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Two years ago, after a little too many tequila shots and a shitty, but also surprisingly effective pep-talk from Pierre, Max told Daniel how he felt.
His drunken mind hadn’t been able to think of all the ways in which that was a bad idea. Daniel was nearly ten years older than him; the chances of him reciprocating Max’s feelings were very slim. Not to mention, they were coworkers. Max would have to see him in the office every day if things were to go south.
He hadn’t considered any of these things, instead forging on like the stupid drunken idiot he was.
It was painfully awkward. The way Daniel looked so shocked, as if it hadn’t even occurred to him that Max could feel that way about him. The way he then schooled his features, to hide how he truly felt about the whole ordeal. The way that Daniel had placed a sympathetic hand on his shoulder and said, “Look, Max, I’m flattered. Truly, I am. But we’re friends.”
That moment still haunts him to this day. Every now and then, when his mind wants to decimate what little self-confidence he has, it conjures up this memory, reminding him that no matter how many years pass and how much he changes himself, he’ll still be the same awkward twenty-two year old who’s shit out of luck when it comes to love.
More than anything, Max would like to say that he’s over it. That when he happens to glance at Daniel during team meetings, he feels absolutely nothing. That Daniel’s laugh doesn’t unspool something deep in his chest. That Daniel’s curly hair and big grin and the way his eyes crinkle up in the corners when he’s happy doesn’t make Max feel like he’s about to have a heart attack.
He wants to say this—after all, it’s been two years and he really should be over it—but that would be nothing more than a bold-faced lie.
See, the truth is: nearly four years ago, Daniel somehow forced his way into Max’s heart and made a home for himself. He’s taken up real estate in Max’s heart and Max doesn’t know how to evict him—or if he even wants to.
Max values consistency, and if there’s one thing that’s been a constant for most of his adult life, it’s his love for Daniel.
Long story short: he’s not over it. Not in the slightest.
“You know, if you’re going to stare, you could be less obvious about it,” Pierre comments, sliding into the seat beside Max. The weekly team meeting is today and Max is feeling antsy. Being stressed is his default mode, but it’s worse today because he has to spend thirty minutes presenting on the new functionality he added to the landing page of the company’s website.
Max is good at what he does, but presenting has never been his strong suit. He fits the coder-who-doesn’t-know-how-to-communicate-properly stereotype a little too well.
He turns and gives Pierre the most withering glare he can manage. “I’m not staring.”
He totally was.
It’s Daniel’s fault, though. He didn’t have to come to work today dressed like a Hugo Boss model. Max isn’t sure why he’s dressed so fancy, especially since the dress code in the office is fairly casual, but either way, it’s nearly impossible for him to tear his eyes away.
Which isn’t great, but it’s made worse by the fact that Max should be focusing on his presentation, making sure he remembers all the points he needs to hit.
“So, we’re just blatantly lying now?” Pierre asks. “Okay, cool.”
Sometimes Max wishes he didn’t work with his best friend. He doesn’t like that Pierre is privy to all facets of his life, because it means that there’s someone out there who sees all of him: the way he’s a total neat-freak; the way he has to get in some form of exercise every day, even Sunday, or else he’ll feel like a total failure; the way he breaks down after calls from his dad; the way he stutters during presentations at work; and the way he turns into a love-struck goon whenever Daniel is around.
Which, unfortunately, happens to be five days out of the week.
Whatever the seventh level of hell is, Max is pretty sure he’s living in it.
“It’s not my fault,” Max hisses under his breath, “that he showed up to work dressed like that.”
“It’s a suit. It’s not a big deal.” Pierre shrugs, nonchalant. “If this is enough to get you riles up, I don’t even want to know—”
Max shuts him up with a look. Pierre really needs to learn when to shut up.
On the other side of the table, Max can hear Daniel laugh, and it feels like his heart is in free-fall.
He has no excuse for that.
“Hey.” Daniel slips into the elevator right before the doors close. Of all the places to catch Max, this is definitely the best option. It’s not like there’s any way for him to escape. Max is Daniel’s captive audience.
Max waves, then regrets literally everything about that gesture. He probably looks so stupid.
“How have you been?” Daniel shoves his hands in the pockets of his suit, and Max curses whoever designed this elevator. Each well of the elevator is a mirror, so he’s surrounded by multiple Daniel’s, and each one looks so gorgeous it hurts.
He thinks his life must be a joke to whoever’s up there, pulling the strings.
“Not bad. You?” Max forces out. If his voice comes out any more pained than usual, Daniel doesn’t notice.
“Good.” Daniel smiles. “So, I uh—well, I wanted to give you this,” he says, holding out an envelope. It’s periwinkle blue and has Max Verstappen penned on the front in an elegant, cursive script. It’s definitely not Daniel’s handwriting, since his is barely legible on a good day.
“Oh. Um. Thanks.” It’s not glued shut, so flips open the tab. “Should I—should I open it now?”
“You can.” Daniel’s voice isn’t giving anything away, which only piques Max’s curiosity even more.
He pulls out a sheet of paper from the envelope, with an invitation printed on it. He slowly takes in the words printed across the paper, and when everything finally registers, he feels ill—he feels something deep in the pit of his stomach that makes him nauseous.
Because Daniel is getting married.
He doesn’t want to go to the wedding, but Pierre and Alex won’t let him bail. After all, considering everyone on the team knows about his feelings for Daniel (he blames Carlos for that, ever the office gossip), so if he doesn’t show up, he’ll be giving them another thing to talk about. They’ll talk about how sad it is that he’s still in love with someone who doesn’t share the same feelings for him.
Max doesn’t want to deal with the looks of pity he knows they’ll give him when they think he’s not looking.
“Fuck.” He groans, placing his head in his hands. “I’m going to look so pathetic when I show up.”
He’s currently at the batting cage, where he meets up biweekly with Charles. It’s a form of therapy, offering him an outlet for all the rage he keeps inside.
Charles raises an eyebrow, as he prepares himself for the next ball. “Why would you look pathetic?” His words are followed by the crack of the bat hitting the ball.
“Because everyone knows I have—had—a thing for him, and if they see me show up alone, they’ll just feel bad for me, and I don’t want that. I’ll be the sad ex-lover, except I’m not even an ex-lover because he wanted nothing to do with me, so that’s even more pathetic.”
“Why do you care so much what people think?” Charles readies himself for the next pitch. It’s pitched a little on the inside, so he jumps out of the way, narrowly avoiding getting hit.
That’s a good question. Max doesn’t know why he cares so much. All he knows is that for as long as he can remember, he’s expended a lot of energy worrying about the opinions of others—even the people he doesn’t know very well.
“I—I don’t know. I just, I don’t want them to see me in that light. They’re my colleagues, you know.”
Charles takes a swing, this time missing the ball by an inch.
“You were a little high on that, by the way,” Max comments.
Charles nods. “Yeah.” He lets out a sigh. “I get that. I wouldn’t want my colleagues to think of me like that, too I guess. Is there anything I can do to help?”
“Not unless you can find someone to be my date for this wedding—which is in like a month, by the way.”
“Are you not seeing anyone?”
“Nope. Even if I started seeing someone, there’s no way they’d be willing to come to a wedding with me a month in. I attract the most non-committal guys.”
“Okay, true.”
“Unless…” Max begins, the beginning of an idea taking shape in his mind. Maybe he doesn’t need to have a real date. As long as he gets someone to attend with him, and they pretend a little bit, he won’t look so pathetic. Someone like Charles. “Would you want to come to this wedding with me? As my fake boyfriend?”
Charles takes off his helmet, turning to face him, shocked. “Wait, what?”
“Think about it. No one there except Pierre knows you, so they won’t know that the two of us are completely platonic,” Max says. “We’re also very comfortable with each other, so it’ll be a lot more believable than if I were to pick a random guy from one of the dating apps. And, there’s going to be an open bar and great food, so it’s not like you’re getting nothing out of this.”
At the hesitant look on Charles’ face, Max adds, “Please.”
Charles lets out a resigned sigh, dropping his bat to the ground. “Okay, fine. But you owe me. Big.”
Max isn’t sure whose idea it was—Daniel’s or Lando’s—to have a destination wedding, but considering he has to get up at the ass-crack of dawn to catch his flight, he hates whoever decided on this.
For the sake of his sanity, he likes to think it was all Lando’s idea.
(It’s probably Daniel’s, though. He is kind of a show-off.)
Despite the fact that it’s too fucking early, Charles shows up at the airport looking well-rested. Max wonders what that’s like, to go to bed each night and actually fall asleep instead of being plagued by every mistake you’ve ever made in your life.
“I hate you,” he mumbles to his friend, in lieu of a hello.
Charles just laughs in response. “Good morning to you, too.”
The rest of the morning passes by in a blur, and before he knows it, they’re on the plane. It’s a ridiculously long flight, but it gives Max the perfect opportunity to catch up on all the sleep he’s missed this past week. Dealing with his feelings for Daniel and making sure to get all his work out of the way before this trip really has taken a toll on him.
As the flight attendant goes on about the different safety procedures, Max closes his eyes and drifts off.
He’s pulled out his slumber by the pilot announcing their imminent arrival. Groggy and confused, Max blinks his eyes a few times until his vision comes into focus. “I needed that,” he mumbles to no one in particular.
“Did you now?” Charles laughs, his voice coming from above Max.
It takes a second for Max to realize that while he thought the airplane seats were incredibly comfy, it actually had nothing to do with the plane and everything to do with the fact that he’d been resting his head on Charles’ shoulder the whole flight.
Charles must hate him.
He sits up straight. “I am so sorry,” he apologizes. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep on you.”
“It’s fine.” He waves off Max’s concerns. “Really. I didn’t mind.” He looks a little embarrassed, but Max isn’t sure why.
“Okay. Cool.” Max lets out a sigh. “Are you ready for this shit-show?”
“I think the better question is: are you ready?”
Max lets out a laugh. “God, no.”
When they get to the hotel, they’re hit with their first surprise: despite the fact that Max had specifically requested a room with two twin-size beds, they were given a room with one king-size bed, because of course that would happen to him.
Max had called the receptionist, requesting a new room, but apparently, they were fully booked, not allowing for room changes.
Charles had said it was fine, but considering his face had turned bright red, Max didn’t believe him.
Their second surprise came in the form of a text message from Pierre. They’d barely had time to unpack and relax before they got a text informing them that everyone was going to be going out tonight, so they needed to eat a quick dinner and get ready. According to Pierre, it’s not the bachelor party, since that already happened, but Daniel’s best man wanted to get everyone together to party one last time.
Even though Max would like to say he’s grown as a person, he’s still as petty as ever, so he wants Daniel to see him tonight and feel like he missed out on something. He puts on a black, form-fitting shirt that accentuates his broad shoulders, and brings out his eyes—which, he has been told are his best feature.
Charles seems to be dressed to impress, too, although that’s probably just because Charles looks effortlessly good. With the strong curve of his nose, his high cheekbones, and long eyelashes, Charles is stunning. He could show up in a garbage bag, and still make it look as if he’s wearing designer.
“I… don’t want to do this,” Max complains.
“Come on. It’ll be fun,” Charles replies, with a smile. “It’s just a night out. Don’t get too stressed about it.”
Telling Max not to get stressed is like telling the sun not to shine, but Max closes his eyes, and tries to slow down his breathing. He can’t spend the rest of his life getting anxious over every little thing.
Although, as far for reasons for being anxious, this definitely isn’t his stupidest one.
“Hey,” Charles says, softer now. “Seriously. It’s going to be fine. I’ll be there, and I promise if I hear anyone talking about your feelings for Daniel, I’ll find a way to shut them up.”
Max lets out a breath. That is reassuring to hear. “Thanks. I appreciate it,” he says, with a smile. “I just—I overthink a lot when it comes to Daniel.”
“Oh, I know. That’s obvious.”
Max laughs. He’s not as subtle as he likes to think.
“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if you don’t to.” Charles shoves his hands in the pockets of his jeans, suddenly looking nervous. Max nods. “Do you think… do you think you really still have feelings for Daniel? Or do you think that you’re maybe like, holding on to those feelings because you’re scared to actually put yourself out there again? Like, properly.”
No one’s ever asked him something like that before and Max doesn’t have an answer. All this time, he’s thought that he’s been hopelessly in love with Daniel, but has he really?
There used to be a point of time where he would constantly seek out Daniel to talk to him, where he would hang on to every last word of his, committing them to memory, where he’d watch some TV when he got home from work, and think about how he’d love to know what Daniel watches to unwind at the end of the day.
He’s not like that anymore, though, but he still does feel an ache in his chest when he thinks of Daniel.
Is that because he loves Daniel, though? Or is it because of the heartbreak?
“Honestly, I don’t know,” Max answers. “I really don’t.”
Max has one mission, and one mission only, and that is to get well and truly drunk.
So far, he’s off to a good start. He’s about four tequila shots in, and tequila has been known to get him fucked—in fact, tequila is to blame for every single time he blacked out in college. He’s not trying to black out tonight, but he is trying to get so drunk that he can’t even think.
“Hey,” he exclaims, throwing an arm around Pierre, “have I ever told you that you’re my best friend and I think you’re great?”
Pierre laughs. “No, actually, you haven’t. You’re kind of a dick to me.”
Max gasps, shocked. “Am I? I’m sooooo sorry, Pierre. Or, should I say, je suis désolé—get it, cause you’re French?”
“Okay, I think you’ve had enough,” Pierre says, grabbing the drink out of Max’s hand. It’s a vodka cranberry, because even though Max would like to act all tough, he’s a sucker for a sweet drink.
“No, I haven’t.” Max tries to grab his drink back, but Pierre moves it out of reach. “Asshole,” he grumbles under his breath.
He doesn’t dwell on his frustration with his best friend though, because the DJ puts on one the songs that’s been stuck in his head lately: Levitating. As soon as he hears the first few notes, he practically springs over to the dancefloor, knowing that he won’t be able to sit still during a song like this.
Charles seems to have the right thought, because he joins him.
The two of them sway in time to the music, yelling the lyrics at each other until they’re both red in the face. It’s an absolutely electrifying feeling and Max finds himself delirious with laughter. He can’t remember the last time he had this much fun.
Leaning in close to Charles, he yells, “I’m having the best fucking time of my life!”
Over behind Charles, he catches a glimpse of Daniel standing off to the side, chatting with someone else from their team—Lewis, he thinks? He’s surprised by how little he cares. How can he, when the DJ’s just put on the latest Martin Garrix song? He’d much rather be dancing, enjoying himself, than obsessing over every little thing about Daniel.
“Have I told you that you’re the best?” Max yells, suddenly feeling so overcome with gratitude that Charles is here with him, helping him out as he deals with one of the most uncomfortable experiences of his life.
“No, but you can start now,” Charles yells back, and Max tips his head back and laughs.
He feels so light and happy and after the hell he’s been through the last month, sorting through all his feelings about the wedding, it’s refreshing to not feel weighed down with all his concerns.
He wishes he could bottle this feeling, so he could dip into it whenever he wanted.
Lord knows it’d be helpful when tomorrow comes around.
Max wakes up to an incessant pounding in his head and his alarm blaring on the bedside table. He lets out a groan, sitting up. The sunlight streaming in through the windows irritates his headache, so he shields his eyes from the light.
“Tell me about it,” Charles mumbles, from his spot beside him.
“How bad is your hangover?”
“I literally want to die,” Charles croaks out. “It was a fun night, though.”
Max thinks back to the night, to the drinking to the dancing to the—wait. He doesn’t remember anything past dancing to Martin Garrix with Charles. He hadn’t wanted to blackout, but of course that would happen to him. It’s not like anything ever goes according to plan for him.
“What—what happened last night?” he asks. “Did I make a fool out of myself?”
Charles suddenly sits up, looking over at Max with wide eyes. There’s also a hint of something else in his eyes—hurt, maybe? “Do you seriously not remember?”
“I remember dancing with you, and then—that’s it. Did something else happen?”
Charles immediately schools his features into something akin to nonchalance, although not quite. “Nope. That’s it. Nothing else happened.”
Max can’t help but feel that something is off, but he resolves to figure it out later. Right now, they both have a wedding to get to.
“If anyone objects to the marriage, speak now or forever hold your peace,” the officiant is saying. When he first heard about the wedding, Max had daydreams about being the person to stop the wedding, to say that it couldn’t go on because he’s in love with Daniel. Then, Daniel would realize that he’s loved Max all along, and the two of them would ride off into the sunset together.
Realistically, though, that would never happen.
Max knows that and he’s accepted that, and he supposes that’s why it doesn’t hurt as much as he thought it would when Daniel and Lando accept each other as husbands. Maybe that month he spent dealing with everything really did help him actually move past. Or maybe it’s because his mind is preoccupied with other things—namely, another person.
All throughout the ceremony, Charles has been uncharacteristically quiet, even when Max whispered snarky comments to him about various people in attendance. Charles has always loved to people-watch with Max, so it’s unlike him to not offer commentary of his own.
Max can’t ask Charles why he’s being weird, because Charles is the type of person to hold things in until eventually they all explode. It’s never been a problem for the two of them, because Max has never been on the receiving end of Charles’ anger; he’s only ever witnessed it secondhand.
What could he have possibly done last night to warrant this kind of behavior from his friend?
In times of crisis, Max usually turns to Pierre. Not because Pierre is good at proposing solutions—all of his ideas are usually shit—but because there’s something about him that’s calming. It allows Max to sit and think through things rationally instead of overreacting, which he’s always been prone to.
“I think Charles is mad at me,” Max blurts out, when he’s finally able to corner Pierre after the ceremony.
Pierre scoffs. “Mad at you? Why would he be mad at you?”
Max knits his eyebrows together. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t remember last night? Come on, Max, I know you have to remember.”
But he doesn’t. His mind is drawing a blank. He tries to think about last night again: how he was dancing with Charles and how happy he felt and—
Suddenly, it feels like a new memory is in reach. It’s fuzzy at the edges, and he’s not entirely sure it’s real, but he remembers leading Charles off the dance floor, their fingers laced together as he dragged him over to the bar so they could order another drink, and then blurting out something along the lines of, “You know you’re like really fucking pretty, right?”
The memory ends then.
Is that what Charles is mad about? He called him pretty? He would think that it would just be another ego boost for Charles, not something to warrant this level of anger.
“So, he’s mad that I called him pretty? That makes no sense.”
Pierre nearly spits out his water. “You called him pretty? I mean, you’re not wrong, but.”
“Wait, I thought that’s what you were talking about. What happened last night that I don’t know about? I swear, calling Charles pretty is the last thing I remember.”
“Well, no wonder he’s fucking pissed. I would be too.”
Max glares at Pierre. “Don’t be cryptic. Tell me why he’s mad. I need to know so I can fix this.”
“I don’t know how you can, but—you both kissed. And it wasn’t a little peck or anything. The two of you were all over each other.”
Max’s jaw drops. They kissed? How could something like that happen without him remembering it? Surely, if something as surprising as that happened, his mind would want to hold onto the information, rather than discard it.
It does make sense, though. Of course Charles would be pissed if something like that happened. Things with them have always been platonic—Max shouldn’t have gotten drunk and said all that shit to Charles and then kissed him. He should have been so much better at respecting boundaries.
“Fuck, I need to find Charles. Thanks, man,” Max says, clapping Pierre on the back.
He finds Charles sitting on the steps outside of the venue, looking sullen.
“Hey,” he says, sitting next to him.
Charles looks over at him, but doesn’t smile. “Hey.”
“I talked to Pierre,” Max says, then realizes that probably means nothing to Charles, because as far as Charles is concerned, Max talks to Pierre all the time about unimportant things. “I talked to him about last night. I was trying to figure out what happened last night to make you so upset with me—and you can say you’re not, but I know you and you are—and I figured it out. You’re upset that I kissed you.
“And that’s fair. I asked you to do this as a friend and I’m sure you were under the impression that we would keep this strictly platonic, but then I was calling you really pretty and kissing you and I’m so sorry. I promise I won’t do that again.”
He waits for Charles to smile at him, to say that everything is okay and that they’re good again, but he doesn’t get any of that. Instead, Charles fixes him with an incredulous look. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Aren’t you mad at me because I kissed you?”
“I kissed you, you jackass,” Charles responds, before getting up and storming off, leaving Max to figure out what the hell that means.
He doesn’t have time to sort through everything that he knows about last night, because he’s being dragged to lunch. Charles sits next to him the whole time, playing the part of the boyfriend perfectly, but the second people aren’t looking at him, he drops Max’s hand and goes back to giving him the cold shoulder.
He thought Daniel rejecting him was the worst feeling in the world, but this rivals that. Charles has been an important fixture in his life since college, and the thought of losing him all because of one night—well, it’s devastating.
As soon as lunch ends, he grabs Charles’ hand and drags him away from the table. The two of them need to have this sorted out before the reception tonight. It won’t be fun for either of them if they’re not on good terms, and Max really wants his friend back.
Max drags Charles to their rental car, so the two of them can have complete privacy. “Get in. We’re talking about this,” he tells Charles as he slides into the driver’s seat.
Charles obliges.
“What do you mean you kissed me?” Max asks, turning on the air conditioning. Daniel picked the worst time to get married in Bali, because it’s incredibly hot. In fact, Max is genuinely concerned about getting sunburnt. “I’m sorry I don’t remember, but I need you to tell me what happened. I need to know where things went wrong.”
“Well, I guess they went wrong when I kissed you,” Charles retorts, crossing his arms.
“That’s not—fuck, that’s not what I meant,” Max says, dragging a hand down his face. “I never want to upset you. Can you please tell me what happened?”
Charles groans. “This is going to be so embarrassing to relive again.”
Max is confused. “Why?”
“Why do you think I kissed you?”
Max furrows his eyebrows together, contemplating all the reasons for the two of them to kiss. Maybe Daniel was around and Max asked Charles to kiss him? That doesn’t seem right, though; he hadn’t really paid Daniel much attention. Maybe Charles wanted to make someone jealous? But, who? “I really don’t know.”
“God, you’re making this so difficult. Why are you so obtuse?”
“I’m only being obtuse because you won’t tell me what’s going on!” Max blurts out, frustrated.
“I fucking like you, okay?” Charles exclaims. “I like you, and I agreed to this whole thing—which, in hindsight, was a fucking terrible move on my part, believe me, I know. Then, we went out last night and we were having a good time and you told me all those things and called me pretty and then I told you that I liked you and I kissed you. And it was a big fucking deal for me when you kissed me back and I thought that meant that you liked me too, but clearly it didn’t matter to you, since you forgot.”
“Charles, I—”
“Don’t say anything. You’re going to lie and say stuff to try to make me feel better, and that’s only going to make me feel worse.”
Max can’t help but think about the irony of all this. He spent so much time being hung up on Daniel’s rejection that he went and did the same thing to Charles—but in a much worse manner. Because, at least Daniel had been sober at the time, and had told Max that he valued their friendship. Max got too drunk and led Charles on, only to forget about everything, as if it was something unimportant, even though it wasn’t.
Sometimes, Max is such an asshole.
“I’m so sorry, Charles,” he says, because what else can he say? “I never meant to hurt you like this.”
“Look, can we just go back to the hotel? I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”
“Sure,” Max says, feeling like the absolute worst person in the world.
He’s absolutely miserable during the reception—not just because of his fight with Charles, but because he went through the effort of lying and getting a fake date to this wedding so he wouldn’t end up alone, only to end up alone at the reception. Charles didn’t want to come—which, understandable—so Max has been telling people that Charles ate something that didn’t agree with him, so he’s resting in bed.
Not the biggest lie, since Charles is in fact, resting in bed.
It’s obvious that he’s not having a good time, because Pierre keeps shooting worried looks at him, but he just ignores them. The last thing he wants is to get into everything right now. He’d just end up hating himself even more than he currently does.
He turns around, desperate to escape—maybe step outside, and grab a bit of fresh air—but he runs right into Daniel, because that’s just the type of luck he has.
“Whoa, there,” Daniel says, holding onto his arms to steady him. “Is the music that bad? It’s from my personal playlist.”
Max forces out a laugh. “Just wanted some fresh air,” he says, even though the music isn’t the greatest. One of Daniel’s biggest flaws is his music taste—even when Max’s feelings for Daniel were at their peak, the one thing he could never get over was the music that Daniel would recommend.
“Max, are you okay?”
Max isn’t sure if it’s because of the champagne he’s had one too many glasses of, or if it’s because it’s him hitting him right now just how much he misses Charles and wishes he was here, but he shakes his head. “No,” he croaks out.
“Oh, shit. Okay, here. Let’s go outside,” Daniel says, leading him outside the ballroom and into the main hall. Out in the hall, there are two double doors that lead to a patio outside, where the two of them take a seat. “Do you want to tell me what’s going on?”
Max doesn’t want to—of all the people he would want to lean on for emotional support, Daniel is at the very bottom of the list—but he also knows he needs to.
“I think Charles hates me.”
Daniel looks confused. “Why would he hate you? Aren’t you dating?”
This is where it gets incredibly embarrassing for Max. “No. Not—not really. When I got invited to this wedding, I didn’t want to look pathetic showing up alone, since everyone knows about how I had feelings for you.” He makes sure to place emphasis on the word had, because he’s realizing now that all those feelings he might have claimed to have for Daniel throughout the years might not even be feelings of love, but just the residue of those feelings that haven’t yet left him. “So, I asked Charles to come with me because he’s a good friend and I figured it would be fun to hang out with him.
“But then, we got drunk last night and I started telling him things like how pretty he is, and then I guess he told me that he liked me, and then we kissed, but I don’t remember and now he’s upset with me over it, and I feel like the biggest fucking asshole and I don’t know what I can do to make it better.”
Daniel nods as Max talks, taking it all in. “Well, that’s a lot,” he finally says, with a nervous laugh.
“I really wasn’t planning on telling you any of this, because well—it’s embarrassing, but I just… I really don’t know what to do about Charles.”
“Well, first, you need to ask yourself: how do you feel about Charles? You need to be clear on that, because that’s going to inform what you do next. Is he just a friend? Is he something more? Or are you not sure?”
Max thinks about this—really, truly thinks about it. His first instinct would be to say, yeah, he’s my friend, but he’s not entirely sure if that’s the truth. If Charles were his friend, Max wouldn’t have kissed him back; he’s never been in the habit of kissing his friends. If Charles were his friend, then Max wouldn’t have had all those thoughts about how pretty Charles is, about how Charles’ laugh is one of his favorite sounds in the world, and how he loves it when Charles’ smile and his dimples pop out.
Those thoughts aren’t even remotely friendly, and he knows it, but he’s been repressing those thoughts for so long and he’s not sure why.
Well, actually he is. Because at some point in his life, he thought to tell a friend of his who he was crushing on how he felt, and got shut down. The last thing he wanted was to repeat that same history with Charles.
Except—
Except he now knows that Charles reciprocates those feelings. That the two of them could be something great, if Max owned up to these feelings and went after Charles and offered him the best apology in the world, because Charles deserves nothing less.
He realizes now what he needs to do.
“I need to go,” he tells Daniel. “But thanks. A ton.” He smiles at him. “And congrats on the wedding, again.”
Charles is awake when Max makes it back to their room, watching The Great British Bake-Off on TV.
“Hi,” Max says, standing in the doorway.
Charles doesn’t even look at him. “How was it?” he asks, flatly.
“It was okay.” Max shrugs. “I missed you.”
Charles stills at those words, but still won’t look at Max. “You sure you didn’t forget about me?” he finally responds and wow, the words feel like a punch to the stomach. Max supposes he deserves them, though. He really has been kind of an asshole lately.
“I could never forget you, Charles.”
Before Charles can respond with a snarky comment, he continues on. “I know I fucked up. I fucked up spectacularly and I hurt you, and I feel really awful about it—really, this is probably the worst I’ve felt, well, ever. And I know that nothing I say will ever take away from the fact that I was careless and ended up treating you terribly all so I could deal with the fact that Daniel is getting married, and I’m so sorry about that. Really, I am.”
Charles doesn’t say anything, which Max takes as a good sign.
“I also know that you’re one of the best people I know. You’re kind, you’re caring, and you’re so damn selfless that you agreed to come to this wedding and help me out even though you had feelings for me and knew it wouldn’t be the best situation for you. You’re one of my favorite people to be around, and not having you with me at this reception felt unnatural.
“I spoke to Daniel about this, and came clean about everything, and I realized that I actually don’t still love him. All this time, I thought I did—but to answer your question, I’ve just been holding on to those feelings. I’ve been holding onto them so tight, because if I let go, I’d have to come to the realization that I liked you, and the last thing I wanted was to risk a friendship for the possibility of love, like I did with Daniel. And you saw how well that turned out. But in the process of doing that, I hurt you, and I don’t know if I’ll ever forgive myself for that. God, Charles, I’m so sorry that I hurt you and I’m sorry that it took hurting you for me to realize how I felt. And I get it if you’re done with me or if you just want to be friends or even if you need time to deal with all of this—I understand. Just know that I’ll be here, always, if you need me.”
Charles still won’t look at him, but Max sees a lone tear slide out of his eye. His chest clenches painfully, knowing that he’s made Charles cry, but he needed to lay everything out there. He needed Charles to understand things from his side, and to know that he genuinely is sorry.
“Can you please say something?” Max breathes out.
“I just… I need some time to think. Is that okay?”
Max nods. “Of course it is. I’ll just—I’ll grab my things and crash with Pierre. I’ll give you your space.”
“Thank you,” Charles replies, his voice quivering.
Over three weeks have passed since the wedding, and Max still hasn’t seen or heard from Charles. Not for lack of trying, though. Max has texted Charles a few times, and was at the batting cage two weeks ago, on the off-chance that Charles would show up, as part of their tradition.
Max ended up batting alone, but that didn’t stop him from coming back again this week. Any chance he has of possibly seeing Charles, he’s going to take. Not being around him feels as if he’s missing a lung.
It’s five minutes past their usual meeting time, so Max resigns himself to the fact that Charles isn’t coming. He tugs on his helmet, getting ready to bang out as many hits as he can. He’s got a lot of things to work through.
He adjusts his stance, lowering himself down and leaning slightly forward, the bat held up behind his head. The ball comes out of the machine, its trajectory right towards the center of the plate, and without missing a beat, Max takes a slight step forward, rotates on his back foot and swings.
His bat connects with the ball, sending it all the way into the net on the other side of the cage.
He nearly jumps in shock, when he hears applause coming from behind him. He swivels around, coming face-to-face with Charles.
“That was nice,” Charles says, smiling, his dimples peeking out at Max. “I could do better, though. Do you have room for one more?”
In a moment reminiscent of one Daniel pulled almost two years earlier, Max corners him in the elevator. “Hey, Dan,” he says, with a smile on his face.
Daniel smiles back at him. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Well, I actually wanted to give you something,” Max says, pulling out an envelope from his backpack. It’s a deep burgundy, because Charles’ favorite color is red—to be specific, it’s firetruck red, but that would be an ugly color for an invite, so they decided burgundy was a solid compromise. On the front of the envelope, Daniel Ricciardo is written in gorgeous, looping cursive, because one thing Max recently learned about Charles is that he’s pretty good at calligraphy. He hands the envelope over to Daniel, whose eyes light up with curiosity.
“What is it?”
“Open it.”
Daniel slides out the invite, taking a second to read everything. As he reads, his smile grows, until he’s full-on grinning. “Wow, congratulations!”
Max beams back. “Thank you. I hope you and Lando can make it.”
“Of course. Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”