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The race had ended a few hours ago, and now Charles is looking for Max. He just can’t seem to find his boyfriend in any of the usual spots, so Charles resorts to asking one of Max’s engineers.

“Have you seen Max?” Charles prompts the engineer, who looks up at him with confusion from the sheets of telemetry in his hands.

The man seems confused on why Charles Leclerc was looking for Max Verstappen, but answers anyways. “Medical bay, I believe.”

“Medical bay?!” Charles flinches back instinctively, hands raised in defense against nothing. Without another word, he bolts off to the med bay. Charles scans the empty room until he spots Max sitting on a bench. His slumped posture isn’t the surprising things, it’s what he’s wearing. A black long sleeve and matching dark sweatpants. Mind you, it’s 21°C outside.

Pausing for a moment, Charles just stares at Max, gaze fixed on his hands folded in his lap. “Max..?” Charles squeaks, not sure if he should approach or not. He just stays frozen.

Max finally looks up, beautiful blue eyes shadowed. “Charles.”

“Why are you wearing those clothes in this heat?” Charles takes a hesitant step closer, shoes making a soft click on the white tile floor. “And more importantly, why are you here?”

Max doesn’t respond, eyes downcast as he stares blankly at the floor.

“Mon chéri.” Charles kneels before Max, untangling his hands before entwining them with his own. “Please talk to me.”

Sighing, Max finally opens his mouth. “I get cold easily. You know that.”

“Yes, but not this cold.” Charles pets Max’s sleeve, causing the older to flinch. Charles eyes darken with worry. “And you didn’t answer my other question. Why are you here?”

“…”

”Max..?”

”Fine, fine.” Max sighs, deciding to trust his boyfriend. “I cut myself.”

Charles whimpers, eyes going wide as they fill with tears. His jaw is agape, hands going slack where they were holding Max. His fight or flight or freeze senses kick in—not at Max, never at Max—but himself. For being so stupid and blind to his love’s pain.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” Max sobs, matching the wrecked noises Charles doesn’t even realize he’s emitting.

Not knowing what to do, Charles just stares, mind racing with a million thoughts he doesn’t know what to do with. The cold tile and his numbing knees? Gone. The only thing that remains is guilt and the sight of Max, broken and trembling.

Charles needs time to process, but he can’t just leave or hesitate. He forces words out. “Want to tell me why?” The question seems safe enough.

Max shakes his head. “Not right now.” His lower lip trembles, hands gripping Charles’ tighter.

Charles nods. “Okay. Okay.” He sighs, pressing his forehead to Max’s knee.

Hands trembling, Max reaches out to pet his boyfriend’s hair in a way he knows soothes him. The effort seems feeble, but at least it’s something.

Max doesn’t know what to do in the moment, the feeling of Charles soft hair beneath his fingertips and the smell of his fruit-scented cologne the only thing grounding him at the moment.

“Can I see?” Charles finally utters, his squeaky voice cracking halfway through.

“They’re already bandaged up,” Max murmurs, “you can’t see them.”

Charles nods against Max’s kneecap. “Please promise me you’ll never do this again.” He starts. “And if you ever want to, please talk or call or text me.”

Max wants to be able to uphold that promise, and he doesn’t know if he can—but for Charles? He’ll try anything. “I promise.”

“Thank you.” Charles whimpers, lifting his teary eyes to meet Max’s. His face is red, brown eyes wide. He feels utterly pathetic, but his care and worry for Max drowns that feeling out.

———

Later that night, Charles changes Max’s bandages, tearing up again at the sight of cuts that destroy him.

“Where’s your blade?” Charles asks while fastening the gauze on Max’s wrist.

Max hesitates, the question both invading and caring at the same time. “It’s…” he trails off. “…in my bedside table drawer.” His voice breaks on the last word, lip trembling.

Charles nods, standing up. He places a kiss to Max’s cheek before exiting the bathroom, tile turning to carpet as he reached their bedroom.

Opening the bedside drawer, Charles freezes. He stares down at the boxcutter glinting in dim evening light spilling in from the window.

He grabs the fucking craft tool, walking outside of the hotel room in his socks. He leaves Max alone without another word, tucking the blade in his pocket as he enters the elevator—no one else is in there, thank god.

Reaching the ground floor, Charles strides out of the hotel with purpose, ignoring the confused looks of front desk workers and visitors. The rotating door gives way to the warm night air, replacing the pleasant chill of the lobby.

Cold concrete bites Charles feet through his socks as he rounds the large hotel building to the back. He opens the large dumpster, chucking the boxcutter into the garbage. Perfect.

He heads back up to the room, finding Max in the same spot and position Charles had left him—sitting on the edge of the tub with his now bandaged arms splayed on his legs.

“It’s gone now.” Charles murmurs, voice low as he stands in front of Max.

There’s a long beat of silence.

“Thank you.” Max’s eyes are teary but earnest as they bore into Charles’, shining with raw adoration for the other man.

Charles cracks a weak smile, lips tilting up but not meeting his eyes. “Don’t thank me. I’m just glad you’re okay.”

“And what do you mean by okay?” Max scoffs.

Pausing, Charles sighs. “I don’t know. I’m just glad you won’t cut anymore.” A beat. “Right?”

Max nods slowly, willing himself to be able to stay true to that vow.

“Wanna order horribly unhealthy fast food and watch a movie?” Charles offers, genuine joy filling him for the first time since he saw Max in the medical room as the blonde nods eagerly.

Charles helps Max into stupidly fluffy pajamas before tugging on his own, leading the older to their hotel bed. Charles places the order—some McDonald’s shit—and turns on a movie he knows Max had been eyeing.

They curl up together under blankets, eating greasy fries and watching some random flick.

Now, Max may not be better instantly—no one can be—but it’s a start. Because Charles is stupidly persistent and in love with Max, and will do anything to keep his boyfriend safe.