#vertonelli au

relevant heads up: kimi is the normal amount of weird about max, magical shenanigans, alternate reality, canon universe but also boarding school au, GP is an exasperated unofficial father, the idea of an age gap and yet... no age gap.

the age gap is still intact, maybe with both of them aged up just a little. Kimi is 23, already on his way to become a three-time WDC, while Max is 32, an established tennis legend who's already won Wimbledon, the French Open, and plenty of other titles and now she's taking a bit of a break from her career, giving the younger generation of players room to shine

they end up partying together after Kimi's latest Monaco win, and the night eventually leads them back to Kimi's hotel room... some nasty, unforgettable things are happening here

of course, they catch feelings over time, but Max is in complete denial because she doesn't want Kimi's career to suffer, especially with her being so much older than him

what Max doesn't realize, though, is that once Kimi sets his mind on something, he doesn't give up that easily

— Vertonelli One-Shot AU

M/M | Rating: T

Tags: slow burn, mutual pining, hidden feelings, sexual tension, driver rivalry, championship rivals, competitive flirting, post-race conversations, yearning, they're so bad at feelings

No major warnings, just feelings

The championship battle had become predictable in the way only the most brutal kind of competition could be.

Every weekend, the same names rose to the top of the timing sheets. Every qualifying session, every race simulation, every late-night debrief seemed to narrow the world down to two cars and two drivers: Max Verstappen in Red Bull blue and Kimi Antonelli in Mercedes silver.

Experience versus youth.

Precision versus instinct.

A reigning force who had spent years learning how to win under pressure, and a newcomer who seemed to treat pressure like fuel.

Neither of them was willing to give the other an inch.

── ⟢ ・⸝⸝

"You're getting bolder."

Max crossed his arms as Kimi stepped into the cooldown room after qualifying, the door clicking shut behind him and muffling the noise of the paddock outside. The room smelled faintly of rubber, sweat, and the cold metal tang of equipment left running too long. A television mounted in the corner played muted highlights from the session, the bright track graphics flickering across the screen.

Kimi set his helmet carefully on the table, his gloves still tucked under one arm.

"I learned from watching you."

Max scoffed, though there was no real bite in it. "That's a dangerous habit."

"So I've heard."

The corner of Max's mouth twitched, the smallest hint of a smile he would never admit to anyone else.

"Pole by twenty-three thousandths," Max said.

Kimi glanced up. "You checked?"

"I always check."

"Thought you didn't care."

Max leaned back against the wall, gaze steady. "I care when someone keeps stealing my Saturdays."

Kimi's expression shifted into something almost amused, almost proud. Their eyes met and held for a beat longer than either of them probably intended.

For a second, the room seemed to go still around them. The noise from the corridor outside faded into a distant hum. Even the television felt too loud in the silence that settled between them.

Then the screen switched to the replay of Kimi's lap, the onboard camera showing the Mercedes slicing through the final sector with impossible precision, and whatever had begun to form between them broke apart just as quickly.

── ・⸝⸝

Their rivalry was ruthless in the way only elite competition could be ruthless.

It was wheel to wheel through Eau Rouge, both cars climbing the hill with barely a breath of space between them, the crowd rising to its feet as if they could will the outcome into existence. It was side by side into Turn One in Monza, carbon fiber inches from disaster, both drivers refusing to lift until the last possible moment. It was late-braking duels, defensive lines, and radio messages clipped short by adrenaline.

Neither ever complained about the other.

Not publicly.

Not in interviews.

Not even when they had every reason to.

"If he sends it," Max told reporters once, standing in front of a wall of sponsor logos with his race suit half-unzipped and his hair still damp from the shower, "he commits. That's how racing should be."

The quote made the rounds within minutes.

Kimi read it that night in the quiet of his hotel room, the city lights of whatever country they were in glowing faintly through the curtains. He stared at the words longer than he meant to, thumb resting on the edge of his phone.

Then he smiled.

It lasted longer than it should have.

Singapore.

The humidity clung to everything. Even after sunset, the air felt thick enough to press against the skin, and the paddock buzzed with the restless energy of a race weekend that never truly slept. Somewhere in the distance, generators hummed. Somewhere else, mechanics laughed too loudly over the sound of tools being packed away.

Then a power outage left half the paddock in darkness.

The floodlights along one side of the circuit flickered out, and for a moment the whole place seemed suspended between spectacle and shadow. People moved around with flashlights and phone screens, voices lowered as if the darkness itself demanded it.

Kimi wandered onto the pit wall, drawn by the quiet more than by any plan. The track below was empty now, the asphalt reflecting what little light remained. Max was already there, sitting with one elbow on his knee and a bottle of water in hand, staring out at the circuit like he was still racing it in his head.

"Couldn't sleep?" Kimi asked, stopping beside him.

Max shook his head once. "My engineer won't stop talking strategy."

Kimi let out a short laugh and leaned against the barrier. "Mine won't stop showing me your telemetry."

Max turned his head slightly. "So they think copying me works?"

"They think understanding you works."

That earned him a longer look.

Max's eyes narrowed with something like curiosity. "And?"

Kimi glanced down at the dark ribbon of track below them, the corners barely visible in the dim light. "And I still can't predict you."

Max huffed a quiet laugh. "No one can."

There was a long silence after that.

Not uncomfortable.

Just close.

The kind of silence that didn't need to be filled because both of them were listening to the same thing: the distant murmur of the paddock, the faint crackle of radios, the soft rush of air moving over an empty circuit.

"So," Max said at last, his voice lower now, "are you actually this calm, or is it an act?"

Kimi looked out toward the far end of the track, where the darkness swallowed the straight and the barriers disappeared into shadow.

"I'm scared."

Max blinked, clearly not expecting that answer.

"Of losing?" he asked.

Kimi shook his head.

"No."

He swallowed, jaw tightening for a moment before he forced the words out.

"Of disappointing people."

Max stared at him for a long second, the usual sharpness in his expression replaced by something quieter, more thoughtful.

The answer wasn't what he'd expected.

It wasn't what anyone expected from Kimi Antonelli, who looked so composed on camera, so controlled in the car, so effortlessly unshaken when the cameras were on him and the world was watching.

"You know," Max said quietly after a moment, "everyone thinks pressure gets easier."

"It doesn't?"

"No."

Kimi turned to look at him.

"What changes?"

Max's gaze stayed on the track. "You stop letting people see it."

Kimi nodded slowly, absorbing that.

The silence returned, but this time it felt different. Less like distance. More like recognition.

"I think you let me see it," Kimi said.

Max didn't answer.

Because Kimi was right.

── ⸝⸝

The media loved the rivalry.

They fed on it, built headlines around it, replayed every overtake and every stare-down as if they were pieces of a larger drama the world had been waiting for. They called it the battle of generations. They called it the future versus the present. They called it the fiercest duel Formula One had seen in years.

What they never noticed was what happened after the interviews ended.

How Max would linger near the Mercedes garage, pretending to check something on his phone while waiting for Kimi to finish with the press. How Kimi always found an excuse to walk the same route back toward the hospitality units, even when his team had already sent someone to fetch him. How their paths kept crossing in the narrow spaces between garages, hospitality corridors, and transport trucks, as if the paddock itself had started arranging their meetings.

"You almost put me in the wall today," Max said one evening, leaning against a stack of tire blankets outside the garage while the sun dropped low enough to turn the paddock gold.

Kimi, still half out of his race suit and carrying his gloves in one hand, gave him a sideways look.

"You left the door open."

"I left half a car."

"I only needed half."

Max laughed under his breath, the sound brief but genuine. "You really are impossible."

"So I've been told."

"By me."

Kimi's mouth curved slightly. "And?"

Max looked at him for a moment, the noise of the paddock fading around them as mechanics rolled equipment past and team members called out to one another in the background.

"And somehow..." He shook his head, almost as if he couldn't quite believe the words himself. "I still look forward to racing you."

Kimi's heartbeat kicked harder in his chest.

He kept his face steady, but only just.

"I look forward to it too."

The championship came down to Abu Dhabi.

Three points separated them.

Three points after an entire season of qualifying duels, race-long battles, strategy gambles, and moments so close they felt like they had been written by someone with a cruel sense of timing.

The Yas Marina Circuit glowed under the floodlights, the white lines bright against the dark asphalt, the grandstands packed with people who knew they were watching something that would be remembered for years. The air was cooler than Singapore, but the tension was hotter, sharper, almost electric.

They fought for fifty-eight laps.

Clean.

Merciless.

Beautiful.

Every lap was a test of nerve. Every corner was a negotiation.

Max defended with the kind of precision that came from years of knowing exactly where to place a car when everything was on the line. Kimi attacked with the confidence of someone who had spent the whole season proving he belonged there, refusing to blink even when the margins disappeared.

Neither gave an inch.

Neither made a mistake.

When the checkered flag fell, Max crossed the line first.

Kimi finished less than a second behind.

For a moment, neither of them moved.

Then the celebrations erupted around them. The Red Bull garage exploded into noise. The Mercedes pit wall sagged with the weight of disappointment and pride all at once. Cameras surged forward. Team members shouted. The world rushed in to claim the ending.

But endings were never really endings in Formula One.

When the celebrations finally thinned and the cameras drifted away, Kimi found Max alone outside the paddock, still wearing his race suit tied around his waist, his hair damp with sweat and the night air cooling the back of his neck. The floodlights cast long shadows across the concrete, and the distant sound of engines being loaded into trucks echoed through the quiet.

"Tough loss?" Max asked, glancing up as Kimi approached.

Kimi stopped in front of him, hands loose at his sides.

"I hate losing."

Max nodded once. "I know."

"I hate losing to you even more."

That pulled a low chuckle from Max.

"I'll take that as a compliment."

"It wasn't."

"I know."

Another silence settled between them.

Not awkward.

Not empty.

Just the kind that only existed between people who understood each other too well to need constant words.

Kimi looked down for a second, then back up.

"You know what the worst part is?" he asked.

Max's expression shifted, attentive now. "What?"

"I spend every weekend trying to beat you."

Max held his gaze.

"And every weekend..." Kimi continued, his voice softer now, almost lost beneath the hum of the paddock lights, "...you're still the first person I want to talk to afterwards."

Something in Max's face changed.

The hard edge of competition softened into something quieter, something more vulnerable than either of them had shown all season.

"That's a dangerous confession," he said.

Kimi gave a small, tired smile. "I know."

"You've got terrible timing."

"I know."

Max stepped closer until only a few inches separated them. Close enough that Kimi could see the faint exhaustion in his eyes, the lingering adrenaline still humming beneath the surface, the way the night light caught on the edges of his expression.

"If the media saw us now..." Max said.

"They'd invent a hundred stories."

"They already have."

Kimi let out a quiet laugh, the sound carrying a little disbelief and a little relief.

"I suppose they have."

For the first time all season, neither of them felt like rivals.

Just two drivers standing beneath the paddock lights after another exhausting race, carrying feelings they had hidden behind helmets, radio messages, and post-race interviews for far too long.

Max reached up and gently nudged Kimi's shoulder, the gesture light but unmistakably warm.

"Same battle next weekend?"

Kimi smiled, and this time it reached his eyes.

"Only if you promise not to make it easy."

Max's grin was brief and sharp, the familiar spark of competition returning without erasing what had just passed between them.

"I never do."

"I know."

Neither of them reached for the other's hand.

Neither of them needed to.

Some things didn't have to be spoken aloud.

Not yet.

──

Thank you for reading my little fic! 🫶 I hope you had fun with it. This is just a one-shot, so there's no sequel planned. I definitely have more vertonelli au ideas floating around in my head, but they'll have to wait for another time 😭

Please do not repost, copy, translate, or use any part of this work without my permission. Any form of plagiarism is strictly prohibited. If you ever find another fic that's suspiciously similar to mine, please send me a message and let me know.

Max's dorm is more of an apartment. Kimi follows behind GP as he's given the passcode for the door, and then GP is saying something about having to go get Max from post-op, but he tells Kimi that he's welcome to anything in the dorm he wants.

The other man opens one of the doors in the hallway and rolls his eyes.

"Sorry about his junk. You might have to help him move some of it out, since he's on restrictions now, but this is your room."

It's a nice room, a large window over looking a center green, but there's metal filament coils and stray trinkets Kimi doesn't recognize scattered across the bed, and the desk is covered in small bits of machinery and leather.

"Thank you again, GP."

GP gentles, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.

"I'm sure this is scary for you, but we'll take care of you until we can get you home. You're going to have to attend some meetings while we figure out what exactly happened, but you'll spend most of your time here with Max."

Kimi bites the inside of his cheek in an attempt not to look too excited at the prospect.

"Something about house arrest...?"

GP sighs heavily.

"Don't ask."

Kimi mimes zipping his lips as Gianpiero leaves, and then he starts snooping. It's nothing major, he's just looking around, and besides, they're roommates now.

There's a few blankets on the couch, and he notices one of them looks handmade, as well as the pillows at one end. There's condensation rings stained into the wood of the coffee table, and something that looks like a video game console, but not any brand that he knows.

A black blazer is tossed over the back of the couch with an embroidered emblem on the front that he doesn't recognize. He leaves it where it lies, venturing down the hallway. The bathroom is nice— a bottle of 2-in-1 shampoo in the shower, and a body lotion on the counter. There's a bottle of cologne next to deodorant, and Kimi gives it a single spray into the air, more curious than anything.

He recognizes the notes from when Max had grabbed him, because his face had ended up squished into Max's neck before they hit the ground. Warm, a little earthy. It's not all that far off from how his Max tends to smell, although usually when Kimi is hugging him it's after they drive, when everything smells like rubber.

There's an extra package of toothbrushes in the drawer, a comb, nail trimmers, all the regular things Kimi expects to find in a bathroom.

The next door is a washer and dryer, but the door after that— definitely Max's room. He's switched the bulbs in the lights to something warmer, and his desk makes the one in Kimi's room look downright organized. There's a precarious stack of textbooks, a container of pencils in various stages, and scattered pens, all interspersed with different metal bits that must have something to do with whatever he'd been wearing.

He spots another blazer draped across the footboard, and there's a black undershirt similar to the one Max had been wearing earlier. The material feels like a slightly more rigid fireproof, but it's softer between his fingers. There's shoes scattered near the doorway, sweatshirts and jackets laid across the desk chair and over the knob of a door to what must be the closet.

Kimi steps back out, hit with a pang of guilt for observing this other Max like this. It's not his place to snoop through his things, no matter how curious he is, and he needs to leave his bedroom alone at the very least.

He settles in the living room and waits.

------

"—and don't think I missed that you've been messing with your grapple gear again. Those safeguards are there to protect you."

Max gives an acknowledging grumble, still mostly leaning against GP for support as they walk across campus.

"Wasn't going fast enough."

His words are still hard to form, but his shoulder doesn't hurt at all, even if he's stuck in a sling for the foreseeable future.

GP sighs, gently guiding him away from a lamp post.

"That's for the review committee to decide."

He fights the urge to roll his eyes, settling instead for a huff.

"Now they can review a living person, and not a dead body that went splat. What do I get for it? House arrest."

"Max, you were going to be on house arrest no matter what. You've broken the semester record for unauthorized grapple tickets."

GP makes a pained noise.

"Which means you can stop getting them now, please."

Max leans heavier against his side, soaking in the warmth.

"Means there's another record to get."

The sigh GP gives in response comes from the depths of his soul. He gets them both into the dorm building lobby before hitting the button for the elevator.

"We're working on getting Antonelli something to wear, but you might need to share for now, okay? And work together to get your things out of his room, please."

Max nods, eyes drooping.

"On it, Warden."

------

GP drops Max off, and Kimi feels a sharp stab of guilt when he sees the sling on Max's right side, securing his arm in place. As soon as Max sees him though, he grins. His pupils aren't tracking very fast, but GP had dropped off some meds as well, so Kimi isn't surprised.

"Antonelli,"

He makes a sweeping gesture with his good hand.

"What do you think?"

Kimi steps forward to take the meds from him and set them on the counter, vowing to analyze how he feels about the situation later.

"It's nice. GP showed me my room."

"Mhm."

Max yawns, jaw popping, and then frowns as he looks down the hallway.

"Sorry about all my stuff in there. We can move it,"

He cuts off with another yawn, and Kimi is slightly worried that he's going to fall asleep standing.

"—into my room. So you can sleep."

Kimi quirks his head, an idea sparking to life. One that he definitely shouldn't do, because nothing in the other room is heavy, and it would only take a few minutes to move. Even as he tells himself no, his mouth opens anyways.

"I could just bunk with you tonight. I'll be close by in case you need meds or something goes wrong with your arm."

Max's brow furrows, and he steamrolls ahead, trying to make himself sound confident.

"It is my fault you're hurt. This is the least I can do, honestly. And it'll only be for tonight."

Max is clearly thinking, and Kimi reaches for his good arm, gently grabbing his elbow.

"Your room is the end of the hall, right?"

He knows it's the end of the hall, but Max nods anyways, stepping forward and letting Kimi guide him through the dorm.

"I starfish in my sleep, by the way."

Kimi looks back at him and flashes him a grin, mind running ahead of him about how he's supposed to make this work for longer than a night.

"That's fine, I don't mind."

------

Max needs help getting the sling on and off. He has to stay in it even while asleep, and if he thinks too long about how long he's stuck on the ground, he starts to get a gaping pit in his stomach, so he's been trying not to think about it. Antonelli is more than helpful, right by his side and ready to help with problems Max hadn't even realized he'd be having.

He knows the meds are making him think slower, but it's nice to have Antonelli nearby and happy to think enough for both of them. He has him get the blanket from the couch, the one his mother had made for him to take to the academy with him last time he'd been at home, and as soon as the sling is strapped back into place, he slips into bed.

"Do you care what side?"

At least he's remembering some of his manners. Antonelli shakes his head, pulling off his shirt as he opens the dresser drawer that Max had pointed out for sweatpants. Max blinks before rubbing at his eye with his good hand. Blinks again.

Antonelli is built. He's all lean muscle and strong core, and while his neck seemed out of proportion earlier, Max has already gotten used to it. Unfortunately, the meds have apparently eliminated his usual brain to mouth filter.

"Wow."

"Hm?"

Antonelli turns back around and then lets out a half laugh, palm coming up to rub at the back of his neck as his cheeks go pink.

"I told you I was an athlete? You are not so bad yourself, also."

Max huffs, tracking the movement of Antonelli's shoulders as he grabs a pair of sweats before immediately looking away when he shamelessly starts stepping out of his jeans, heat bolting across his face.

"A little warning?"

His voice is slightly strangled, but he hasn't had a roommate in a few years, and while he's used to locker room behavior, he just— hadn't expected Antonelli to be entirely fine with it.

It's different outside of the locker room.

Antonelli giggles again, slightly embarrassed.

"Sorry mate, I didn't think about it. Do you care if I sleep without a shirt? I overheat at night, and we are already sharing a small space."

Max hopes the red across his ears is less obvious than it feels. He's still not looking at Antonelli.

"That's fine."

He hears the sound of fabric shifting, and then Antonelli is on the other side of the bed, slipping under the covers, and he's so close. Max rolls onto his back, one of the few comfortable positions with the sling. Normally he sleeps on his left side, which is fine with the sling, but would leave him face to face with Antonelli, and he's not doing that.

Antonelli's voice softens, unusually gentle as he clicks off the bedside lamp.

"Goodnight, Max."

Max gives a sleepy hum, staring up at the ceiling.

"You haven't told me how you know my name."

Antonelli tugs the blanket up higher over both of them.

"Tomorrow."

The blanket reminds him of home, and he makes a mental note to call his mother tomorrow. She'll worry about his arm, but she worries anyways. He thinks he might not tell her about Antonelli yet— there's too much they don't know, and maybe he should be more wary of sharing a bed with a stranger, but Antonelli doesn't feel like a stranger, not completely.

His eyes drift shut, and he feels the bed shift as Antonelli gets comfortable, the heat of him getting closer. His voice is soft, or maybe Max is already half asleep.

okay yes you're seeing the vision of that au!! but please for a moment let's talk about how weird the whole thing is for both versions of max involved, because it's a mindfuck.

au max: this guy drops out of the sky, you get a major injury saving him, he then becomes your roommate, and like, he knows a little too much about you? and he's friendly and nice, sure, but sometimes he gets weirdly intense and there's no predicting it, and also he's possessive as all hell, and that part comes out of nowhere. he's clingy and he sometimes stares at your classmates like he wants them dead but also he's really focused in bed. single-minded focus on studying you like a bug under a microscope to figure out what makes you tick, and sometimes you get the feeling he's thinking about someone else.

f1 max: one of your rookies on the grid causes a magic-related crisis by accidentally looking at you and fucking up the spell, gets sent to another universe, is awol for a while, and then comes back different. and he wanted you before, but it was a puppy love way and easy to brush off as hero worship, but now he's confident when he approaches you and he knows things that you didn't tell him, and he won't talk about where he went when the spell went haywire.

Kimi wakes up hot, half pinned onto the bed, and it takes a moment for his brain to catch to everything— the spell, the accident, Max— before he can remember where he is.

Max has rolled in his sleep onto his left side and halfway on top of Kimi, ankles hooked together at the end of the bed, face smushed into the pillow next to him. His hair is wild, sticking out in all directions, and Kimi is afraid to breathe out of fear it might wake him up. He can feel his soft puffs of breaths on each exhale, can count the individual lashes of his eyes, can make out the faintest of freckles.

He's never been this close to Max before, and he thinks he might be losing his mind. Also, he's hard.

That's not new, it's a fact of life— he's had more than a few awkward mornings with Ollie— but it's never been assisted with a thigh half pressed between his own, or the fact that he's in the same bed as Max. Maybe not his Max, but a Max nonetheless, and Kimi needs to figure out a way to get out of the situation before he wakes up.

He shifts slightly, testing the waters as he tries to shimmy backwards, and Max makes a sleepy grumble as he readjusts. Kimi is choosing not the think about the fact that he's hard as well, otherwise his face will heat badly enough for steam to shoot out of his ears. He manages to successfully wedge a pillow between Max's sling and the bed so that he's not trying to roll directly on top of it, and then he's sneaking out of the bedroom as quietly as he can.

The bathroom is the same as he remembers, and he flips the lock as he turns the knob on the sink, letting the water run. He shouldn't, he knows he shouldn't, but he's lost this mental battle before, and he shoves the side of his hand into his mouth to muffle any noise as he pushes his borrowed sweatpants down, hand wrapping around his cock.

Like usual, he's thinking of Max. His Max, the F1 legend, one hand gripping tight in his hair while he coaxes Kimi down onto his cock, lisping accent telling him he's taking him beautifully, a true champion as work, even as Kimi gags, eyes watering. Max tells him to push through it, isn't this what he wants? How badly does he want it? Is he willing to prove it?

He bites down into his hand, squeezing tight, and his mind flashes through a different image, completely unbidden— it's this Max, back against the wall as Kimi kisses him, a level playing field for once. The thought sends a bolt of heat through him he hadn't expected, precome dripping across his fingers, and then the Max in his head gasps into his mouth, their hips pressed together, and he's begging Kimi, sliding down to his knees, blue eyes looking up at him, and—

Kimi comes with a low groan that he muffles into his hand, head reeling as he gives himself a few slow strokes. He's never considered it like that before, only ever considered having Max teach him what he likes. The idea of being able to figure it out himself, maybe even to introduce Max to what he likes— it doesn't matter who he's with after Kimi goes home, he'd always remember Kimi for that, an irrefutable staple in his memories, impossible to overwrite. Unforgettable.

The post-nut clarity hits the way it always does a moment later, and he pushes back the familiar guilt he feels at thinking of his Max that way. Max is nice, trying so hard to be a supportive figure on the grid and be there for Kimi and the others however they need, and here Kimi is, fantasizing about choking on his cock.

It's easier to get rid of the guilt when he remembers he's definitely not the only one who's fantasized about it, and he tries to box in the guilt he feels about this Max as well, but it's a different feeling, one he can't quite decipher.

He doesn't feel bad like he'd expected. He feels like he has a goal, a target time to hit, Bono in his ear telling him to get in there. And really— no one back home knows where he's ended up. There's no harm to pursuing this Max, it's not like anyone needs to know.

He does feel guilt about Max's shoulder though. It's swirled in with the realization that Kimi has to— gets to, maybe— help take care of him while he's incapacitated, in whatever ways he needs, and he can't stop himself from trying to tie to the two things together. If Kimi is helping take care of him, Max will feel protected and safe, and if Kimi spends their time together impressing him...

He shakes his head as he washes his hands, frowning. He knows better, and he shouldn't be planning on Max while he's vulnerable, especially not when he doesn't know Kimi, not the way Kimi knows him. It's Kimi's fault he's injured to begin with.

As he runs the towel across his hands to dry them, sweatpants secure back across his hips, he vows to be normal, platonic amounts of helpful.

------

"Do you need help washing your hair?"

Antonelli has his head quirked at him as Max figures out how to eat an omelet left handed, shoulder starting to ache. He can't take meds until he's had some food, and he's only just barely woken up, half rolled on top of a pillow in his sleep. Antonelli is still in his borrowed sweatpants, rolled twice at the hips, but Max had thrown one of his long-sleeved compression shirts at him when he'd woken up, if only for his own sanity.

He's not sure how much it's helping, considering it's only managed to highlight his muscles, and it's tight at the neck in a way that doesn't happen when Max is wearing it. It also means he has VERSTAPPEN written across both forearms in white, which Max is trying very hard to be normal about.

GP needs to hurry up and bring him clothes.

He swallows and sets his fork down.

"Huh?"

Antonelli waves a hand at his hair and his sling, a slight frown on his face.

"Hard to do one-handed, I think? I could do the shampoo and rinse for you."

Max's fingers on his right side twitch out of the instinctual habit to reach for his water, and he frowns as he reaches for it with his left hand instead.

"I can still shower, it's not like I'm completely immobilized."

Antonelli goes slightly pink, eyes widening as he backtracks.

"No, not like— not the whole thing. But you could lean your head over the tub? Just for your hair."

He pauses.

"I've had an arm injury before, mate. It's no fun."

Max pushes through the initial embarrassment to try and think about it logically. If Antonelli has had a similar injury, he's probably speaking from experience, and now that he's thinking about it— the logistics of how to get shampoo from the bottle to his hair with one hand are evading him.

His student evaluations are always encouraging him to try and think more with his head and not his gut, and Antonelli has good logic, which is the only reason he eventually nods.

"Okay."

------

Max is on his knees, head over the rim of the bathtub, and Kimi thinks his brain is going to explode. Max is shirtless this time, the black of the sling standing out in harsh contrast to the pale of his skin, and he's having a hard time reminding himself not to try and connect the freckles along his spine.

He's stronger in the shoulders and along his spine than Kimi's Max is, but he's not grown into the adult frame that Kimi knows yet, still lanky in his arms and legs.

Kimi checks the water temperature of the shower head with his hand before leaning over Max, chest along his back.

"Close your eyes."

He brings his free hand to lay his palm across Max's forehead, index finger at his hairline, before he starts to rise. Max tenses for a second, but relaxes a moment later when the warmth of the water reaches him.

"So,"

Kimi can feel the vibration of his voice when he speaks. The borrowed compression shirt he's wearing feels like less than nothing, a laughable attempt at a layer between them.

"You never said how you know me."

Kimi hums, watching the water run across his hair.

"You are also a driver, in the same sport I am."

Max makes a quietly surprised noise, but he holds still.

"I am? Are we friends?"

Kimi's fingers tighten around the metal of the shower head for a moment, and he sets it to the side as he runs his free hand through Max's hair, checking for any tangles.

"I would like to think so. We're on different teams, so we're competitors."

He gets some of Max's 2-in-1 into his palm, mentally mourning his own shampoo and conditioner back home. It'd been a gift from George, who'd told him if he didn't start handling his curls that Daniel would take things into his own hands.

He rubs it between his palms into a lather before sinking his fingers back into Max's hair, working small circles by his temples as Max makes a soft, pleased noise.

"You're good at this. Which one of us is better?"

He pushes his thumbs deep near the back of Max's neck, a popular sore spot for drivers, and is rewarded by watching his shoulders relax. He's careful to avoid the mottled purple and green area near his right shoulder, although the worst of it is still hidden under a bandage.

He grins as Max slumps across the rim of the tub, tilting his head forward to give him more space to work with.

"At racing? I am beating you this season."

He tilts Max's head from one side to the other, dragging his fingers through his hair until he runs out of ways to justify how long he's taking, rinsing off his hands as Max shifts on his knees, redistributing his weight.

"You must be really good. Or maybe I am a shit racer."

Kimi can't help his bark of surprise, huffing a laugh into the back of Max's neck as he reaches for the shower head, feeling him shiver from the chill.

"You are a very good racer, I'm just having a better season. It happens."

He presses his palm along Max's forehead again as he starts to rinse, watching the suds trail in rivulets down his skin.

"Close your eyes."

"Mhm."

Max is warm underneath him, chest rising and expanding steadily, and Kimi knows he'll be remembering this as long as he can.

"Would you ever be on a team with me? The me from your world?"

He can feel water dripping off of his fingertips, breathing syncing up with Max's as he sets the shower head aside, shutting off the water and running his fingers through his hair a few more times before reaching for the towel.

"I would love to be teammates with you. More than anyone else, I think. But you are very picky in my world. Lift your head."

Max straightens his spine as Kimi gently scrubs at his head with the towel, stepping back a moment later so Max can stand. He runs a hand through his damp hair, flashing Kimi a slightly embarrassed smile.

"Thank you, Antonelli. I really appreciate how helpful you've been."

Kimi tries for a reassuring smile, something that doesn't scream I would give anything to keep having these moments.

"Like I said, it's my fault. I want to help."

------

GP comes by to take Antonelli for an interview with the review committee, and Max takes the chance to settle onto the couch, laptop in front of him as he sighs, logging into his student account.

As if house arrest isn't enough, the school has decided to reassign him previous assignments that he'd been exempt from, to make sure he isn't just lazing around the entire time. It's cruel and unusual punishment, and when he spots the notification number under his assignments tab he considers dropping out.

He doesn't, of course. He could never, there's nowhere else in the world where he could arc through the sky the way he does here, nowhere else that could harness his potential the way he needs. He hasn't gone more than a few days without grappling since he was seven, and now that he's staring down months of being grounded— it opens a pit in his stomach.

He doesn't regret catching Antonelli. There's nothing that could be worth more than a human life, and he'd do it again in a heartbeat, but he wishes he'd had just a few more seconds to think. There must have been something else he could've done, another grapple point, a way to slow them down, something.

He tips his head back with a groan.

"Fuck, I'm going to miss Spiritfest."

He's won speed and agility for five years running at Spiritfest, and he'd been very confident on a sixth this year. Instead, he's going to be stuck inside, doing assignments at the speed of a dead snail.

As if his typing wasn't slow enough before, now he's only got his left hand to work with.

The thought reminds him to glare down his dick, eyes narrowed, because it had not the received the notice about his right hand being out of commission, and had instead zeroed in on cute boy! In bed! With me!

They really need to get that other room cleaned out. He mindlessly scrolls through his email, deleting old notifications in chunks at a time, eyes glazing over. Antonelli had been out of bed by the time he'd woken up, later than usual after the medication had worn off and without an alarm to assist him. They'd shuffled through the slightly embarrassing state of Max's fridge until finding eggs, and then Max had looked up an omelette recipe, which had only taken them a few attempts to get something edible out of.

He feels his ears heat when he remembers the way Antonelli had leaned across his back to wash his hair, chest pressed along his spine, fingers rubbing circles into his temples. It's not that Max isn't kind to himself, but he leans towards whatever is quickest and easiest, and he can't remember the last time someone had washed his hair for him.

Antonelli's hand across his forehead, the warmth of the water, and the ghost of his laugh against his skin when Max had asked if he was a shit racer had made him shiver, shooting straight to his gut.

His cock twitches, and he brings a hand to his forehead, sighing heavily as he mentally slaps himself on the wrist.

"Bad Max."

No making himself horny when he can't do anything about it, even though he's going to have to find some kind of alternative— if he goes eight months without getting off, he'll die.

He clicks over to one of the lecture videos he needs to watch, accepting defeat. At least he's got a steady supply of material to bring him back to reality.

------

GP gives him a duffel when Kimi's finally let out of questioning, leading him over to a restroom.

"You can change in here. We'll grab something for you to eat after, and then you're headed back."

Kimi takes it in, unzipping it once the door is shut. GP has given him a set of black slacks, a white collared shirt, a navy tie, a cream sweater, and a familiar looking black blazer. It has the same emblem that Max's had shown, and he digs around to realize he has two of each.

They've given him the uniform. He stares at it for a moment, reluctant to give up what he's borrowed from Max, but he doubts GP is going to let him not change.

Max's borrowed clothes are carefully folded into the duffel, and Kimi hopes he doesn't ask for them back. He figures out how to layer the uniform, finds a belt in one of the pockets, and then stares at his reflection for a moment. He hadn't gotten the tie done up properly— he doesn't know how— and he's left the top buttons undone to leave room for his neck, but besides the small details, he looks...

It's like seeing another version of himself. A Kimi that had never pursued Formula 1 or racing. He's not sure he likes it, although he is sure that he wants to match his roommate while he's here— maybe he can accidentally grab the wrong blazer in the morning.

He zips the duffel back up, stepping out to letting GP assess him. The older man makes a face at the state of his tie, but he doesn't fix it, simply nodding.

"Ask Max to show you how later. We'll get you some comfier things for the dorm as soon as we can, but this is what we have on short notice."

Kimi thumbs at the strap of the duffel.

"I look like a student."

GP makes a face, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"About that. We're not sure how long you might be here, so we have you enrolled for the rest of the academic year."

Kimi's jaw drops. When he'd accidentally altered the spell, he hadn't wanted to end up doing homework. His panic must show on his face, because GP lifts both hands placatingly.

"You won't be graded on the same scale, don't worry. We just can't keep you on campus without a record to connect you to."

He supposes that makes sense, but he still frowns, tugging at the sleeve of his blazer.

"Do I have to attend things?"

GP reaches over to pat him on the shoulder.

"We matched your schedule to Max's, so you won't be on your own, and that doesn't start for another month once he's healed enough to go back. You may be gone by then."

The original spell had only been intended to last one week, but Kimi had admitted in the questioning that he wasn't sure if that was still accurate or not. The academy must be preparing for a worst case, long term scenario.

He'd reassured them that everyone back home would be working around the clock to get him back to his own world, and he thinks that's true— he's too valuable to Toto to be lost forever in a magical spell gone haywire.

GP leads him out of the administrative building and towards a different one as they cross the courtyard, a steady presence at his side.

"What if I'm not gone?"

The hand at his shoulder squeezes lightly.

fun question!! for the sake of simplicity, I'm going to use young max and f1 max like I was before.