For your head cannon asks: Seb knew Charles has had a crush on Max since he rejoined F1 hence the “is he pretty” comment and Seb looking at him like that. Seb confesses he knows and tells Charles to tell Max how he feels right before the race in Bahrain.
Sweet Anon this headcanon is so good I had to sit on it because every time I read it my brain would turn to mush, took a couple of liberties but love this idea! 🤩🥰
“We’ll pack it up and meet you in garage, go on without us,” Seb says to their PR team after they finish the game of Guess Who.
Charles rolls his eyes at getting roped into the clean up — but he stays.
He should have left. Because when the team are out of earshot Seb turns to Charles and says, “Mics are off, you can answer my question now.”
“What question?”
“If you find Max pretty.”
Charles scoffs and hopes his hot ears aren’t too red, “I don’t know, I haven’t really looked.”
“You’re a terrible liar, you know that, right?”
“I’m not.”
“Charles…” Seb sighs and leans forward, he gestures with a single curled finger for him to lean forward too.
Charles reluctantly does as requested.
“I see the way you look at him, and I know you two text each other outside of race weekends.”
“Am I not allowed to have friends? How do you know that anyway, have you been snooping on my phone?”
“Back in Maranello, you were on the sim but left your phone on charge, it kept vibrating during the briefing so I went to turn it off and you had seven texts from Max. Seven.”
Charles furrows his brow, “We talk sometimes, so what?” Seb doesn’t need to know they’d been texting until they fell asleep last night.
“That boy is notorious for not responding, you do realise that, don’t you?”
“He answers me,” the words leave his mouth before he realises how they sound.
“I’m sure he does.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means you should tell him you like him.”
“I don’t like him.”
“Charles, you don’t have to lie to me, I’m not going to tell anyone. I‘ve kept it to myself all these months, but please for my own sanity and his, tell him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about you liking men — or more accurately, Max.”
Charles’ adrenaline spikes, he gets to his feet and stumbles over his words as he makes sure no one else heard, “I-I’m gonna—”
“Wait,” Sebastian reaches for him, fingertips touching the back of his hand. A gesture timid and gentle enough that Charles could pull away and leave if he wanted.
He stays.
“I’m sorry,” Seb continues, “I shouldn’t have been so brusque, not about that. But I’ve known for a long time, okay, and you can trust I won’t say anything again unless you’re the one to bring it up. But I have to say this: I’m serious. You should talk to Max, he might surprise you.”
“What do you mean, surprise me?”
“I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”
Charles rolls his eyes. There’s nothing special about the way Max looks at him, he’s the one that gets butterflies when the Dutchman smiles at him across the paddock.
“He’s a very honest person, Charles, you have to decide if you’re willing to be honest with him too.”
“What is there to say?”
“The truth and go from there. You never know it might result in you finally getting laid. Lord knows you’ve been uptight for long enough.”
Charles snorts, “I don’t want a one night stand with Max, that’d be worse than whatever it is we have now,” Charles admits to himself, and Seb, because there’s no point denying it now.
Seb smiles, “Make sure you tell him that, because knowing him he’ll assume it’s a one time thing.”
“What do you mean?”
“The boy’s smitten, Charlie, he’ll try and limit his expectations. Anyway, I’ve done enough meddling and likely said too much, go and see what I mean first hand.”
“What if he…” rejects me, laughs at me, pities me…
“He won’t,” Seb smiles, walks around the table and squeezes his shoulder. “If he does do or say something stupid, you tell me, or kiss him, that’d likely clear it up.”
Charles snorts and Seb disappears, the game of Guess Who tucked under his arm.
Charles pulls out his phone, opens his massages with Max and sends the text before he backs out.
You free later for a drink? I think I need one after today.
His phone buzzes in his hand less than five minutes later.
Sounds like you need more than one. Send me a time and place. I'll make it work.
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Mike smiles, and Will lets his hand fall back into the grass. "Yeah?" he asks, not- not disbelievingly, per se, just gently questioning, like he knows there's more to the story because there always is, even if Will rarely grants him the full picture. "What are you thinking?"
Warmth washes over him, and Will lets his eyes fall shut, that strange calm still washing over him. Mike shifts a little closer, and Will can tell he's peering down at him even though his eyes are closed. Mike's hand finds Will's shoulder, brushing it lightly, and Will feels something resembling content.
"I was thinking," he huffs out, skin prickling with anticipation, but there's Mike's hand again, trailing over his bicep, quelling the anxiety, "that I love you."
It's a lazy summer day when Will decides to bite the bullet.
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