistakes and learn from them.
“I’m big enough of a boy to know who I want to sleep with, no one else has a say in that.”
Arthur retorted, his words laced with a play pretend confidence. In this moment, he knew he was acting like a bratty spoiled kid again and that this behavior wasn’t helping their situation. He understood the irrationality of his stance, but his heart, swayed by emotions, would not yield easily.
Max's gaze held a mixture of frustration and concern, a silent plea for understanding that Arthur met with an unwavering gaze of his own.
It’s been a while since the first time they’ve met up. This was never meant to happen, yet it unfolded like an extended Romeo and Juliet play, a forbidden sweetness that felt undeniably right.
When they first hang out, it was Max that invited Arthur to party with him in a club in Melbourne. It was a good weekend for both of them; Max clinched victory in his F1 race, while Arthur secured his place on the F2 podium. The air buzzed with the shared thrill of success, and each had their own reason to celebrate.
For Arthur, the invitation came as a surprise, considering he had never really engaged with the Dutchman before. However, he chose not to trouble his brother with the details. Aware that Charles had a challenging day marked by spinning out of his race, Arthur felt it wasn't the time to share news of the invitation from the race winner.
If Arthur was ever asked about that party, he would probably answer in the quite famous words that some wag had used in the past: "Something magical happened that night".
After that they met again and again, every f2 weekend, every time they had the chance. It was beautiful and mature between them. Max stood by Arthur in challenging times, and Arthur shared in Max's triumphs. Hotel rooms became their haven, where room service was ordered, conversations about races ensued, and laughter echoed through the night as they watched TV shows in languages foreign to them, finding joy in jesting about characters before kissing and touching each other till the sun came up.
Yet, amid all this, they skillfully avoided addressing the elephant in the room. An elephant in the form of a charismatic, talented and captivating F1 driver. An elephant called Charles Leclerc.
Arthur didn’t find the courage to talk to his brother about Max and him, about the hours of trash TV they had consumed cuddled up snacking on popcorn and Red Bull (Arthur was convinced that this last part would be the one which would throw his brother over the edge). It wasn't that he feared Charles's disapproval; rather, he couldn't pinpoint what exactly he was afraid of. Arthur considered himself a grown man capable of making his own choices, yet there lingered a sense of trepidation.
At times, he grappled with the weight of feeling like a traitor, as if he was betraying his own brother by forming such a close connection with his rival. The irony stung— out of the nineteen drivers, Max had to be the one entangled in that iconic rivalry with Charles. It felt like Arthur was magnificently cursed; life granted him a glimpse of happiness only to burden him with guilt.
Max didn't bring up Charles when they were discussing their races; out of respect. Arthur also didn't bring up Charles when he was talking about his day; that one wasn't out of respect, it just didn't feel appropriate.
The second time they met, in Baku, they had an intense talk about what the nature of their new dynamic was supposed to be and decided to keep this going but not tell anyone. It was a difficult moment but in retrospect it brought them closer.
Back then, Max ended their conversation by responding to Arthur's “So tell me to run or dare to sit and watch what we'll become” with a kiss. Labeling it as 'cute' would be a reduction; instead, it was a dramatic choice that, with the passage of time, transformed into a shared amusement, a secret tucked away in their early days.
Since that talk, neither dared to burst the delicate bubble they had carefully crafted by spending time alone and constantly isolating themselves from their friends and family. In the eyes of their respective circles, a whisper of suspicion lingered - a secret girlfriend situation hinted at by their intentional distancing. Despite countless hangout invitations met with a repeated "no" after races, nobody asked more.
“I never denied that you are a big boy Arthur, but you know Charles, you know him much better than me. He's gonna burn this house to the ground if it assures him that we will never meet again.”
Max used his serious tone; the one he always tried to avoid when talking to Arthur. He didn’t want Arthur to think of him as harsh, mad and cold-blooded —a label that had unfairly been given to him from others.
“Max please, we are together in your bed after your record-breaking race and the best sex we ever had and you choose to talk to me about Charles? If that’s what you really want to do right now, maybe I am not the right Leclerc brother for it and maybe those stupid Twitter theories are not that stupid after all.”
Arthur's frustration etched lines on his face, the room suddenly feeling smaller. He was so visibly irritated that he looked scary, and he thought he had every right to be, because he found all this so unnecessary and stressful.
"Are you even aware of what you're saying? Accusing me of nonsense when all I'm doing is looking out for you—for us, like I promised back in Baku."
"In Baku, you promised to keep me close, even if it felt risky. You promised to not let Charles influence your feelings about me, about us."
"I'm not letting him change a damn thing. I'm as excited to spend time with you as that first night in Australia. I'm as desperate to have you close as I did after our first time. I'm as in love with you as ever. Can you, for once, calm the fuck down and stop picking fights like your life depends on it?"
Arthur crossed his arms ,directing his gaze at the ceiling, frustration turning to defiance. He let a moment pass before replying, a moment full of possible answers. He felt as if he was trapped in the middle of a “butterfly effect” moment. The “this action will have consequences” quote from that video game he was playing when he was younger never felt more real.
Arthur could picture many different endings to their conversation but only a few of them seemed hopeful and even less of them seemed happy. However, he was resolute in his stance—he wasn't willing to compromise or alter his truth just to keep something that maybe wasn’t meant to be. He sensed his voice taking on a life of its own, as if guided by a force beyond his conscious control and he spoke.
"You started it. So yeah, it's a war. It's the goddamn fight of my life. And you started it.”