56. LET IT NOT BE TOO LATE

/Charles/

"What he said before stuck with me and, despite the night spent talking bullshit and plotting crimes both to get things to stuff ourselves with and to get back to the room without getting caught all crowded together in the same not-so-small square meters, I still have this obsession with asking him for something more.
I've always been of the opinion that since I don't want people to ask me, I don't ask them.
I've never wanted anyone snooping on my private things and when they tried, I evaded them, so I didn't do it with others. But now suddenly it's as if I can see everything without that frosted glass that used to exist between me and others.
Now I can see clearly and I'm shocked because I'm interested. Not that I wasn't interested before, but I started to like Max because he attracted and excited me. It was a hormonal thing that initially took hold of me, but then things slowly changed, something else was triggered. That something now it's more vivid.
I don't know why, but as soon as I realized he had problems, everything was clear to me and I felt like shit and at the same time I realized that I care more than I thought.
He wasn't just a great fuck.
If he was just a great fuck, I wouldn't have had all those scruples about being with him; I knew he was something else two years ago, but now that I'm better in my head, I see him and I’ve further confirmation.
I want to know about him.
Seriously.
I have to know.
The idea that he went through problems like I did and didn't tell me, while I threw them all out as if we were a couple, destroys me. Not because I hate feeling like a selfish asshole, but because I'm truly sorry he went through them alone.
It's a form of self-centeredness, maybe. If I needed to vent to him in the end, he surely needed to vent to me too, but he didn't. He was alone and tried to help himself by seeking a normality that, however, is ephemeral, right?
It's one thing if you hook up with someone to cover your ass, but another if you want to feel like everyone else.
What does it mean he needed to be like everyone else to be less alone?
How sad is this concept? And am I the melancholic prince who doesn't know how to smile?
The evening progresses happily; we all needed it and now that Carlos has joined the group because he's Lando's regular partner and mine on the team, it's even better; he's a fun and positive person, we all feel good with him.
We didn't do it on purpose; it all came very spontaneously: it's one of those evenings that, after the hellish year we've just gone through, we needed to feel alive again, or perhaps to pick up where we all left off. Although for me it's more like starting over from scratch, then picking up where I was before the pandemic, when everything stopped.
The more this awareness, this need for Max and for knowing, digs into me, the more I forget about him, how he really was and how he is now, the more I forget about myself and all the decisions I've made up to this point. All my limitations and prohibitions, my research, my doubts, my questions. The fears of not being able to feel anything for others and of hurting anyone who starts any kind of relationship with me.
Everything flies away. Everything vanishes.
So much so that then, when we have to leave and run to our room in the diversion created by Max himself, I don't move.
Max leaves after choosing one of the thousand plans we've designed together and goes to cause a bit of trouble with the security guard at the end of the corridor as only he knows how, saying he wants to go out and do whatever the fuck he wants and that he can't stop him, and that he demands to talk to his boss right there. He's such a pain in the ass that in the end he's escorted downstairs, obviously not to talk to the hotel manager, who's away in the middle of the night, but to the colleague on duty in the lobby at night.
At this point, the others can finally leave and go away. They go laughing amused, commenting: - Nobody's a pain in the ass like he is!
They all come out in a row, George, Alex, Lando and finally Carlos. Then, when it's time to follow them, my legs remain still and my feet planted.
After thinking about Max all evening and those words about the need for normality so as not to feel alone, I can't leave. I can't.
I don't remember what I had or why I put him aside for a whole fucking year, what path, what self-care I had to undertake. I don't know anything anymore. I only know that I've let too much time pass. He had serious problems and didn't tell me about them, I didn't know anything about it, and it's not that I just feel like shit. I feel like shit, obviously, but that's not the point. The point is that now I have to know. I need it.
Carlos, the last to leave, turns when he sees me not following him and looks at me questioningly. The others know, he theoretically doesn't, but knowing Lando he must have told him everything and maybe even more since he's closer to Max than to me.
- Aren’t you coming? - he asks surprised, the smile remaining vague on his typically Spanish face. I don't know what expression I'm making, but I look at him and before answering, he becomes serious seeing who knows what in me.
It's as if we're becoming friends here, too.
Maybe it's because he's smart, but he understands immediately, so he nods and, without making me answer, takes the door, gives me a brotherly and knowing smile, winks and closes it, leaving.
The silence greets me; I don't know what he says to the others. Maybe he'll simply say, "Charles is staying there," and maybe he'll say it so seriously and yet so naturally that the others will only need a glance to understand he's not joking. That out of nowhere and after a long time, something between me and Max could finally happen. Something everyone expected last year, but after all those months of nothingness, they no longer expected.
Nothing they think will happen, but I need to have a constructive and profound dialogue with Max. A dialogue that's focused on him and complete.
As I take off my shoes and leave them by the door, I walk barefoot to the bed where I sit, leaning against the headboard and crossing my legs comfortably.
Now I understand.
I wondered why he was so interested in me and trying to help me those last months when I was suffering from a nervous breakdown. Why he did it? He didn't have to. In theory, we were nothing, there was a fuck at stake. And then I began to understand that for him it had to be something else, that if I wasn't sure I was a normal human like the others, I couldn't risk being a Pierre 2.0.
But now I understand. I understand how he did it and why he did it.
It's just that at the time I was full of myself and couldn't see, but evidently now I see and what I see devastates me. How could I have left him in that condition?
I don't know how long he takes to clown around downstairs in the hall, but then the door opens again and I know he expects to be alone. He has his phone in his hand and is texting in the group chat, but I'm not looking at mine and I don't know what he's texting.
He has his head down, his eyes fixed on the phone in his hands and he walks without looking around. He enters the room and the first thing he notices are my shoes nearby. He shifts his eyes casually and fleetingly, then looks at them again more carefully and frowns; the smile he had while writing down what he's been up to downstairs fades and he immediately looks up.
As soon as he sees me, his eyes are shocked; his mask is already pulled down on his chin and he's as expressive as ever on every part of his face.
- Charles?! - as if I might be hallucinating.
He immediately understands that it's not normal for me to be here, that this isn't something to laugh about. He immediately understands that now we're back to that old state, the one we were interrupted by.
My heart immediately starts pounding and for a moment I think about standing up, undressing and having sex with him once and for all, but the sentence from before is echoing in my head.
I can't get it out.
- There’s something I absolutely have to know, and I can't sleep if I don't ask you. - I immediately become serious.
- But I'm not going to make a scene like this again to help you to go to your room, you know? - I don't know if he's serious or joking, maybe it's his way of making it clear that if I want to leave, I have to make do.
I shake my head.
- It doesn't matter. - I say.
- To you! - he exclaims annoyed. It's strange, I thought he would be mischievous and happily on me, but this is also something that adds to what dug inside me before.
It's different. What was between us before is gone now, at least not as it was. At first I thought it was there, but I was wrong. This is the truth.
I understand it immediately and instinctively jump to my knees, crawling toward the edge of the bed, waiting for him to reach me.
Max removes his mask completely and slowly approaches me, forcing a calm he doesn't have. In reality he's stiff, tense and troubled; his face shows it all and his eyes are beautiful; I've missed them like crazy. His hands are in his pockets and we're maybe half a meter apart, not even a foot. I stay on his bed, waiting for him to grab me and flip me over, jumping on top of me.
- Do you want me to leave? - I ask softly. I thought I was being defensive and tough, but in reality I'm being provocative and persuasive.
Max bites his lip, unable to hide anything. For him, the mask is for hiding, for me it's for hiding that I have nothing to show, because what I do with my face is exactly nothing. Unless you're on my very short white list.
Max is struggling with himself and it shows. He wants to say 'no' but with a final, remarkable effort, he answers softly and hoarsely, with his beautiful, scratchy voice that I've missed so much.
- What do you want, Charles? After a whole year? It was December 2019 in my house, and you asked me for time to settle down and figure out how to resolve your problems, so as not to risk hurting me like you did with Pierre. It's March 2021. Hasn't it been a bit too long?
The fact that he's saying it openly and that, unlike before, he's annoyed, amazes me and at the same time relaxes me. In a way, he's still himself.
Irritated, aggressive, blunt and harsh.
I hurt him in an unspeakable way and I don't understand why he’s only showing it to me now. Why was he so sweet before? What was he happy about?
- Why weren't you so angry before? - I ask instead.
Max's eyes widen, surprised that I'm asking this.
- Because I was happy to see you were okay! The last time we were truly alone—and I'm not talking about that brief exchange of greetings last year, I'm talking about something serious—you were in the full nervous and emotional breakdown! I don't think I've seen you laugh so well in a long time! I was happy to see you were taking care of yourself! But this has nothing to do with us!
There it is!
I sensed it.
When he said he'd gotten together with Kelly out of a need for normality, I realized deep down that it was an attempt to distance himself from me, as well as a way to combat his discomfort with loneliness and difference.
As soon as I confirm this, I grab his shirt and pull, but he remains rooted where he is, his knees not even touching the edge of the bed where mine are.
- You mean you're done with me?
He gets furious, frowns even more, but he doesn't take my hand off him, he doesn't take his own from his pockets.
- You're the one who told me not to wait for you! - he reminds me harshly.
- What do you mean you need normality, that by doing something like everyone else, maybe you would feel less alone and different? - I then ask, needing to know the rest.
Max, taken aback, opens his eyes wide in confusion.
- I can't tell if you're jealous because I have a girlfriend who isn't a fucking cover like yours, or if you're genuinely interested in my fucking troubles!
And I don't want to, I really don't want to expose myself and be so honest, but my mouth moves on its own and I can't help it.
- Both. - I say spontaneously. As soon as I do, I look at him shocked and he's no different. He remains silent, staring at me speechless for a moment, my hand still tugging at his shirt, him standing there with no intention of moving.
It seems like neither of us is willing to give up, because we both always want to win and be in charge. Always. It's always been this way, until someone gives up for some reason, that won't change.
And now I can't give up. Not anymore. I let too much time go by, damn it, and I know I told him and that I wanted it, but I had to be sure I'd completely sorted things out with Pierre. I also wanted to take charge of myself and there were important things I needed to do and understand.
I couldn't risk Max. Not my relationship with him, but making him suffer. That's how it went, that's what made me act that way. How the hell did he take it? How bad was he?
Is it really late now, and he doesn't want to hear from me anymore? Please, it can't be that late.
Don't let it be late. Please, touch me again like you used to.
Desperate, as the pain assails me, different from what I've felt up until now, it's like my strings are cut and whatever stormy feeling was holding me up suddenly vanishes and I collapse, resting my forehead on his shoulder. I think I've done this before, right? That night at his house, in the midst of a crisis. And not only that. That time in Japan. But it was for different reasons than now. Now he's the reason I lean on him. Touch me and show me that it's not over, that it's not too late.”

/Max/

“It chills me. The truth is I expected him to pretend nothing had happened and for us to start over from scratch, like rewinding a damaged tape that had been repaired.
I expected some bumps in the road, but to start over slowly, cautiously and full of fears and apprehensions.
Instead he's still my adorable roller coaster that amazes me ten times out of ten.
Finding him here really shocked me and I didn't react well. How could I, with everything I've been through?
I was happy he was okay and that after a year he wasn't ignoring me anymore, but starting over and pretending we didn't have a past was one thing; starting over as if that fucking night at my house was yesterday, no. Not this.
What the fuck does he want from me?
So it's true that he was upset that I got together with Kelly!
How can I not be happy about that? And I shouldn't be; I didn't want to be. I wanted to reject him and stop him from making me do things I didn't want to.
If he wants to be with me, he'll have to do better, he'll have to really try.
Although being caught alone in my room in the middle of the night, kneeling on my bed, isn't a bad move. I'll give him that.
If he'd already been naked, though, I wouldn't have refused him; I wouldn't have had the strength.
Charles is genuinely upset and shocked; it's a constant emotional state and when he rests his forehead on my shoulder, I remember all the times he's done it. Always moments of emotional crisis. But now it's different.
It's as if he's begging me not to shut him out.
As if he's telling me...
- It's not too late for us, is it?
But why doesn't my voice respond 'It is, you told me not to wait for you and make my own life, and I did. After a year, what do you expect? You waited too long, Charles!'
But no, my mouth says something else instead.
- It's up to you.
It could have been worse. I could have held him close and said ‘Of course it's not late, I'll still be waiting for you.’
At least I just opened the door a crack for him.
His hands slide down my waist, he stops tugging at my shirt. The contact makes me close my eyes as shivers run through me from head to toe, and I just wish it would never end.
- Can we start again? - he murmurs then, deliberately turning his face toward my neck, lets his lips speak against my skin; I get even more excited. I bite my mouth, squeeze my eyes shut and tense up, trying not to jump on him. Don't hold him. Don't hold him back. Keep your hands in your pockets, Max.
Wait, but my hands aren't there anymore. Where are they?
My eyes snap open, I watch my own hands slowly move toward him, my fingers trembling as they rest on his arms. I remain still for a moment, touching him. I hold him close, but that's all I do.
It's such a pain not to abandon myself to him. But he has to do more. I deserve more. It can't be that easy.
I've been a real shit because of him. Really, a lot. Kelly is the result of the pain he and all his damn rejections have caused me.
- I don't know, let's just see how it goes. - I say slowly. Then I use a little force and pull away. He straightens up and raises his head, looking at me in surprise, scared that I'm now pushing him away harshly.
- But don't touch me like that, please. I still can't do it. - I beg, feeling weak. I used my last strength to pull away instead of holding him.
Charles is confused but then seems to understand and nods, relaxing his tense face. He takes his hands off me and steps back on the bed.
- But I really can't go back to my room... - he says apologetically. I don't know how true that is; in the end, at most, he scolds him, not puts him in prison, but maybe more than anything it's a way to avoid letting a strange stranger know that he's stayed with me most of the night. I can't blame him.
I scratch the back of my neck, sighing and looking at the double bed.
- It's big enough for two, I suppose. Just to sleep in...
Just to make things clear.
Charles nods.
When I asked him to sleep with me that famous night, he refused. Now he accepts; in fact, now he wanted it.
How the wheel turns.
Maybe waiting and suffering like a dog sometimes pays off.
I think it's right anyway; for a while I'll let him conquer me and seek me out. If he really wants me, he'll have to make an effort.

It's the weirdest thing I've ever done. I don't think I've ever done anything comparable.
Sleeping with Charles without trying to fuck him after all I've tried.
There's excitement and pure contentment, but also nerves and dizziness. On the one hand, I want to send everything to hell, climb on top of him and stick my tongue in his mouth. On the other, I know that if I'm in the same bed with him now, it's precisely because I held back. It seems absurd, but that's exactly how it works in relationships. The one who runs away wins.
If I tried now, maybe we'd fuck, but it would probably ruin everything again and no, I know very well now that I wouldn't settle for just a fuck. I don't want to just indulge myself anymore, not after all this time.
I shouldn't want anything from him anymore, to be honest, but what do I have to reproach him for? He said right away not to wait for him and that he would try to settle down, and that he didn't know how long it would take.
I turn to him and see him lying on his side facing me. With the light off I can only see his form as my eyes adjust to the darkness; I think I could just reach out and touch him under the smooth, luxurious sheets.
- Did you feel lonely and different? - he asks. There he is attacking, but not in the way I thought and hoped. I honestly wanted him to hit on me, but now I understand he must have been truly upset by this thing that slipped out go me.
I just wanted him to know I've been bad like shit too, but it came out badly, obviously. I was too honest.
I don't want to tell anyone about these feelings, but how can I keep them to myself if he's asking me so directly, lying in my own bed in the dark?
And then I understand. Okay, we're in the dark. I can't see him very well and he can't see me very well. It's almost like a confessional. A dream. Something that doesn't exist.
Maybe I could try, for once in my life, to say something I didn't know I had to say.
- I've always felt alone and different. That's why I've always been an asshole. It was a way to defend myself.
Okay, maybe that's too much. Luckily we're not seeing each other, even though his eyes are shining now and I can see how he's staring at me. We're a few inches apart, but we're not touching and we're careful not to touch.
My cock getting excited is not in the same opinion; this distance is enough to make it react.
- And now? - he asks softly and delicately. How does he know exactly what to do with me?
- Now I'm just tired of defending myself and wanted to try to... I don't know...
- Be less different to see if you'd be less alone?
Fuck you, Charles. You who dare understand me so well. Is that how you felt when I was understanding you?
Now it's my turn to get emotional and have burning eyes. It's my turn to want to hide. Darkness, swallow me, please.
- I think so. - I murmur softly, my voice too thin, too shaky. He must have felt that he's hit me and that I'm sinking. That I'm hurting because he's emotionally undressing me and being in the dark doesn't mean shit anymore.
His hand crawls under the sheets, searches for mine and is sure of itself because he finds it immediately. He takes it. He knew where it was.
I don't remove mine, I let him hold me and the heat expands, the excitement that was fighting against the fucking fear calms each other and everything calms down in a sort of sea of ​​the night. That sea that lulls you and no longer scares you like before.
- I don't think being different is something bad to fight. It's not that different is wrong. Different is special. And special is beautiful. But I believe that everyone should follow the path they feel is best for themselves, and that in life we ​​will take many of them, continuously.
I missed the philosophical Charles. I remember that evening in Belgium and then in Monza, before he won his GP. He was so profound that I wanted to lose myself in him. That's where it all started for me; in fact, that empty can of Stella Artois is still in my room.
I smile with relief, but I don't know if he sees it and I don't know what his expression is. Being in the dark now is irritating, but I hold his hand in mine and do nothing else.
- Thanks. - I just murmur. He nods.
- Thank to you.”

NOTES: Charles begins to break out of his closed world for the few people he truly cares about, deciding to show himself only to those he deems worthy. Max is one of them. Unfortunately, however, he waited too long and Max suffered a lot; even though he still has feelings for Charles, he’s reluctant to let go. At this point, a new phase begins: Charles' ‘hunt’ for Max. Enjoy the read. Kisses, Akane