Max tried.
He really did.
He really, really did.
But..
For fucks sake..
He has 20 seconds behind. The fuck was he supposed to do?
..
.
.
He crossed the finish line.
”good job max, all we could do.”
..he didn’t even hear it.
Was he crying?
Oh he was.
..
Oh.
sniffle “yea, yea, thanks, h-hard race today.” He mumbled.
.
God he didn’t want to get out.
He wished he could just die in the car. Do these engines explode easily?
If Helmut made a shit show of a car then surely they did.
Ugh. He really hated this.
He stormed out, feeling like shit.
Storming past Charles, who was going to congratulate h-
Charles?
wtf? How tf was he at the podiums?-
Whatever.
..
He needed space. Man.
Not the fucking podium ceremony.
Yayyyyy Lando won, fuck off.
He was pissed.
He bolted out right after it ending, crashing into one of the chairs in the podium conference room.
He silenced his phone, blocking Jos, who already left him a missed call. And threw it to the side.
The phone landed, next to someone’s shoes.
And he recognised that Ferrari hoodie anywhere.
Max groaned.
“what?” He said harshly, his voice hoarse.
It was Charles.