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IT'S NO SECRET THAT MAX DESPISES MEDIA DUTIES. At one point, early in his career, he had wished he could enjoy them, imagining what it would have been like to be a natural charmer like Daniel or a smooth talker like Charles with his accented vowels and courteous manners. However, according to his publicist, Max is rude.

He is blunt, tongue-heavy, and too unconcerned. He hardly bothers to remember the scripts given to him by his PR team, which is true, or learn the details of upcoming shoots, no matter how much they stress the importance of preparation, which—yes, true again.

But could Max be blamed? In the end, these marketing ideas or whatever always seem to be something utterly pointless, like reading decade-old tweets or ranking the best ice cream flavors despite not being allowed to eat sweets without fear of losing a thousandth of a second on his next race. So, he never looked forward to any of them. If he showed up late, it was because he simply couldn't bring himself to care; if he showed up early, it was because he wanted to get it over with as quickly as possible. He hid in empty offices, loitered around the simulator room, pressed unnecessary buttons on the elevator because anything—truly, anything else—was better than sitting with a camera in his face and answering the same mundane questions over and over again.

It's all boring. All uncreative, all frivolous, and all ultimately a waste of his time. And far worse than any other before, today's shooting felt like a prison sentence, each minute dragging on longer than the last because of one singular reason:

The aroma of cinnamon-roasted apples and caramel seemed to have engulfed the entire filming room.

He had been staying at the nearest emergency exit for no real reason, truly, but no matter how far he tried to distance himself, the sweet scent still managed to find its way to him. It was making him a bit irritable, watching the camera crew lick their fingers and the audio technicians walk back and forth with filled cheeks, when he himself had to think of unnecessary weight gain for the car and the elusive seconds that dictated his life even outside of the track.

It just wasn't fair, really, until Rupert appeared and presented him with a napkin-covered treat.

"Not a word, Verstappen," his personal trainer warned with a knowing smile.

Max grinned as he lifted the vibrantly patterned napkin, disregarding its design to focus on the warm, palm-sized bar of—something delicious, even if he wasn't quite sure what it was. He took a bite and immediately understood why even the most health-conscious crew members couldn't resist indulging in the treat.

It was perfectly sweet, with a buttery Graham cracker crust that was just crisp enough to contrast with the creamy cheesecake filling. The thinly sliced caramelized apple topping glistened with caramel glaze, adding a hint of tartness that made him feel less guilty about devouring it in three large bites.

"Which bakery is this from?" Max asked, eager to hoard the contact information until the holiday season arrived, giving him the perfect chance to indulge more freely. Maybe visiting Milton Keynes wouldn't feel like such a chore if he had a delicious piece of cheesecake—or would it be a pie of sorts, judging by the crust?—waiting for him at the end of the trip.

But Rupert shook his head; he had a bit of caramel stuck to the corner of his mouth. "None," he replied. "The teacher made everything herself this morning."

"What teacher?" Max asked, brows furrowed in confusion.

His trainer gave him an exasperated look. "You didn't look at the brief, did you?"

At that, Max couldn't help the laugh that escaped his lips. "Mate," he teased. "Of course I didn't look at the brief! I don't get paid enough to read all that nonsense." The trainer rolled his eyes, and Max continued, "But seriously, who's the teacher?"

"A lovely woman you'll have to wait to meet," Rupert replied, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Because I'm going to grab another bar before Tsunoda runs off with the entire batch."

That's what it is, Max figured—a caramel apple cheesecake bar.

With nothing else to do, his gaze lowered to the crumpled napkin in his hand, the pattern smeared with crumbs and caramel streaks. It was full of little bees, dotted lines, and tiny flowers. Lovely, for sure, but not quite the Red Bull style. How cute, he thought, before crumpling it up and tossing it into the nearest trash can.

At least something pleasant happened before filming began.

Maybe he'll smile at the camera once—just once, though.

Daniel kept yawning, mouth wide open far enough to see his tonsils as he shifted from leg to leg in an attempt to stay awake. They hadn't even begun to film yet, and he was already struggling to keep his eyes open. Max, bored out of his mind, was just waiting out the time until he could shove his finger down the Australian's throat when the production manager, a woman Max had never truly seen around before, requested everyone's attention.

"Exciting day, everyone!" She exclaimed loud enough to snap Daniel out of his daze. Clapping her hands together with a grin, her energy spread to the rest of the crew as she continued, "I just received confirmation that the children have arrived at the factory and are on their way here as we speak! Let's ensure we're all prepared to give them a warm welcome, and please be mindful, as some of them may be nervous or shy in front of the cameras. Our goal is to ensure they have a positive experience on set, so let's all do our best to make them feel comfortable and at ease."

Max tipped his head to the side; he must've been more out of it than Daniel had, because when he spoke, his words came out louder than intended. "What children?" He asked cluelessly, causing the rest of the crew to exchange confused glances.

"And Verstappen didn't read the brief again," one of the marketing team members muttered under their breath, causing a few stifled chuckles from the crew. Max just smiled and shrugged, unbothered. They would find a way to make it work, as they always did.

"Aw, Maxy," Daniel chuckled, giving his head a shake. "One day you'll have your head screwed on right, mate. We're filming for F1 Kids today." But Max's expression didn't clear; Daniel's grin wavered. "You're tripping on my balls, mate. You haven't got a clue what we're up to today, do ya?"

But before Max could respond, the double doors swung open, locking in place. "And here," the tour guide announced playfully, "is where all of you are going to meet some of the top Formula 1 drivers in the world and spend the day with them!"

And sure enough, Max was clueless about what was happening, but with his experience dealing with children, he half-expected a scream or two, maybe even some dramatic projectile vomiting out of excitement or nerves. Yet what he witnessed was far more peculiar than any scenario he could have conjured.

He stared in bewilderment, a curious sensation bubbling within him, his smile widening as a group of children in matching Red Bull Racing uniforms and peculiar little caps entered the room. Each one held onto a bright red rope, obediently following a short woman who could've been mistaken for one of the students herself.

Full of disbelief, he laughed. "Is that a leash?"

Not even the flashes of cameras could diminish the amusement he felt as the woman ensured the children stayed in line before replying, "What? Of course not! It's a child safety tether."

Max continued to chuckle, the intensity of his smile nearly blinding him as his cheeks stretched to their limit. They were all so adorable—from the confused tiny little ones up front, their hands in their mouths with uncertainty, to the older children standing far in the back, staring at the equipment with more interest than they showed in anything else.

Even the teacher, dressed in the most vibrant outfit he had ever seen , made him want to grin.

It was so unusual. He thought he had grown desensitized to this side of advertising: the acting, the pretending, the pretending not to be pretending, and the act of not acknowledging it at all. But the teacher blushed warmly through her glittery makeup, and her smile was a bit too awkward to not be genuine. Her eyes—brown, wide-set, and upturned at the outer corners, like a puppy's—were too expressive for Max to believe anything other than that this is truly how the class lived every day. With smiles, silly hats adorned with patchwork animals stitched on, and singing songs about worker bees and fields of sugarplum fruits as they counted heads for attendance.

"Alright," the woman said breathlessly from singing. The warmth in her voice remained inextinguishable as she addressed her students, even though it cracked as she asked. "We all practiced our introductions very hard, didn't we?"

"We did! But Miss Honey," one of the children chimed in, "you should take a big breath before we start, though! You sound a bit nervous."

"I am nervous, Petunia," the woman replied kindly. "Let's all take a big breath in and out together, okay?"

Another child chimed in, "Okay! But, Miss Honey, it's fine to feel nervous. I'm nervous too!"

A different voice joined: "Me too!"

"I'm not!" exclaimed a little girl, her voice ringing like a silver bell. She released the red rope and, with an exaggerated leap that carried her no further than a mouse's whisker, began to bounce away from the class. Her twin pigtails swung rhythmically, like playful pendulums, and she wore that particular look children have when they're lost in the vast realms of their imagination, oblivious to the world around them. Draped around her shoulders, a green, white, and red flag fluttered with her steps, creating a vibrant trail behind her as she approached the drivers, fearless and resolute.

The teacher leaned forward desperately. "Oh, Charley, we agreed to wait—"

The little girl unfurled the Mexican flag above her head like a triumphant banner, her eyes sparkling with pride and joy. "Sergio!" She exclaimed with glee, a perfect echo of the famous video. "Checo! Pérez!"

From where he stood, Checo stared dumbfounded, uncertain of how to react. His mouth hung slightly open, eyes glazed over as he tried to process the unexpected display of national pride.

A hand gripped Max's forearm. He turned just in time to see Daniel break, doubling over with a rambunctious cackle that echoed through the room. "His face!" Daniel managed to wheeze between laughs, and immediately, Max found himself leaning over as well, clutching at his middle as he joined in.

They were both too caught up in the infectious joy of the moment to notice a tiny boy approaching them nervously, his finger in his mouth, until he mustered the courage to tap Daniel on the leg. Pausing for a moment, he sought reassurance from his teacher, who, despite the defeated slump of her shoulders at whatever proper introduction she had planned was now lost, raised her fist in encouragement. Slowly, he began to mimic her, lifting his fist slightly.

"Ki ki aye..." he mumbled in a shy voice, squirming with embarrassment immediately after.

Instantly smitten, Daniel crouched down to the boy's level. With his head thrown back and hands cupped around his mouth, he let out a loud "Gee gee, gee! Oi, oi, oi!" in a booming voice, causing the boy to burst into giggles and join in with renewed confidence.

"I want to join in, too, Chester! Ay, ay!" A boy from the back of the group shouted, running over to join in the fun. And with that, all the children dispersed across the filming set. Checo seemed to have recovered from his initial shut-down, getting pictures taken with Charley and their flag. Daniel and the two boys were now engaged in a playful game of tag, laughter filling the air as they ran around the set. Some of the other children were speaking to the crew members, asking questions, or simply rambling as the adults cooed over them. The atmosphere was lively and vibrant, the last thing Max had ever associated with a film set.

With nothing else to do, he decided he might as well join in any conversation.

The teacher was speaking with the production manager, apologizing for any disruptions caused by the children. "They must be very excited to be here," she explained helplessly, but any attempt to apologize was turned down.

"This is great!" The production insisted. "Much better than a quiet set. Today's mainly to get them comfortable and familiar with everything. We want them to feel at home here—Oh, Max! C'mon over here."

The teacher's eyes met his, large and expressive, a deep chocolate brown framed by well-defined, dark eyebrows that accentuated her gentle gaze. Everything about her was gentle—the curve of her cheeks, the lovely dip of her dimples, the tilt of her lips. She appeared to be all soft, brown, and warm, like a well-hugged teddy bear.

"Hi," he said, the only word he could manage.

She laughed, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear. "Hi," she replied. Then, as if realizing her mistake, her hand shot out to shake his, but she was still holding the red rope. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment as she quickly dropped it and extended her hand to him. "I'm Honey," she said with a sheepish smile.

"Actually?" he asked, a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Honey, he thought—Honey, the teacher; Honey, the baker. It made sense. "Is one of your students named Matilda, Miss Honey?" he joked, adding, "I understand why you use that leash now."

"It's a child safety tether!" She replied automatically, a natural defensiveness creeping into her tone that made him chuckle. He watched as her hand rose to cool down her flushed cheeks, her eyes avoiding his gaze for a moment. "Charley is a runner," she justified feebly; her hand, when it fell back to her side, had some of the glitter from her makeup.

Her eyes met his again. Max thought of caramel, and toffee, hazelnut, all those other sweet flavors he could never eat without feeling like his world slowed down.

He could still taste cheesecake on his tongue, though, and what is one-tenth of a second compared to the smile that spread across Miss Honey's face when Max said, "Thank you for the cheesecake bars, by the way. They were the most delicious thing I've ever had."

"Of course! Oh, I'm so glad you liked them. I was so worried, I could not pick between the bars or salted caramel apple cups. It makes me so happy to hear that you enjoyed them, though." Miss Honey spoke excitedly, her eyes sparkling with delight. "I can make more if you'd like! Oh, I know! I'll get a list of allergens so I can continue to bring new desserts for everyone to try! Yes, that would be—" Her expression dimmed slightly. "Wonderful, but you're an athlete. You need to watch your sugar intake, I'm sure.

A sudden fondness filled him. When he spoke, he could feel the skin beside his eyes crinkle with a smile. "A few extra treats won't hurt," Max replied. "Besides, how else am I supposed to stay awake while reading through these briefs?"

𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 ! ! !

Oh Honey Lion the amount of joy you bring me ૮ ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶ ა
btw this is based on current season, 26 year old "i ain't got that dawg in me no more" Max pls don't come here expecting angry volatile dutchman we're all old

hm what else i think next chapter will most likely be formatted as one of those social media type stories with the F1 Kids content and reactions; those might be a cute bonus between actual chapters but who knows idk okay 

Thank you for reading! Until the next update, bye-bye!