Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Max remembered, with painful clarity, the first time he and Charles had fought after they’d made things official between them. He remembered thinking that he should be used to it. He and Charles had fought all the time before that, as karting rivals, as nemeses, as drivers. But he’d been wrong – the first fight they’d had as boyfriends had been different. It hurt differently, because it was the first time they both had something real to lose. Each-other.  

But that first fight, and every fight after that, paled into comparison to what was happening now. At least during that first fight, Max had known exactly why Charles was angry – a racing incident, of course, with Max disagreeing with him about who was at fault, of course. And he’d also known exactly where Charles was: at Pierre’s apartment, taking a few hours to calm down, before he came home to Max.

At least back then, Max had known why they’d been fighting. It had made sense. But now, as Lando floored it into the hotel lobby, Max was beyond all sense of calm. Charles had never done this before. It was a promise they’d made to each-other after that very first fight: that whatever happened moving forward, whatever they fought about, they’d never stop communicating. They’d never shut each-other out. Never subject the other to the fear of not knowing what was wrong, or where they stood.

Max knew that this could only mean one thing: that whatever it was, it had to be bad. He couldn’t bear to think of the worst, but his mind flitted through the possibilities despite himself: that Charles was leaving him, that Charles was sick –

He couldn’t breathe.

Max was pretty sure he barreled over multiple people as he fought his way through the lobby towards the elevators, with everyone hot on his heels. He was hoping against hope that Charles would still be in their hotel room, that maybe this was all some elaborate joke. But when he finally barged into their suite, he saw the absence of Charles’ suitcase on the floor by the window, the absence of the Monegasque’s clothes scattered all over the floor.

He was long gone.

“Fuck,” Max whispered, his voice breaking.

Max felt his chest heaving, almost, as he slumped onto the bed. He tried to grasp at any remaining vestiges of his self-control – the same self-control that had helped him win eight races in a row – but it was no use. He felt like he was drowning, and all he could think about were Charles’ eyes. The way they softened whenever they looked at Max, the way they’d glittered with happiness the night before when they danced beside the piano. The way they weren’t here, right now, to pull him out of his panic.

He registered fragments of the conversations happening around him as Lando, Arthur, Logan, Carlos and Pierre crowded into the room.

“Puta madre, my calls are going straight to voicemail now,” Carlos was groaning.

“What are you doing?” That was Logan’s voice.

“I’m texting Oscar for help, but he hasn’t responded to me all day,” Lando whispered, his tone betraying his anxiety.

Max put his head in his hands.

It could have been minutes later or an hour later when a voice finally broke through the din of his haunting thoughts.

“Max!”

He looked up to see Lando, who was crouching down at the foot of the bed so they were level. The Brit’s eyes were soft with worry.

“Max, it’s going to be okay,” Lando whispered, his tone equal parts heartbroken and scared.

Looking into his best friend’s gaze, Max was reminded of something Charles had always told him. That Max could always come to him for help. That needing support, needing love, didn’t make you weak like Max’s father had raised him to believe.

And as Lando moved to wrap his arm around Max’s shoulder, the Dutchman said something he’d never said to anyone except for Charles.

“Help me.”

Those two words seemed to jostle something deep inside Lando, his eyes flickering in realization before they slowly, but surely, hardened with determination.

“Look at me,” Lando whispered, his voice void of its earlier hesitation.

Max lifted his gaze, like coming out of a dream.

“Look at me, Max,” Lando repeated. “Do you remember when I thought I’d lost Oscar? I was a fucking mess. I couldn’t think straight. But you sat me down, and do you remember what you told me?”

Max blinked. He did. He remembered.

“You told me to fight for him,” Lando said. “Because that’s what you do for the people you love. Charles is everything to you – someone would have to be blind not to know that. But you’re everything to him too. He wouldn’t just up and leave you, Max. This is Charles we’re talking about. Your Charles. Our Charles. Whatever’s happening right now, he probably needs our help too.”

Lando’s grip tightened around Max’s shoulder, but nothing steadied him more than Lando’s words. He was right. Max had to stop thinking about himself. This was about Charles. And making sure that wherever he was, wherever he was going, that he was safe.

“We have to find him,” Max said.

“Damn right.”

“How the fuck do we do that?”

Lando straightened, his face not losing that determined look. He gnawed at his lip, and Max spared a thought to whether he’d break skin. “I got you. I’m not lead proposal planner for nothing.”

The Brit proceeded to close his eyes, muttering something underneath his breath. Max winced in confusion.

“Dude, are you praying?” Logan asked in horror.

“Shut up, shut up, shut up,” Lando snapped, waving a hand in the American’s face. “I’m thinking.”

“You look like you’re about to take a shit,” Pierre commented dryly.

Lando held a finger up to silence the Frenchman.

“We need to figure out where he went, right?” the Brit said. “So let’s put our heads together. Max, this morning when Charles was yelling at someone on the phone, he said it was Ferrari?”

Max nodded.

“Charles is a shit liar, so it’s likely that wasn’t far from the truth,” Lando said. “Carlos, what do you know about what’s going at the clown circus?”

“You mean Ferrari?”

Lando shrugged. “Same thing.”

Carlos sighed and shook his head.

“They’ve been shutting me out this summer. The whole Audi thing’s a mess… but Charles is going to Monaco, not Maranello,” Carlos said, frowning. “All contract negotiations happen in Maranello, so this has to be something different.”

“Do you know anyone from Ferrari who’s in Monaco and could help us figure out what’s going on?”

Carlos frowned, shaking his head slowly.

“I’ve got it!” Arthur yelled suddenly.

Max startled in his seat, and the group turned to look at him. He closed his eyes briefly, taking a breath. It was no secret that the Leclerc brothers sounded exactly alike – same accent, same intonation, same excitability – and Max couldn’t help the way his heart clenched.  

“Sorry, just… you sounded like Charles.”

Arthur winced. “Sorry.”

Lando rubbed at his face with his hands. “Okay, Arthur, until we complete Mission Find Charles Leclerc, you need to speak differently.”

“What?”

“You need to not sound like Charles, because otherwise Max is going to go insane,” Lando hissed.

Arthur’s eyes widened in almost comical confusion. “You want me to speak with, like, a different accent?”

“Exactly!” Lando said.

The younger Leclerc blinked, and after a few seconds, said, “Okay, I said I’ve got it.” In a perplexingly perfect American accent.

“Wait, shit, that was good,” Logan said.

Arthur shrugged, raising Logan a shy glance. “Well, I listen to you speak a lot.”

“Oh my God, you can both flirt later, okay,” Lando interrupted in exasperation. Arthur and Logan had the decency to blush. “Continue.”

“Robert Schwartzman,” Arthur said. “He’s the Ferrari reserve driver, we used to race together in F2. He’s in Monaco for the summer break. He’s cool, he can help us.”

“Okay, okay,” Lando said, nodding and turning to look at the group. “Arthur, you add him to the group chat. Pierre, you call Air Max to meet us at the runway, and Logan, you call the front desk and get us a fucking car.”

“Fucking hell, Norris, you eat brain cells for dinner or something?” Logan drawled, fishing his phone out of his pocket.

Lando shrugged. “I just asked myself what Oscar would do.”

And from where he was still sitting on the edge of the bed, Max’s chest fluttered with something. Not quite hope, yet. But Lando was right. If Charles needed him, Max would move mountains to get to wherever he was.

Arthur Leclerc added Robert Schwartzman to Lestappen Proposal Planners

Robert: Woah what is this?

Lando: We have no time to explain

Lando: Are you in Monaco

Robert: Yes?

Lando: Ferrari possibly called Charles about something and now he’s maybe heading back to Monaco and we need you to figure out why

Robert: What

Lando: THIS IS LIFE OR DEATH ROBERT GET WITH THE PROGRAM

Robert: Uhhh

Robert: There’s an emergency meeting happening with the execs tonight, no idea where though

Carlos: Wtf no one told me about that

Logan: How do you know this?

Robert: I used to date one of the comms managers, she still keeps me in the loop

Lando: Ok Rob

Lando: Can I call you Rob

Robert: No

Robert: No one calls me Rob

Lando: Ok literally no one cares

Lando: Our mission needs you

Lando: You need to find out where they’re having this meeting

Lando: We’re going to crash it

Robert: And what do I get out of this?

Lando: The satisfaction of a job well done

Robert: … 

Logan: Season tickets to whatever sporting event you want, you name it

Carlos: Two more FP1 practice sessions this season with my car

Lando: Max’s new Aston Martin

Max glanced up at Lando, who shrugged and mouthed ‘Sorry.’ But Max shrugged in return. He’d give his fucking liver and kidney for this, his Aston was nothing.

Max: The reassurance that I won’t murder you in your sleep tonight

Robert: Right okay, sold 

Robert: I’m on it

Robert: I will be enlisting Victor as well because he lives here and has a car

Lando: Victor Martins?

Robert: Yeah

Lando: Absolutely not

“Are you kidding me, Lando?” Logan said.

Max frowned too. He only knew Martins in passing – he drove for ART in F2, he was French… nothing remarkable about the guy, as far as Max knew.

“He and Oscar used to date,” Lando whined.

For fuck’s sake.

“Oh my god, barely,” Logan groaned. “They were like, friends with benefits, for a month.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better,” Lando sighed.

“Lando!” Pierre exclaimed. “Come on!”

“Fucking fine,” Lando bit out.

Lando: @Robert fine, add him to the chat

Robert Schwartzman added Victor Martins to Lestappen Proposal Planners

Lando: Oscar is mine and I know where you live

Logan: @Victor run while you still can

Victor: Huh??

Lando: Ignore Logan

Lando: Robert will explain

Lando Norris removed Victor Martins from Lestappen Proposal Planners

“Okay, Max,” Lando said, putting away his phone and looking down at his best friend with a small smile.

Max let himself be steadied by the Brit’s eyes. Still not the eyes he wanted to be staring into, but eyes that cared for him nonetheless.

“Let’s do this?” Lando whispered.

“Yeah, let’s do this.”

When they touched down in Monaco an hour and a half later, Robert and Victor were waiting for them on the runway.

“Oh my God, he looks like a knob,” Lando muttered, glaring at the Frenchman through the small airplane window. “Why is he wearing a fleece jacket in August?”

“You’re literally wearing a hoodi--”

“Shut up.”

Logan bit back a snort.

“They’re at the pier!” Robert yelled over the din of the airplane’s engine as Max emerged from the aircraft.

“What?!” Max yelled, jogging over.

“The Ferrari execs are in a yacht on the pier, having some kind of emergency meeting,” the Israeli driver said again. “Charles is with them.”

Max blinked. His heart had been beating on overdrive ever since he’d gotten that last text from Charles, but something in him calmed now that he knew where his boyfriend was. He was here. And Max would find his way to him.

“Fuck, we don’t have a car here,” Pierre said. “The limo took us to the runway.”

“I can fit one extra in my Ferrari,” Victor said.

“Oh, I bet you can,” Lando said mockingly, and Max fought the urge to roll his eyes as the Brit’s attention was pulled elsewhere. “Wait, wait, look.”

Max followed Lando’s gaze to where an Alpine team bus was pulling into the driveway just next to the runway. Many teams had satellite offices and warehouses in Monaco, and with the Alpine headquarters so close in France, the team often commuted back and forth from the factory.

“Everyone down!” Lando said, bending his knees and splaying his arms out wide.

“You do realize we’re standing out in the open, right?” Logan deadpanned. “Everyone can see us.”

“Shut up and look,” Lando hissed.

Max saw what looked to be Alpine communications and marketing personnel exiting the bus and making their way inside one of the buildings. But crucially, he saw that they’d left the engine running. He shared a glance with Lando and instantly knew they were thinking the same thing.

Time to steal a motherfucking bus.

“Everybody in!” Max screamed as the group clambered over each other onto the bus like it was a zombie apocalypse.

Victor was the last to board, and Lando stepped into the doorway to block his entrance.

“I’m actually pretty sure this bus has reached its occupancy capacity, so you’ll have to just meet us th—”

“LANDO SHUT UP,” Pierre yelled, pushing Lando out of the way to yank a very bewildered Victor onto the bus.

“I know a shortcut to the pier,” Arthur said, almost climbing his way towards the front of the bus, where Max was fiddling with the gears. “Charles and I used to take it all the time.”

“Okay, you drive,” Max said.

“I’ve never driven a bus this big!” Arthur exclaimed, eyes panicked as Max shoved him into the driver’s seat.

“You’ll be fine,” Logan said, taking a seat next to Arthur, who instantly calmed at the American rookie’s soft grip on his hand. “Look at me. You can do this.”

“Oh no,” Lando exclaimed as he saw a few Alpine personnel exiting the building and looking on at them in confusion.

Pierre ducked down, almost doing the splits on the bus floor.

“I’m not losing my Alpine seat for this,” he hissed.

“Step on the gas, Arthur!” Max yelled.

“I AM!” Arthur screeched as the bus peeled out of the driveway at a speed that could hardly be classified as safe. The massive jolt of the vehicle had Lando careening right into Victor’s back, and the two tangled until Lando could get his footing back.

Max looked out the window, dismayed to see the traffic up the road.

“This is going to take forever,” he said.

“This would be a great time for someone to have a Piastri-level big brained idea!” Carlos said, popping his head out one of the windows.

“Why the fuck hasn’t Oscar answered any of our calls,” Logan groaned.

Lando and Logan shared a quick glance, and Max could see that deep inside, Lando was worried that he hadn’t heard from his boyfriend all day. And Max knew the Brit was putting that worry aside for him. Before he could say anything, Lando stumbled over to the front of the bus, where he grasped the megaphone that was used for in-vehicle announcements.

“Okay, I saw this in a movie once,” he said, climbing onto the front seat, unlatching the window.

“WEEE WOOOO WEEEE WOOO WEEEE WOOOOOOOO,” Lando screamed into the megaphone, the sound reverberating across the street.

“AAAHHH!” Victor screamed, having been closest to said megaphone. Max said a prayer for his ear drums.

“What in God’s name are you doing?!” Robert exclaimed in horror.

“Pretending to be a siren,” Lando said, smiling proudly. “Look, it’s working!”

And sure enough, as Lando screamed fucking siren noises out the window of their massive, stolen, Alpine team bus, the traffic in front of them started to part like the Red Sea. Max ignored the bewildered looks on people’s faces as the bus weaved through the streets.  

“If we end up in jail, I swear to fucking God,” Pierre hissed.

By the time they were nearing the pier, Lando had given up trying to sound like a siren and was now just screaming at people to get out of the fucking way.

“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God,” Arthur was muttering in fright as he navigated yet another tight turn.

“Hey, you’re doing great,” Logan said softly, his voice the only calming thing about this entire shit show. “We’re almost there.”

As the bus came to a screeching halt mere meters away from the edge of the pier at Port Hercule, Max ripped the door open.

“Fuck!” Robert exclaimed, looking down at his phone.

“What?” Max asked, biting back a legitimate scream. What the fuck else could possibly go wrong?!

“Apparently their yacht is docked at Fontvieille,” Robert said. Max’s eyes closed in frustration. Fontveille wasn’t far from Port Hercule, just on the other side of the harbor, but he knew the traffic wouldn’t help their cause.

“Wait,” Logan said, looking on at the ships docked in the harbor. “We can sail there.”

“What?” Lando asked. “That would take even longer than driving.”

“I won three regional sailing championships before I graduated high school,” Logan bit back. “We just need a boat.”

They all looked to Lando somewhat expectantly.

“Oh, yeah, let me just conjure up a boat out of thin air!” Lando screamed.

“Stealing a bus is one thing, but we can’t steal a fucking boat,” Pierre said, looking worriedly at the row of glitzy yachts before them.

Max looked out on the pier in desperation, weighing the pros and cons of hijacking a random rich man’s boat. Surely he could pull the I’m a double World Champion card with the police, right? As he teetered on the edge of risking it all, his eyes lay upon one boat on the edge of the harbor, and he blinked in recognition. It was Lance Stroll’s boat. He’d recognize it anywhere because of the ridiculous name painted in green on its hull: Faith. He and Charles used to make fun of it all the time.

And as he looked around at his group of friends – an unmitigated disaster of a proposal planning group but people he’d trust with his god damn life – he considered that Faith was probably a fitting word for the day.

“We’re stealing Lance’s boat,” Max said decisively, nodding towards the mid-sized yacht. “Logan, what do you need to—”

But the rookie was way ahead of them, sprinting towards the boat and jumping onto the deck.

“Surely we need the key,” Victor said.

“Wow, that’s such a smart observation, Victor, thanks,” Lando snapped.

“Fun fact is most rich people actually don’t bother taking the key with them,” Logan said, ducking underneath the steering wheel and sticking his hand in the lower compartments. “Usually they just keep it right… Ah ha!”

He pulled out the key and held it up with a smirk.

“Fuck, we do still need the key to the cabin, though,” he said, nodding at the door behind them.

Lando nodded immediately, dialing Lance’s number and putting it on speaker. But Max had a different idea, spotting a small buoy resting on the dock just out of reach. He nodded towards Pierre and Carlos, who helped him lift it up.

“LANCE!” Lando screamed as soon as the Canadian driver answered. “We don’t have time to explain, but we need your boat.”

“Is this Lando?”

“Oh my God, yes, it’s Lando. Please focus. Where do you keep the key to your cabin door?”

Just as Lando got the words out, Max, Carlos, and Pierre careened the buoy into the cabin door, ripping it off its hinges.

“Uh… okay, never mind,” Lando said.

“What do you mean, never mind?!” Lance shouted. “Did you break the door?!”

“Well… it’s not… broken, per say. It’s just, sort of, unattached,” Lando said. “But, you know, lots of sailors actually prefer a more open layout these days. Doors are… a thing of the past! The boat looks better without it, more air flow… more sunlight… and…”

Lando winced as he heard Lance scream a string of expletives.

“Sorry, the signal is terrible here, I gotta go, bye!”

“Everybody hang onto something!” Logan screamed as he turned the key in the ignition.

Max lurched forward as the boat ripped out of the dock like a Red Bull car down the Kemmel Straight.

As the sun started to set, Max sat up on the bow and tried calling Charles again. As he expected, it went to voicemail, again. The closer he got to Charles, the calmer he felt. Like Oscar was the calm in Lando’s storm, Charles had always been the North Star to Max’s wayward compass. But the closer he got, Max couldn’t deny the lingering sense of trepidation. 

“Charles,” he whispered into the voicemail recorder, looking out at the darkening horizon, in the direction of Port Fontveille, where the Ferrari driver was. “I don’t… I don’t know what’s going on. If you… if you’re leaving me… If I did something. If something’s happened to you. But I want you to know… I love you. I will always love you. And, what we have together, I wouldn’t… I wouldn’t trade it for the world. I’ll be there soon, okay, cheri?”

His voice broke on the word cheri – he didn’t often say Charles’ endearment back to him, but it felt right.

“Max?”

Max looked up to see Lando looking at him, his face split open in worry.

“What?”

“Uh… something… something bad’s happened.”

“Something worse than what’s already happened over the course of the past three hours?” Max deadpanned, feeling a new sense of dread choking him.

“Well… it might be worse…”

“Worse?!”

“Do you want me to tell you?”

"I was going to propose to him,” Max said, his voice low, dangerous. Scared. “And now I think he's going to leave me, so yeah, please… tell me how this could possibly get any fucking worse?"

Lando gulped.

"I uh... might have... misplaced the ring."

The silence between them was deafening.

“You did… what?”

Lando let out a desperate noise in the back of his throat. “It was in my backpack. And I think I might have left my backpack in the bus… or maybe on the runway… I know I brought it off the plane, but—”

“Wait, no,” Logan shouted from where he was still stationed next to the steering wheel. “I saw your backpack on the stern.”

“It’s not here!” Pierre shouted from the back of the yacht. “Where did you put it?”

“Oh shit, yeah,” Lando said, remembering. “I put it… fuck.”

“What?”

“I put it right here,” Lando whispered, placing his hands on the part of the stern right on the edge of the boat. “And if it’s not here, then…”

Max stared at Lando in horror, before his gaze veered into the ocean.

“Oh my God,” Lando said. Max registered the tears streaming down his face. “It fell off.”

“I’m anchoring!” Logan shouted, pulling the boat to a halt as the motors revved down.

“It’s… it’s gone, it has to be gone,” Max said, clinging onto logic to keep himself from breaking in two.

Logan turned on the boat’s headlights, casting a white sheen over the ocean, and pulled out binoculars from one of the boat’s compartments.

“What are you doing?” Lando asked.

“Be quiet,” Logan said. “It’s an orange backpack, right? Based on our trajectory, if it’s out there, it’s somewhere in that direction.”

“Give it to me,” Max said, tugging at the straps of the binoculars. “Charles and I stargaze sometimes. I’ve used these before.”

“Go for it.”

Max took a deep breath and scanned the part of the ocean in the direction that Logan was pointing at. The logical part of his brain told him there was no way he’d actually see anything. If the backpack had indeed fallen off the boat, it had likely been at the beginning of their journey, and there was absolutely no chance that—

“Oh my God,” Max whispered. Because floating in between two ebbs and flows of the Monaco waves, like a North Star, was… an orange blob.

Lando’s backpack.

“Oh my God, I see it!” Pierre shouted from where he had climbed up onto the upper deck.

“Get the engine back on and let’s go get it!” Lando said.

“No way,” Logan said. “If we ride up to it with our engine on full blast, the current might drag it away, and we could lose it forever.”

“We can’t just leave it there,” Lando protested.

“We’re not going to leave it there,” Logan said, jumping back onto the deck and pulling his sweatshirt off over his head.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked worriedly.

“I’ll swim,” Logan said, toeing off his shoes, then his socks. “I’ll get it.”

“Are you crazy?!” Robert said.

“No fucking way,” Arthur shouted. “High tide is coming in!”

“He’s right,” Carlos said, looking out at the choppy waters. 

“I wasn’t on Varsity swim for nothing,” Logan shrugged. “Come on, I spend half my life in the water, I can do it.”

“No!” Arthur yelled again, and Max winced again at how much he sounded like Charles. Arthur grasped at Logan’s bicep, clinging to him in desperation. “It’s too dangerous.”

Logan looked down at Arthur, his gaze gentle but determined. “I can do it. Charles deserves the ring. And he’s your brother. I… I can do this.”

“Are you sure?” Max asked.

Logan nodded. “It’s not too far.”

Max swallowed, his instincts warring with each-other. He’d always felt somewhat responsible for the group. He was their leader, in many ways. Their champion.

“We’re wasting time,” Logan snapped. “Let me go.”

Max blinked, and it was only the sheer conviction in the American’s unwavering gaze that gave him the wherewithal to nod. “Okay, okay. But you take no fucking risks, you hear me? If anything happens, you get your ass back here right away or I’ll kill you.”

Logan nodded, gaze sober, before letting go of Arthur’s hand and casting him a reassuring smile.

“I’ll be right back,” he whispered at the Monegasque.

Before they knew it, the American took a running start and dove off the boat, his form meeting the water with barely a splash.

Arthur jolted forwards, leaning over the side of the boat. His face was split open in fear, and Max felt his heart clench. Arthur was Charles’ brother. Max loved him like a brother. He was family. It hurt to see him so worried.

“Do you see him?” Arthur yelled.

“Yeah, yeah I do,” Lando said. The Brit had his eyes in the binoculars, carefully tracking the American’s trajectory. “He’s almost there.”

The group waited with bated breath as they watched Logan’s figure move within car lengths of where the backpack was floating like an inflated basketball. Max’s teeth broke the skin on his bottom lip as he chewed at it. Logan was quick – quicker than any swimmer Max had ever seen, but every second that passed grated at his nerves.

“He’s got it!” Lando said, and Arthur let out a sigh of relief.

“Okay, come back to me, cheri,” Arthur mouthed, his voice barely audible. But Max had caught it, crystal clear, and his heart seized up at the familiar pet name.

“Fuck,” Lando said, eyes widening as they all saw the same thing at the same time: a massive wave tumbling in from the left, right towards where the American was, about ten meters away from the boat. “Logan, move!”

Logan saw the wave too, and it became apparent very quickly that there was no way he was going to outswim this thing.

“LOGAN!”

Before the wave crashed into him, Max saw the rookie take a breath and dive under, his body disappearing from view. The wave tumbled through, and they all waited for Logan to reemerge.

But he didn’t.

“Where did he go?” Arthur screamed.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Max whispered, scanning the ocean – the black abyss of nothingness.

“I’m going in,” Arthur announced, stumbling forward to take off his shoes. But Max rushed forward in a blind panic, catching him in his arms.

“The fuck you’re not,” Max screamed. He would never risk Charles’ brother’s life. Charles would never forgive him.

“Let me go!” Arthur said, struggling in Max’s hold.

A splash distracted them both and Max looked on in horror as he realized it was Lando who’d just dived in. A new terror dawned on him. He didn’t think this day could get any worse, but now Logan was… Logan was somewhere in the ocean and Lando had gone after him, and Max was ruing every fucking swim class he didn’t take as a child because he was too busy racing, and… and he could lose his best friend, Oscar could lose his boyfriend and best friend, and…

“Help!”

Max nearly sobbed in relief when he looked over the stern and saw Logan and Lando clinging onto each-other in the water, the former’s hand curled around the strap of the backpack.

Arthur, Max, Pierre and Carlos rushed forward to haul them onto the deck, Lando heaving as he caught his breath.

Arthur pulled off his hoodie and wrapped it around Logan’s shoulders, and Max did the same with Lando.

“Are you okay?” Max asked urgently, checking them both over.

Lando nodded, giving him a thumbs up, and Max pulled him into his chest. Meanwhile, Arthur was properly fussing over Logan, cupping his face in his hands.

“Don’t you ever fucking do that to me again,” he sobbed.

“I’m sorry,” Logan whispered, looking genuinely distressed at Arthur’s tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

When Arthur finally pulled back, Logan looked at Lando across his shoulder.

“Thank you, man,” Logan said.

They exchanged a small but significant look, and the Brit reached over to clasp hands with the American.

“It’s what Oscar would have done,” Lando said softly. “You’re his best friend.”

Logan smiled. “Guess you’re not as shit a boyfriend as I thought.”

Lando rolled his eyes.

“We don’t tell Oscar about this,” Lando said. “He’d lose his mind.”

Logan nodded. “Yeah, yeah.”

“I don’t know what we’d do without you,” Arthur said, looking at Logan again through calmer eyes now.

“Well, given how my season’s going, you’ll probably find out next year when I lose my seat,” Logan chuckled.

He meant it as a joke, but no one laughed.

“You won’t lose your seat if I have anything to say about it,” Max said, pulling Logan in for a hug.

Logan’s eyes widened as Max embraced him.

“Thank you, mate,” Max whispered. “Thank you.”

As Logan shivered ever so slightly against his chest, Max vowed that he would make sure the rookie kept his seat at Williams if it was the last fucking thing he did.

The seas were calmer as they approached Port Fontvieille, where the harbor was lined with larger boats. And if the loud music was anything to go by, there were parties happening on quite a few of them.

“Do we know which one the Ferrari yacht is?”

“Do any of them say Ferrari on them?” Pierre asked, raising an eyebrow as he scanned the port.

“Do you see depressed looking people onboard anywhere? That’ll be a huge hint,” Carlos said.

“Uh,” Logan frowned. “I’ll just dock here,” he continued, pulling the yacht to a halt in one of the empty slots. Arthur was practically draped against his back, and the American was snug in the Monegasque’s hoodie.

Max stayed on the boat for a second, scanning the boats in front of him from the vantage point.

“Wait, what the fuck?!”

Max turned at the sound of Lando’s confused exclamation.

“What?” he asked helplessly, at this point half expecting Lando to tell him that he'd lost his fucking seat at Red Bull. There was no end to the nosedive that was this evening.

“I put the ring in this pocket here,” Lando whispered, sticking his hand into the pocket of the McLaren hoodie that was crumpled in his backpack. “I zipped the pocket up and everything. It was still zipped just now, so it can’t have fallen out… and I haven’t worn my McLaren hoodie the entire trip. On purpose, you know, because the ring was in here. This hoodie’s been inside my backpack the whole trip. I… I’ve no idea where it could –”

Max closed his eyes as Lando went on and on. Logan piped in too, with a sharp, you mean we almost died for nothing, you dipshit?!

“It doesn’t matter, guys,” Max said slowly. “Just… it doesn’t matter. We need to find Charles first. Just… let’s find him first.”

Lando and Logan exchanged another glance and nodded, but before anyone could say anything more, a roaring noise ripped down the pier like a rocketship.

All the heads on their boat turned at the same time to see a motorcyclist shooting down the harbor, at such a speed that various yacht party guests still mingling on the pier actively dodged out of the way.

“Who the fuck is—”

The motorcycle came to a screeching halt at the edge of the pier, right next to their boat, and Max blinked when he recognized a familiar shade of orange.

“Holy shit, is that—” Lando started.

The person on said motorcycle finally took off his helmet and shook the hair out of his familiar dark eyes.

“—OSCAR?!”

Sure enough, as the motorcyclist dismounted and looked up at them, it was none other than a very exhausted looking Oscar Piastri, clad in a leather motorcycle jacket over his orange McLaren hoodie. He looked like the main character right out of a Daredevil movie, which was incomprehensible to Max given his typical ‘just some guy’ aura.

"Damn," Robert whispered, while Logan let out a whistle. 

Meanwhile, Lando looked like his brain was about to short-circuit.

“Holy shit, I’m going to pop a boner,” the Brit whined.

Max jumped off the boat, the group following suite. Lando overtook him and rushed into his boyfriend’s arms, their lips colliding in a kiss.

"Fuck, I missed you," Lando said, breathless against the rookie's skin as Oscar smiled back at him like he was a present on Christmas morning. "What are you doing here?!"

Max blinked when Oscar fixed him with an urgent look.

“I have the ring,” he announced.

“What?!” Lando screeched.

Oscar’s hand disappeared into the pocket of his McLaren hoodie, and it came out holding a familiar black box.

“Oh my God,” Max whispered. “H-how?”

Lando was looking back and forth between Oscar’s face and the box in his hands in confusion.

“You thought you put it in your McLaren hoodie,” Oscar whispered to Lando. “But you… you put it in mine. Because you always take my hoodies. I didn’t realize until… twelve hours ago when it was actually cold enough to wear a hoodie in Melbourne. I felt it in the pocket immediately, and I got on the first flight here.”

Max didn't have time to appreciate the symbolism of Lando's actions -- that the place he thought the ring would be safest just happened to end up being with Oscar.

“That’s why you didn’t answer any of my texts today,” Lando said.

Oscar nodded. “Wi-Fi on the plane was really bad, and I forgot to bring my charger, so I turned my phone off. I’d never not answer you on purpose.”

Lando smiled, and Max’s heart clenched at the trust so explicit in his gaze. “I know.”

“How’d you know where we were?” Pierre asked.

“Lando and I make our location public to each-other on Snapchat,” Oscar shrugged. “When I saw your icon in the sea, I thought you’d drowned at first.”

Lando and Logan exchanged a glance.

“And on my way here I heard some policemen talking about a rogue Alpine team bus careening into the harbor? Figured you lot had something to do with that.”

“And… the motorcycle?” Carlos asked. “A bit dramatic, no?”

Oscar shrugged again. “No, it’s a rental. The queue for it was shorter than the queue for a car.”

"Only you would ride up here looking like a wet dream and shrug about it," Robert laughed before Lando silenced him with a sharp glance. The Israeli driver held his hands up. "Easy, I'm not coming for your man, dude." 

Lando turned his attentions back to Oscar. “He's right though, you look fucking hot,” Lando whispered, and if Max weren’t so worried about finding Charles, he’d tease Lando for the way he ogled the Aussie so shamelessly. Though it’s not like he could talk. He did the same thing with Charles.

Predictably, Oscar rolled his eyes, though his gaze was fond.

“Quite the entrance, man,” Logan said, jogging over to give the Australian a hug.

“Why are you both… wet?” Oscar asked, frowning at his best friend and boyfriend. Lando gave Logan an abortive stare.

“Long story,” Lando said. “Right now we need to find Charles. He’s on a boat somewhere here with Ferrari.”

“Oh,” Oscar said matter-of-factly. “I saw Fred Vasseur on a boat on the other side of the pier.”

“How far?” Max asked immediately.

“Not far,” Oscar said, mounting the motorcycle again. “Hop on.”

Max didn’t need to be told twice.

“Hands to yourself, Max,” Lando said sharply as the Dutchman’s hands found Oscar’s waist for stability.

“Are you kidding me,” Max muttered, moving his hands up a little higher.

“Alright, hang tight,” Oscar said, revving the engine.

When they reached the obnoxiously large yacht in question, Max recognized Ferrari personnel around them immediately. He hopped off the motorcycle before Oscar had even come to a halt.

Before Max rushed off, he glanced back at the Aussie.

“Oscar?”

“Yeah?”

“Thank you.”

The Aussie smiled. “Couldn’t let Lando go down for losing the ring.”

“Not just for that,” Max said. “Thanks for… for making him so happy. You’re really good for him.”

Max knew that Lando deserved every bit of credit for being the best friend Max could have ever asked for, but he also saw how much Oscar had rubbed off on Lando over the past few months. The Lando he saw today – every bit as chaotic as he always was, but also more confident, more sure of himself and his feelings… he knew Oscar had played a large part in that.

“I love him,” Oscar said, shrugging like it was the simplest fact. “Now go get your man."

Max nodded and ran off, muscling past a few people to fight his way to the bridge leading onto the boat. But almost immediately, two big security guards stood in his way.

“Let me through,” Max said.

“Ferrari personnel only,” one of the burly men said in a deadpan tone.

“Let. Me. Through,” Max said again, his voice dangerous now. He would fight his way onto the god damn boat if he had to.

As the security guards stepped forward to remove him, Oscar revved the motorcycle engine aggressively behind him, the noise threatening enough to make the guards think twice.

Max looked at the upper decks of the double decker yacht, desperately hoping that he’d see Charles there. He was about to barrel his way through when a blistering noise split the air in two.

He ducked down, covering his ears from the onslaught.

It was a boat horn. And as he stepped back to look behind the Ferrari yacht, he saw that Logan had navigated Faith up alongside the much bigger vessel, and Lando was now at its helm, blasting the horn on full volume.

“EVACUATE NOW!” the Brit screamed over the megaphone. “EMERGENCY! TITANIC LEVEL EMERGENCY! Y’ALL KNOW HOW THAT SHIT ENDED! GET YOUR ASS OUT OR GET YOUR ASS DROWNED!”

Behind him, Oscar folded over with a laugh.

Needless to say, Lando’s chaotic announcement, unrealistic as it was, was enough to prompt a mass exodus from the boat, and Max breathed in relief when he saw people filing out in heavy numbers.

But when he finally, finally, spotted Charles in the crowd, and the Monegasque’s blue eyes met his, everything around him seemed to freeze. Even as he looked at Max with such pain in his eyes, Charles looked beautiful as ever. He would always look beautiful to Max, would always light up every fucking room he was in. Nothing could ever come close.

“Max.”

“Charles.”

“Charles?” Max asked, his voice growing desperate when he noticed that Charles was hesitating, hanging back against the railing and looking at Max with an unreadable expression.

“Max…” Charles whispered, his face pained.  

“Are you okay?” Max asked immediately. He tried his best to scan Charles’ face, his body, for any signs of what had happened. His boyfriend looked exhausted, his hair was a mess, his eyes bloodshot.

“Let go of him!” Charles shouted as a security guard wrapped a hand around Max’s bicep to pull him back.

But Max didn’t care about that. Barely even felt it. He just needed Charles.

“Charles, come here,” Max whispered, his heart breaking when he saw Charles take a step back. “Please.”

“Max, I can’t,” Charles said, glancing at Fred Vasseur, who was standing beside him.

“Whatever it is, I can help you. Whatever it is, I forgive you,” Max said. “Just please talk to me.”

“Max,” Charles sobbed.

“Please,” Max said. “You told me when we had that first fight, that nothing could break this. That we would fight for this. It’s you and me, together, remember? Cheri—”

Max’s voice broke on the term of endearment, and something must have broken in Charles, because that’s what did it. Charles shrugged off Vasseur’s protest and raced off the boat, eyes never leaving Max’s once.

The Dutchman let out a desperate noise when he caught Charles in his arms, the familiar feeling of his boyfriend’s arms wrapping around his back sending relief through his body, through his heart.

“I’m so sorry, Max,” Charles was sobbing into his chest.

“Sssshhh,” Max whispered, curling his fingers protectively across Charles’ waist and lifting him up and away from the Ferrari boat. Meanwhile, Oscar had put his motorcycle between the couple and the large crowd from the boat, looking about as threatening as an angry cat, as much as Max appreciated the effort. But soon, he was joined by Lando, Logan, Arthur… Pierre, Carlos. Max recognized others too. Alex was there, George… Lando’s trainer, Jon. All the F2 boys who lived in Monaco. Max knew it without even having to ask. Lando had called for reinforcements.  

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” Max said, shifting his attention fully to Charles now, tracing a soothing pattern across his back. “I’m here, I’m here.”

“I fucked up,” Charles said, the words barely making it out through his sobs.

An icy coldness wrapped itself around Max’s heart, and he prepared for the worst. Had Charles cheated? He trusted him, trusted him with his life, he’d never assume it, but…

“What happened?” Max whispered. “You can tell me. I love you, no matter what. You… you can tell me.”

Charles fixed Max with a look that could only be described as devastated, and Max wished he could rid him of all the pain he felt. Wished he could fix this.

“Our chauffeur, from Corsica,” Charles whispered.

Max frowned. He wasn’t expecting that.

“Huh?”

“Remember that night, when… when Lando and I were really drunk coming back from the club,” he whispered. “When I was talking about us… having sex. And… I didn’t even realize we were in public?”

Max nodded. “I remember… what…”

“The driver overheard, and he… he tipped off a reporter. He took a photo of us, kissing as we were leaving the car that night, as proof,” Charles said, shaking his head. “The reporter came to Ferrari, told them he was planning to run the story today…”

Everything came back to Max in waves. Charles’ drunken declaration in the back of the car about Max topping him. Lando following suite about him and Oscar. Their chauffeur, who’d been with them the whole trip… privy to all their private conversations…

“It’s all my fault,” Charles said, his voice wracked with guilt.

“What?!” Max said incredulously. “This isn’t your fault, Charles. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

It took every ounce of Max’s self-control not to light up in anger. This motherfucking stranger had chosen to go out of his way to hurt them. To hurt Charles. He fought with himself to keep the burning rage inside, even as it threatened to bubble over. Charles needed him to stay calm now.

“Ferrari called me this morning to tell me,” Charles said. “I told them to try and pay the reporter off. I offered him… offered him everything I had. My money, my apartment, everything. Fred tried, they tried to negotiate with him but he wouldn’t budge. He’s convinced he’ll make more money from the fallout than any settlement we could give him. He wants the fame.”

Max clenched his jaw, his arms wrapping around Charles, never wanting to let him go ever again. He thought back to their unassuming SUV driver. Max had paid him generously, always greeted him with a smile… how dare he.

“This would destroy your career,” Charles said, the tears pooling in his eyes again. “I know we talked about coming out after we both retired from racing, but… I fucked up and now… I don’t care what happens to me, but this… this is your career, Max.”

Max froze.

What the hell? Was that what Charles was worried about?

“What?” he asked, disbelief coming off of him in waves.

“We can deny it,” Charles said. “When the story comes out, we can say that it isn’t true. Make up some kind of cover. Fred said… Fred said we’d probably have to break up, because we’d be under a lot of scrutiny after that. But we can deny it, and… and if that doesn’t work, I… I could leave racing. Our media director said it would help, if one of us leaves the limelight. It might not be enough to dispel all the rumors, but… but it could help.”

“Charles!” Max exclaimed, cutting him off outright. “Charles, what are you saying?”

“I can’t let this destroy you, Max!” Charles shouted.

“Destroy me?” Max repeated. His breaths were coming in, hot and heavy, and he felt tears rising in his chest, like high tide coming into a shore. He cupped the Monegasque’s face in both his hands. “Charles, I don’t care about my career. I care about you.”

“But racing is… racing is your whole life, Max,” Charles said. “It’s who you are. I can’t take it away from you.”

“You are my life,” Max said, shaking his head. “Ever since you walked into it, you’ve been my whole world. I don’t care about racing if I don’t have you.”

Charles blinked, and Max felt his heart break at how lost he looked. Max knew this was on him, now. He’d never been great at communicating what he felt – Charles always did it better. But he had to find the words now.

“I love racing,” Max said. “But you’ve always been part of racing for me. Ever since we were kids. When I think back, I… I don’t remember racing first. I remember you first. I didn’t love racing before you were part of it. I don’t care if people find out about us, Charles. Fuck them all. As long as I have you, I’m untouchable.”

He waited, with bated breath, as his words occupied the space between them. Charles’ eyes were glistening with emotion, and he felt the Monegasque’s hands tighten around the fabric that clung to his back. When relief blossomed on Charles’ face, Max let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” Charles whispered.

“You don’t need to say anything,” Max said. “This time, I can do the talking.”

Charles smiled through a fresh pool of tears, and that smile weighed more than a thousand words.

“I love you, cheri,” he whispered.

“You would have given up everything for me,” Max said in realization. “You… you would have taken the fall.”

Charles nodded. “Of course. It’s you. You’re the only thing that’s ever mattered.”

“Do… do you care about us coming out?” Max asked.

Charles blinked. “No. I don’t care. As long as we’re together.”

“Then fuck the reporter. Let’s break the story ourselves,” Max said. “Together. If you want that.”

His boyfriend nodded immediately. “Yes. Yes. It’s me and you, right?”

Max nodded, smiling. “Me and you. Damn fucking right, cheri.”

Charles let out a noise in the back of his throat, and when he finally, finally, pulled him into a desperate kiss, Max felt like he was coming up for fresh air. Charles’ lips tasted so familiar, like honey, like wine, like sun on a summer day.

When they broke apart, Max held Charles’ face in his hands again, studying his eyes like he hadn’t ever seen them before. And in that moment, Charles looked more beautiful than Max had ever seen him.

Now, Max thought. Right here, right now.

“Logan!” Max called. The rookie jogged up to them. “Is there still fuel left in Stroll’s boat?”

“Yeah, plenty.”

“Rev it up, won’t you?” Max whispered, laughing even as tears of joy were streaming down his cheeks. “Tell Lando it’s game time.”

Logan smirked and nodded while Charles looked on in confusion.

“Where are we going?” Charles asked as Logan drove them in the direction of the half moon on the horizon, under the pretense of Max needing to show Charles something important. “And since when are you and Lance good enough friends for you to borrow his boat?”  

Max chuckled, tightening his grip on Charles’ hand in the palm of his own. Logan was at the steering wheel, Arthur by his side. Pierre and Carlos were up on the upper deck, the latter poised with a camera to take shots of the proposal, unbeknownst to Charles. Lando was on the stern of the boat, setting up the fireworks that they’d found in Lance’s cabin. Oscar was in charge of the speakers.

The ring was in Max’s back pocket.

The sea was calm, like his heart.

Everything was perfect.

And as Logan slowed the yacht down to anchor, Max steeled himself.

“There’s nothing to look at this far from the harbor,” Charles laughed.

Max smiled, moving to stand beside Charles on the bow of the yacht.

“I’m enjoying the view quite a lot, actually,” Max said, shrugging as he fixed Charles with an easy smile.

“Max,” Charles smiled, ducking his eyes with a blush.

Max took a breath, taking both of Charles’ hands in his own.

“…Max?” Charles whispered, brow furrowing.

And right on cue, the boat’s speakers began playing the song Charles had written for him on the piano. The Monegasque’s eyes widened as the melody carried across the ocean, enveloping them like an embrace.

Max dropped down onto one knee.

“Oh my God,” Charles gasped.

He looked up, smiling at the love pouring out of Charles’ gaze in waves.

“Charles Marc Herve Perceval Leclerc,” Max started, ignoring the loud snort that came from behind him, no doubt from Lando. His hands trembled, ever so slightly, as he lifted the small box up and popped it open to reveal the ring, blue like the Monaco sea that surrounded them.

“It’s always been you,” Max whispered. “We don’t need words, cheri. Because we know. We’ve always known.”

Charles nodded in agreement. “Always.”

“Will you marry me?”

Before the words had even left Max’s mouth entirely, Charles had fallen to his knees, pulling Max into a fierce embrace and burying his face into the crook of his neck.

“Yes,” he whispered, followed by a giggle so happy the sound would live in Max’s memory until the day he died. “Oh my God, yes!”

Charles couldn’t stop grinning as Max placed the ring on his finger.

“It’s beautiful,” he said, looking at the gem in awe. “I can’t believe it. I can’t… I’m so happy, I… merde,” he chuckled as more tears fell.

Their moment was interrupted when Lando let out a yelp, followed by the sight of fireworks shooting up from the back of the yacht, lighting up the night sky.

Charles’ smile was illuminated under the shower of light, and Max smiled at him proudly. His fucking fiancé.

“MISSION SUCCESS!” Lando yelled.

Max finally pulled his gaze away from Charles to look at his friends, who burst into a round of applause. Pierre shouted I’m so happy for you, man, at Charles, who smiled back fiercely. Carlos was grinning at him with a double thumbs up. Logan and Arthur were also clapping, Arthur’s head resting on Logan’s shoulder. Oscar was smiling at them from where he was standing towards the back of the ship. Lando was the only one not looking at them. He was looking at Oscar, a small look of wonder on his face.

Max smiled knowingly at his best friend before looking back at Charles.

Yes, he thought. Yes, this. Forever.

As Logan steered the boat back to Fontvieille, Max’s mind was in bliss, holding Charles comfortably to his chest as they laid back on the lower deck, looking up at the stars. He took comfort in the slow and steady beat of the Monegasque's heart, savoring the moment. As much as he'd wanted to propose in Corsica, it felt right to him that he'd done it here, in Monaco. In a city that sang Charles' name, a city that had welcomed Max in with open arms when he was young and afraid and in love. A city where they shared their life. 

On the other side of the boat, Max saw Lando and Oscar wrapped around each-other in a way that made it impossible to tell where one McLaren hoodie started and the other began. Lando had one hand cupped on the Aussie's cheek, gently brushing the hair from his face.

"You look so beautiful," Lando whispered. Max could tell that the Brit was feeling emotional - whether it was because of the proposal, reuniting with Oscar, or the sheer drama of the whole day, Max didn't know. 

"Have you looked at yourself?" Oscar asked softly.

Lando smiled, bringing his lips to Oscar's wrist, where the rookie still wore the lucky bracelet Lando had given him when they first got together. "I love you, Osc," he said, and Max saw the way the Brit was nodding slightly, almost to himself, like he was making a promise. 

“Looks like we have a welcome party,” Logan observed as he docked the boat. 

Max and Charles frowned, untangling their limbs from each-other and looking over onto the pier.

Sure enough, though the crowd on the pier had emptied out, Fred Vasseur and a few other Ferrari crew members were there. And so were a few other familiar faces from Red Bull. Christian Horner, Max’s engineer GP, his trainer Bradley… their Head of Strategy, Hannah, his lead mechanic, Genty.

“What… what are you guys doing here? Who called you?” Max asked.

“Fred did,” Christian said, smiling at him. “He told us what happened. Sounds like you guys needed back-up.”

“Huh?” Charles asked, looking at Fred in confusion. “I thought you…”

“We want you to be happy, Charles,” Fred said. “If you and Max… if you want to fight this, we can fight it.”

“How?” Max asked.

“I’ve already called our legal team, and they’ll join up with Ferrari’s, figure something out,” Christian said. “It might not stop the story from going public, but we’ll do everything we can.”

Max swallowed, feeling that familiar sense of safety whenever he was surrounded by the Red Bull team. He rushed forward, and Christian’s eyes widened when Max pulled him into a hug. Fuck, he’d hugged more people in the past six hours than he’d probably hugged in his lifetime.

“We got you, Max,” Christian said. “We got you both.”

“Even if the story breaks, we can deal with it,” Fred said, shooting Charles a reassuring look. “It’s not like you guys are teammates, that would be different. We can handle this.”

Max bit his lip, glancing back to where Lando and Oscar shared a glance. The Brit frowned, tugging Oscar closer to him by the hem of his hoodie.

“And… am I seeing things, or are… congratulations in order?” GP asked, looking down at Charles’ left hand with a knowing smile.

Charles ducked his head with a smile, and he and Max shared a small glance before Charles nodded.

“Yes,” Charles chuckled.

GP’s face broke into a grin and he brought Charles in for a hug.

“I’d welcome you to the family, but… you’ve been a part of it for a while already,” he said.

Max could only smile on in happiness as he saw Charles being enveloped in hug after hug by each Red Bull team member. And as he and Lando caught each-other’s gazes across the ship, Max knew that this, this, was what family felt like.

His reverie was interrupted when he heard a panicked sound from beside him. A woman was making her way through the small crowd, and Max frowned when he recognized her.

It was Arthur’s ex.

She spotted the younger Monegasque on the boat, still standing next to Logan by the wheel, and rushed up to meet him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

“They told me something was going on down here!” she exclaimed. “Are you okay?”

She pressed a soft kiss to Arthur’s cheek, and Max didn’t miss the way Logan flinched beside him, taking a few steps back.

Arthur blinked, clearly caught off guard, but he made no move to extract himself from the woman’s intimate embrace.

On the other side of the boat, Oscar was frowning as he observed the exchange. When Logan retreated off the boat, the hurt evident on his face, the Aussie was the first to follow him.

Half an hour later, after they said their long goodbyes, Max and Charles walked down the empty pier with Lando and Oscar in tow. Max’s apartment was just around the corner from the pier, but they were walking the younger couple back to where Oscar’s motorcycle was parked at the beginning of the pier.

“We don’t have to return the motorcycle tonight, right?” Lando asked.

Oscar shook his head. “The rental place said I have it for twenty-four hours. Why?”

Lando bit his lip and wagged his eyebrows. “I can think of a few things we could do on it.”

“Lando, we have company,” Oscar rolled his eyes, though he was smirking softly.

“As if Max and Charles aren’t thinking of the celebration sex they’re going to have tonight,” Lando snorted.

“Guilty,” Charles said, shooting Max a knowing glance.

Max rolled his eyes, but he’d been thinking about exactly that when Lando had piped up, so he couldn’t deny it. 

“You couldn’t find Logan?” Charles asked Oscar again.

The Aussie shook his head. “I followed him, but I lost him in the crowd.”

Charles shook his head. “Fuck. Fucking idiot, Arthur.”

“Now that Mission Lestappen Proposal is done, we need to get a move on with Mission Larthur,” Lando said. “And Arthur’s got to get his head out of his ass, which seems to be a common Leclerc trait."

Charles gave him an affronted look, and Max rolled his eyes.

"No insulting Charles on proposal day," Max said dryly.

"Oh, just on proposal day?" Charles teased. 

Max opened his mouth to respond, but his thoughts were interrupted by the boisterous group of friends that passed in front of them.

“Fuck’s sake,” he groaned, when he made eye contact with none other than Max Fewtrell.

Why did he have to be everywhere? He was like a fucking mosquito.

“Fancy seeing you guys again,” Fewtrell greeted them, the two men he was with flanking him like gargoyles.

“Oscar, haven’t seen you in a while, mate,” he continued, raising his smirk to Oscar’s withering deadpan stare. “How’s all the Alpine drama treating you? You shaking off the traitor reputation, or has that followed you to McLaren?"

Again, he was met with only silence, but Max spotted the way Oscar laid a calming hand on Lando’s curled fist to stop him from doing anything.

But Fewtrell didn’t get the hint.

"I heard something interesting the other day," Fewtrell said, tilting his head. "They ran an article about how Lando's a teammate killer, like Max. Destroys his teammates' careers. I feel for Ricciardo, really. So... it's nice to see you both still getting along."

Max felt a wave of protectiveness over the younger couple, and he took a step forward. He considered how much trouble he'd get in if he just decked the guy in the face, but he couldn't do that. He couldn't end the day -- Charles' day -- with violence, as much as Fewtrell's smirk was begging for it. 

Fewtrell was still fucking talking. “You know I know it was you guys, right? Who got me kicked out of the hotel?”

Another long silence stretched, before Charles said, “We don’t know what you’re talking about. And we’re leaving.”

“Thought you Twitch streamers spent all your time indoors,” Max drawled, trying to keep the rage out of his tone. “Why don’t you go home.”

“I like myself a night out,” Fewtrell said, before he tilted his head. “As Lando knows. We had plenty of those together.”

It could have all ended there. Fewtrell could have just left, and it would have been another unmemorable encounter.

But the young Brit’s next words sealed his fate.

And in hindsight, Fewtrell should have expected this. Lando and Oscar were foils to each-other, after all. Lando was chaos with anyone else, but calm where Oscar was concerned. Oscar, on the other hand, was the embodiment of calm 99% of the time. He didn’t give a shit when people insulted him.

“I’m surprised he didn’t bring anyone home from the clubs in Corsica. He’s easy like that, you know?”

But Oscar’s 1%, his exception, had always been Lando Norris.

“Can he swim?” Oscar muttered under his breath at Lando, already striding forward.

“What? Yeah,” Lando started.

“Good,” Oscar whispered, eyes flaring dangerously as he pushed Fewtrell squarely in the chest, sending him into the water.

“Oh, holy shit,” Charles laughed hysterically. “Oscar!”

Oscar looked on as Fewtrell spluttered in the water, swimming awkwardly back to the wooden planks of the pier. The rookie snatched a lifebuoy off the dock and threw it out to him, his face unimpressed.

“Are you kidding me, Piastri?” Fewtrell raged.

But Oscar had turned away, shaking his head. "I'm so done with him. Let's get out of here."

As they walked away, all of them eager to put Fewtrell behind them, literally and figuratively, Lando latched onto Oscar's side, looking worriedly at his boyfriend.

Oscar seemed to catch on, and he paused in his step.

"Sorry, I... shouldn't have pushed him," Oscar sighed. "He just... he can’t fucking speak about you like that."

"I don't care about you pushing him," Lando said. "If you hadn't, I would've. I just... Oscar... the whole teammate killer thing, I... you know I would never..."

"Lando," Oscar whispered, face furrowing in a frown.

"I know I treated Daniel like shit sometimes," Lando said. "People defended me but I... I know I was a jerk. But you know I'd never do that now. Not with you."

Max and Charles exchanged a glance, and he immediately knew that they were both thinking the same thing. Lewis Hamilton and Nico Rosberg. They'd been together for years by the time they'd ended up as teammates at Mercedes. Their relationship had been the paddock's best kept secret, but everyone knew. And then the 2016 season happened, and it only took twelve months of bitter on-track rivalry to destroy everything they'd built. Rosberg had retired after that season, and even after all these years, Lewis still got that haunted look in his eyes whenever Nico's name was brought up. 

His heart clenched when he imagined Lando and Oscar going through the same thing. He couldn't bear the thought.

But as he saw the way the two McLaren drivers looked at each-other, Lando's hand tight on Oscar's shoulder and Oscar's finding the Brit's waist, he knew this was different. 

Oscar looked at Lando with a quiet determination, and Lando seemed to calm under his gaze. They were steady in a storm. Always had been.

"I know, Lando," the Aussie whispered. "I know you would never. We would never."

Lando nodded, but Max didn't miss the sheen of tears in his eyes. Max had noticed it back on the boat - how quiet Lando had gotten after the proposal, the way he'd looked at Oscar like he was terrified the Aussie would disappear before his eyes at any moment. Like seeing Max get down on one knee had been a reminder to him of how much he stood to lose. 

"Can we go home?" Lando asked softly. "I need you."

Oscar pressed a soft kiss to Lando's curly hair. "You have me. Always."

A few minutes passed, and Max and Charles let the young McLaren drivers have their moment. Max was all too familiar with how these moments felt - being terrified of losing each-other, terrified of what they couldn't control.

"Shhh," Oscar whispered into Lando's hair. "I love you."

"Love you," Lando said, the sound muffled into the rookie's hoodie. 

Oscar finally cleared his throat, and glanced over the Max and Charles. “You two okay to get back?” his voice was choked. 

They nodded in tandem. It was their usual route home, and he and Charles liked to savor it. As Oscar and Lando peeled away in the motorcycle, Max took Charles’ hand in his under the moonlight. And even though the dock was empty with no one to see their joined hands, Max wouldn’t have cared if the whole world was watching.

"They'll be okay," Charles said, looking at Max with a small smile. 

Max nodded. He knew it too. 

Lestappen Proposal Planners

Lando Norris added Charles Leclerc to Lestappen Proposal Planners

Lando: Wow, END OF AN ERA

Pierre: Era?

Lando: Do I have to screenshot the definition of era to you?

Pierre: Fuck off, it’s 9am

Victor: Congrats @Max and @Charles!

Charles: Thank you :)

Lando: @Victor dude what the FUCK are you doing here

Lando: I definitely removed you

Carlos: Oh yeah Logan added him back before the proposal to get the F2 boys rallied

Lando: Ok whatevs you can leave now Victor

Lando: Your services are no longer required

Victor: …

Lando Norris removed Victor Martins from Lestappen Proposal Planners

Lando: Dude can't catch a hint

Oscar: You know we were never actually together, right?

Max: LOL cut the man some slack

Private chat: Max Verstappen and Lando Norris

Lando: You want me to add Joris to the fucking chat, bro? He was Charles’ first boyfriend, right?

Lando: You’ve gone conveniently silent

Lando: Uh huh, that’s what I THOUGHT

Lestappen Proposal Planners

Max: Nvm, Victor sucks, I agree

Oscar: ???

Lando: Great, we have consensus

Lando: Anyway, can I please point out that the proposal went EXACTLY according to plan?

Carlos: The part where you and Logan almost drowned, or where you sent the ring on a joyride to Melbourne?

Logan: Or where you spilled your takeout noodles on the carpet of Air Max on your way out?

Max: You WHAT

Lando: @Logan dude

Lando: I said to the fucking grave

Logan: I literally don’t listen to you, like ever

Lando: Anyway, shaking off the HATERS

Lando: I should consider becoming a full-time proposal planner

Charles: It was perfect :)

Lando: Lol is every message you send going to end with a smiley face from now on because you’re in proposal bliss?

Charles: Yes :)

Lando: Looool, fucking weak

Charles: I have screenshots of you being horny about Oscar’s thighs :)

Charles: I could :)

Charles: Share them :)

Pierre: LOL DO IT

Charles: :)

Lando: Dude why can’t I remove you from this chat

Charles: Max made me admin :)

Oscar: @Lando wait, you and Logan almost drowned?!

Lando: Ah fuck

Charles: Hmm, which screenshot to send first :)

Lando: CHARLES HAVE MERCY

Lando: I PLANNED YOUR FUCKING PROPOSAL

Charles: :)

Max winced when he heard over the radio that Charles had crashed out of qualifying in Q3 at Zandvoort. But during his in lap after he’d claimed a convincing pole position, he saw Charles’ unmistakable figure watching the track from behind the fence at Turn 3.

Max parked his car in parc ferme, but he brushed off the gestures to join the interviewer at his usual place in front of the podium. Instead, he took his helmet off, placed it down in his cockpit, and started walking towards the track.

Lando, who’d qualified just behind him in P2, was grinning at him all the way.

He vaguely registered the cameras flashing around him, but he let the cheers of his home crowd fuel his steps. As he came up on Turn 3 and saw Charles turning to smile at him, he paused, taking a moment to admire the view of his fiancé framed against the Dutch grandstands.

He bounded forward until he was next to Charles, and in his eyes was a question that Charles answered with a reassuring nod. They’d talked about doing this up in parc ferme if they both had qualified in the top 3, but it didn’t matter to either of them where they were. As long as they were together.

Christian and Fred had made good on their promise, and the legal proceedings were underway against the reporter and chauffeur. But Max and Charles realized it didn’t matter. They wanted the world to know. 

Max slipped his hand into Charles’, intertwining their fingers. He vaguely registered the noise of the crowd increasing by a few octaves around them as their intertwined hands were shown on the big screen, but Max only had eyes for Charles. They both turned to the crowd and waved, keeping their hands clasped together between them.

Neither of them had taken off their racing gloves, so the crowd couldn’t see the engagement ring on Charles’ finger, nor the brand new one on Max’s, which Charles had surprised him with just the week prior – a golden band with an orange topaz gem in the middle.

Max could feel the metal against his finger as he clasped Charles’ hand more tightly. They weren’t quite ready for people to know they were engaged, but this was a start.

“Thank you, cheri,” Charles whispered, his eyes full of love as he glanced back at him.

Max didn’t know what words he could possibly say in return to do justice to what he felt.

But he knew he didn’t have to find them. Charles already knew.