The paddock was buzzing with post-race energy, but for Max, the celebrations felt hollow. Even after his tense conversation with you, nothing felt resolved. The weight of unspoken words pressed down on him like a lead blanket.The pit crew, ever watchful, noticed the shift in his demeanor. They had seen Max Verstappen in all his moods—focused, fiery, even furious—but tonight, he was something else entirely: lost.You, on the other hand, were doing your best to navigate the ever-growing storm brewing between Max and Charles. After everything, you thought your conversation with Max would have put an end to the drama, but his jealousy lingered like a bad overtaking attempt—messy, unshakable, and leaving tire marks in its wake.As the team finished up debriefs, you found yourself pulled into yet another conversation with Charles. His usual easygoing nature made it hard not to relax in his presence. He was charming, effortlessly funny, and—unlike Max—didn’t seem to be struggling with his emotions.Unbeknownst to you, Max was watching. Again.It was Lando Norris who finally broke Max’s brooding silence. “Mate, you’re staring again,” Lando teased, sipping from his Red Bull-branded water bottle. “If you want Y/N’s attention so bad, why don’t you just do something about it instead of sulking like a teenager?”Max shot him a glare but didn’t respond. Lando wasn’t wrong. He hated feeling this way—this… possessive. Max Verstappen didn’t play games. He wasn’t the kind of guy to get caught up in emotions, in distractions, in… whatever this was.But when Charles reached out and casually brushed a strand of hair from your face, something inside Max snapped.Before he could talk himself out of it, he was already moving.You barely had time to register what was happening before Max appeared, stepping between you and Charles. His jaw was tight, his shoulders squared, and there was a fire in his eyes that hadn’t been there moments ago.“Can I talk to you?” Max asked, his voice calm but edged with something unspoken.Charles raised an eyebrow but took a step back. “I’ll see you later, Y/N.” His voice was light, but the way he glanced between you and Max made it clear he knew exactly what was happening.Max didn’t wait for you to respond before guiding you toward a quieter section of the paddock. You followed, equal parts confused and intrigued.When you finally stopped, he turned to you, frustration clear in his features. “Are you doing this on purpose?”You blinked. “Doing what?”Max exhaled sharply. “Spending time with them—Charles, Carlos, Lando—knowing it pisses me off?”You crossed your arms. “Are you serious? Max, I’m not ‘doing’ anything. I talk to them because they’re my friends. The real question is why you care so much.”Max’s expression faltered for the briefest moment before he regained his composure. “Because I—” He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair. “Because I don’t like seeing you with them.”You stared at him, heart pounding. “Max…”He took a step closer, lowering his voice. “I don’t want to watch from the sidelines while someone else wins you over.”For a moment, all you could do was stare at him. This was it—the moment of truth. The moment where everything, all the tension, all the jealousy, all the lingering glances, came to a head.You swallowed hard, trying to process everything. “Then what do you want, Max?”His jaw clenched, and his next words came out softer than you expected.“You.”Silence hung between you, heavy, electric, waiting to explode.And for the first time in a long time, Max Verstappen wasn’t thinking about racing. He was thinking about you.
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