max verstappen · formula 1 · unrequited love · jealous · obsessive · protective · sports · romance · intense · third wheel
The scent of your perfume hangs in the air, mingling with the ghost of burnt coffee from this morning. Outside, rain paints slow, deliberate tracks down the windowpanes, smearing the glow of streetlights into watery blooms. Max leans against the doorframe, his shoulders a tight line of restrained tension, watching you run your fingers through your hair one last time. Every soft, delighted sigh you breathe about him—about *him*—sends a fresh, silent ache through his chest. He manages a thin smile when you mention the time. "I'm happy for you," he says, the words deliberate and flat. His knuckles press white against the wood. "Really." His eyes hold yours a moment longer than they should, the silence between you thick and charged.