Chapter Text
These coming weeks go by in a haze. It’s painstakingly slow, nearly torturous. Days drone by in blurs as time meshes into one big mass like a bottle of vitamins left in the car on a hot, summer day. Days that were supposed to be restful felt anything but that. Sleep eluded him and everything seemed draining. Even while boarding cars and airplanes, nothing seemed to connect him back to reality. Thousands of meters in the sky with nothing but the white clouds and blue waves below, someone still haunted his mind.
For someone who has said he is fully committed to his goal, Max couldn’t be the furthest thing from that at the moment. The vast majority of his time is spent zoned out and the few times he isn’t, time is spent doing what someone else tells him to do instead of using his brain. Moments of high-speed corners and a big tanned paw grasping his too-pale palm reply over and over. He constantly looks over his shoulder, expecting to see dark flowing curls or giant cow-like eyes on him. This is torture.
Max wouldn’t know how to describe what he’s feeling in this state of mind. In the simplest terms, he simply isn’t there. He isn’t happy but he also isn’t indifferent. He’s bothered by something but he couldn’t figure out what was bothering him. Like an itch in a place he can’t reach or a splinter too small to pull out. He feels this indescribable gray area stuck between anger, sadness, jealousy, and humiliation.
Disappointment may be a part of it. As adamant that he is that his soulmate is not his teammate after the handshake, there's been complete radio silence between him and his soulmate. Max wasn’t relieved. There had always been a tug in recent years, even during the F3 off-season but after the handshake there's been… essentially nothing.
Everyone has heard horror stories about soulmates who have fallen out of love with each other and nightmare situations of one soulmate dying, leaving the other with an overwhelming heartbreak that almost always led to suicide. Max never felt like his soul had been shattered and he felt no gut-wrenching grief that would come with death. He still had his mark but it was like someone bent the antenna to an old television box. He was experiencing something similar to static; something was trying to get through but couldn’t, leaving behind an incredibly annoying sound instead. In this case, that “annoying sound” was his own paranoid thoughts.
Max was on the verge of completely shutting down. The only thing keeping him from a full blown freakout is the occasional “straightening” of the antenna. A heartbeat and steady breathing of someone else in the distance, muffled like it was coming from behind a wall. Usually, he could only tune everything out while laying in the darkness of his room with nothing but the creak of the old bedroom fan hanging on the ceiling. That was the only way he could tune in and “break the static”.
Max starts to eat less, talk less, and does less. He pretends he was miserable when he was with Carlos and pretends he doesn’t yearn to see him in person, to be close to see the freckles and pores of his tanned, rosy skin. He pretends he doesn't replay their conversation in his head just to hear how his r’s rolled and the endearing way he spoke, obviously needing a few more English grammar lessons. He pretends he doesn't fall asleep at night thinking about Carlos holding him in a warm embrace. He pretends not to think about that handshake and the ever-growing pit in his stomach when he hasn't felt emotions that weren’t his in weeks. None of that is true, he tells himself. It's just a manifestation of stress caused by him, he tells himself... But stress doesn't make you wonder if your lovable teammate-soon-to-be-rival, who you have only met once before, wears Italian colognes or French perfumes or maybe something German or British.
His soulmate isn't dead and his soulmate will not be Carlos Sainz, he reminds himself. The warm, shy yet endlessly kind Spaniard simply wouldn't stop gushing with intense emotion out of nowhere so this sudden cut off wouldn’t make sense for him. However, that conclusion came to fruition based on assumptions and concepts crafted in Max’s head by wishful thinking. It couldn't be him, he reassures himself, Carlos wasn’t his soulmate.
And maybe it was, a small voice whispered. Perhaps their connection had been severed because of you, that same voice told him. Max remembers that feeling of hurt and grief, unable to tell who it was coming from. The last time he saw his teammate was when he locked eyes with that confused hurt and shock on Carlos’ face from over his shoulder while fleeing the garage. That face shattered his being in a way he couldn't begin to describe nor ever articulate out loud. That image was burnt into his memory. The way Carlos’ eyes were bigger than usual and the way his eyebrows creased with concern. It’s suffocating just to think about it. Max grit his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut, another wave of embarrassment and terror washing over him. That look was heartbreak, he realized. Carlos looked heartbroken . Who else would be able to ruin an entire relationship with barely ten sentences other than Max Verstappen?
It was nauseating how much of a mess Max was. Frustratingly stuck could describe what Max is feeling right now. He’s conflicted yet again. He wants to hate Carlos Sainz but, while he will not admit it to himself, he’s shamefully smitten by him. Not only was his teammate devilishly handsome with seemingly no effort, he had an intriguing character that made Max want to dig up everything he could to find out more. At the same time, he can’t like Carlos. Carlos could derail his entire future, he can’t fall in love with him. This is Max’s opportunity and his father will always be right in saying a teammate is your worst enemy. So, that’s his dilemma; Does he defy fate or defy years of training engraved into his very being by Jos Verstappen? Immovable object vs. unstoppable force.
Max is not friends with Carlos and Max will never be his friend. A constant headache is stuck at the front of his skull, reminding him of the impending doom that will fall upon him at Milton Keynes. Testing in Abu Dhabi had been straightforward; drive the car and don't crash it. Milton Keynes would be filled to the brim with Carlos, his personal nightmare and fantasy bundled into one horrific day. Videos will need to be done to market their brand new Red Bull members, long mostly useless meetings going over their plans of the season will be held, awkwardly parading around the office space to introduce himself to off-track staff members… Seeing the giant glass cases filled with trophies of the Red Bull past would be worth it. His trophies would be there soon, next to Webber's and next to Vettel's.
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The sun’s beaming through the clouds. A dark blue ocean below and through heavy gray clouds then finally back down onto a black tarmac. Through a crowded airport with people speaking all different languages and ushered into a taxi car. Buildings blur past, people walking on sidewalks come and go quickly, trees start to blur into the scenery, and the car halts to a stop in a hotel parking lot. Max only realizes he is no longer in the safety of his bedroom when a suitcase is suddenly in his hand while standing in an overly fancy hotel lobby. It felt like yesterday he was in Abu Dhabi but that must have been weeks ago.
Dark clouds hang over the sky, the low-hanging evening sunlight barely shining through their thickness to create an annoying effect that instantly worsens a headache brewing in Max’s head. Taking a quick scroll through the weather app, it only looked like it would get worse as the week progressed. Max wasn’t into melodrama but the depression hanging in the air felt appropriate for what he predicted his week to be like.
While settling into his hotel room, dread starts to set in. Max leaves his suitcase unpacked by the door and sits down on the corner of the bed, staring towards the balcony with the curtains that were pulled open by room service. The sky had significantly darkened, blocking out the stray rays of sun that were previously shining through the clouds. It’s uncomfortably cold but not cold enough for it to snow. Instead, freezing raindrops began to fall from the sky.
Anxiety crept up, latching itself onto his heart and lungs. Max rarely found himself doubting himself but something about Carlos was wrecking his brain. He knew he had to be cold and firm yet he wasn’t sure if he would be able to hold the facade up for long. The Red Bull higher-ups likely wouldn’t be too pleased if their two star rookies hated each other when they haven’t even touched the track though he would rather face their wrath than the wrath of his father.
This week was supposed to be positive. Yes, boring meetings would be inevitable but he would also get bonding time with the team, tours around his new home, and undeniable closeness with his teammate. All of that just sounded like a pain to Max at the moment. No one has ever uttered the words “I can’t wait to go to a team meeting!” and Max would not be the first. Meeting the team of people he would be working with for what he hoped was a real long time would be beneficial but Max couldn’t help but feel that he will only end up embarrassing himself further after the awkward interactions of Abu Dhabi. The tour around the Red Bull facility was certainly enticing but he had always been the type of person to want to do things on his own and at his own pace. Carlos Sainz…
The issue with his teammate is that he both wanted to be around him while simultaneously being repulsed by the love-struck warped image he created in his head. One moment he fantasized about his hand gingerly on his face and what his mouth tasted like. In the next, Carlos was the devil reincarnated sent down to destroy both him and his future. It was contradictory and a new insane level of creepy considering they only met once but Max couldn’t help it. With a face like that and an air of enticing melancholy, one would be a fool to not want to know more.
Heavy splat noises ripped Max out of his thoughts as it began to rain heavier, the outside world looking like it had suddenly turned to night. He didn’t want to think anymore. Thinking had only made him overthink then that overthinking led to digging himself a deeper hole. Carlos had somehow engraved himself so deep into Max’s being and Max wasn’t handling it well. He turned on the TV, a crappy talk show was on, and ordered a mediocre room service meal. He mindlessly watched the show and ate his meal when it arrived, not processing either of the two actions as he effectively turned his brain off to avoid the “teammate issue”.
The next couple of days would be rough on him with the close quarters with Carlos… Max decided to head to bed early both to mentally prepare and because he quite literally had nothing better to do. As he laid against the crinkly sheets of the hotel bed, the soothing thump of a heartbeat and deep breaths of someone far away lull him to sleep. Right before drifting off into slumber, Max could have sworn he heard a small chuckle reverberate through his soul with an familiar, unmistakable Spanish accent.
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Stepping out of the rented car he and his father had come harder than one would have expected. Max looked like utter hell, sleep deprived and looking like someone had just kicked his puppy. Despite going to sleep early, Max had woken up after what he could only describe as mental torment. He was laying in bed, not particularly dreaming when this “dream” happened. He could have sworn he felt warm hands wrap around his waist and a torso leaned on his back as those sickly soft lips of his teammate grazed his neck whispering sweet, Spanish nothings. To put it lightly, Max did not find sleep easily for the rest of the night. The dream felt so real Max had to question whether or not it had truly happened in Abu Dhabi and he had just been so dazed afterwards he forgot. Fortunately (or unfortunately… he wasn’t so sure), this queer fantasy was nothing but fiction created at the worst possible time.
Just like what the weather app predicted yesterday, today was also miserable. At the very best, this drizzle all day and a cold wind that seems to blow right through your clothes would stay all day. The worse option would be storms after lunch that carry through the night. Max silently hoped the puddles on the ground would form deep enough to drown himself so he didn't have to deal with any of the shenanigans of the day.
Entering Red Bull Racing’s facility felt like stepping into another realm. For the first time in a while, Max felt like he belonged here and with this team. He knew he was meant to lead here, he knew he was meant for the primary role on the main team. Whether or not they saw it, Max would make sure he gets that sooner rather than later. For now, he was just a rookie on the junior team with meetings and debriefings to attend to. The morning was jam-packed with team related business adventures while all the PR stuff would happen after lunch. The anticipation made a pit start to form in Max’s stomach.
Him and his father didn't linger in the lobby too long as a receptionist was quick to point them away to a meeting. Of course, upon entering the Sainz were already there. Max felt a cold chill run down his spine as he sat down next to them. Both Senior and Jos acted as a buffer between Max and Carlos but he couldn’t help but to feel on edge. Carlos seemed to be the exact opposite. His body lacked tension and his hand fidgeting with a pen looked more like muscle memory than a nervous compulsion. Once again, Carlos seemed to be zoned out. His dark curls looked slightly longer and his face wasn't as pink as it was back in the garage at Abu Dhabi. Max was definitely staring, only being pulled out of this trace when the last few members showed up and the meeting began.
This was definitely a boring meeting. Max couldn’t tell you what was discussed as he spent the majority of the time stealing glances at Carlos (who was obviously way more engaged in this than he was). He thinks it might be a loose schedule for the year with race dates and when they need to come back to the factory. It would probably be sent out in an email so Max wasn’t going to lose sleep over not paying attention to it.
By the end of the meeting, Max could probably tell you how many freckles Carlos had. Maybe he had even started to count how many eyelashes he had. He definitely counted how many times he had shifted his jaw per minute. Max had the intention to talk to him but he had been pulled away by his father when Jos had realized Max was trying to talk to him. A thinly veiled excuse of needing to ‘speak with the higher ups’ was used. That conversation clearly didn’t involve him and clearly did not need him there. Unfortunately for Max, that barrier had worked as Carlos had disappeared yet again.
Carlos had been stuck in his head previously but this was somehow worse. It was a form of torture knowing Carlos was here with him but he couldn’t do or say anything to him. Max was always in the shadow of his father. Wherever he went, Max had to follow. Through multiple boring conversations and other things he didn’t need to be involved in. Max would rather explore the building at the moment. He wanted to see the past cars and all those trophies again but here he is… Slouched in a chair while his dad talked nonsense numbers with another guy in a Red Bull polo…
The next time Max found Carlos was an hour later. Senior, Junior, and a couple other people in Red Bull gear that Max didn’t recognize were hovering around what looked to be a little bar. Carlos was behind the counter making coffee for them and having a normal interaction. Through his rose tinted glasses though, the scene looked like something out of a movie. Everyone loved him and Max couldn’t help but to feel a pang of jealousy. Carlos was so out of reach for him yet everyone else had him right there at his fingertips.
Carlos has not spared him any of his attention during this moment. To be fair, Max was standing across an open area while staring awkwardly. He so badly wanted to walk over and join in on their fun but he was still living in the shadow of Jos. Max had gotten a tiny bit of freedom to check out this room while Jos stayed back and spoke with yet another person.
Max immediately turned his head when Carlos looked up and finally saw him. He felt his whole face burn red hot before he gathered the courage to look back. He expected Carlos to have looked away but instead brown eyes and a shy smile greeted him again. Max awkwardly waved and Carlos reciprocated before beckoning Max to come over with a waving gesture. Max looked over his shoulder, deciding it wouldn’t be great to risk an explosive episode from his dad at the moment. Instead, Max shook his head and mouthed ‘lunch?’ at Carlos. That seemed to satisfy Carlos and Max was allowed to retreat back out of Carlos’s line of sight.
[ … ]
The lunch break finally came around and Max found himself letting out a breath he didn't know he was holding in. Max was left on his own in the cafeteria after receiving his food. His father, Sainz Sr., and Christian Horner had gathered at the far corner of the room while the few other employees on their lunch breaks were socializing amongst themselves. No one had come to sit with Max and Max hadn’t made an effort to sit with anyone else. He needed time to decompress before the second half of the day began. There’s no better way to decompress than to put himself on autopilot mode and ceasing any thoughts for a couple of minutes.
That was interrupted rather quickly… A hand was placed on the back of his shoulder as someone sank down in the seat directly next to him, “Hello again, teammate.” Carlos said, a playful sweetness coating his voice rich enough to immediately give someone a root canal. Max snapped out of his zoned out state with a rather vicious whiplash effect greeting him on return to reality, “You did not call?” He asked, a light tone yet a hint of confusion was in his voice. Carlos sat down across from Max, their feet bumping together. The table was small and it felt like Max had been put into a vacuum, all sound and air being sucked away from him.
Max could have sworn his soul had just left his body. He hadn’t forgotten about Carlos giving him his phone number in Abu Dhabi, it was the opposite actually. Max was so surprised he stammered for a moment before finally passing words, “I- Uhhh- I forgot…” Max said, lying straight through his teeth when he realized he couldn’t think of a good enough excuse. He had a feeling that telling Carlos that he wanted to both kiss him and break his nose as a reason why he didn’t call wouldn’t go over well.
Max braced himself for an angry retort or mockery but instead Carlos smiled, “Ah- I forget too sometimes.” He said, beckoning Max with his hand, “Take your phone out. Send a message now so it will be both our faults next time.” Max had a look of bewilderment but obliged, fumbling around his pockets before finding which one he left his phone in.
“Yeah, yeah, of course.” Max replied, trying to hide his surprise, “Uhhh- What’s your number again?” He asked sheepishly.
“Here, let me.” Carlos said, holding his palm out for the phone. Max passed it willingly and watched as Carlos typed on it. When he received his phone back a thread with a single “hi :)” sent in it was on the screen, the recipient already having “Carlos” typed in as the name. “So, ready for today?” Carlos asked, looking at Max from over the phone Max hadn’t been able to look away from yet.
“Yeah- Yeah, I am.” He said, lying straight through his teeth. The smile that formed on Carlos’ face was intoxicating. Just like that, Max had forgotten all of his worries and all of his promises. Max closed the text thread and turned his phone off, returning it to the pocket he found it in. He rested his arms on the table, taking a fork in his hand so he had something to hold. That was an odd quirk he picked up because of nerves. Max always felt better holding something in his hand though that something typically ended up being some sort of water bottle, “It'll uhh- be fun, yeah?”
“Yes, we will have fun because we are fun.” Carlos said, raising an eyebrow with a mischievous glint in his eye. Max laughed a little too hard at that joke. It wasn’t funny, he didn’t know why he was laughing or why his face was going a little red. Maybe it was because of how attentive Carlos’ gaze was or the way he seemed to have invaded his bubble of space at this empty little cafeteria table. Max could probably touch his arm if he moved his hand ever so slightly.
“Awwe… I dunno. I mean, I’m fun! How do I know you’re also fun?” Max asked, raising his eyebrows with a shrug, “You could be an ultra buzzkill for all I know.”
“Buzzkill?” Carlos asked, raising an eyebrow up, “We will see… We will see.” He said ominously before breaking character and laughing, “I have a very good feeling I will be the winner of the day.” He said, stepping on Max’s toes under the table.
Max nearly felt his heart stop. Their feet touching was just another reminder of how physically close the two of them were. The idea of Carlos was so unobtainable in Max’s head, being confronted with the reality that he is literally right across from him was a little jarring, “We don’t even know what challenge we’re doing! How can you already declare this a win?” Max shot back, keeping his foot under Carlos’s.
“ Intuition. ” Carlos replied, earning a laugh from Max, “What’s so funny? I am not joking!” He asked as Max waved his hand.
“Nothing! Nothing… You just say that word funny.” Max said without thinking. If his face weren’t already a little red from laughing, he would have turned a shade darker, “Uh- Anyways- That makes no sense. I’ll win today and prove your intuition wrong.” Max said before Carlos could get a word in.
The rest of lunch is filled with light banter and Max finds himself growing more attached to Carlos. He was sweet, funny, and seemingly impossible to hate. As they continued to talk, Max found himself looking for a little too long at times and laughing a little too hard at other times. For some reason, he wanted Carlos to like him like his life depended on it. It was a little embarrassing…
[ … ]
Filming was quite peculiar. The media crew looked way different than the engineers and other employees Max had seen roaming around the facility. They were younger and engaged in conversation that didn’t make Max’s hair stand on edge. He felt like he was an actual person talking to another human who wasn’t just speaking to him in code.
They were given the brilliant task of constructing a car out of unboiled macaroni and glue… Clearly, the PR team underestimated how abysmally stupid the two of them were. On their own, they both had something up there but like pemdas it seemed to cancel out when they were put together. It took maybe two minutes before chaos struck…
“Ah- Carlos!” Max exclaimed in an offended tone as his bowl of macaroni was overturned and scattered across the table, “That’s cheating! Come on!” He said as he scraped up what he could. Most of it had broken, somehow got stuck together from stray glue, or had disappeared upon contact with the floor. Max’s frown only deepened when Carlos started laughing at him on his hands and knees trying to salvage whatever he could from the floor.
“You can’t build a car with broken pastas.” Carlos said, a decent looking car built on his paper plate. Max eyed it, thinking about flipping the plate as revenge, “Ah- What do you mean? Yours clearly looks like a five year old made it!” Max said, gesturing at Carlos’ plate.
“Hey! Do not say that. It does not.” Carlos said, sounding like he took genuine offense, “At least I have a car.” Max opened his mouth to argue but only stutters came out. He looked back at his plate which was really just filled with a pile of macaroni with glue globbed all over it.
“This is the future, Carlos.” Max said instead, “We’ll have hovering macaroni disks instead of cars.” He only smiled when the mocking laughter came. Max had… definitely lost this round but there’s more to come over the year.
“The future is glued on your elbow, cabrón.” Carlos said once his laughter died down. Max sighed, his face going red as he picked the few pieces of pasta off his elbow.
“Okay- Alright…” Max said, “Maybe your ‘intuition’ was right about our pasta cars.” He said, holding his plate of glue and macaroni up for the camera, “Guys, it was clearly very close but I think Carlos will take the win with this one.” Max said, addressing the camera.
Carlos knocked Max with his elbow, “It was not close. I won by a lot.” He corrected, holding up his plate as well. Unfortunately, Carlos didn’t glue his car to the flimsy paper plates that were provided. His ‘hard work’ slid off the plate and promptly shattered on the floor.
Max turned to Carlos, his face completely lit up, “Hey, that means I win!” He joked, Carlos clearly not into it even though a small smile was cracking at the edges of his lips.
“No, it does not! We have video proof I had a car and you have a pile of nothing!” Carlos argued, “Come on…” At the end of the day, he was right and ended up taking the win for the challenge.
Filming ended with laughter and dry pasta flying in the air. Max had tried to glue together as many as he could to see if he could hold himself up with it. This plan wasn’t very effective but it got a big laugh out of Carlos. To Max, that was worth the bruised knees.
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Away from the laughter and smiles of the Toro Rosso boys, Jos and Sainz Sr. had found each other. A rather icy tension had already formed between the two of them because of the Formula 3 season prior. To put it in the simplest terms possible, they both thought the other was a no-good fraud with a kid not good enough for Formula 1.
The rivalry somehow went deeper but neither knows when or where it exactly started. Jos had made some distasteful comments towards rally as a genre during his time in Formula 1 and Carlos Sr. hadn't received them kindly. The media didn’t pick up heavily on it until after the crashing and burning of Jos’ career since before that one season, Jos really wasn’t special. On the other hand, Senior was a wildly successful and popular driver. The story was spun wildly and blown way out of proportion. What was just an off-handed comment after being pestered by a nosy journalist became a story of how an egotistical Formula 1 reject took a jab at one of rally racing’s most beloved sweetheart.
So to put it lightly, having both Max and Carlos Jr. on the same team would likely cause massive headbutting between the two of them. The Red Bull executives likely didn’t think that would start before cars were even on track…
Senior was sitting in an open, silent lounge outside of the room where Max and Junior were doing the video. Their laughing and loud banter was audible through the closed door. “They get along well.” Senior commented as Jos paced angrily behind the chair he sat in.
“Do not patronize me, Sainz.” Jos spat back, resulting in Senior to chuckle which only made Jos’ fury burn hotter. It made him even angrier that Sr. was right. Max and Carlos were undeniably getting along. That wasn’t how things were supposed to go. Friendship would turn into a burden that Max wouldn’t be able to recover from. This is what he wanted to avoid but Max had gone against his word and got close.
“Not patronizing.” Senior replied, gesturing towards the little room where the boys were doing the challenge, “They really are getting along.” That smirk on his face set Jos off.
“And that is unacceptable.” Jos snapped back, “This is not a game, we are not karting anymore. That relationship will not continue.” The boys had left filming and came out chattering loudly before Senior could reply.
Jos immediately stormed over and snatched Max by the shoulder almost immediately, “We are leaving. Now.” Jos spoke to him in Dutch, low and in his ear. His son would not be broken down by the mindgames of the Sainz family.
Max was already being pulled away, looking over his shoulder at Carlos and his dad. Carlos looked confused but Max could only think about how similar the two of them looked. He smiled and gestured for Carlos to call him later. Carlos smiled and waved goodbye.
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The car ride returning back to the hotel was deathly silent. It wasn’t their usual silence as an eerie darkness of irritation hung around Jos. It wouldn’t take a genius to figure out what he was angry about… Despite this, Max couldn’t bring himself to feel guilty. He did what the team wanted; be friendly with Carlos for the camera. So, that’s what he did.
From within his pocket, he felt a vibration. Max silently took out his phone and opened it, “I had fun!!! To a good season teammate :0) don’t forget to call, cabrón”. His heart skipped a beat and a dopey smile grew on his face when he read the user ID attached to the message.
Eventually, the silence would come to an end as Jos’ knuckles whitened and his aggravated huffs became more frequent. Jos suddenly turned the car into an empty concrete lot on the side of the road, jolting the car into parked, “What the hell were you thinking?” Jos snapped in Dutch, familiarity from karting days rushing back to Max, “I told you. Your teammate is your downfall! Do you not understand?”
“Well- Well, what was I supposed to do?” Max asked, voice cracking in the middle of his sentence. Jos shot him a glare and Max nearly shrank back into himself, heart beating at an alarmingly face pace, “It’s PR stunts, we have to look like we like each other! We have to look like a team, that’s what they want the fans to think.” Max said. Despite his certainty on pushing this, something deep down knew that he was just trying to justify his actions.
There on the side of the road, drenched in freezing rain and left to fend for himself, Max makes the decision that will ultimately affect the course of his and everyone else’s career. He drops his bag into the mud at his feet and pulls the buttons of his Red Bull polo open. With dull and flimsy nails, he claws and scratches at the mark on his chest. That tether to Carlos was the root of all his issues. Getting rid of it would free him yet all he feels is agony as he struggles to pry it away from himself.
Fear and confusion that wasn’t his barreled to the front of his head, likely that cursed mark’s last ditch effort to attempt to prevent its severing. With his skin scratched and red from both irritation and shallow marks, Max dropped to his needs in search of a large enough piece of gravel on the road to finish the job.
As suddenly as the torment started, it was gone. Battered and bloodied, Max finally let out a strangled sob he didn’t know he was holding in. His chest, knees, and fingertips stung with pain. He mourned the loss of a relationship that never began. Max felt both dead and very much alive at the same time. It was pure agony. Arguably the most important part of him had just been gouged out by a pseudo suicide attempt.
His father had always told him that sacrifices needed to be made in order to achieve greatness. No matter how big or small, Max had thought he would be able to handle these challenges. Instead, his immature ignorance came to light. Max was willing to gouge out a part of himself, a part of Carlos, just for this career. He would be a fool to waste this opportunity.
Max grit his teeth and stood up. He buttoned his very ruined and bloodied shirt, hauled his bag up onto his shoulder, and began the mile-long trek through freezing rain to return to the hotel. For the first time in a very long while, Max no longer had Carlos in his head.
But Max would come around, he always did. It was Carlos Sainz. He was stuck in a vicious, toxic cycle between his teammate and father. Even with his heart torn out, eventually he would be gazing into those big brown eyes and wondering what his hands felt like on him.
It was only a matter of time… An hour to be specific.
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It took nearly an hour to walk back to the hotel. Max was shivering and aching from the walk. Upon entering the lobby, his father was nowhere to be found as expected. What Max didn’t expect was a very worried-looking Carlos to be sitting in a chair. He wasn’t able to process Carlos there until the Spaniard was on his feet and suddenly in Max’s bubble of space again.
“Cabrón! What had happened to you?” Carlos asked, grabbing Max by the shoulder and side, “Your father came back but I did not see you. I wanted to have dinner but you come back like this.” He said, narrating his own confusion instead of talking to Max.
Max winced and waved his hand dismissively, “I just went on a walk and fell.” He said, already knowing Carlos wasn’t buying that excuse. His eyebrows furrowed and his teeth seemed to grit together as his jaw tightened. It was an odd sight. An almost angry Carlos was something Max hadn’t even imagined before this moment.
“¡Eres como una cabra!” Carlos shot back, gesturing to the blood stained on his polo, “Come on, you can’t be like this anymore.” He said and immediately put a hand on Max’s back. Max didn’t resist as Carlos practically pushed him towards the elevator. If Carlos pushed Max into the jaws of death, he still wouldn’t resist.
Max finds out that their hotel rooms are on the same floor after an awkwardly silent elevator ride. He had stared at Carlos from the moment the doors shut til the time they opened. WRITE HERE.
Carlos practically dragged him down the hall, not that Max particularly needed that. He was a little dizzy, sure, but he was still walking straight for the most part. The only moment his iron grip released Max’s forearm was when he couldn’t fumble the key out of his wallet with a single hand. Carlos muttered what he assumed was curses in Spanish as the card refused to work a good three swipes before the door finally unlocked.
That bruise-inducing grip locked on to his arm as Carlos practically threw Max into the room. Carlos flicked on the lights and pushed Max into the bathroom, down onto the close-lidded toilet, then sunk down onto his knees in front of him, “Hey- What are you-” Max was cut off by Carlos’s sigh of disappointment.
“Head out of the gutter, cabrón!” Carlos shot back, his own cheeks going a little red (though Max was unsure if that was just his imagination), “You come into the hotel soaked, bloodied, and hours after your father then you make excuses.” Max was beet red at this point, both from his own dirty mind being called out by Carlos and by his facade being seen through so easily. Well, it wasn’t exactly a good one but people usually didn’t question him when he said similar excuses. Max realizes he’s been staring at Carlos like he isn’t the crazy one when Carlos cleared his throat, “Tell me what happened-” Max went to interrupt but Carlos didn’t let him, “Tell me what really happened. Let me fix this for you. I can’t fight a teammate who gets a bad cold and is bed-ridden on race day.”
Max couldn’t deny Carlos when he was looking up at him like that. Even if he wasn’t, Max had been dragged into his hotel room. His options were few and far between so he obliged. Max watched as Carlos gathered a few things in his bathroom to make a make-shift first aid kit… which mostly consisted of two towels and a bottle of unbranded soap. Carlos grimaced apologetically when he returned to his position in front of Max, “Come on, Maxito .” That nickname made his hair stand on edge, “Let me help.”
Max sighed, mentally sending out one last prayer to a god he didn’t even believe in before pulling that forsaken stained polo off. Carlos had clearly bit his tongue in order not to gaspe but his expressions weren’t actually subtle, “I… It looks bad, I know but-” Max was cut off by Carlos, “Your mark- It’s completely gone! How?” Carlos asked, gritting his teeth and instinctively putting his hand over his own chest.
How ironic. Max wanted to quip at him but he knew Carlos didn’t deserve that. He didn’t deserve to know Max had gorged out their branding of love just because he couldn’t handle some pressure. Carlos didn’t deserve Max.
Besides, Max didn’t need a magic mark to know what was flying around in Carlos’s head. How was Max not dead? In rare cases when people lose their soulmate mark, a ‘Romeo & Juliet' phenomena occurs. Typically this happens when physical injury occurs or rejection from their soulmate severs the connection. The lover with the missing mark becomes a hopeless shell like a part of them is literally missing before ultimately taking their own life. Of course, there’s a way to reverse it; getting your soulmate to reciprocate will fix the issue. If Max ends up dead in a couple of months he wouldn’t complain. If he wanted safety, he wouldn’t have followed in the footsteps of his father as a Formula One athlete. The only regret he would have is ruining Carlos’s life.
Max mouthed a few words before he finally was able to conjure up something, “I- I- It was my dad.” He said, voice quivering. This was bad, he knew it was, but he couldn’t tell the truth. This was still technically something that would align with his father’s viewpoints and in a way, he was right. Jos did think that his teammate who was his soulmate would ruin his career, he just didn’t think his teammate was his soulmate… But in a way, Max wouldn’t really be lying, would he?
“But- How? Why would he do this?” Carlos asked, dapping away some of the dried up blood and dirt from Max’s chest with warm water on one of the towels. Max grit his teeth, his vaguely purple fingers going white as he gripped the lid he sat on. Carlos mumbled an apology, “A career cannot be worth this much. None of the greats ripped apart their hearts to win so why must you?” He asked and Max didn’t have an answer… He truly did not know why he did this to himself.
It was a miracle that Jos hadn’t thought of this before Max did. Would a father even do that to his own son? Max wasn’t sure… “He thought it would- uh- he thought it would, a soulmate would, interfere with my- my uhh- my career.” Max finally spat out, avoiding that painfully heavy gaze of Carlos’s big brown eyes.
But, oh, how Max hated that look: pity. It was one thing coming from strangers but he wanted to rip that look off of Carlos’s face. He didn’t need pity, he did this to protect himself (from what, he doesn’t really know anymore). Max hated it. He didn’t want Carlos looking down on him like this, seeing him in such a weak spot: half naked, shivering, probably smelly, and covered in blood and dirt. He felt like his belly was exposed and he was stuck on his back unable to flip himself.
He heard Carlos take a shaky breath. If Max’s soul wasn’t already shattered, that noise definitely did it. “I hope you can still find her.” Carlos in a soft voice barely above a whisper, his hand lingering on Max’s chest where he gouged out their mark, “Your soulmate.” It stung, literally and metaphorically. Carlos’s hand drifted up and rested on Max’s cheek, catching tears that he wasn’t aware he was crying.
Max wanted to scream. His face burned bright red from a mix of anger and embarrassment. What did that mean? Did Carlos not like me? The irrational part of his brain screamed. The other side of him wanted to punch Carlos for being so effortlessly kind. Carlos didn’t need to wait in the lobby while Max was MIA. Carlos didn’t need to drag him up to his room to make sure he was okay. Carlos didn’t even need to think to invite Max out for dinner that he was pretty sure wouldn’t happen anymore. Besides, Max had found her and that ‘her’ was Carlos, so frustratingly beautiful and oblivious as he was.
“Yeah… I will.” Weak and pathetic, Max could barely recognize his own voice. He forced a small smile, barely being able to hold eye contact with Carlos. He felt crushed under that look. Max hated it for making him feel small but also hated himself for making Carlos look like that. He wanted to pull Carlos towards him and kiss all of his stupid pity away. Maybe then that would make everything go back to normal. He could wake up the next day with his mark back on his chest like today never happened…
But he didn’t. Just as suddenly as Carlos’s comforting touch was there, it was gone, “Let me clean you up.” Carlos said, voice soft yet heavy with somber. He didn’t use a nickname either. Max looked away, wanting to curl in on himself and die from embarrassment right then and there. Carlos wiped Max free of all the dirt, blood, sweat, and tears in silence.
Carlos took Max’s hand in his, folding his bloodied fingertips into his palm and running his thumb over his bruised knuckles, “Please don’t let him do something like this again.” Carlos said, leaning forward and touching his forehead to Max’s, “Promise me, please. Promise me.” He sounded desperate, almost scared.
Max squoze his hand and swallowed a dry lump in his throat, “Yeah- Yeah, I promise. I’ll tell you.” He agreed, watching the tension physically leave Carlos’s body. They were so close and even with such a heavy feeling between them, Max couldn’t stop admiring him. Carlos’s eyes just seemed to get bigger and prettier when he was worried. That plump bottom lip that quivered for him…
Max leaned forward but Calos pulled away and stood up, “You can borrow my clothes, I think it will fit.” Max nodded in acknowledgement before Carlos left the bathroom to fetch some spare clothes. He felt like a ghost at that moment. The only thing keeping him grounded is that he didn’t think Carlos noticed what he tried to do. Max hated himself for creating this mess.
A moment later Carlos returned with some clothes for him and left the bathroom to give him privacy to change and take a shower the shame off. He needed that hot water to drown his thoughts out for a little while. Max changed quickly, gathering his rain-soaked pants and previously discarded polo from the floor. Carlos was sitting on the edge of the bed when Max came out. He still looked worried and Max really couldn’t blame him.
Max left his dirty clothes folded on the side table in the room then walked over to where Carlos sat. Before he got a word in, Carlos was on his feet and pulling Max into a hug. Max immediately sunk into the feeling, his head resting in the crook of Carlos’s neck and his arms tenderly wrapped around his torso. This was another rare moment where Max felt like he could breathe again. So, the age-old question was finally answered… Carlos Sainz Jr. wore an Italian cologne. Not a French perfume or something from England or Germany. God, did it fit him nice.
The embrace felt like it had lasted forever but eventually Carlos pulled away, “I ordered room service… So we don’t have to go out.” He told Max, his hand loosely wrapped around Max’s wrist. Carlos pulled him to sit on the bed, a crappy channel on. They ate and Max had fallen asleep rather quickly while leaning against Carlos. He was warm and smelled nice. Clearly, Carlos didn’t mind. He simply turned the lights off and covered them with the scratchy hotel sheets.
And that night, Max really got to feel what Carlos’s arms around him felt like. No mind games or active imagination. No nightmares jolting him from his sleep in the middle of the night. Just him and Carlos entangled in each other's limbs.
[END OF CHAPTER]
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