TW FOR THIS CHAPTER
(because I've been slacking on them):
implied/referenced child abuse (this one is going to be reoccurring given who this fic is about so read at your own risk), mentions of jos verstappen

There are moments in life where you get an overwhelming debilitating sense of dread.

Before Max, moments like these had been a foreign concept to Cielo, outside of the dread she felt at every new race location—who had grown up with parents who tried to protect her from any and all dark parts of the world.

But after Max, she quickly learned that not everyone could be as fortunate as she was.

Merely a month into their newfound friendship, Cielo had been at every single one of Max's races. Week in and week out, she was there, cheering him on from the sidelines as he crossed the checkered flag and climbed onto that top step, beaming with pride as he accepted every first-place trophy, and even starting up a tradition of post-race 'selfies'(read: Cielo begging Max and her parents to take a photo of the pair after every race).

Every race, every one, was the same.

Until this one.

Cielo didn't remember how it happened, it had all been too sudden for her young him to comprehend, all she knew was that Max had not been first across the line.

Had not been the driver to climb up to that top step—had not been the one to accept the trophy for first.

There was no post-race selfie that day.

Instead, as the race came to a close and all the parents collected their children and went to join in the celebrations, Max stayed alone in his kart. Staring at his hands as they gripped the steering wheel in despair. He'd tried, he'd done everything his father asked of him, listening to everything he'd yelled at him from the sidelines, and yet...he still failed.

Second place is the first loser.

And he couldn't even achieve that, placing just out of the podium at a measly P4. Was it humiliating? Absolutely. But that wasn't what worried Max.

No amount of humiliation could ever compare to the outright terror that consumed him when he thought about what his father would do. So far, he'd been able to avoid that from happening by consistently winning, but this time he wasn't so lucky.

For the first time since he'd met Cielo, he wouldn't be able to protect her from the truth.

He'd done everything in his power to keep Cielo and their newfound friendship from Jos, and so far? He'd succeeded. Jos was none the wiser to any of Max's outings and Cielo was still blissfully unaware that the circumstances of their meeting—where he'd been found crying in an alleyway due to Jos' tirades—hadn't been a one-time deal.

Now everything was going to be ruined.

"Maxie!"

Max flinched at the sound of her voice and shut his eyes tight, hands gripping the steering wheel of his kart even tighter. Deep breaths, he told himself exhaling shakily. With his helmet still on, her voice—along with all other outside stimulation—was muffled, but with the fear coursing through his body Max heard it as if she had spoken through a speaker.

Arms wrapped around him from behind, causing him to tense briefly before he registered the smaller size of them. There could only be two people in the world smaller than him who would be so open with affection, and one of them was currently in the Netherlands.

"Cici," Max chuckled weakly, she couldn't see his face but he'd rather not risk it.

Cielo came and sat herself on the ground beside his kart, leaning her curly mop of hair against the steering wheel where his hands were.

"I am sorry for your race, Maxie," she said slowly. The two of them were still working to better their English, as well as teaching each other their native language, but it was still very much a work in progress.

"It is fine," he shrugged, lifting his visor so he could get a clearer look. Cielo was wearing another of her 'signature looks', or at least that's what Max had begun to call them after noticing that almost every outfit she wore was the same variation of overalls, a colored t-shirt, and matching shoes. Today's outfit consisted of olive green overalls, a cream shirt, and matching cream shoes. "But I think you should leave."

Cielo blinked at Max in confusion. In the few weeks they'd known each other, he never once asked her to leave. Always more than happy to see her and always incredibly

"What?" she asked, tugging nervously at one of her curls. "Why?"

"I do not wish to speak with anyone," he tried to brush her off. Hoping that she was long gone before his father could find his way to him. Although he knew it was a futile effort, once Cielo set her mind to something, it was nearly impossible to dissuade her.

He should know. He'd tried to get her to reconsider this friendship on multiple occasions these past few weeks. Not that he'd ever been successful, every time he tried Cielo would just look at him with a horribly offended expression and remind him that she declared him her best friend—that she wasn't going to stop being his best friend ever.

As he predicted, Cielo simply nodded resolutely and announced, "Then we do not talk, I will sit and be quiet."

It was almost comical how well the two had learned to read each other in the short time they'd been together.

Still, Max huffed and tried not to let his affection for Cielo's unwavering support overtake the absolute dread pooling in the pit of his gut at the thought of what his father had planned for him after today's disaster. Perhaps he'd get lucky and only be given a thorough talking to and made to walk back to their hotel.

Max knew he was never that lucky.

The Dutch boy shook his head, "No. You need to leave."

Cielo bit her lip hesitantly, "Fine."

A pause.

"But let me see your face," she said. Her brows knit together in concentration on getting the syllables right. "I need to see you are okay. No inju– in..."

"Not hurt," she settled on, a bit miffed that she was unable to get the word. "Make sure you are not hurt."

One of her hands reached out to him and on instinct, before he could process it, Max had reeled back. His own hands coming to clutch protectively at the clasp release of his helmet—guarding it.

"No!" he didn't mean to sound so frightened, but it was too late to take it back. Cielo was already looking at him with wide eyes, shocked at his reaction and wondering what she had done wrong to cause it.

"Maxie?" she tried, her voice quiet and, understandably, upset. "Max? What did I do?"

Deep breaths. He thought. It's only Cici, she won't do anything.

"Nothing," he told her, removing one of his hands from the helmet clasp to reach for hers. Gently intertwining his gloved fingers with hers.

Physical affection wasn't new to Max, his mom and Vic hugged him often enough—when they actually saw each other—that he knew what to expect, but he'd never known someone as tactile as Cielo was before. She was always reaching out for him, whether that be for a hug, to ruffle his hair,  a pat on the shoulder, a high five, or even just to hold his hand, she was always finding ways to stay close.

So Max quickly learned that the best way to show her that she'd not done anything wrong and that he wasn't upset, was to initiate contact.

"I am sorry," Max comforted. "You did nothing."

"I did not mean–"

"Cici."

Cielo looked at him hesitantly, her brown eyes glossy with tears that had begun to build. Her chest felt as if somebody had taken hold of a stuffed plushie and squeezed it until all the air in the stuffing had been removed. She didn't know why. She had been scared before, upset certainly, but the young brunette had never felt like she couldn't breathe. Her chest had begun to move up and down in rapid succession, her skin feeling too cold and too hot at the same time, and her palms beginning to sweat—then Max grabbed her hand.

It wasn't a large, over-the-top gesture. It was simple, but it was exactly what she needed.

"You did not do anything wrong," Max said, only now realizing how silly he must've sounded with his helmet still firmly on his head. It had become a habit, to keep his helmet on after bad race results, so that he didn't have to face the shame of not being first—or, more importantly, so that his father's outburst would hurt less than they normally would've.

But seeing Cielo so distraught over even the prospect of having upset Max, had him slowly letting down his guard. With a cautious hand, the one not holding Cielo's, Max reached for the clasp of his helmet and undid the release.

The brunette watched with avid eyes as Max tried to get the helmet off his head, but with one hand—his other still firmly holding Cielo's own—it was a futile effort. So, with the resolve of someone who had much more bravery in their heart that she felt she had, Cielo reached out. Slower this time, making sure that Max could see her move, and helped him get the helmet completely off his head.

His blonde hair was sweaty and sticking up in random directions, but Cielo wasn't looking at that. She was looking at Max's eyes, and the way they softened upon opening. The way they obviously held a bit of nervousness and fear, but he tried to reign it in just so that she would see he wasn't upset.

It was very sweet, to know that somebody cared that much.

"Okay now?"

Max hesitated. "Maybe."

"What happened?" Cielo couldn't stop herself from asking. She was too curious for her own good, her mama often told her that one day it would get her in more trouble than she could handle.

Max wished he didn't have to say anything, but Cielo deserved to know after the way he'd reacted. And he trusted her, more than he thought he would.

"My dad," he sighed, sliding out of his kart and onto the ground beside her. "He gets very angry when I do not win. Even second is not good to him."

Cielo frowned. That was not nice, shouldn't a parent be proud of their children no matter what? That's what her papa always told her when she was upset about not doing well in something. No importa si eres la primera or ultima, siempre voy estar orgulloso de ti.

"But you always do good?"

Max huffed, "Not today...and sometimes he gets very loud when he is mad. That is why I said leave, I do not want you to see that."

What Max did not say is that by 'loud' he meant physical, but what was a little white lie to Cielo's peace of mind?

"Well I am proud of you," Cielo smiled at him. "That is enough, no?"

Max couldn't help but smile back and nod, "That is enough."

❛ ━━･❪ ✫ ❫ ･━━ ❜

Was Cielo expecting to get away with the stunt she pulled this morning? No. But she had hoped she'd have a longer reprieve before somebody caught up with her. Hoped that she had enough time to get her story straight so that she wouldn't have another interaction like the one with her Godfather that morning.

So while it wasn't really a surprise when, during lunch, Charles sat down at her table across from her, she still couldn't help but groan internally.

Deciding to wait it out and see how long it took before he broke, Cielo steadily ignored Charles' presence and continued to type away on her computer. It would do her well to start working on the rough outline of her expose anyway. The sooner she could finish it and stop having to see him, the better.

It took him two minutes.

"Are you insane?" Charles questioned.

Cielo did not stop her typing, she merely raised an eyebrow in his direction and said, "That depends on your definition of insanity."

"So yes," Charles groaned, letting his head fall backward dramatically. "You know, I thought I was seeing things earlier when you showed up, you haven't been to a race in years."

The woman hesitated for just a moment before continuing as though nothing had happened. Something that had not escaped Charles' notice when his ears picked up the brief respite of the constant clacking of keys. It was true, she hadn't been to a race in years—almost a decade—even before Charles had officially joined F1.

Since he started here, Cielo had not attended a single one of his races, not even Monaco. It didn't matter how much he wanted her, to be able to look out into the sea of people and know she was among them, cheering him on.

Charles knew—somewhat—why she hadn't and he'd long since accepted that fact, but that didn't keep him from hoping that one day...

Except that one day was now here and he felt anything but relieved.

"Want to tell me about what you are doing?"

"My job."

Feigning ignorance, Cielo's specialty. Unfortunately, it was also Charles'.

"You don't get to play this game with me, Ci," he shook his head. "You tell me what you are doing."

The Mexican sighed. The only way to get Charles off her case was to tell him the truth, the only person she knew who was better at sniffing out a lie from her than him, was her Godfather. Jenson was like a bloodhound when it came to telling lies from truths.

"I'm writing an article," she said, and watched and he visibly geared himself up for more. "On Max...'s personal life."

She hadn't even finished her sentence before Charles was sighing and shaking his head. Rude.

"Non," he said, "Non. Cielo...this has to stop."

"Excuse me?"

"I have been a good friend, yes?" he asked, not waiting for her to respond before moving on. "And as your friend, it is my job to tell you when you are taking things too far, and this? This is too far."

"Wha– Charlie," Cielo knew very well it was too far, that was what made it all the more appealing. "I know what I am doing."

"You think I don't know that?" Charles laughed humorlessly. "I know you do, that's why I am telling you that you have to stop this. Look, I don't know what happened between you and Max, but whatever it was cannot be enough for you to do this—whatever it is that you plan to do."

"I want him to know what it feels like to have your entire world tilted on its axis," she mumbled. "I need him to know. What it feels like to have to go through every single one of your memories and wonder if it was real or simply a deluded fantasy. "

Charles laid his hand on top of hers, making her stop and finally meet his eyes. His brilliant green eyes that held so much pain and light in them at the same time, the side effects of being such a lively person and yet forced to endure so much, all for a dream.

She could relate to that, in her own twisted way.

"Ciel," he spoke softly, leaning into her space. "This obsession has to stop. I understand, you know that I do, but this is consuming you. It is like Max is a drug and you cannot stop taking it, he is your vice. It is not health–"

"Oh, and your commitment to Ferrari is?"

He gave her a look at her attempt at deflection, "It is not healthy. You claim to hate him and to want nothing to do with him yet given any opportunity, you come running back. Your vice, your addiction, is Max—and you have to see why that is not good. His vice, like mine, will always be racing."

And his father. She thought bitterly. Max would rather die than give up his father, no matter how much Jos has hurt and will continue to hurt him. The masochist.

"I know," she voiced instead.

And she did. It pained her because that was the entire root of the issue. Max loved racing. Lived it, breathed it, would die for it even—and that left no room in his heart or his life for anything else.

"So you will stop?" Charles looked so hopeful, so glad that he had succeeded, that Cielo didn't have the heart to completely deny him. Who was she to ruin yet another one of his dreams? The poor man had already had enough of those crushed for several lifetimes, she would not be another contributor to that.

He deserved some happiness, some hope.

"I'll think about it."

𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄

so this took longer than I thought....yikes. unfortunately, that post-grad burnout was ROUGH.

I have no excuse other than the fact that I did NOT want to write the flashback scene, it hurt me to do that to them skskssksjdhf

they're just babies 😭

anywho, cielo amiright? nobody ever said she was a healthy character!! I love my little delusional and irrational queen. also charles!! I really intended for him to be a very minor character in this but his and cielo's relationship and shared history with max spoke to me.

until next time,
charley xx.