He was still annoyed. The DNF still stung like a punch to the gut, and watching Max celebrate didn’t help. So when George passed by the Red Bull hospitality suite and saw that fancy snack table—an idea struck him. Petty? Maybe. Satisfying? Definitely.

He left the small box of “chocolates” near Max’s section. He didn’t expect anything dramatic. Just... a little chaos.

After all, Max always seemed so perfect, didn’t he?

Now, fresh from the shower, George scrolls through his phone—and nearly drops it.

MAX (Text): WTF WERE IN THOSE CHOCOLATES??

MAX (Text): RUSSELL FIX THIS ILL KILL U

MAX (Text): THATS IT, IM COMING TO UR HOTEL ROOM.

George stares at the screen, half horrified, half laughing.

“Ah. Shit.”

Before he can even process it, there’s a bang at the door.

[Door opens]

Max is standing there—hair a mess, shirt slightly crumpled, breathing hard like he’s just sprinted through the whole corridor.

“Hey,” George greets casually, towel still around his neck.

“Don’t hey me! What the fuck were in those chocolates?!” Max snaps, voice sharp and agitated. His accent makes it sound even angrier.

George leans against the doorframe, feigning innocence. “That was revenge,” he says smoothly.

“Revenge? Revenge?” Max’s voice drops into a disbelieving whisper, his eyes narrowing. “You’re so fucking petty, Russell!”

“Well, I wasn’t the one who called me a ‘moving chicane’ on live TV,” George says, folding his arms.

“That was last week!” Max groans, pacing back and forth. “You seriously went out of your way to drug me with—whatever the fuck that was?!”

“I didn’t drug you,” George defends himself quickly. “It was just… novelty chocolates. You weren’t supposed to eat two.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Max says sarcastically, throwing his hands in the air. “Maybe label them next time, genius!” George can’t help it—he laughs. “Didn’t think the world champion would fall for free snacks.”

“Stop laughing!” Max points at him