32. ROLLER COASTER

/Max/

"Luck is a little on my side and I'm relieved to end up eating with him in the Red Bull hospitality area. Today I'm only busy with media and sponsors and then the usual walking track that I'd rather not do, because I know it better than anyone else. I have a phenomenal memory; if I tried not to have it, my father would have scalped me!
I tried to hold back for most of the meal, so as not to rush to the point with my typical shark-like manner. I gave him time to decide what to eat and have it on the table. I even waited for him to start eating.
It's while we're laughing and talking about bullshit like we used to—it's hard to do otherwise with him—that I ask him.
Coincidence, he's swallowing the bite, but I can't always pay attention to everything. How much attention do I have to pay to others, anyway?
- So, are Charles and Pierre fucking or not?
And nothing, Alex chokes and spits the bite onto his plate, but from the color of the cheeks tending towards purple, I think a piece has gone the wrong way and I wonder if I should perform the Heimlich maneuver.
I pour him water, but maybe it'll be worse if he drinks, so I wait patiently for him to stop dying.
What did I do wrong now? Maybe I should have waited until he finished eating?
It's just that I saw too many people around and I was afraid they'd come and bother us. I have to know this, damn it!
A considerable amount of time passes and only after he's expelled everything and his throat has returned to normal, as has his color, do I speak raising my eyebrows skeptically.
- Do I take that as a yes?
Alex bursts out laughing at this, resting his forehead on the table after setting his plate aside, terrified at the thought of actually dying while eating; he even slams his hand on the hard surface. We attract the attention of someone and if they dare come and bother us, I take a bite of them and not my almost finished meal.
- What do you care? - he asks then without answering directly. Don't try that, eh? Not you too!
I want someone to tell me clearly, damn it!
I bite my lip nervously and think I'm being incredibly expressive, as usual. I can tell by the way he's looking at me, like, 'OK, OK, I'll cooperate!'.
- Anyway, you have to ask them if you're that interested. From what I know, no, but I've also noticed since last week that their relationship has grown closer; they have a much more intimate way of being together.
I pout completely spontaneously and out of control. Childish, annoyed, bothered. I roll my eyes and sigh in exasperation, shaking my head and shrugging my shoulders. I push the plate away nervously, leaving a bit of food, and pick up the plastic cup, drink the water that was in it, and then crush it angrily.
Again, I don't need to speak openly; I'm truly very expressive, the complete opposite of Charles who never lets anyone know what he really thinks.
- Let me guess, you asked Charles but he didn't answer! - from the way he says it, he seems to know him perfectly, just like I imagined!
I pout deeper and he laughs again like before.
- Typical of him! - and I don't know why we magically moved to talking about Charles even though we were talking about both of them.
- I asked Pierre months ago too, he said they're just friends, but I've always seen them as something more. Since you're friends with Charles, I thought you knew...
Alex shrugs as if it's no problem and taking his phone from the table, opens a chat and writes.
- If anything happened, it's now; you can always trust what Pierre says, he's always 100% sincere. It's Charles you shouldn't trust, but now let's see what he says. - he says, amused. I open my eyes wide and turn pale and with a wave of cold, I lean toward him across the coffee table that separates us.
- What are you doing?-  I ask shrilly.
- I'm asking him! - Alex replies completely calm. I'd like to stop him or at least see what he's writing, but I see he's faster than my thoughts and no sooner said than done, he writes and sends. Then he puts down the phone satisfied, with a big sly smile, probably very happy to have been helpful.
Shit, are we a generation of crazy people?
Charles' response is immediate.
- Mind your own fucking business! - Alex reads aloud, immediately bursting into laughter.
I have to say he's a positive person and his cheerfulness is contagious, but right now I feel like disappearing and rolling my eyes, I make an eloquent gesture with my hand.
- See? He's not answering! Why does he have to do that? 
Alex, of course, responds laughing even more amused than before: - Because he's right, it's our business!
- Oh, come on, he knows I was fucking Daniel!
As soon as I say it, his shocked expression -Luckily this time he wasn't drinking or eating so his life isn't in danger- I realize I must have said something too much again, or maybe in the wrong way.
I'm sure I'll ever learn.
- Who were you doing what with? - he asks, he shrills as I was before.
I bite my mouth and start drinking from the bottle, unaware that we were sharing it. I gulp it down looking everywhere but at him, then grab my phone and say goodbye.
- Bye, I'm going to rest! Nice talk, by the way!
But of course I can't run away, Alex's chasing me. Could it be the other way?
- Hey, hey, hey, you're not going to get away like this! - his voice reaches me immediately as I climb the stairs, heading for my room where I plan to spend some time doing my own thing, safe and sound. Too bad ignoring him isn't enough and when I open the door, he slinks in as swiftly and nimbly as an eel, throwing himself onto my comfortable couch and taking over my living space.
He looks at me with his arms crossed and an expectant expression, pushing me to delve deeper, fully confident in not giving up.
I'm caught in the doorway looking at him, sighing. I guess I asked for it.
I guess.
So I learn not to connect my brain and mouth.
In the end I sigh in defeat, a feeling I hate, and close the door behind me, resigning myself to spilling the beans. I definitely didn't want to confide in anyone, certainly not him.
Not that I mind connecting with someone; since I broke up with Dani, I've been a bit isolated because he was the center of my socialization. He pushed me to open up, but thanks to him I discovered an open and fun side of myself. I can be with others, basically. Talk to them, laugh and joke together.
So in the end, I don't mind sitting on the same couch with him and stretching out, lifting my legs. I rest them on the chair while he stretches his legs out, sliding his butt into a disorderly pose that looks like he's about to fall over.
My phone momentarily forgotten on the table nearby. All my things scattered in such a mess that my father would kill me if he saw them. I've learned to be minimal with the things I carry around, just to avoid too much mess, since I don't like being tidy, like my father claims I should be.
- So you and Daniel? - he asks again.
I shrug and shake my head, glancing around the room.
- We broke up over the summer, not long ago, actually. - I try to downplay it, I'm naturally brief.
He doesn't lose heart.
- How long were you together?
He doesn't seem disgusted by it in the slightest; he talks about it as if I were telling him about me and a famous girl. Even before, when I asked about Charles and Pierre, he laughed, but he didn't make any homophobic remarks.
- More or less since we became partners at Red Bull. He helped me a lot in every way, both in opening up and relaxing. And also with other problems I had. My own things. - by this I clearly mean I won't elaborate further; luckily he understands and doesn't push. He nods looking at me curiously, surprised but not disgusted.
- And now who do you like? Charles or Pierre?
The question surprises me. I look at him to understand why he has this doubt, then I remember that initially the conversation was generic and included both of them. Besides from the outside, I don't seem very close to Charles. In fact, not at all. It's known that we're rivals and that until a few months ago we openly hated each other. Instead I was happily teammates with Pierre, we laughed a lot together and I think among those who know him a little better, it's common knowledge that he has tendencies, even if it's unofficial and he doesn't intend to come out.
At this point I don't know what to do. I feel strange confiding in anyone. I've never said these things out loud to anyone, nor did I intend to. But I don't know, starting out because of force majeure, it seems easier than I thought. Maybe it's not such a big deal to admit it to someone. But can I trust him? After all he's Charles's friend. He just candidly asked him if he's having sex with Pierre. And he, ever so candidly, told him to mind his own business.
- Charles. - I finally admit, as if I were pulling a damned huge thorn out of my finger. One of those you've been unable to remove for a while because it's too deep.
Silence. A really nice silence. I quickly look at him with anxious eyes: will he react badly? Will he mock me? Will he say I've an impossible crush because Charles will never give a damn about me?
But as soon as I see him staring at me waiting for the rest, for a deeper understanding that he knows is coming and wants to hear, I realize this whole confiding thing makes damn sense, in the end. I don't know how or why. I never would have said in my life I'd do it, or that I'd like it. Certainly not with Alex.
I don't know with whom, maybe no one. I connect well with whoever I want, I've always gotten along with all my former teammates, but I've never thought of confiding. Daniel was the first and only serious and deep relationship and now that it's over, that it can no longer be what it was, I realize that I miss someone to say something more every now and then. I need someone to take on his role. Not to fuck me, but to open me up to the world, somehow.
I look into Alex's Asian-cut eyes, black as coal, without any judgmental inclinations. He waits calmly, so I sigh shrugging, looking around the medium-sized room again, waiting to figure out what to say. And then, it just comes out on its own.
- It's not that I like him, I don't know what it is. It's a roller coaster, I think. First we hated each other, then something began that I can't define. The pleasure of rivalry, perhaps? Then clashes again, and now... I don't know what it is. But while everything slowly died down with Daniel, something ignited with him. Now I... - I search inside myself to find out what it is, but knowing it’s one thing, expressing it’s another.
I really don't know what it is, I don't know how to define it.
I shake my head and purse my lips.
- I think it's more of an obsession. So much so that I felt the need to be free to act as and when I wanted, if the opportunity arose.
I think it's actually clearer than I think. I look at him and see that he nods, understanding perfectly what I'm talking about.
- But now it seems to me that there's something more with Pierre. I don't know.
I conclude dryly, hoping Alex will help me, that this confidence isn't an end in itself.
He reflects for a moment looking away with his penetrating and curious gaze, then, without looking at me, he speaks calmly, surprisingly serious.
- Charles is cryptic. It's hard to understand. I've been his friend since we were little, I've seen his evolution: the deaths of Jules and his father have marked him. Now Anthoine certainly hasn't helped him. Pierre is more open and expansive, you can immediately tell what he feels. In fact it's by looking at him that I think they might have deepened their bond, because if I look at Charles I... - he hesitates, thinks about it even more, then shakes his head and raises his head looking at me again, mortified that he can't be of any more help.
- I don't know. - he concludes as if he were sticking a knife in my side. It takes my breath away, but I desperately try to do as Charles does and not make expressions. I think I can't.
- It’s okay, it's okay. It was more curiosity. If something's going to happen, it will happen. - I try to downplay it, taking care to look away.
- I suppose so. Although Pierre is an open book and I think he'll soon be singing like a nightingale!
And if he has to sing, that means there's something to say, right?
I don't know why I think I won't like what he sings for a damn thing.
Fuck, if only I were easier to appreciate and like! Fuck to me!

I find them talking in the corridors of the media area and various offices, at the base of the stairs leading to the press room.
They're talking intently, one in front of the other, Charles with one hand on the railing, Pierre standing a few inches in front of him. They don't even touch, they look at each other as if there's no one around and everything has been erased; they're talking immersed in who knows what. Little smiles full of innuendo, mischief and sweetness. Something so colorful and different from what I've seen in their presence, that I'm paralyzed stopping, forgetting what I was about to do and where I was supposed to go.
I don't need to ask for confirmation. These two are together now. But then I start moving again like a ghost, while the blade, still stuck in my side, shifts in the flesh tearing me open. Salt on the raw wound, burning like crazy.
I move without realizing it, but now Charles's eyes are more visible than before, when I could only see them from the side.
He smiles, of course. And he looks at Pierre in a way I've never seen him do, just as he's certainly never looked at me.
I see intimacy there, in that look. But also sadness.
They must have gotten together, finally. They must have fucked, they must have consoled each other, warmed each other, filled each other with pleasure and sperm, but they didn't do each other any good.
Or rather, Charles may have done Pierre some good. Before, from the way I saw them in profile, he seemed incredibly serene, all things considered, and absorbed in Charles. But he... he still has a huge black hole inside him and he reflects it in his eyes, still so full of sadness that it clashes with the moment. It shouldn't be like this, right?
I don't think so.
He should finally be serene and maybe happy. You've achieved something you've always pursued, right? How long have you been circling around? I remember the conversation with Pierre. You've liked each other for a long time, but you never had the courage to go beyond the friendship for fear of ruining it. Now it's obvious you did, but why that light then?
Why that dull, sad, almost empty smile, even if with an undeniable sweetness?
Something's missing from that smile.
It's missing peace.
It still doesn't reach his eyes. We're not there yet. So I leave a little less torn than before, who knows why.
Perhaps because if not even Pierre was able to erase that sadness, more alive than ever, maybe I still have some hope. Maybe.”

/Charles/

“Pierre begged me to come home with him after the GP. Begged is exactly the right word. How the hell could I say no?
‘Don't leave me alone tonight, please.’
So since he lives in Italy, he did me a favor, so to speak. I also have a house in Italy, near Maranello, the headquarters of Ferrari; my house is in Castelvetro. I was thinking about coming here last week given the upcoming Monza race, but Pierre beat me begging me not to leave him alone.
So here I am with him. Technically it's more convenient; Milan, where he lives is close to Monza, where we'll be racing, while Castelvetro, where my second home is, is more than two hours away.
But it's not the convenience of being here already for the race.
It's the uncertainty that reigns within me now.
I came without yet knowing what the hell I should do with him, only aware that I didn't have the strength to tell him no, that I need to think, that I'm no longer sure of anything, that I don't know what I did last night.
Every time I look at Pierre, it's as if he's always on the verge of tears, about to burst into tears. I see him so fragile right now. Like he's never been.
He cried for my father and for Jules; he's so emotional. So wonderfully emotional. Maybe I envy his ability a little.
He cries. He cries constantly, at every excuse. He literally has tears in his pockets, but I'm sure that with each cry, he's getting a little better. It’ll take a while, but it's as if with every cry, he's healing himself a little.
He brings out what he has which otherwise would devour him, while I do nothing but hold it inside with great solemn commitment.
So screw it, maybe I'll understand how to get over it, by being with him.
Maybe I'll be able to find the strength to say and do what I feel, what I want. Because I know what I want, it's I just can't put him above what I consider my duty.
How can I leave him alone?
When he doesn't come back from the bathroom, I go to see him and find him lost in a sea of ​​tears, leaning against the faucet, his face, which he rinsed, still wet again.
So I sigh and hug him from behind, straightening him up. He lets himself be done docile and as I put my hand over his eyes, he half-turns toward me remaining there in my arms, completely crushed.
I hold him tightly and kiss his temple and then his ear, and without needing to speak or say anything, Pierre turns his head even more toward me, still resting against my chest.
I remove my hand from his eyes and as he searches for me with his mouth, I again don't have the heart to deny it. So I welcome him and care for him with my lips which immediately part, our tongues intertwining, transmitting a beneficial warmth.
How can I tell him that every time I kiss him, I think of Max and that I know now, without any doubts, that we're just friends?
Why didn't I wake up earlier? Why did I have to let it get to this point?
How much will I hurt him when I tell him I don't feel the same?
But Pierre turns more easily in my arms and puts his around my neck, tilts his head to the side and gives me better access; there's nothing left to think about.
There's only something to do.
Warm. Heal. Cradle. Hug. Kiss.
I carry him to bed; Pierre holds me anchored to him, blindly slips his hands under my clothes which he feverishly frees himself from. I let him do it, I can't stop him. I don't want to see the pain in his eyes again; now they remain closed and I hope to give him some relief, because the sooner he heals, the sooner I can do what needs to be done.
But not now. Not now.
Now he needs warmth, love. My tongue caressing his hot skin, my mouth sucking his groin making him moan with pleasure, my erection sliding inside him gently and sweetly. This is what he needs and I can't deny it. Not now.

We lived as a couple without the courage to talk about it. Neither he nor I, which is strange because we've always talked about everything without any problems, especially about ourselves.
But now it's as if this topic is taboo, because we both know what we're doing isn't right, that it won't last, that it has some kind of expiration date.
So we don't talk about it. I let him do it as long as he needs it; he keeps me close as long as he needs it.
I know it will end sooner or later, he'll still suffer, but someone else will take care of him.
For now, I feel like this is what I have to do for him.
This is it.

In Monza we practically sleep together and always travel as a couple. Whatever we do, wherever we go, except for things related to our teams. I'm completely absorbed in him, attentive to his every gesture and expression, trying to understand how he's doing, if he needs anything, if he's better or worse. He's like the mission I focus on, the one that distracts me from my own mess, that prevents me from seeing where I am in my messy journey.
Slowly the smile returns to his face, and slowly he's more serene than before, and I know it's because he's emotional and emotional people cry and despair, but in this way they let out the pain and manage to get better faster.
Those like me who hold back and try to control everything, will never be okay until they explode and I usually do it the wrong way.
Normally I used Pierre for these outbursts of mine, to limit the damage, because he's the only one I trust, but now I feel like I should explode precisely for him. For him and because I'm compressing and suffocating too much, again.
I wander around the track still clinging to Pierre, who clearly behaves like my boyfriend; with the same intimacy, we look at each other and talk close together.
I'm happy that he can smile as well as he always has and that his face is less anxious now than a week ago.
I'm happy that he's getting up.
While I'm talking to him near the media area, ready to go up to the press, a figure passes behind him slowing down and glancing at me. As soon as I focus on him, I freeze.
Max and his eyes scrutinize me, or rather they penetrate me and read me all too well.
Damn, really him?
Charles, remains impassive. Stay there and look at Pierre. Don't pay attention to him, not even for a moment. If you look at Max now, who knows what will happen to you. Stay there and concentrate on Pierre; he's the only one who matters.
Luckily he moves on, passes and I don't see him anymore. What would he have thought? How would I have seemed to him? What was I, in his eyes?

Luckily Seb was also in the press conference, but as always he was late. You can always count on him being late. However, sitting between him and Pierre, I was distracted by that strange moment of destabilization. I was about to lose control and I don't know why. I don't know what I would have done.
Because Max seemed to be reading things about me that I don't even know.
But I managed to laugh and joke with Pierre and Seb, now.
I thanked Seb for helping me in the race at Spa. Without him slowing down Lewis, I don't know if I would have been able to win anyway.
He was also surprisingly sweet, in his own way. He understood what to do with me and didn't go beyond that, convinced he knew what was best for me, but he helped me in the only way I needed: in the race, to win. Because that was one of those races that absolutely had to be won. There was really nothing else to do.
He didn't try to overtake me, he tried to slow down his opponent. That's something that really struck me; he's a truly incredible person. These days it's not common for teammates to help each other out. You only see it at Mercedes, Bottas with Lewis, but there they're forced by their Team Principal.
I think if I could get over this block I have now, I could really enjoy myself here at Ferrari. I could even be happy. Maybe I am, but just as I felt like I was emerging from that fog, now I feel like I'm back in it again.
Once we're out of the room, the conference over, Pierre and I remain talking. I lean against the wall, he puts his hand next to my face and leans in, playing my boyfriend again. I feel like I can see us from the outside, an intimate look, talking together at a distance too close.
Is he putting up posters, by any chance?
You have to talk to him, Charles. You have to find the courage to talk to him. Before this gets too out of hand and he starts talking about feelings, because he's romantic and you know he will.
What if I need to do something with someone else? I left Giada for this reason, to be free to follow my impulses, when I have them. And now I'm once again forced into something that doesn't feel like mine. I feel for him too much to hurt him now that he's sick.
Pierre comes even closer to me, laughs serenely saying something funny that makes me smile too and I can't tear myself away from him. I still can't.
Maybe it will happen on its own. Something will come along to tear me from this kind of dream from which I can't wake. I know it's a dream and not reality, I know that sooner or later I'll wake up, but for now I can still sleep.
Someone, sooner or later, will wake me up and throw me brutally back into reality.

NOTES: We're at Monza 2019 and the photos (if I'm not mistaken) are all from that week. The information about Charles's second home is true, as is the fact that in Belgium, Charles was helped by Seb, who slowed Lewis down contributing to his first victory. This is a divisive chapter for the lestappen, there's still a long way to go between them, even if they're finally both aware of what they want. However, Charles is going through a very difficult period and to avoid experiencing his pain, he prefers to focus on Pierre, convinced that it's necessary. In reality this escape won't bring anything good for anyone. There's a bit of a piarles here, as you've seen. Since Max developed a good relationship with Alex, George and Lando (as well as Charles, of course) in the following years, I started working on his relationships a bit. With Alex it was easy, because they were teammates for a while and it's true that he and Charles were friends in their go-karting days. See you next time and sorry for the delay, sometimes I post earlier, sometimes later, but it depends partly on my work, partly on the writing. See you next time. Kisses, Akane.