#633

He realizes the irony. That he is one to complain as well. That he talks a lot when feels strongly. He likes to think that he’s any better than the dutchman, that he’s more justified or more palatable. It’s a sugar-coated lie, but even he can’t help but question it anymore. 

George just wants to go home. He wants to ignore everything, and everyone. Just get in the car, go to the airport, and get home. No media nonsense, no talking. There’s a nap with his name on it as soon as he can get out of here. 

The walk of shame out to his car is beyond annoying, he keeps a smile on for the people lingering in the paddock. Tolerating Toto’s miserable attempt at a pep talk and congratulating Kimi on his win that was incredibly lucky but still impressive. He doesn’t really know how to describe losing his championship lead to a boy who can’t even drink in this country, but it’s whatever! It’s early, he’s got plenty of races to go. No hurt feelings. He’s fine. 

The sight of his car is a relieving one. His little ticket home, that sleek silver mercedes. He’s not like Lando, he’s not gonna break 20 traffic laws on his way home. Maybe one or two. Maybe. Just a little. He just clicks his keys, listens to the cheap, opens the door, and slides in. 

“Took you long enough.” George jumps at the voice, whipping his head over and staring wide eyed. Max, of course it's Max. Why would he be able to get back to his hotel without any hassle? 

“Well I wasn’t aware someone was waiting on me. What happened to you, were you so insufferable that your driver kicked you out and you tried to carjack me?” George spits, glowering at the man who’s taken up comfortable residence in his passenger seat. 

“Can’t I just want to see you. Don’t get in a twist, princess, I just wanted to-” 

George prides himself on being a man who keeps his temper in check. Who for the most part, doesn’t get overly angry or loud. He’s got a good public image of being a polite, logical man who sometimes gets a bit emotional. He’s never swung at a driver, his worst offences are usually crying too much. He doesn’t get very angry, but Max’s stupid, annoying, cocky tone just makes the strings all snap. 

“You are insufferable, you know! Why are you even here huh? You’ve got nothing to gloat about unlike usual. I’m the one who’s beating you now, not the other way around! So I don’t know why you’ve decided to come and bother me because for once I don’t think I’ve said anything against you for an entire weekend. So it is entirely unfair that everything always has to come down on me!” It all falls out of his mouth in a roaring river after the dam breaks. All of his frustration and angst piling up at once and finding a target. Maybe not an entirely deserving one, but Max had a way of ticking George off. His chest was heaving by the time he was finished with his shouting, and he felt just horrendous about the whole thing. 

Max, to his credit, doesn’t yell back. Doesn’t so much as furrow his brow. He just looks like he’s looking in a mirror. The subtle glint of recognition in his eyes. “Feel better?”

George scoffs, he wants to tell him to fuck off. However, he tries not to lie. “I.. I'm not. Well, yes. I guess I do.” 

“Okay, good.” Max shrugs. “As I was saying. I just wanted to check on you.” 

“Check on me? Since when do you care about what I am feeling, Verstappen?” George huffs, frowning. 

“Since you learned what it was like to be me, princess.” Max huffs. “Best car, no competition. Finally getting your moment in the sun despite proving everyone wrong a thousand times already. Did it all before, though a little better on my part. Don’t pout you know I’m better that’s why you hate me. What I’m trying to say is that it’s stressful and I wanted to make sure you weren’t drowning in all of it. 

George wants to shove him away. He wants to tell him to just go away. That he doesn’t understand, because he’s an asshole and stupid talented and it’s not the same. “It sucks.” Is all he mumbles. “I’m finally where I want to be and it’s not enough.” 

“It will be.” Max shrugs. “Come on, let’s get away from all this mess.” 

“You’re stealing me away into the night? Terribly improper, Verstappen.” George chuckles despite himself. 

“Who cares. You are tired, I am going to kill everybody on my team. Let’s call it good and find a drink. What do you say, gonna let me drive?” 

“In your dreams,” George scoffs, revving the engine and taking off despite the man in his passenger's seat. Max just laughs, and George can breathe easily for the first time all weekend.