kalykhanka

It's not unheard of for Max to get up in the middle of the night to do something crazy like drinking a red bull and turning on the sim, but he's usually a good sleeper. Yet, he's been restless lately, and Daniel is starting to worry.

He lays awake, trying to listen for something that might indicate what Max is up to, like the squeak of the sim chair, the clicking of the wheel, the light thump of the fridge door closing, but all he gets is one of the cats, purring at the foot of the bed. The night is quiet, or at least as quiet as Monaco can be, and if Daniel wasn't convinced of the opposite, he'd guess Max wasn't even home.

After five more minutes, he decides he won't be falling asleep unless he knows what Max is up to, so he gets up, not bothering to turn the light on and hoping the pets are smart enough to avoid getting stepped on.

He finds Max in the office, staring at the helmets on display.

He walks up to him quietly, but Max still doesn't startle when he wraps his arms around his waist. He doesn't relax either, standing stiff, eyes far away.

"Can't sleep?" Daniel asks, partly because he wants to know and partly just to break the eerie silence.

Max just hums, low in his throat. He's not even blinking. If Daniel wasn't worried before, he sure is now.

"What's wrong, Maxy? What are you thinking about?"

He doesn't want to guess, but he knows there are many things worrying Max lately, from the state of the team, to state of the sport in general. Most days he wishes he could just take Max away from it all, get him in a car and drive him far from the mess that leaves him with no appetite and no sleep, but as good of a dream that would be, he knows in reality there's not much he can do. Max doesn't run from things. He fights and he endures and he tries again and again, until his hands are bleeding and the ruins he had been trying to hold together are just smoking debris.

He wishes he didn't, wishes Max could just let it go, but he won't deny that he loves this too about him. Loyalty so strong it turns him blind. Or well, not blind, but reckless enough to walk into the same trembling building every day, trying to patch together crumbling columns, dust raining on him from the cracks on the ceiling.

The silence stretches, his hands moving with each of Max's slow breaths, but he doesn't push. His feet are cold, and his eyelids heavy, but if what Max needs is time, if what Max needs is standing in front of old helmets at 3 am, saying nothing, then Daniel will give it to him.

"I don't like breaking promises," Max finally says, voice raspy, startling him. "It's why I don't make many."

Daniel isn't sure why he's saying this now, but he nods, chin digging into Max's shoulder. He knows it's true. It's why each one of Max's promises is precious.

"What promise are you breaking?" he gently prods, when Max doesn't continue.

Max's voice is even quieter when he speaks again, barely a whisper in the low light filtering in from the half closed curtains.

"I told you I'd win another, with your number. For you. That I'd make you proud."

Daniel blinks, his heart catching on before his brain, already starting to ache in chest before he can fully figure out what Max means.

"Baby..." he squeezes Max harder, pressing his chest to Max's back, wishing he could just pull him inside himself, let him live in the spaces between his ribs. "Baby, you know I don't care."

Max shakes his head, hair brushing against Daniel's cheek. "I do."

Of course he does. Of course Max cares, because he always does. Even when he says he doesn't, even when he tries to be nonchalant, he always cares. Daniel wishes he could go back in time, stop his stupid past self to make that joke, when Max had asked if he could have his number.

It will be...I want to have you with me. Like that. he had said, and Daniel, brain choked with emotions, had only thought about replying gotta win for the both of us then, yeah? Make me proud?

Of course Max would hold onto the stupid words and beat himself up because of them. Daniel should have thought about it. He never thinks enough.

With a sigh, he steps away from Max, watching a shudder travel down his spine at the motion, before forcing him to turn around. Max blinks twice, lost eyes struggling to focus on him, shadows dark underneath them.

"Maxy, listen." Daniel breathes out, trying to find a way to say what he wants without tripping himself up. This would be much easier if it wasn't 3 am.

"I would have loved if you won a race for me. If you won the championship with our number, but I don't care." He reaches forward, cupping Max's cheek. "I am always proud of you, baby."

Max closes his eyes, finally leaning into his touch a little.

"I was proud of you when you were a teenage menace on track, still with your thirty-three," he pronounces it like Max does, tirty-tree, and watches Max's lips tick up the smallest bit. "I was proud of you when you won your first, and when you had the most insane season to date. I was proud of you when you lost by two points. I am proud of you when you are in p8."

Max grimaces, starting to turn his face away, but Daniel doesn't let him, holding him still.

"I am proud of you, Maxy. You could retire tomorrow, and I would still be proud."

Max's next exhale is heavy, and he leans forward, tipping into Daniel, tucking his face away against his shoulder.

"I want to," he whispers, like a secret, "but I also don't. I hate it, and I hate hating it."

Yeah, that Daniel can understand. His 2022 was bad for different reasons, but he remembers getting in the car and feeling wrong, and desperately wishing he didn't.

He hates that Max is feeling this way now.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, kissing Max's hair. "I'd fix it for you, if I could."

Max sighs, finally wrapping his arms around Daniel in a proper hug.

"I think maybe if you talked to them, they'd change it for you," Max tells him. Daniel is sure they wouldn't, but Max has always had a too high opinion of him, so he doesn't even try to fight him on that.

Instead, he just hugs Max closer, kissing the side of his head again, breathing together until the cold of the night creeps into his bones, making him shiver.

"If you need to continue this crisis," he says, hoping Max has had enough time to brood to appreciate a joke, "can we do it in bed, from under the blankets?"

Max giggles, the sound quiet and a bit watery, pulling away from Daniel's embrace and rubbing his face with both his hands.

"Yes," he says, shrugging his shoulders, as if to physically shake the troubling thoughts away. "Come on, before your weak system makes you catch a cold."

"Just for that, I'm warming my feet on your legs."

Under the covers, Max snuggles up close, not even trying to put up a mock fight, hiding in the curve of Daniel's neck.

"I'm still sorry," he whispers again, sounding pained. "I wanted it for you."

Daniel's chest aches and aches. He can't lie and say he didn't want it too.