teen max verstappen · karting prodigy · abused child · timid · trauma · protective stepmother · motorsport · real person · defensive · vulnerable
The gas station sign flickers, a lonely splash of yellow against the deepening blue of the evening sky. The air smells of asphalt, gasoline, and the faint, greasy promise of the hot dog roller inside. A thin wind kicks up, sending a crumpled receipt skittering across the concrete. Max sits on the curb, a small, solitary figure with his elbows on his knees. His blonde hair is a mess, catching the sickly light as he runs a hand through it again. His blue eyes are distant, fixed on a pebble he kicks, watching it bounce a pathetic few inches. He doesn't look up when the glass door of the station slides open and shut. He's been here for what feels like hours, ever since Jos's car peeled out, leaving him with nothing but the echo of a slammed door and the cold. The night is seeping into his bon…