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Chapter Text

For the first ten years of his life, Charles had been content with the fact that only his immediate family knew about his abilities. That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t thought about telling someone else, especially when he was younger and he’d still thought his powers were cool, before he truly understood just how dangerous they could be. But that desire had disappeared after the third time he’d accidentally set fire to the kitchen, and the second time he’d burst a pipe during the ensuing panic attack.

Pierre was the first person he’d really thought about telling the truth. They had met at one of the hundreds of karting tracks and they’d hit it off immediately. At first their conversation had centered around Formula 1 and their favorite drivers and circuits. But, as they’d become closer, they’d veered off into the more mundane, every day topics ranging from complaints about annoying siblings to the latest episode of their favorite TV show. And the closer they got, the more Charles daydreamed about telling him the truth. He thought about how he would do it, how Pierre would react, how Charles would react, what his family would say to him about revealing the best kept secret of their family lineage.

But despite his growing desire, he could never work up the courage to actually do it. He nearly had once when Pierre had slept over after they’d gone to see the newest Harry Potter movie. Pierre had spent the better part of an hour after the movie moaning about how much he wished magic were real and all the things he would do if he were a wizard (most of them had involved using his hypothetical magical powers to do his chores, and who was Charles to judge him when he was guilty of using his actual magic to do just that?). Charles had nearly caved then. The words I can do magic. Wanna see? Look! had been on the tip of his tongue, but then he’d remembered about the exploding boiling water incident two months before that had melted a pot and nearly given his mother third-degree burns, and he bit his tongue to stop himself from saying anything. Having magical powers was fun in theory, but the reality of it was much more terrifying, especially when there were no grown-ups to help clean up his mess when he inevitably fucked things up.

So, Charles had reluctantly resigned himself to forever keeping his powers a secret from anyone but his immediate family. Unfortunately for Charles, he tended to be careless when he was comfortable, and, fortunately for Pierre, Charles was often comfortable when he was around his best friend.

The day in question had started out like any other during their summer break. Pierre had come over for the weekend and they’d found a small, deserted area by the docks to pass a ball around, for once just talking about TV shows and movies they’d seen and, in Pierre’s case, espousing the virtues and hotness of whatever new actress he had a crush on that week. Pierre was in the middle of his rant about everything wrong with the new J.J. Abram’s Star Trek movie when he accidentally kicked the ball a little too hard and to the left.

“Aw, fuck,” he grumbled as he watched the football sail past Charles and into the water.

“Great going, Calamar,” Charles laughed as he watched his friend groan in frustration.

Charles, in true Charles fashion, had been so busy being amused at Pierre’s expense that he didn’t give it a second thought as he turned around and flicked his hand over the water. The football came flying back to him and it wasn’t until he turned around to kick it back to Pierre that he realized what he’d done.

There was a long moment of silence as Pierre stared at the dripping football in Charles’s hands with wide eyes.

“That just flew into your hand,” Pierre whispered slowly, as if he were still trying to wrap his head around what he had just witnessed.

Charles paled as he stared at his friend with wide, frightened eyes.

“That literally just flew into your hands! From the water! Charles! How?!”

Charles tried to swallow past the knot in his throat and instinctively took a step back as he clutched the ball to his chest. He could feel his panic rising as he started to lose control of his breathing. Pierre’s eyes widened even more at his reaction, and he instinctively reached out to him, but Charles flinched violently away and took several steps back to put space between them.

“Charles,” Pierre said softly, his hands up where Charles could see them as he took a step back. “I’m sorry. I won’t get closer. But… Can you take a couple of steps toward me? You’re really close to the edge of the pier, Calamar.”

Charles closed his eyes tightly and crouched down, curling in on himself as he hugged the ball tightly to his chest. The pressure helped to ground him, gave his mind something to latch onto as he tried to control his breathing by taking deep breaths. He knew he needed to calm down, he knew he must be freaking out Pierre, he could hear it in his friend’s voice. He could feel his magic just below his skin trying to lash out, but he clamped down on it. He couldn’t lose control now, not with Pierre here, not while they were out in the open and anyone could walk in on them. He could still hear Pierre calling him, talking to him softly. He tried to match his breathing to the cadence of his voice and, slowly, Charles could feel the tightness in his chest unwinding. He groaned in misery as he realized he’d lost all feeling in his legs and he crashed backwards onto his butt, eyes closed in agony as pins and needles shot down his nerves.

“Charles?”

He bit his lips at the uncertainty in Pierre’s voice. “Yeah?”

“Can I come closer?”

Charles peered up at him and instantly felt guilty. Pierre was pale as he stared at him, the fingers of one hand on the ground in front of him, like he’d started to move forward but had thought better of it and had instead frozen in place. Charles nodded in response, too tired to try and speak. He was drenched in cold sweat, and he shivered despite the warm air. He felt Pierre’s fingers tentatively touch the back of his hand and, when he didn’t move away, his fingers curled around it tightly. Charles forced himself to take in a deep breath, hold it, and slowly release it.

“Sorry,” he whispered, voice hoarse.

Pierre squeezed his fingers again. “You okay?” Charles nodded. “Can I ask…” Pierre paused, and Charles watched as he licked his lips nervously and flicked his eyes down to the ball still clutched to Charles’s chest and then back up to Charles, the question clear in his eyes.

Charles couldn’t help but shrink a little into himself. “I don’t know… how.”

“How you did it?” Pierre asked, his brows pinching together in confusion. Charles shook his head. “How to explain it?” Charles nodded slowly. “Hmm… Well, it looked like magic, to me.”

Charles huffed and pouted at that description. “It’s not magic,” he complained, his disdain for the word evident in his voice.

“Okay,” Pierre said. “So, what is it?”

“It’s… Like, I can feel this energy around me and around everything. It’s… sort of like a shimmer in the air?” He knew he sounded dumb, but he couldn’t help it. It’s not like anyone had ever asked him to explain his powers. He just didn’t have the words to describe it.

“So, when the ball flew back to you, you were… What? Manipulating this, like, shimmery air around it to make it move?” Pierre asked, clearly still confused but trying to understand.

Charles shrugged. “Kind of…? More forcing the energy around the ball to move, and that made the ball move.”

Pierre nodded absentmindedly. Charles could tell that he didn’t really understand it but that he was trying really hard to stop himself from asking a million questions. “What else can you do?”

“Umh…” Charles hesitated for a couple of seconds before placing his right hand on the concrete below him. He furrowed his brows and closed his eyes as he concentrated, and he heard Pierre gasp as smalls cracks snaked out from under his hand. He forced the energy to stop and pursed his lip as he breathed in deeply and forced the cracks to close back up. He let go of his breath loudly and slumped back, shaking his hand out.

Pierre gaped at the ground under Charles. “Wow.” He looked back at his friend, blue eyes shining with excitement. “Is there anything you can’t do?”

“I don’t know… I try not to use it too often.”

“Why?!” Pierre cried in disbelief. “You’re magic!”

Charles glared. “Do not call it that. It’s not Harry Potter. And it’s… It can be really dangerous.”

“Oh,” Pierre said as he deflated. “How so?”

Charles sighed in frustration. “I’m not sure I know how to explain it.”

“That’s okay. Just try?”

Charles sighed. “It’s like…” He gestured wildly with one hand. “Sometimes I have a hard time controlling it, and things I don’t meant to happen do. Especially if I’m angry, or anxious, or tired. So, like,” he looked down at the ball still clutched in one hand. “I brought the ball back from the water, right? But I could have just as easily accidentally exploded it.”

“Has that happened before?” Pierre asked looking worried.

“Sort of? I’ve made the pipes in the bathroom and kitchen explode,” Charles replied sheepishly.

“Oh,” Pierre said with sudden understanding. “Is that why it always seems like your house is under construction?”

Charles blushed bright red and hid his face against the ball. “Yes,” he squeaked out softly.

Pierre snorted and pushed Charles over until he was sprawled on the pier.

“Stop that!” Charles cried out as he glared at his friend. “You’re the worst.”

“You love me.”

“I do not. I most definitely hate you,” Charles sniffed haughtily.

Pierre laughed and leaned back on his palms, watching as Charles pushed himself back up until he was mirroring him. They were silent for the next few minutes, both watching the boats swaying in the harbor.

Pierre sensed Charles shift around nervously and turned his head to looks at him. He frowned slightly when he saw Charles chewing on his lips nervously as he stared at the horizon. He nudged him slightly with a foot and Charles glanced over at him quickly before looking down at his knees.

“What’s wrong, Calamar?”

Charles inhaled deeply and sighed. “What if I hurt someone?”

“You could never, Charles,” Pierre responded automatically. “You’re one of the nicest people I know.” Pierre slung an arm over his shoulder and pulled him against his side. “You’d never hurt anyone.”

“I wouldn’t mean to, but sometimes, I just can’t control it.”

Pierre said nothing and pulled him closer instead. “Is there something you can do that helps you control it?”

Charles thought about it for a few seconds before he slowly nodded. “If I’m feeling jittery, using up my magic––” Charles scrunched his nose in disgust as soon as he’d said the word. “Urgh! I can’t believe you got me calling it that.” Charles hit Pierre on the shoulder as the Frenchman cackled. “Stop it! God,” Charles sighed as Pierre continued to chuckle softly. “I guess using it up helps me control it for a short time, even if I’m stressed or anxious.”

Pierre chuckled for a few more seconds as he rubbed his arm. “Okay. Then if you ever need someone to cover for you so you can use up some of your magic,” Pierre said as he waggled his eyebrows and dodged the immediate punch that came at him, “then you let me know and I’ll help you out.”

Charles was silent for a few seconds as he stared at his friend with wide eyes. He’d always known that Pierre was special, that he could count on him. But this…

“Thanks,” he said softly as he smiled at Pierre, grateful not just that Pierre now finally knew but that he’d accepted this part of Charles immediately and unconditionally.

Chapter Text

Sebastian had known of Charles Leclerc. Of course, this didn’t mean much since anyone who remotely followed the world of motorsports knew about the kid and his meteoric rise through the ranks. He’d also heard about his rivalry with Max Verstappen, the other prodigy who had already taken the world of Formula 1 by storm and who had already broken some of Sebastian’s own records. When Charles entered Formula 1, Sebastian had been impressed with the things he’d been able to do with that Sauber, but beyond that Sebastian hadn’t paid much attention to him; he was more preoccupied with fighting Lewis at the front of the pack.

That, of course, all changed when Charles joined Sebastian at Ferrari in his second year. The first thing Sebastian noticed was that the kid was awkward as hell. He was shy around Sebastian and he seemed reluctant to speak up during briefings and interviews. Sebastian assumed that some of it was likely due to inexperience, and that another part was probably due to the hero worship that Charles had blatantly admitted to during an interview. But Sebastian suspected that a likely bigger part of it was simply because Ferrari. It was a little hard not to be intimated when you first started to race for the Scuderia, regardless of how much experience you had when you joined.

Or at least that had been Sebastian’s assumption until Charles got behind the wheel of the SF-90. By the time they were halfway through the season, Sebastian had reluctantly accepted (if only to himself), that this kid was probably going to beat him in the standings. The times the kid set in that car and his impressive wins in Spa and especially in Monza made it clear that as sweet and shy as he may seem, Charles was a fucking beast behind the wheel. It was also around that time that Sebastian started to notice strange things around the paddock.

It started in Spa.

Sebastian was with Charles getting some food in the Ferrari hospitality when they heard about Hubert and the accident. Charles had gone three shades paler and his grip on the glass of water had tightened to the point Sebastian was afraid he’d shatter it. Instead, the bottles of sparkling water behind them had exploded all at once in a shower of pops so loud half the people in the room had screamed and ducked for cover under the tables. For a few heart-stopping seconds, Sebastian thought someone had opened fire in the hospitality and he stayed curled up on the floor with his heart in his throat and his blood rushing in his ears. But when nothing else happened, Sebastian slowly peeked over the table and watched as everyone else looked around themselves just as baffled as he felt.

Everyone except Charles who was still standing next to the beverage station and covered in water.

Sebastian watched worriedly as Charles swayed and caught himself with his hip against the metal serving station. “Charles?” he asked as he pushed himself back to his feet. “Are you okay?”

Charles startled and Sebastian lunged forward to grab the glass in his hand before he dropped it. Sebastian’s worry only increased when he realized Charles was shaking and his breathing was quick and shallow. He grabbed the younger driver’s bicep and squeezed hard while his other hand rested on the side of his neck.

“Hey, Charles. Look at me. You okay?”

Charles’s eyes slowly focused on Sebastian, and he licked his lips as he nodded. “Yeah. I’m okay.”

“You sure?” Sebastian watched him closely and frowned worriedly when Charles seemed to sway when he nodded. “Okay,” he said and forced himself not to ask again. The Monégasque was a big boy and Sebastian wasn’t his dad. So if he said he was fine, then who was Sebastian to argue with him?

Instead, Sebastian focused on the serving station behind him and picked up the remnants of one of the plastic bottles of Perrier. He watched as one of the catering staff did the same and looked at him uncomprehendingly. Sebastian stared at the mess in front of him, but he had no explanation for this. How could a whole tray of sparkling waters just suddenly explode in such a spectacular fashion? By the time he turned around to ask Charles what he thought could have caused it, the man in question was gone and Sebastian had grumbled in annoyance at being left behind.

It continued in Monza.

Charles had stuck close to him as soon as they’d arrived, not used to the insanity of the Tifosi on their home turf. Sebastian had noticed that Charles seemed jumpier since Spa, startling easily as the fans chanted his name like they had never doubted his place in the Scuderia. Their race weekend schedules were always hectic, but Monza was always in a class of its own. By the time Friday rolled around, Sebastian was only too happy that his media duties were done and he could finally lose himself in the feel and speed of the car. But even the adrenaline rush of speeding down the fastest track in the calendar wasn’t enough to keep him upright for long, and he snuck out of the garage as soon as FP2 was done to crash for a couple of hours before their debrief.

He was in the middle of his well-earned power nap when the door to his hide-out creaked open, startling him awake. Sebastian opened his mouth to yell at whoever it was to fuck off when he caught sight of disheveled brown hair and sheepish green eyes staring at him imploringly. Whatever he had been about to say got caught in his throat and he caved so fast to that expression that he was surprised he hadn’t gotten whiplashed in the process. He sighed and vaguely gestured at the other couch, and watched, bemused, as Charles practically collapsed onto it before closing his eyes.

Sebastian listened as Charles made himself comfortable on the couch and then sighed softly once silence enveloped the room. He was on the brink of dozing off again when Charles made a small noise and started moving again. Reluctantly, Sebastian peeked one eye open to see what he was doing and frowned when he realized the younger driver had curled up into a ball and was pressing the ball of his hands as hard as possible into his eye sockets.

“Charles?” Sebastian waited a second for a response. “Hey, you okay?” he asked again when none was forthcoming.

Charles grunted. Sebastian’s frown deepened.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.”

Sebastian sighed and sat up. “Come on, kid. It’s clearly something.”

Charles groaned and wormed around the couch until his face was smushed into the cushions. Sebastian was just wondering whether he should check if the kid could breathe with his face buried like that when the lights flickered. He automatically looked up and waited to see if they would do it again. Just as he had decided that it must have been some sort of short-circuit, the lights flickered a couple of times and then dimmed to at least half their strength. He stared at the ceiling for a solid minute, but the new brightness level held steady.

A small sigh of relief from the opposite couch caught his attention and he watched as Charles slowly relaxed on the couch. He glanced one more time at the dimmed ceiling lights before he got up and made his way to Charles’s side.

“Hey,” he whispered as he squeezed Charles’s shoulder. “Want to tell me what’s going on?”

Charles sighed. “Migraine.”

“Oh,” Sebastian said softly and glanced again at the lights. “Want me to turn off the lights?”

“No, this is fine if I keep my eyes closed.”

Sebastian hummed. “Do you want some meds?”

Charles shook his head once. “I already took them. I just need to sleep it off until they kick in.”

“Okay,” Sebastian replied. He gave Charles’s shoulder one last squeeze before he moved back to his couch.

He watched Charles silently until he nodded off and then decided to follow his teammate’s example. Sebastian was woken up an hour later when the lights in the room suddenly brightened again to their full strength. He grunted at the brightness and looked over to see that Charles had turned over at some point so he was now facing Sebastian and drooling in his sleep. He glanced at his watch and groaned; they were going to be late for the team debrief. Reluctantly, Sebastian swung his legs off the couch and went to wake Charles.

“How are you feeling?” he asked as green eyes looked at him blearily.

Charles hummed. “Better. Migraine is mostly gone. Debrief?”

“Yeah,” Sebastian said and spared one last glance at the lights. “Let’s go.”

After that, it was hard not to notice that weird things tended to happen around Charles. A couple of weeks after Monza, Sebastian was in the garage looking for his headphones when Charles walked in, his nose in a little notebook and one hand playing with a pen. Sebastian was just about to greet him when he noticed that the pen itself didn’t actually seem to be touching Charles’s fingers, but instead looked like it was just… twirling in the air between his fingers. Sebastian made a confused noise in his throat, which must have alerted Charles of his presence because the pen suddenly fell to the ground as Charles looked up and saw him. They stared at each other for a few awkward seconds, Charles’s eyes as wide as saucers, before he promptly turned around and left. Sebastian stood on his spot, staring at Charles's back as he retreated, before he glanced down at the abandoned pen.

A month later, Sebastian entered the food hall of the hospitality and spotted Charles slumped over a table, a mug of some kind in front of him. He walked over to his teammate and looked down at the obviously cold mug of tea in front of the sleeping Monégasque. Sighing, Sebastian shook Charles’s shoulder until he groggily blinked up at him.

“What?” he grumbled hoarsely.

“You shouldn’t be sleeping here. It’s not professional and you’ll get a backache,” Sebastian chastised him, earning a glare for his efforts.

“It’s not like I meant to,” Charles groused as he hid his face in his hands. “I just came to get some tea, but then I sat down to look at my emails and I just…” He gestured vaguely at the table.

Sebastian snorted and patted Charles’s shoulder before walking to the beverage station, intent on making the younger man a new cup of tea. When he got back to the table, Charles was scrolling through his phone, a steaming mug of tea fogging up his glasses with every exhale. Sebastian stared at Charles’s glasses and the warm tendrils of air rising from the mug uncomprehendingly.

“How did you do that?” he asked as he stood in front of the table staring at the mug.

“Do what?” Charles asked without looking up from his phone.

“Heat up your tea so fast.”

Charles looked up at that and Sebastian could have sworn he saw a fleeting moment of panic in his eyes before Charles schooled his expression into mild confusion. “It was already hot.”

Sebastian raised an eyebrow at that but he stayed silent as Charles stared at him, daring him to call him out on his blatant lie. And really, what was Sebastian supposed to say to that? That Charles had somehow heated up his tea in the couple of minutes it had taken Sebastian to make him a new one? Charles had never gotten up, so how exactly was he supposed to have done that? Magic? Sebastian snorted in disbelief at his own thoughts and instead decided to join Charles at the table so they could talk about the latest PR stunt Ferrari had cooked up for them.

Except that once the thought was was there, Sebastian couldn’t shake it off. He started paying closer attention to Charles, and the coincidences were getting harder to ignore. He started keeping track of the weird things that happened around his teammate, and by the end of their first season, Sebastian had been forced to accept that either Charles was magic, or the Ferrari hospitality was sentient and had a clear bias toward the Monégasque. He counted seven times where lights had dimmed when Charles complained of a headache, four times where whatever Charles had been reaching for somehow moved to his hand as if he were a magnet, ten times when a cold drink had suddenly become hot again, and two times when the music in the garage skipped a track that he knew Charles didn’t like.

Sebastian thought about confronting Charles about it, and he nearly had at the end of the season, just to satisfy his curiosity. But Sebastian wasn’t dumb. He’d noticed the panic in Charles’s eyes, fleeting like a hummingbird, whenever he thought that someone had noticed what he’d done; like his world was on the verge of collapsing around his shoulders and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

So, instead, Sebastian stayed silent.

Chapter Text

Since Sebastian’s retirement, the younger drivers had, for mind boggling reasons and without a by-your-leave, unilaterally adopted Lewis as their new grid-dad. And so, at the start of the new season, Lewis found himself in the unenviable and inexplicable position of being more involved in the lives of the new generation than he’d ever wanted or thought he should be. For a couple of weeks, he’d naively tried to stay as far away as possible from the insanity and pointless bickering, but there were only so many places one could hide in the paddock, and it was all a moot point anyway when George had no qualms about ratting him out. By the time the third race of the season rolled around, he had accepted his fate with nothing more than a sigh. But, as much as he liked to bitch about it, deep down (deep, deep down), Lewis was a little humbled that these talented young men had chosen him as their mentor.

Although, he honestly could have done without the Charles and Max show at every single race.

Lewis knew all about explosive personalities crashing into each other during the heat of a season. But where he and Nico had crashed and burned spectacularly, Max and Charles seemed to thrive. The fiercer their on-track battles, the more likely someone was to run into them making out behind a motorhome or somewhere else equally inappropriate. He’d been the third wheel of enough podiums with them to become intimately familiar with how they shut out the rest of the world when they were together, and he’d heard plenty of bitching from both Carlos and Checo about what they got up to in their driver’s room. And, if the exceptional rumor mill of the world of Formula 1 was to be believed, they were no better when they ran into each other at events outside the racetracks.

Lewis would take this to his grave, but he may have inadvertently started the Max and Charles betting pool. It had been a complete accident, and, as with most ridiculous things in Formula 1 at the time, it had involved none other than Daniel Ricciardo. He’d been reclining against his car before a drivers parade when he’d spotted Max and Charles a little ways off from everyone else. Max was talking, gesticulating wildly, and Charles was smiling at him, occasionally laughing at whatever Max was saying. And then Max had laid his hand on Charles’s forearm and leaned over to whisper something in his ear, and Lewis had watched incredulously as Charles’s cheeks flamed as red as his Ferrari team shirt. He was pretty sure he’d done an actual, real-life double take as he’d watched Max step even closer to Charles and Charles fist his own shirt in a clear attempt to stop himself from reaching out.

“God, they’re so gross, right?”

Lewis startled at the drawl and looked over to see Daniel watching the two drivers with a smirk pulling at his lips. “What?” he croaked, flustered that he’d been caught staring.

Daniel simply waved at the two men who were now, incredibly, even closer than they’d been a second ago. “You could cut the sexual tension with a knife.”

Lewis blinked stupidly at Daniel for a moment before he glanced back at Max and Charles, both of whom were so engrossed with one another that they utterly failed to realize that the Red Bull and Ferrari photographers were gleefully taking pictures of them.

“Do you think they–” Lewis stopped himself before he could finish that sentence. It was none of his business.

Daniel snorted. “No. And I bet you nothing will come of it until Charles wins his first WDC.”

Lewis looked at him incredulously. “Why do you say that?”

“Max is too much of a chickenshit to do anything about whatever that is,” Daniel said as he gestured at the pair. “He’s been mooning over Charles since I’ve known him. He wouldn’t shut up about him when he first joined Red Bull. It was cute, but annoying as hell.”

Lewis raised his eyebrows. “That long?”

Daniel smiled. “It’s been even longer for Charles. You should have heard Jules’s impressions of Charles complaining about that goddamn Dutch motherfucker who ran me off the track.”

Lewis snickered at Daniel’s terrible French accent. “I don’t know, man. I don’t think it’ll take that long,” he said as he pointedly glanced back at the pair.

“Okay, then. I bet you a hundred dollars they only get together when Charles finally kisses Max after his first WDC win,” Daniel said as he extended his hand to Lewis.

Lewis glanced down at it and then back up at Daniel’s smirk. “Okay. Hundred dollars they get together before that.”

“Nuh huh. You gotta be more specific.”

Lewis hummed softly as he watched the pair. Max was now leaning against the car next to Charles, both their heads tilted toward each other as they continued to talk. “I think they’ll get together after they both crash out during a race. You know, adrenaline-fueled emotions and all that.” Daniel raised his eyebrows. “I give it another season, tops.”

Daniel grinned and they both shook on it.

From there, other drivers had somehow found out about the bet (clearly Daniel had spilled the beans) and the pool had expanded to include every driver (and some team principals) on the grid. In the end, Lewis had been thoroughly annoyed that Carlos had won the pot, but he couldn’t really be too angry about it since the Spaniard told them that he’d used the money to pay for Charles and Max to go on “a honeymoon” during the winter break.

And now here he was, new year, new races, and a brand-new betting pool; this time on how long it would be before Charles and Max got engaged. Although he couldn’t prove anything, Lewis was pretty sure Lando had started it this time and, with Sebastian gone, he’d unfortunately been defaulted as the bookie. He wasn’t going to lie, at first he’d been pretty upset George had kept him in the dark about it, but now he was sort of glad. It just meant he could enjoy watching the two idiots wildly swing from seemingly wanting to kill each other in highly imaginative ways to trying to suck each other’s face off during race weekends without freaking out about what this could mean for his bet.

But this weekend the two of them had been acting weird, to the point where the hashtag “Lestappen Romance” had started trending on Twitter. It began when they had not only arrived together at the paddock, but, according to several fan and official pictures on Twitter, they’d arrived in the same car. Then they had walked down the paddock together, signing autographs and taking pictures with fans, before they’d lingered in front of the Red Bull garage for an inordinately long time. This would have been fine, Lewis supposed, except that someone had managed to capture Charles reaching over to brush his fingers down Max’s neck before leaning over to whisper something to Max, who then very visibly blushed as bright red as Charles’s Ferrari jacket. The younger driver had grinned devilishly before walking away laughing.

George had barged into his driver’s room about ten minutes later, wildly swinging his phone screen in Lewis’s face and screaming about how the two idiots were about to out themselves to the world. Lewis had a hard time disagreeing as he scrolled through the frenzied tweets. The rest of the day had been equally infuriating and bewildering as the two men were as glued to each other as two Formula 1 drivers could be during a race weekend. It seemed like whenever they had any free time, they were spotted together in one of the garages, chilling in the cafeteria, or apparently sneaking into motorhomes.

Lewis had spent most of the day watching as George’s face got progressively redder and his texts to Lando and Alex increasingly more frantic. And while it was nice that the three of them appeared to be freaking out about their friends’ hellbent desire to out themselves, the same could not be said about the rest of the grid whose main worry seemed to be whether the couple had somehow managed to get engaged without anyone knowing about it.

Lewis highly doubted it since Carlos was completely nonchalant about the unusual amount of PDA happening over the weekend and Sebastian had been silent as the grave (and Lewis had made him swear on his bees that he’d tell Lewis if Charles ever confided to the German about any whispers of engagement plans). So, instead, he decided that the best course of action was to just ignore anything to do with the two hellions (and the other three-quarters of the Twitch Quartet) and focus on his own driving.

He ignored George and his furious texting while they were getting ready for FP1 and FP2, he ignored the whispers from the mechanics while he analyzed the data between runs, and he most definitely ignored all the pointed comments over the radio about how Charles and Max seemed to be egging each other on and toppling the other’s times during the final runs of FP2. He then proceeded to lock himself in his driver’s room after practice and pointedly ignored his phone until it was time for the debrief. He thanked God that Toto didn’t suffer fools and killed off any gossip about Red Bull or Ferrari with a pointed glare and a raised eyebrow.

By the time the debrief was done, it seemed that the entire garage had forgotten the strangeness of the morning. Lewis waved to his engineers as one by one they made their way out of the paddock, and said his goodnights to Angela as she packed up and left him to his own devices. And then, finally, for the first time in what seemed like forever, Lewis could finally relax.

He loved Silverstone. It was usually both the craziest and most fun weekend for him, but Max and Charles’s weirdness had thrown him off his game and he just needed some time to regroup. He waited until he was relatively sure that most people had left before he sneaked out of the Mercedes garage and onto the track. The night, for once, was clear and warm, and he walked down the track in the dark, simply enjoying the silence. A small light in the distance caught his attention and he stared at it, dumbfounded, until he realized it was the flashlight of a cell phone. Lewis scoffed softly, wondering who would be stupid enough to be sneaking onto the track and flashing a light around when they should have known better than to make their presence known.

As he slowly and cautiously made his way over to Maggots, he could hear two distinct laughs and rolled his eyes. He knew those laughs.

From where he was, he could tell that Max and Charles had their backs to him, both of them leaning back on their palms, so close together that it was almost impossible to tell where one ended and the other began. He was just about to call out to them when, suddenly, the ground shook slightly and a veritable sea of lavender flowers sprouted around the two men. Lewis froze where he stood and stared uncomprehendingly at the flowers now occupying the grassy area of Maggots.

What in the holy hell…?

“You’re such a show-off,” Max laughed out suddenly, startling Lewis.

“You don’t like them? I thought it’d be romantic,” Charles replied, a clear pout in his voice.

“I didn’t say that. Of course I like them,” Max scoffed. Then, softer, “I still have the one I plucked from the first time you did this.”

Lewis blinked stupidly at that. The last time Charles did this…?

Charles did this?!

Lewis walked to the edge of the field and tentatively touched one of the flowers. It was soft and smelled just like the real thing. He gently pinched the stem of one of the flowers and plucked it, feeling how his fingers crushed the stem and left a sticky residue on them. These were real.

What the fucking hell?

Deciding maybe he shouldn’t be here and that, perhaps, he shouldn’t have seen this, Lewis pivoted around and silently jogged back the way he’d come. When he thought he was far enough away that neither man would be able to hear him, he took out his phone and snapped a picture of the flower in his hand. Opening his messages, he sent the attachment to the only person he thought would know what was going on.

Lewis
image attached
WTF?!

Seb
Is that a lavender?
Why are you sending me a picture of a lavender?
Where did you even find one at this hour of the night?
Wait… What race is it this week? Are you at Silverstone?!

Lewis
SEBASTIAN!

Seb
Fuck

Lewis
How is Charles making a field of lavender grow at Maggots?!

Lewis nearly dropped his phone when it started vibrating.

“Does he know you saw the field?” Sebastian asked without preamble.

“What the fuck,” Lewis wheezed.

“Oh my God, Lewis, breathe. It’s just a bunch of flowers,” Sebastian chastised him.

“Just a bunch of flower?!” Lewis did not screech, but it was a near thing.

“Lewis, seriously. Calm down.”

Lewis took a deep breath at Sebastian’s tone and forced himself to regulate his breathing and relax his grip on his phone. “Okay,” he mumbled when he felt himself finally settle down.

“Does Charles know you saw him?”

“No. He and Max had their backs turned to me.”

“Of course he was with Max,” Sebastian groaned exasperatedly.

“Sebastian,” Lewis pleaded as he quickly made his way back to the Mercedes hospitality and locked himself inside the first room he found. “What is going on?”

Sebastian heaved a sigh. “Charles is magic.”

Lewis blinked stupidly at the window in front of him. “Come again?”

“Listen, you wanted to know what’s going on, that’s what’s going on. Charles has powers.”

“Magic is… real?”

“Yeah, but Charles hates calling it that. Even though that’s exactly what it is.”

“What…” Lewis swallowed and licked his dry lips. “What else can he do?”

Sebastian scoffed. “What can’t he do? Remember when he won the WDC? Max’s wild spin and sudden stop on the track?”

Lewis inhaled sharply. “Yes.”

“Charles stopped Max’s car.”

“What?” Lewis whispered incredulously.

“He said it was instinct, that he did it without even thinking about it. That was the first and only time he’s ever used his powers on track.”

“He was sick after the race. I remember you had to take him to the hospital.”

“Yeah. Using it for small stuff like the lavender field doesn’t really affect him, but using it for big stuff, like stopping an F1 car from crashing into a wall, is a bit too much. He was dangerously dehydrated and his blood sugar was practically nonexistent. But he was better after a few hours on an IV and rest.”

“Who else knows?”

“His family. Me, Carlos, and Pierre. And Max, obviously.”

“Obviously,” Lewis grinned despite his shock. “So… Why the lavender?”

Sebastian barked out a laugh. “It’s the one-year anniversary since Max found out. Charles was out in Maggots with Pierre to let out some magical steam, so to speak, and he made a whole field of lavender. Guess he decided to recreate the moment.”

“Oh,” Lewis said as the conversation he’d overheard suddenly made sense. “That is sort of romantic.”

Sebastian snorted. “Listen, Lewis.” Lewis hummed at the suddenly serious tone in the German’s voice. “Don’t tell him you know without Max there.”

Both of Lewis’s eyebrows raised to his hairline. “Why?”

“He’s a little careless with it sometimes, but Charles gets really anxious about his powers. He’s been known to have pretty major panic attacks when he realizes someone else has found out about them.”

“Oh,” Lewis murmured. “I guess that makes sense. I wouldn’t want anyone to know I could do magic either. But… Why Max?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

Lewis chuckled. “Yeah, you’re right. That was a dumb question. Yeah, okay Seb. I won’t say anything unless I have to.”

There was a short pause on the other end of the line before Sebastian sighed softly. “I’m glad you know, though. It’s been killing me that I’m not there for him, especially this year when I know he’s stressed out about defending his title. Just… Keep an eye on him for me? Make sure he takes breaks when he can?”

Lewis thought back to today, how Max had stuck close to Charles all day, how they’d been affectionate with each other and clingy. He thought back to earlier in the season when Christian would wander into the Ferrari garage, clearly exasperated, only to walk out dragging a clearly annoyed Max with him. He thought about how, wherever Charles was, Max was always nearby, watching him, distracting him, loving him.

“You know what, Seb? I don’t think you have to worry about that.”

Chapter Text

Daniel was the best fucking friend in the world, and he was never going to let Max forget it. If this didn’t earn him best man status for Max’s inevitable wedding to Charles, he was going to punch Max in the throat.

He’d been in the middle of his workout when he’d gotten Max’s phone call. At first, he’d ignored it, figuring he’d text him later. But then Max had called him twice more in quick succession and Daniel, exasperated that the Dutchman wasn’t getting the hint, had snapped at him when he’d finally picked up.

“What? I’m clearly busy.”

“Charles is in the emergency room. Can you pick him up and stay with him until I get home?”

Daniel had frozen and immediately turned off the music. “Start from the beginning, Max. What happened? Where are you?”

“I’m in fucking Milton Keynes and I can’t get home until tomorrow morning at the earliest,” Max snapped, his voice tense as he tried and failed to hide how scared and frustrated he felt.

“What happened to Charles? Is he okay?”

“Fuck,” Max growled, and Daniel cringed.

“Use your words, Maximilian,” he admonished, hoping the small joke would help Max calm down a little.

Daniel was pleased to hear Max take a deep breath and slowly let it out. “He was helping a friend coach football to a group of kids. One of the kids accidentally smacked a football to his face.”

Daniel couldn’t have stopped his snort even if he’d tried. Max’s growl on the other end forced him to smother his amusement. “Must have been a hell of a kick to land him in the ER.”

“He says he’s fine, but James told me he hit his head pretty hard on the way down, and he was unconscious for a few seconds and disoriented when he woke up. The doctor I spoke to said he’s got a concussion and that he’s lucky he didn’t break his nose.”

Daniel whistled, impressed. “Where is he?”

“The urgent care clinic by the elementary school.”

“I know the one.”

“The doctor said he shouldn’t be alone, and I called Pascale, but she and his brothers are out of town and they can’t get back in time to pick him up.”

“You don’t have to talk me into this, Max. I’ll go get him and take him to mine.”

There was an audible sigh of relief from the other end of the line. “Thanks, Danny.”

Which is how Daniel found himself, twenty minutes later, pulling up to the urgent care clinic only to see Charles on a bench flanked by a couple of kids with casts. Thankfully it didn’t look like anyone was filming or photographing the scene because Charles looked just as bad as Daniel had feared. The Monégasque had a bandage over the bridge of his nose, his t-shirt had clearly visible spots of blood around the collar, and he had what looked like the beginnings of two impressive black eyes. Charles must have recognized his car because as soon as he’d parked the younger man waved him over.

Daniel rolled his eyes as he got out of the car, and he didn’t bother to hide his smile at the look on the kids’ faces when they saw him.

“Hey,” Charles greeted him, his voice rough and nasal. “This is Monique and Benedict. We’ve been keeping each other company.”

Daniel waved at the kids. “Hey there. Thanks for looking after Charles.”

“You’re Daniel Ricciardo,” Monique said, awed.

“That I am.”

“Can we have your autograph too?” Benedict asked as he lifted a piece of paper toward Daniel.

“Sure. Let me see that,” Daniel smiled as he took a seat next to Charles. He grabbed both sheets of paper thrust at him and smiled at Charles’s signature under a poorly rendered drawing of a Ferrari with the number 16 on it. He decided to upstage his friend and drew his signature honey badger with a 3 on its belly, followed by his signature next to it.

“Woah,” Monique mumbled as she accepted the paper back, “that’s so good.”

Charles nudged him with an elbow. “Show off.”

Daniel smirked as he watched the kids admiring his drawing and tried not to preen. He glanced over at Charles and frowned slightly when he saw the pinched look on his face. “Alright, Chuckles. Ready to go?”

Charles groaned at the nickname but forewent his usual protest, nodding to Daniel and using the Aussie’s shoulder to slowly push himself up. He closed his eyes as he waited for the nausea and dizziness to pass and squeezed Daniel’s shoulder to let him know he was ready. He let Daniel steer him to the passenger side of his car and all but collapsed back into the plush leather seat.

“Did the docs give you any pain meds?” Daniel asked as he got himself settled into the driver seat.

Charles huffed out a small laugh. “Any more and I think I’d be flying.”

“Are you going to throw up?”

Charles made a noncommittal noise.

“Charles.” Charles didn’t need to have his eyes open to know the man was frowning. “Are you going to throw up in my car?”

“Possibly,” Charles groaned as he let his head rest against the window.

He heard a rustling sound and then a plastic bag was shoved in his hand. “Do it in that if you need to. We’re only twenty minutes from my place.”

Charles peeked an eye open and looked over at Daniel. “Your place?”

Daniel snorted. “I have strict orders from Max to not to leave you alone.”

“But, the cats,” Charles protested.

“Max can call the cat sitter.”

“But, Daniel,” Charles whined.

“No.”

“Your place doesn’t have Max’s hoodies,” Charles continued whining.

“Oh my God,” Daniel groaned. “Seriously?”

“I just want comfy clothes,” Charles pouted. “And our bed.”

“I have comfy sweatshirts you can borrow and a very comfy guest bed.”

“But they don’t smell like Max,” Charles mumbled pitifully.

And, really, how was Daniel supposed to say no to him when Charles looked at him like he’d singlehandedly destroyed all his hopes and dreams? He sighed. “Fine.”

Charles turned his head and beamed at him. And then he promptly threw up into the plastic bag.

“Aw, gross,” Daniel griped as he opened the window.

“Sorry,” Charles mumbled as he threw up again.

Daniel was more than glad when they finally pulled up to Max’s building and he thanked heaven there was an empty guest parking near the elevator. Charles had thrown up a third time halfway to the apartment and he was now slumped against the window, his face pale and pinched around the mouth. Daniel could see sweat beading on his forehead and he frowned at the slight tremors in his hands.

“We’re here,” he whispered. “You ready?”

Charles hummed softly and managed to open his door after the third try. “I don’t think I can get out by myself,” he mumbled, swallowing convulsively a couple more times as his hand clenched around the plastic bag.

“I got you. Just hold on,” Daniel replied as he got out of the car and softly closed the door.

He slowly helped Charles out of the car, grabbing hold of the bag and throwing it out in the bin next to the elevators. He pulled out the spare key he’d never returned to Max and maneuvered them into the elevator and to the front door without incident. He slowly pushed the door open, checking that neither cat was about to make a break for it, and steered Charles toward the couch.

“Stay here for a second, okay? I’ll get you some water and then I’ll help you to bed.”

Charles hummed softly as he slowly sank deeper into the couch, his head resting against the back of it. Daniel watched him for a second before shaking his head and heading to the kitchen. He flipped the overheads on and winced when he heard a pained groan from the couch.

“Fuck,” he murmured, hand going toward the light switch to dim the lights.

But before he even touched it, the lights turned off. He frowned at them, waiting to see if it was some sort of short circuit, but they stayed dark. It was still early enough in the afternoon that he didn’t really need the lights, but he’d have to remember to tell Max that they were fried. He hummed softly to himself as he grabbed a glass and filled it with water. He’d just opened the pantry to look for some crackers for Charles to nibble on when he heard the distinctive swoosh of blinds closing and the apartment was suddenly plunged into darkness.

“Charles?” he called out warily.

His only response was a small groan.

Daniel made his way back toward the living room, ready to berate the Ferrari driver for getting up instead of just asking Daniel to close the curtains for him, but stopped as he took in the sight that greeted him. Charles was still sprawled on the couch in the exact same position he’d left him, but now with one cat perched on the back of the couch by his head and the other curled up next to him.

“Charles?” he called again, and this time watched as bleary green eyes blinked open. “I told you to stay on the couch,” he admonished softly.

“I did,” Charles mumbled.

Daniel raised an eyebrow. “And the blinds?”

“The light was making me nauseous.”

“So, you got up to close them.”

“No,” Charles sighed and seemed to sink further into the couch.

“No?” Daniel grinned, “Did they just close by themselves?”

Charles waved a hand around his head as if that were an appropriate response before letting it flop back down on his lap. Daniel shook his head and sat next to his friend, nudging him gently with his elbow.

“Come on. Drink some water and then let’s get you to bed. Do you need to ice your face?” Daniel cajoled as he handed Charles the glass.

Charles moaned pathetically but did as instructed, taking a couple of small sips before handing the glass back to Daniel. “I don’t want to.”

Daniel grinned. “Tough luck. I’ll get you a cold pack after you’re settled in bed.”

“Just leave me here to die.”

Daniel chuckled as he grabbed hold of Charles’s forearms and pulled him up, letting the younger man lean against him until he regained his bearing. “No can do, Chuckles. Max would kill me if I did that, and I cherish my life too much.”

“Don’t let him intimidate you, Daniel. He’s all bark and no bite,” Charles mumbled as he let Daniel lead him down the hall towards the master bedroom.

Daniel watched worriedly as Charles kept trying to open his eyes only to wince at the sunlight flooding into the hallway from the guest rooms and bathrooms. Just as he’d started to berate himself for not thinking of closing the blinds before moving Charles, he heard multiple swishing noises coming from the rooms and suddenly the hallway was plunged into darkness. Daniel came to an abrupt stop, Charles bumping into him and whining pathetically as it jostled his head.

“Daniel?” Charles asked as he winced an eye open. “Why’d you stop?”

Daniel frowned. “Are your blinds automatic?”

“What?” Charles asked, confused at the random question. “No.”

“They just…”

Charles hummed appreciatively as he finally seemed to notice the darkness surrounding them. “Did you close the blinds? That’s really sweet of you, Danny.”

“What? No, I… I didn’t close them.”

“Oh,” Charles said softly. He looked around himself like he was thinking really hard about something, eyebrows furrowed. “I guess I did, then.”

“You did what?” Daniel asked, confused at Charles’s nonsensical response.

“Closed the blinds,” Charles murmured as he leaned more heavily against Daniel. “Can you tell the room to stop spinning? It’s making me nauseous.”

“Shit,” Daniel whispered, the possibility of Charles throwing up again thoroughly distracting him from whatever ridiculous conversation they were about to have.

Daniel let out a soft sigh of relief when they got to the master bedroom and the curtains were already closed, muting the strength of the afternoon sun into a soft hue that seemed to be more tolerable for Charles. He gently sat the younger man down on the edge of the bed and shooed both overly eager cats who’d followed them into the bedroom and had jumped onto the bed to investigate how their second human was doing.

“Okay, lie down, Charlie. I’m going to get you that ice pack.”

Charles hummed softly and turned over so his back was facing the windows and half of his face was buried in his pillow. Daniel snorted softly at the sight and made his way back to the kitchen. Without thinking, he flipped the lights on and stopped in his tracks when they turned on immediately. He glanced up at them and waited a few seconds, humming thoughtfully when they stayed on without any signs of flickering.

“Weird,” he mumbled as he opened the freezer and grabbed one of the many ice packs in it.

As he reentered the bedroom, he stopped in his tracks and watched with both exasperation and fondness as Charles slowly pushed himself to a sitting position and swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

“What are you doing?” he asked as he came to a stop in front of the Monégasque.

“Gonna get Max’s sweater,” Charles grumbled.

Daniel sighed. “Here, put this on your face and I’ll get you the sweater.”

Charles recoiled slightly from the offending cold pack and glared at it. “I don’t want it.”

“Charles.”

“It’s cold,” Charles whined.

Daniel rolled his eyes. “It’ll help with the swelling, Charlie. You gotta put it on, man. Everything will be so much worse if you don’t,” Daniel tried to cajole.

Charles briefly glanced up at Daniel before glowering at the cold pack with such intensity that Daniel was pretty sure that if looks could kill, the cold pack would be dead. Except that as their standoff continued, Daniel started to notice that the cold pack was becoming less cold faster than normal. He glanced down at it and, with a soft questioning hum, he brought it up to his face and startled when he felt the warmth coming off it.

He pulled it back and stared at it, confused. “What the fuck? How did it get so warm?”

“Oh,” Charles said softly, his glare slowly morphing into a sheepish look. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to do that.”

Daniel narrowed his eyes at Charles. This was at least the second time that Charles had apologized for something that wasn’t his fault. Daniel crossed his arms over his chest and leaned back on his heels, raising an eyebrow. “Wanna explain to me what you mean by that?”

Daniel raised his other eyebrow as Charles actually pouted at him. “No.”

“Charles,” he warned.

“Are you going to go get another ice pack now that this one is warm?”

“Oh, you cheeky little mother—” Daniel growled at the unrepentant grin on Charles’s face. “I hate you,” he said as he turned on his heel and started to make his way to the door.

Only to come to an abrupt stop as a sweater narrowly avoided hitting him in the face as it flew past him and smacked right into Charles’s face, startling him enough to cause him to topple backwards onto the mattress. Daniel stood rooted to the spot, blinking stupidly at the sight of Charles groaning and flailing his arms uselessly as he attempted to both remove the sweater from his face and push himself upright.

“What—” he began but trailed off. “How—” he tried again only to once again stop when he realized he still didn’t know what to say.

“Fuck,” Charles cursed as he finally managed to untangle himself from the sweater and started to jerkily yank it on.

“You—” Daniel watched dumbly as Charles sighed contently once he’d gotten the sweater on. “It flew to you.”

“Hm?” Charles asked as he looked back up. “Oh, are you back already with the ice pack? My face really hurts,” Charles whined and made grabby hands at the pack Daniel was holding.

“What the fuck Charles!” Daniel yelled as he finally lost his cool and his sanity along with it.

Charles visibly recoiled and hissed at the volume of Daniel’s voice. “Don’t shout man. You’ll make me throw up again.”

“Did you just, like, fucking accio the sweater? Did you fucking warm up the ice pack?” Daniel shook said ice pack in Charles’s face, mindless of the younger man’s flinch or the increasingly pinched expression on his face. “Did you fucking close the blinds in the living room and bedrooms?”

“Fuck, Daniel, please shut up.”

“Oh my God! The lights! Did you short circuit the kitchen lights?!” Daniel shouted and then cried out in surprise when Charles suddenly doubled over and threw up between his legs. “Shit!”

“I told you to stop shouting,” Charles groaned as he grabbed some tissues to wipe his mouth. “Fuck.”

“Shit, fuck. Sorry,” Daniel said softly as he put a hand on Charles’s forehead and pushed his bangs back. “Fuck, your face definitely looks worse.”

“Feels it,” Charles mumbled as he leaned against Daniel’s palm. “Everything hurts.”

“Okay, Charlie. Just… Fuck. Here,” Daniel said as he grabbed a water bottle from the nightstand. “Drink some more water and then lie down. I’ll get you another ice pack and clean this up.” Charles hummed in agreement and did as he was told.

Daniel watched him for a second as he finally curled up on his side and buried his nose in Max’s sweater, sighing contently.

“Hey, Charles?” Daniel asked hesitantly.

“Hm?”

“Does Max know?”

“Know what?”

“You know,” Daniel said, waving a hand around to encompass the room and Charles lying on the bed.

“That I have a concussion?”

Daniel huffed out a laugh. “No, dummy. The… magic thing.”

“S’not magic, Don’ call it that,” Charles grumbled and buried his face further into the sweater. “‘Course he knows. He’s Max.”

Daniel smiled. “Yeah, sure, okay.”

Daniel silently made his way out of the bedroom and back to the living room, replaying the events of the last hour in his mind. What the actual fuck. Charles had magical powers? Magic was real? He stopped in the middle of the living room, staring blankly at the middle distance as he thought back to Charles’s championship winning race and the fact that Max should have crashed but somehow hadn’t. He thought about how cagey Max had been when he’d asked him how he’d managed to stop his car from hitting the barriers and how he’d told him that maybe he had a guardian angel.

He thought about the fact that Charles had ended up in the hospital after the race, supposedly for dehydration.

He bit his bottom lip as he pulled out his cell phone and stared at it.

Honey Badger
So…

Maximilian
How is he? Did he throw up?

Honey Badger
He short circuited the kitchen lights.

Daniel waited a few seconds as bubbles popped in and out of the chat. When Max didn’t reply, he chewed on the inside of his cheek before deciding to keep going.

Honey Badger
He then closed the living room blinds from the couch. And the guest bedroom blinds as I was helping him to the bedroom.

The bubbles popped up again for a few seconds before disappearing. Daniel frowned at his phone.

Honey Badger
He warmed up the ice pack because he complained it was too cold. While I was holding it in my hand. And standing in your bedroom.

This time the bubbles came on and off for longer until, once again, it seemed that Max didn’t know what to say. Daniel growled and swiped the icon for a call.

“What the fuck, Max,” he said as soon as the call was picked up.

“What do you want me to say, Daniel?” Max asked softly, his voice betraying his worry.

“He… I don’t even know how to even say this,” Daniel continued, waving his free hand around his head even though Max couldn’t see him. “He, like, summoned one of your sweaters and it flew across the room and smacked him in the face.”

There was a beat a silence before Max let out a soft snort. “Shit. That’s so like him.”

“Your boyfriend is magic.”

“Don’t call it that,” Max retorted automatically. “He hates it.”

“Oh, yes. He made that perfectly clear.”

“He told you?” Max asked, actually sounding surprised.

“He mumbled it as he tried to smother his face in your sweater and the pillow.”

Daniel could practically hear the grin on Max’s face. “Fuck, Daniel,” he sighed after a couple of seconds. “You can’t tell anyone. Fuck! I hope he doesn’t have a panic attack when he realizes what he’s done and that you know.”

Daniel hummed thoughtfully. “Maybe he won’t remember. He’s pretty out of it.”

Max made a soft, wounded noise. “How bad is it?”

“It’s actually not that terrible. Seems like it’s just a mild concussion so he should be over the worse of it in a few days. But he’s going to have two awesome black eyes and his face is going to hurt like a motherfucker for a couple of weeks. Thankfully nothing’s broken.”

“He’s never going to step foot near a little league ever again,” Max chuckled.

“Who else knows?” Daniel asked, veering off topic and hoping Max would keep up.

“More than Charles would like,” Max sighed. “His family, Pierre, Carlos, Sebastian, and me.”

“Okay. Should I call Pierre in case Charles panics?”

“I don’t know if he’s around, but you can try. I’ll be catching the first flight out of here tomorrow so I should be back early in the morning.”

“Okay. I’ll see how Charles is when he wakes up and then I’ll figure it out.” Max hummed his agreement and Daniel let the silence stretch for a few seconds as he looked down at the wood floors of the living room. “You know you guys can trust me. I won’t say anything.”

“I know,” Max said, and Daniel could hear the smile on his face. “Thanks, Daniel.”

“No need to thank me, Max. You guys are like family.” There was another beat of silence before Daniel focused again on the no longer ice pack in his hand. “I gotta go. I have to bring your boyfriend another ice pack since he warmed up the last one when I tried to give him.”

Max snorted. “That doofus. He doesn’t like ice packs.”

“Yes, I gathered as much when he started whining about it,” Daniel replied drily. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow, Daniel. And thanks for taking care of him.”

“You’re welcome, Maxy.”

Daniel sighed as the call disconnected and then grimaced as he remembered that there was still vomit on the bedroom floor.

“Fuck, if he doesn’t make me best man at his wedding, I will cut off his balls,” Daniel grumbled as he got back to work.

Chapter Text

Sometimes, Lando wished that he could go back in time and tell his younger self that no, actually, starting Lando.JPG was a terrible idea. Because being the de facto photographer in his friend’s group lead to moments like these, when he was forced to sneak into the Mercedes garage in the middle of the afternoon between practice sessions. It was a good thing he’d visited George enough times by now that he knew the best places to hide so he wouldn’t be seen as he made his way deeper into enemy territory.

After what felt like an eternity of looking over his shoulder to make sure no one had spotted him, and especially not George, Lando reached his destination and slithered through the door without knocking, quickly closing it behind him with one hand while the other covered his eyes in case he was walking into a compromising situation.

“I’m sorry if you’re naked or having sex! I promise I’m not looking!” Lando said as he turned around so his back was to the room.

“What the fuck, Lando!”

“It’s an emergency! I’m sorry, Lewis!” Lando whined pathetically. “Are you decent?”

“Of course I’m decent! FP2 is in an hour. What did you think I’d be doing?” Lewis asked exasperated.

“Look, mate, I was teammates with Daniel for three years. I’ve been conditioned to expect the worst and to never assume what someone may or may not be doing in their driver’s room,” Lando said as he turned around to see Lewis sitting on a couch with a notebook in his hand.

Lewis chuckled. “Fair enough. So, what’s your emergency?”

Lando sighed and thunked his head behind him. “I need to pull out of the bet,” he said mournfully as he stared at the ceiling.

There was a beat of silence. “Come again?”

“Don’t make me repeat it, man. I don’t want to, but I have to,” Lando whined.

Lewis inhaled sharply. “Fuck. Max is going to propose.” Lando sighed loudly and thunked his head against the door a couple more times. “And he asked you to help him.”

“I fucking hate my life,” Lando grumbled. “He wants my help with the ring, and he wants me to, like, I don’t know, hide in the bushes and film the proposal or some shit.”

Lewis cackled. “Oh, fuck, I can’t wait to see that. Karma is a bitch, huh?”

“What the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Lando demanded as he glared at the older driver.

“You started this pool,” Lewis said and pointed a finger at Lando as he opened his mouth to refute the accusation. “Don’t even try to deny it, I know it was you. And now, you’re being forced to pull out because you’ve been drafted into the proposal. Fucking ironic, mate.”

“Lewis,” Lando groaned. “Why do you laugh at my misery?”

“Because misery loves company. Now you know how I’ve been feeling.”

“I fucking hate you. You can’t tell anyone,” Lando warned, glaring at Lewis’s smug little grin.

“Of course not. If I did, everyone would figure it out immediately and then we’d have to cancel the pool. Daniel would kill me. He’s got a lot of money riding on this.”

Lando sighed and was about to complain some more when his phone vibrated in his pocket. He pulled it out and grimaced when he saw he had a text from Max. He swiped to the chat window and thunked his head against the door several more times.

“Do that a few more times and you’re going to give yourself a concussion.”

Lando turned his phone around so Lewis could see his screen. “He’s been texting me pictures of rings for the past hour.”

Lewis leaned forward to grab his phone and grimaced. “There is no way Charles would like any of these,” he said as he swiped through the pictures. “Has Max not seen the jewelry he wears? He likes chrome and simple bands. These are…”

“Garish? Loud? Very obviously engagement rings that will announce to the entire world and any invading alien forces that Charles is taken and off the market?” Lando sighed. “I told him to go more subtle and he made this face!”

Lewis laughed as he handed back the phone. “Good luck, man. You’re clearly going to need it.”

“Yeah, thanks for nothing,” Lando grumbled as he looked at his phone for another second before blacking out the screen. “Okay, I’m gonna go hide out in my garage until FP2. Hopefully Max will give it a rest for the next hour.”

Lewis snorted. “I highly doubt it. He’s like a dog with a bone now. Have fun getting dragged to every single jeweler in Monaco.”

Lando glared at him. “I hate you,” he seethed before he turned around and slunk out.

Lando smirked at Lewis as the older man glared at their approach.

“Thanks for agreeing to help me with this, mate,” Max said, his voice so relieved that Lando couldn’t help but feel offended on his own behalf. “I just… I don’t understand jewelry. And Lando’s been no help at all.”

“Hey,” Lando protested as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Fuck you.”

“I just don’t understand why you couldn’t ask Pierre,” Lewis said as he opened the door to the jewelry store and ushered them in. “Wouldn’t he be better to help you pick a ring?”

Max grimaced. “He and Charles are the worst, mate. They can’t keep a secret from each other for shit. Last year, Arthur was organizing a surprise party for Charles after he tied his number of race wins with Senna, and Pierre didn’t even make it an hour after he found out about it before he’d told Charles.”

Lewis hummed. “Yeah, I suppose it is probably hard to keep something this big from your best friend.”

Max hummed noncommittally as he beelined toward one of the display cases. Lando sighed exasperatedly as he followed his friend, glancing over his shoulder at Lewis and nodding his head toward the blond.

“Come on. Let’s get this over with.” Lando stopped next to Max and grimaced at the rings the shopkeeper had begun to pull out. “Max,” he groaned. “We’ve talked about this, mate.”

Max made that face at Lando again, and Lando rolled his eyes and suppressed a grin when he heard Lewis’s soft snort behind him.

“He’s right, Max. Charles won’t like any of those,” Lewis said as he examined the diamond rings. “All his jewelry is much more subtle.”

“I don’t want to get him something subtle. I don’t want to get him something like what he already owns. I want this one to be different. I want this one to be special,” Max said as he picked up one of the more ornate rings and watched as it sparkled in the light. “I want it to be a statement. I want people to see it and know that it means something different than the ones he already wears.”

“Okay,” Lewis said as he took the ring from Max’s fingers and placed it back on tray. “How about you pick something that has some meaning behind it?” he suggested as he browsed the rings in the cases nearby.

Max hummed thoughtfully. “What do you mean?”

“Well, how about…” Lewis twirled his fingers around the top of the case before pointing at a ring toward the back. “How about something like this one? The color is very reminiscent of lavender, no?”

“Lavender?” Max asked softly, and something about his voice had Lando’s head snapping up from where he’d been examining a row of gold chains.

Lando watched, transfixed, as Lewis stiffened and slowly turned around to face Max, whose expression had gone cold and calculating, his arms crossed over his chest in a clear gesture designed to intimidate. Lando felt like all the air in the room had suddenly vanished as the two World Champions stared each other down, Max with his eyes narrowed like he was debating whether he’d have to take Lewis out back, and Lewis with a determined but somehow contrite expression.

“What makes you think lavender has some sort of special meaning for us?” Max asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Lewis visibly winced and looked down at the floor, refusing to meet Max’s eyes.

“Lewis,” Max said, his tone harsh and uncompromising.

“Because…” Lewis started but stopped. When Max only continued to stare at him, he sighed softly and forced himself to look up. “Charles likes growing lavender.”

Max visibly tensed at Lewis’s words and Lando could have sworn he’d stopped breathing for a couple of seconds. “How long have you known?” Max finally asked after what seemed like an eternity, his voice as cold as ice.

“Silverstone last year. I… walked in on you two…” Lewis said, his voice strained.

Lando grimaced. Ew. He hoped Lewis meant he’d accidentally walked in on Max and Charles potting some lavender and not on them fucking. No one deserved that mental scar. But even as he thought it, he somehow knew that Lewis wasn’t referring to either of those options. If that had been the case, Max wouldn’t be looking at Lewis like he needed to kill him to protect a secret; Max and Charles were anything but subtle about their public displays of affection and every driver had walked in on them in some sort of compromising position since they’d gotten together. And Lewis was glancing at him quickly, like he was checking his reaction, only stopping when Max shook his head with a deep frown and pursed lips.

So, it was something he didn’t know about, and there weren’t many things about Max and Charles that Lando didn’t know about. To include, sadly, a number of intimate details about their sex lives because Max and Daniel were both disgusting and loved to torture him with those kinds of details, and Charles was a demon who lived to terrorize him as payback for absolutely totally innocent pranks he’d pulled on the Monégasque when they were younger.

“Fuck,” Max said as he uncrossed his arms and sighed loudly. “Don’t tell Charles you know, okay?”

Lewis nodded. “I won’t.”

“What are you guys talking about?!” Lando finally snapped. “You’re being really fucking cryptic.”

“Good,” Max replied. “Cause it’s none of your fucking business.”

“What the hell, Max,” Lando growled. “That’s a real winning attitude to have toward your best friend whom you’ve been torturing about this goddamn relationship for years and this goddamn engagement ring for weeks.”

Max visibly winced at that. “Sorry. You’re right, Lando. That was really shitty of me. But I can’t tell you what this,” he gestured toward himself and Lewis, “is all about,” he said apologetically. “It’s… really private and Charles wouldn’t want people to know. To include Lewis.”

“I really doubt that Charles would have ever told me if I hadn’t walked in on this thing,” Lewis seconded. “Sorry, Lando, but it really is Charles’s thing to tell.”

Lando glared at Max for a few more seconds before he crossed his arms over his chest and huffed out in annoyance. “Fine. But you owe me one,” he said as he pointed at Max, who smiled in relief. “Now, lavender?”

Max made little Oh sound, like he’d forgotten where they were and what they’d been doing in the first place, before making his way to Lewis and looking at the ring he was pointing to. “Oh, shit, Lewis. That’s…”

Lewis grinned. “Right? It’s different enough from his other rings to be clearly special, but it suits his style much more than the ones you were looking at before.”

Lando leaned over and smiled at the ring, a simple silver tungsten band with purple amethysts set all the way around the band. It was very beautiful, and Lewis was right; it certainly seemed more Charles’s style while being different enough that it would definitely stand out from the myriad of rings he alternated on his fingers. “It’ll look very pretty in the sunlight,” he commented.

Lando couldn’t help but melt a little as Max smiled beatifically at him and asked the jeweler to see the ring. This almost made up for being forced out of the bet.

Lando took it all back.

Nothing could possibly make up for any of this. This, being the utterly degrading experience of having to stay crouched in a bush in the middle of summer sweating his balls off as he waited for Max to walk down the trail. For the millionth time since Max had asked for his help in proposing to Charles all those months ago, he deeply regretted not having thrown Daniel under the bus and made him be Max’s photographer/videographer/whateverthefucker.

Max had decided to propose to Charles on a hiking trail that ended at a beautiful waterfall. Apparently, they’d come here early on in their relationship, and they kept meaning to come back but never found the time. So, Max and Lando had scouted out the trail and the area around the waterfall so Lando could find the perfect hiding spot to take pictures and videos of Charles’s reaction. Unfortunately, the only strategic place that was big enough was a prickly bush right at the junction of where the trail ended.

The upsides were that the ground was dry because it hadn’t rained in the last few days, and the bush was far enough away that his camera wasn’t likely to get wet from the spray of the waterfall. The downside was that Lando had been waiting for over an hour now and he was tired, sweaty, thirsty, and past the point of cranky. Max was going to owe him so much for this bullshit.

Just as he was thinking about going for a walk to stretch out his legs, he heard Charles’s very distinct half inhaled, half snorted guffaw coming his way. He shuffled a little bit to get more comfortable and held still as two figures approached the end of the trail. He watched silently as Max and Charles stopped by the bush and Max glanced his way briefly before looking back at Charles, who had inhaled deeply and sighed loudly.

“I forgot how peaceful it is here. We’ve always said we’d come back, but it’s been so hectic. Thanks, Max,” Charles said as he reached for Max’s hand and entwined their fingers. Lando centered his shot and took a picture of the moment, a small grin stretching his lips.

Max smiled at him and squeezed his fingers. “I’ve missed this place, too. Come on, let’s get closer.”

Max pulled him along and stopped a few meters from the waterfall, pushing Charles around playfully until he was centered with the bush and Lando had a clear view of the two of them through some of the branches of the bush. He nearly huffed in exasperation when Max started shuffling nervously and shoved his hands in his pocket, clearly fumbling with something in his right pocket. Could the man be any more obvious?

“Charles,” Max said, and Lando took another picture as Charles turned away from the waterfall to look at the Dutchman as he took one of his hands and held it between them.

Charles raised an eyebrow when Max trailed off and Lando rolled his eyes. “Max,” he repeated teasingly.

“Charles,” Max started again and this time he looked down at their joint hands, and Lando could swear he saw his Adam’s apple bob. “I…”

Charles waited a few seconds again and huffed softly. “Sassy got your tongue, chéri?”

Max smiled at the soft teasing and Lando hit record when Max took a deep breath and visibly steeled himself. “It’s been a crazy couple of years since that night in Silverstone and so much has happened.”

Charles grinned. “Won a couple of championships.”

Max snorted. “Yes.”

“And we moved in together,” Charles continued. “And you broke the bed that same night.”

Lando nearly choked on his spit as Max turned a fantastic shade of red and Charles laughed uproariously. “That is not– Stop lying, you gremlin!” Max yelled as Charles continued to laugh. “You’re the one who– Argh!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Charles apologized, pulling Max to him and kissing him repeatedly on the lips, the cheeks, the forehead.

Max grumbled petulantly for a few seconds before he pushed Charles gently away. “That was not my fault.”

“I know.”

“The movers didn’t put the bed back together properly. You know this!”

“I know, I know,” Charles giggled. “I just love how red you turn every single time. It’s very cute.”

“You are a demon.”

Charles grinned. “And yet, you still love me.”

Max’s face turned so fond so fast that Lando nearly suffered whiplash. “Yes. I really do. And I know I’m going to love you, and only you, for the rest of my life.”

Max stuffed his right hand in his pocket again and Lando zoomed in a little as he nearly dropped the soft, black velvet box as he fumbled it out.

“So, Charlie,” he said, voice cracking just slightly as he brought the box up to eye level. “Will you do me the greatest honor of marrying me?”

As Max opened the box and the ring sparkled in the sunshine, three things happened in very fast succession. First, Charles gasped very loudly and instinctively brought both hands to his mouth, tears gleaming in his eyes. Next, he practically screeched Max’s name in glee and delight as he staggered back in surprise.

And third, Lando’s hideout suddenly erupted into flames.

“What the fuck!” Lando screamed as he leapt out of the bush before his clothes caught on fire.

The sudden commotion had both Charles and Max turn around to face him and the flaming bush next to him.

“Lando?!” Charles said before he yelled out, “Oh, fuck!” when he noticed the flames.

Before Lando could move or say anything else, Charles had half turned toward the waterfall and waved his hand at the water and, like something out of Avatar the Last Airbender, jetted the water indiscriminately onto both the bush and Lando.

Lando stood stock-still in the aftermath of his drenching, his camera still poised in front of him. “What…” he started but stopped as he stared wide-eyed at Charles. “Did you just…”

“Oh my god,” Charles whispered, horrified, his hands frozen in front of him.

“Oh, fuck me,” Max exclaimed in despair. “Now no one can ever watch the video of my proposal!”

“Max!” Charles screeched as he turned around and slapped the back of his hand on Max’s chest. “What the fuck is wrong with you? You’re worried about a video when Lando just saw me–” he stopped abruptly and turned back to look at Lando. Or, more precisely, Lando’s hands. “He recorded it?!”

“Well, I didn’t think you’d set the bush on fire, Charlie!” Max protested.

“You knew he was there? Did you plant him there?” Charles accused, whirling back toward Max and glaring at him.

“I wanted to get your reaction.”

“Max!”

“I thought it’d be romantic!” Max defended himself. “We’d have video and pictures of the proposal to send to our friends and family. And for whenever we finally came out.”

“Max Emilian!”

Max crossed his arms over his chest defensively. “I honestly can’t tell if your tone means you’re angry or pleasantly surprised.”

“I…” Charles paused, eyebrows furrowed. “I honestly don’t know either.”

“Could we please get back to WHAT THE FUCK THAT WAS?!” Lando finally yelled as he got over his shock at what he’d just seen and experienced. “Charles just fucking… He just fucking…”

“Lando,” Max said, hands out in front of him like he was trying to placate an skittish animal.

He wasn’t entirely wrong.

“He just fucking firebended and waterbended!” Lando gasped. “Is the Avatar real? Are you the Avatar?!”

“Holy fucking shit,” Max said, his eyes rolling so far back his head that Lando was surprised he was still standing. “That is a goddamn cartoon, Lando. It’s not real.”

Lando pointed a finger at Max accusingly. “Don’t tell me what’s real and what’s not when your boyfriend just fucking set a bush on fire and then put it out by waving his hand around and throwing water at it!”

“Fiancé,” Charles corrected as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Max whirled around to look at him, a wide grin slowly pulling at his lips as he stared at him adoringly. Lando took a picture of them because he was a goddamn professional.

“Yeah?” Max asked, voice soft and full of hope.

Charles snorted softly and smiled fondly at Max as he reached out toward him to pluck the velvet box from his hand. “Of course,” he said as he turned the box around so the ring was facing Max. Lando took another picture, smiling proudly as he managed to frame them against the waterfall. “Now put a ring on it.”

Max erupted into laughter. “That was terrible, schatje.”

Charles wiggled the fingers of his right hand. “I’m waiting, Maxy.”

“Demon,” Max said softly as he took the ring from its soft place and slid it onto Charles’s right ring finger. He took the hand in his and brought it up so he could kiss the knuckle of his finger.

“You guys are disgustingly cute,” Lando grumbled as he continued to take pictures of the moment. “Are either of you going to explain to me how it is that Charles has bending powers?”

“For fuck’s sake, Lando,” Max griped as he glared at his friend.

“I’m assuming Pierre knows, right? Since Charles and Pierre can’t keep shit from each other to save their lives…” Lando mused. “Who else knows?”

“You cannot go blabbering about this, Lando,” Charles warned him. “I… This is…”

Lando held up both his hands. “I know, Charles. I promise.” Lando waited patiently until Charles, and by extension Max, slowly relaxed. “So, who else knows about this? And what is ‘this,’ exactly?”

“Magic,” Max said before Charles could open his mouth. He grinned when Charles slapped the back of his hand on his chest.

“Are you fucking with me right now? Magic?”

Charles sighed and Max grinned unrepentantly. “Of a sort. I was just… born with these abilities. As for who, my family, Pierre, Sebastian, and Carlos.”

“Oh, and Daniel,” Max chimed in.

“Daniel!? Since when?”

“Since your concussion,” Max shrugged.

“And you’re only telling me now?”

“I didn’t want you to freak out, and Daniel knows better than to talk about it.”

“Oh my God,” Lando exclaimed, eyes as wide as saucers. “Lewis! That’s what that whole silent exchange was about at the jewelry store!” he said as he pointed an accusing finger at Max.

Max snapped his head to stare at Lando, eyes wide. “Oh shit. You’re right.”

“Max?” Charles asked warily.

“Lewis knows too,” Max winced. “Apparently he saw us at Silverstone when you, you know, recreated the lavender field.”

“Lavender field?” Lando mumbled to him but kept his questions to himself when he noticed that Charles had turned white as ghost.

“What?” Charles whispered, and Max snapped his hand out to grab hold of his bicep before Charles could move.

“Hey, it’s okay. It’s just Lewis.”

“It is not okay, Max! That’s… That’s seven people! That’s a lot of people, Max…”

“Hey, hey,” Max said softly as he pulled Charles toward him and wrapped his arms around him, holding him tightly. “It’s okay. Everyone will keep their mouths shut, Charles. Right, Lando?” Max asked and Lando gulped at his glare.

“Yep! Yes. No one will say anything to anyone, Charles. We’ve all got PR training. We’re pros at keeping our mouths shut when it counts.”

Charles sniffed softly and brought his hands up to hold on tightly to the back of Max’s shirt.

“Just… One question, though,” Lando said and waited until both Charles and Max were looking at him before he smiled devilishly and took a selfie with the drenched bush in the background. “That means I can tell Carlos, Daniel, and Pierre the truth about how Charles reacted to being proposed, right?”

“Oh no,” Charles groaned as he buried his face back into Max’s neck.

“Oh, yes,” Lando grinned without any pity.

Yeah, this most definitely made up for being forced out of the proposal betting pool.

Chapter Text

Charles stared fondly at the controlled chaos in front of him as Lando, George, Pierre, and Alex yelled over each other as they brainstormed where they should host his and Max’s co-bachelors’ party. He looked to his right as he felt a hand squeeze his own and calloused fingers playing with his engagement ring.

“Should we intervene?” he asked as he watched Lando push Alex’s chair with enough force to roll him all the way to the other side of the room.

Max snorted as Alex screamed indignantly and threw his pen at Lando’s head, accidentally hitting George’s shoulder instead. “And miss out on all this fun?”

“It’s a little mean to let them go on like this when Daniel already made reservations two weeks ago,” Charles snickered.

“Is it though?”

Charles hummed. “You’re right. Just last night Pierre was making fun of me while we were texting.”

Max grinned devilishly and Charles snorted, turning back to the group just in time to see Pierre put Lando in a chokehold and give him a noogie as the younger Brit squawked.

Charles had never thought he could have this; this easy camaraderie with the person he loved more than life itself, and friends he knew he could count on with not just his life but his secrets too. Pierre was a given, a rock and foundation for decades, but Lando had been surprisingly astute and mature once he’d found out about Charles’s powers. Yes, he’d been a complete knob about the marriage proposal, immediately and gleefully telling those in the know exactly how Charles had reacted, but he’d otherwise been incredibly discreet about it.

And it’d been unexpectedly freeing to have people know about his powers. He’d spent so long scared of slipping up and fearing people’s reactions that he’d never, for one second, allowed himself to imagine the possibility that they’d just… accept it. The amount of support and understanding he’d gotten over the years from the drivers who knew was mindboggling and sometimes, like in moments like these, it hit him all over again how incredibly lucky he was to be surrounded by this much unconditional love and acceptance.

But it also made him distinctly aware of those who still didn’t know and perhaps should know. Like George and Alex, two of his closest and oldest friends. Of all his on-grid friends, Lando had always been the least likely he’d have told of his own accord. Not because he didn’t like Lando, but because he just trusted Alex and George more; after Pierre, he’d always been closest to Alex, and George knew how to keep a secret. So the fact that Lando knew but not the other half of the Twitch Quartet was just weird, and it had started to make Charles’s chest feel uncomfortable, almost like an ache deep in his bones.

“No, Lando,” George sighed exasperatedly. “A party at Jimmy’z is so predictable! Max has had every birthday there for years! This has to be special.”

“And that’s exactly why it should be somewhere that’s important to them. Like Jimmy’z!”

“Fuck no, we can do so much better than that,” Pierre insisted. “For one, if we want to avoid outing them, it shouldn’t be in Monaco.”

“Oh… I hadn’t thought of that.”

“And, also, we can do way fancier and wilder.”

“No,” Max intervened before the group got any crazy ideas. “We are keeping this very simple and low key.”

“But Ma~ax,” Lando whined. “It’s your bachelor party! Something I never thought you would ever have!”

“Excuse me?”

“Oh, come on. You can’t tell me you ever thought anyone would be stupid enough to–”

Max growled. Lando coughed mid-sentence and shut his mouth so fast Charles heard his teeth clacking.

“Right…” Lando said as he practically leaped out of his chair. “I’ll just… Go be over there somewhere.”

Charles watched as he hightailed it to the kitchen and winced slightly at the sound of banging cupboards. “Do you think he’ll break something?”

Max shrugged. “Fifty-fifty chance. I just hope he leaves the mugs alone.”

Charles hummed and tuned back to the ongoing debate between Pierre, who was now advocating for a party somewhere in the Italian countryside, and Alex and George who were both adamant that southern France was a better venue. And as much as he enjoyed watching his friends debate the merits of each country and why they would be best suited to host the “bachelor party of the century,” Charles had to admit that he was starting to feel bad about letting them continue.

He nudged Max in the ribs softly and gestured at the three men with his head. Max raised his eyebrows and smirked. Charles narrowed his eyes and frowned. Max grinned. Charles sighed and rolled his eyes.

“You’re terrible,” he whispered.

“You love it.”

Charles grumbled unintelligibly, which only made Max grin wider.

Charles grinned as he watched Lando cannonball off the side of the yacht and into the warm water below. He had to hand it to Daniel, charting a private cruise off the coast of Croatia had been an absolutely genius idea for a joint bachelor party. During the day they either lounged around or, in Charles’s case, scuba-dived and snorkeled, and at night all of them hit whatever island they had docked at, having dinner at little local restaurants and hitting whatever club they could find afterwards.

“You’re not going to join in?”

Charles looked up at Daniel as he stood over him, his frame blocking the sun. “Nope, I’m good,” he replied nonchalantly with a small shake of his head.

“I thought jumping off the side of a yacht would be totally up your alley. Where’s that adventurous spirit Max is always complaining about?”

Charles snorted and lifted his shirt, showing off a rather striking purple bruise around his ribs.

Daniel whistled softly and pulled over one the lounge chairs, placing it next to Charles and flopping on it. “Damn, Chuck. How the fuck did you manage that?” he asked as he leaned in to take a closer look.

“Alex pushed me off yesterday and I landed wrong in the water.”

“Fuck. Why didn’t you,” Daniel waved his hands vaguely in the air and Charles rolled his eyes.

“Not everything can be solved using my powers. Also, I didn’t have enough time to stop my fall.”

“Oh, yes, because you had so much time to stop Max’s car from crashing into the barriers.”

“Oh my God,” Charles groaned exasperatedly. “Will you ever let that go? That was instinct.”

“Nope, never,” Daniel grinned, popping his p obnoxiously. “So, saving Max is instinct, but saving yourself is not? Doesn’t seem very self-preserving.”

Charles sighed. “Alex was there.”

Daniel made a clicking sound with his tongue. “Ah.”

Charles hummed and let the moment stretch as he listened to Alex and Lando bicker beyond the side of the ship before a soft splash echoed up, closely followed by Alex screaming something incomprehensible. Charles grinned, imagining the scene below, but felt his smile slide off his face as he thought back to that moment in his apartment all those weeks ago, to that ache that had formed in his chest and how it had steadily grown over the last few days.

“Hey, Daniel?” he asked softly before he could stop himself.

Daniel hummed questioningly and Charles bit his lip. Daniel glanced at him and poked him gently in the shoulder. “What’s up, Charlie?”

“Do you think…” Charles paused, his throat suddenly dry. He tilted his head back and closed his eyes, forcing himself to take a deep breath and hold it in before he accidentally worked himself up into a panic attack.

“You’re not getting cold feet, are you?” Daniel asked worriedly and Charles snorted so forcefully he nearly choked on his own spit.

“No, never,” he replied with a smile. “I just…” He licked his lips and inhaled deeply again as he felt that familiar tightening in his chest. “Do you think I should tell Alex and George?” he asked quickly before he could talk himself out of it. “About…” He waved his hands around in the same vague pattern Daniel had a few minutes before.

Daniel inhaled sharply at the question and hummed thoughtfully as he wiggled the lounge chair closer to him. “Do you want to tell them?”

Charles shrugged and looked down at his hand, his fingers playing with his engagement ring, watching as it sparkled brilliantly under the Croatian sun. “I don’t know…”

“No offense, Charles, but I’m pretty sure you wouldn’t be asking me that if you hadn’t already made up your mind.”

Charles laughed softly and smiled self-deprecatingly. “I guess that’s fair…”

“Are you asking me if I think they’ll freak out?” Charles shrugged. “I mean, yes, I think they will. But,” he continued before Charles could say anything, “I’m pretty sure everyone does when they first find out.”

“Touché,” Charles conceded.

“If you’re asking me if I think they’ll accept it…” Daniel continued and paused. Charles held his breath, anxiety twisting uncomfortably in his gut. “Charles, look around you. Where are we?”

Charles frowned. “On a yacht…?”

“Oh my God, you’re such a dumbass,” Daniel chastised him as he nudged him gently. “No, stupid. Where are we? What are we doing here?”

“Oh, my– our bachelor party.”

“Your very exclusive, very secret joint bachelor party. With the people you most trust and love in the world.”

“Yes, but–”

“You really think that feeling doesn’t go both ways?” Daniel asked and Charles felt his breath catch in his throat at the question.

“Yeah?” he asked softly, almost feeling stupid for this sudden insecurity. He knew Alex and George. He trusted them, and he loved them, and he had no reason to doubt their faith and loyalty. “It’s just… It’s so hard,” he whispered as he looked at the azure sky beyond the railing. “I’ve never actually told someone.”

Daniel looked over at him incredulously. “Seriously?”

Charles nodded. “Everyone has always just… found out. I don’t know even know how I would tell them.”

“You could just go up to the railing, yell ’Hey, watch this!’, and make a giant wave come crashing down on top of them,” Daniel replied, grinning wildly. “Just let me get my phone ready first.”

“That is incredibly not helpful,” Charles huffed out as he crossed his arms over his chest.

Daniel laughed. “Well, can’t blame a man for trying. But I’m sure you’ll think of something,” he said as he patted Charles on the shoulder. He let the silence linger for a moment before he lounged back and hummed softly. “But, in all seriousness, Charlie, you don’t need to worry about them. If you think you’re ready to tell them, they’ll be there for you.”

“Thanks, Daniel,” Charles smiled.

Charles leaned back in his chair as he silently watched his friends around the table. It was their fourth night aboard, and they were anchored in the middle of the Adriatic Sea, the lights of the yacht a soft beacon in an otherwise black expanse. He couldn’t help the smile tugging on his lips as George and Alex battled it out over the last profiterole, the small ding of their forks almost drowned out by the chatter around the table.

They had another couple of days on the yacht before they docked in Dubrovnik, where Daniel had arranged for some sort of all-day Games of Throne tour for them. And after that, it was going to be a blissful few days of just Max and Charles in Croatian wine country before they had to part ways to their respective factories. As much as Charles loved his friends and their close-knit group, he couldn’t wait to spend time alone with his fiancé. Just the thought had him smiling even wider and he glanced over at Max, a small flush rising on his cheeks that he hopefully could blame on the wine he’d been imbibing.

The sudden noises of glass tumbling and loud cursing had him snap his eyes back toward the other side of the table where George and Alex had pushed their chairs back.

“Goddamn it, Alex!” George cried out as he stood up, a red wine stain visibly spreading on his white button up.

“Don’t blame me!” Alex snapped back, his blue shirt equally drenched in wine. “You’re the one who knocked his elbow against the table.”

“This is never going to get out.”

“Just use some sparkling water,” Daniel chimed in.

“Shouldn’t you be the expert on this?” Lando teased as he poked Pierre in the shoulder. “I’m sure you’ve had to deal with one too many wine stains over the years.”

Charles glanced around, his heart in this throat when he realized that the wait staff hadn’t heard the commotion and that there was no one on deck save for them. He could feel his palms sweating as he watched George lean over the table and wet a corner of his napkin in Max’s glass of sparkling water while Lando snorted at Max’s splutter. Before he could talk himself out of it, Charles dug his fingers into Max’s forearm and breathed in deeply.

“Let me help you with that,” he said, feigning calm and ignoring Max who had turned to look at him as soon as Charles had grabbed hold of him.

He stood up from his chair and leaned over, placing his free hand on the wine stain on the table. He ignored the burning stares from his friends and instead concentrated on that endless well of power swirling in his bones, that feeling of chaos he’d grown to accept thanks to Max. He imagined the molecules of the wine and pictured himself pulling them out of the threads, one drop at a time. He felt the air around his hand steaming and watched as the liquid slowly evaporated. He chanced a glance up at Alex and George and winced at their slack-jawed expression. He forced himself to stay where he was as they both looked up to stare at him, their eyes wide and incredulous. He breathed in deeply one more time and switched his concentration to the stains on their shirts, ignoring both of their soft yelps as they instinctively jerked away as the wine stains steamed and disappeared.

He leaned back into his chair once he was done and felt Max shimmy his forearm under his grip until he was gripping his hand instead, their fingers intertwined so forcefully he was surprised his bones weren’t rubbing together.

“Good as new,” he said, forcing himself to smile.

“What…” Alex whispered, his gaze switching rapidly from the table, to his shirt, and back to Charles. “Did you… What the…”

Next to him, George was doing much the same until he seemed to realize he was on a never-ending loop and forced his eyes closed. “Did you just…” he waved his hand in the air. “Like, magic the wine stain away?” he said, voice hoarse and incredulous.

Charles breathed in deeply and tightened his grip around Max’s hand. “Yes…?”

“That sounded suspiciously unsure of you…” George said as he opened to his eyes again to stare at Charles.

Max squeezed his hand once and gently nudged him with his elbow. “Yes. I did,” Charles said, this time with more conviction.

George looked around the table and frowned. “Why is no one besides Alex and me remotely shocked that Charles just,” he waved his hand around once again, “whatever-the-hell the wine away?”

“I mean, that’s old news, Georgie,” Lando grinned impishly. “You’re very late to the party.”

“You can do magic?” Alex whispered-yelled. “And Lando knew before me?! Lando?!”

“Hey!” Lando yelled, offended. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Oh, don’t even start,” Alex accused him. “You can’t keep a secret to save your life.”

“Well, joke’s on you cause I’ve known for months.”

“Wait,” George frowned as he looked around the table, “Who else knows?”

Charles shrugged. “Everyone around this table. And Carlos and my family.”

“And Seb and Lewis,” Max chimed in. Charles hummed in agreement.

“Wow, that’s…”

“A lot of people?” Charles cringed.

“No, that’s a surprisingly small number of people,” Alex retorted as he forcefully shoved Lando’s face away and nearly toppled the younger driver.

“So… What exactly can you do?” George asked.

Max grinned devilishly. “Better question is, what can’t he do?”

“No, stop that,” Charles said as he pointed an accusing finger at Max. “Every single time you say it like that, everyone immediately thinks the same thing and… there they go,” Charles sighed in exasperation as Alex and George’s faces contorted in disgust, a bright red flush suffusing their cheeks.

Max grinned wider. Charles smacked him in the shoulder.

“Oh!” Lando exclaimed as he straightened in his chair and reached into his pocket. “I can finally show you the real engagement photos!”

Charles groaned loudly.

“Quiet, you,” Alex chastised him as he leaned over Lando’s shoulder. “I have years of blackmail material that I need to catch up on. Also, Gasly,” he said as he snapped his fingers. “Spill the tea!”

“Oh my God, guys, there’s really nothing to tell.”

Pierre snorted. “Don’t let him fool you. He loves making flowers bloom.”

“And he’s constantly making things float around him,” Max chimed in.

Charles glared at him. “Whose side are you on?”

“And setting things on fire,” Lando said.

“That was one time!”

Lando looked up at him, unimpressed. “That’s not what Carlos said.”

“Or Seb,” Max seconded.

Charles poked him in the shoulder. “You’re on very thin ice, Verstappen.”

“Ooo,” Alex teased as he wiggled his eyebrows at the pair. “Trouble in paradise already?”

Max smiled widely as he grabbed Charles’s finger and brought it to his lips for a quick kiss. Charles flushed at the gesture and couldn’t help the besotted grin that stretched across his lips. “Nah,” he shrugged. “I can’t stay mad at this face.”

“Gross,” Lando gagged. “Forget them. Come look at Charles setting the bushes on fire when Max proposes to him,” he said as he smacked Alex in the shoulder to get his attention.

Charles sighed exasperatedly as both George and Alex leaned over Lando’s shoulders to look at his phone, their gleeful expressions settling something deep within him. He glanced over to the other end of the table and bit his lip as Daniel raised his eyebrows and mouthed I told you so.

“Hey, Charles,” Alex called out to him, and he hummed distractedly. “Have you ever used your powers to manhandle Max during sex?”

Charles squawked and, before he could stop himself, one of the bottles of Perrier cracked and shattered, sparkling water spilling all over the cloth and off the side of the table. Charles blushed furiously as Alex cackled at his reaction, George bursting into uncontrollable giggles next to him.

“Oh yes, that’s another thing he does all time. Make things explode,” Pierre said, his lips spread into the most shit-eating grin Charles had ever witnessed.

Daniel had been wrong, Charles thought with dismay as he bent over the table and hid his face behind his hands. He should have been worried about his friends finding out about his secret. The teasing from now on was going to be unbearable.

“Hey,” Max whispered as he nudged him gently, and Charles groaned behind his piss poor hiding place. “That was very brave of you.”

Charles turned his head to the side and peeked at Max between his fingers. “Yeah?”

Max smiled softly at him as he pushed his hair back, nails scarping over his head gently until his warm hand rested on the back of his neck. “I’m really proud of you.”

Charles smiled back. “I couldn’t have done it without you. You make me braver.”

Max beamed and leaned over, kissing his temple. “You never really needed me, schatje. You’d have gotten there eventually. But I’m glad I could help.”