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“God, he’s especially cruel today.”
“Yeah, he could really chill a little. I could tell he wanted to scold George for stirring the salad dressing for just a second too long.”
“Fuck yeah, he stared at me so hard. I’m so glad Charles dropped the bowl right that moment. Saved my ass.”
Oscar lets out a little hiss, in empathy to his British friend, and Pierre has to laugh as he thinks back of the moment that Charles somehow managed to shove a porcelain bowl off his work top instead of just putting down the whisk like they were instructed to do.
George shivers at his own memory, only roughly twenty minutes ago. He never wants Max to stare at him like this ever again. Chances are pretty low for that however, as the head chef definitely is some kind of psychopath that loves to torture all of the apprentices all the time with his strictness and ‘well-meant’ advices. Well, not all of the apprentices.
“It’s insane, right? The guy drops a Villeroy & Boch bowl and all Max does is ask him not to pick up the shards so he doesn’t hurt himself,” Alex says with a shake of his head. When he swallows some more of his Caesar salad, he adds, “And then he even gives Charles his own salad for lunch.”
George’s eyes widened at that. There’s no way! Their head chef would never give anyone his prepared food, not when the person themself was responsible for why they couldn’t eat their own meal. George vividly remembered the psychopathic smile on Max’ face as he told Lando that he would have to eat his crisp, burnt bread or nothing at all for lunch. George also remembers the crunching sounds and the black crumbs all over Lando’s face…
So, there’s no way that Max actually had so much pity over one Charles Leclerc that he gave him his salad. No way.
“Wow! This is the best salad I’ve ever had!” Charles enters the break room with a fully intact Villeroy & Boch bowl full of Caesar salad and thus completely destroys George’s hope in humanity.
“Charles, please tell me that you got a new bowl and collected your salad from the floor, and that’s what you're eating right now.”
The Monégasque’s eyebrows pull together in a frown as he stares at the salad in his hands. He shakes his head quickly.
“No! That would be so unhygienic! Max taught us about it! There is no such thing as a three second rule, food is dirty as soon as it hits the floor,” Charles explains with a finger raised in the air.
All George can do is stare at the man in disbelief. He’s pretty sure that if anyone else but Charles had dropped their bowl with their salad sprawled all over the admittedly clean kitchen floor, Max would have made the person get down and eat the entire salad right off the floor. Or maybe George is a little dramatic and still shaken from Max’ stare earlier.
“I just can’t wait until Sebastian's arm is good again and he comes back. I don’t know why we get Max as a substitute instead of Lewis or at least Nico. But no, Mad Max,” Lando voices with a sigh what most of them had been thinking for the week of head chef Sebastian being sick and chef Max taking his place instead.
“Oh? You don’t like Max? I think he’s a great chef,” Charles, of course, quickly comes to defend the chef whose salad he’s eating at the moment.
“Yeah, he is a great chef but he’s a little… strict,” Yuki speaks up, looking around the room as if Max Verstappen would suddenly appear. He’s scared even if he used quite a tame word, considering how Lando would have probably said something along the lines of ‘psychopathic maniac’.
“You think so?” Charles wonders, tilting his head to the side like a puppy that hears a squeaky toy.
Every single person in the room immediately gets sharp flashbacks to a moment where they did something slightly ‘wrong’ and then got confronted with Mad Max’ ‘advice’ aka his wrath. And every single person in the room shudders a little. Except for Charles Leclerc. After swallowing, the Monégasque just says, “I actually think he’s really kind. He always helps me if I don’t know how to do something and he never gets mad when I do something wrong. I think he’s great.”
George wants to slam his head into his salad bowl so hard that a second Villeroy & Boch breaks.
“Yeah, that’s cause he’s in love with you,” Yuki casually says, words a little muffled as he wipes dressing off his mouth with a tissue.
Charles chokes. “He’s- Mon dieu, what?”
He’s coughing and coughing and Pierre pats his back strongly as he watches his friend blush furiously. Whether it was from sheepishness or the choking, nobody knew.
“Yes,” Oscar agrees with the Japanese apprentice. “Obviously he likes you a lot.”
The brunet Monégasque manages to swallow whatever had been stuck in his windpipe but his face stays an abnormal shade of red.
“How the hell did you come to that conclusion?” he asks with the last word ending more in the nasal French pronunciation than the clear sound it would make in English.
“Charles,” George deadpans. “That man terrorizes us. Come on, we know you’re oblivious but don’t tell me you’ve never noticed that he’s only ever nice to you.”
“He-” Charles glances at George, then at all the other guys who look at him with raised eyebrows. “He’s not nice to you guys?”
And even Pierre can’t take that. He pats Charles’ back on more time for his hand to then stay on the man as he shakes his head slowly.
“Oh, Charlot…”
1 Quail Eggs
The day that Oscar Piastri falls victim to Mad Max is when they are preparing timballo Napoletano - a pasta cake with quail eggs, veal meatballs and rigatoni coated in a fresh Napoletana sauce.
“Alright. After you’ve peeled your eggs, cut them into 1 cm pieces so that they will fit into the rigatoni.”
A half-hearted chorus of ‘yes, chef’ rings through the room and Oscar uses the back of his hand to create a little pile of quail eggshells in the corner of his workspace. He knows that letting them lay all around his workspace would gain a comment from their head chef and he does not want Max to say anything to him other than praise. Which is honestly quite the feat, so Oscar will be satisfied if he just doesn’t get any comment at all from his cooking instructor.
Oscar calmly cuts his quail eggs, thinking about how he’s never seen a quail in real life when suddenly there is a presence right beside him. Without even looking to his side, the Australian swallows.
His thoughts abruptly turn from cute little quails to basic survival instinct. The presence beside him doesn’t leave which most certainly means that he’s doing something wrong.
Oscar keeps cutting while he looks around his workplace, because god knows the Dutch chef will criticize his apprentices for not working efficiently. So any second spent not cutting when you’re supposed to do so is a wasted second.
But the egg shells are still in their neat little pile, he didn’t forget to refresh the eggs in cold water before he cut them and he is using the right knife. He really can’t fathom what he’s doing wrong so the young man risks it all and turns his head.
He knew exactly that he would be faced with Max Verstappen but still, Oscar jumps just a tiny bit when he locks eyes with Max’ eerily blue ones. The Australian forces a little smile, all while still cutting the eggs.
He only stops when Max is suddenly raising his hand with an item in it. It’s a ruler.
“Here,” the blond hands Oscar the ruler.
"Uh?” Another forced little smile, this one even more awkward because from the corner of his eyes, Oscar can tell that the others are paying attention to him instead of their own quail eggs.
“You know how to use it, no?” Max asks, absolutely no expression at all on his face. Before Oscar can answer, he adds, “You know what this is?”
Oscar can feel his cheeks heat up as he nods. “Yeah. That’s a ruler and I know how to use it, chef.”
“Good,” Max dryly says, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “Use it.”
They look at each other until Oscar looks at the ruler that’s now in his hand. He glances behind Max, only to lock eyes with Lando for a split second before Oscar focuses back on the ruler. It’s not enough time to register the pity on his British friend’s face.
“Um, sorry, chef, but what should I use the ruler for?”
“How did I tell you to cut the quail eggs?”
The quail eggs. Not the shells, not the water, not the knife. The eggs themselves. Oscar hopes his voice doesn’t shake as he answers, and his hopes are in vain.
“You told us to cut them into 1 cm pieces.”
A nod from Max, and if it wasn’t in right this situation, maybe a nod from him could even be close to a compliment. Oscar wants to cry a little.
He turns his head back to his workspace and grabs one of the pieces of egg he has just cut. He holds the ruler up to the piece and feels Max come closer to him, the head chef’s breath close to his neck. God, Oscar thinks, this is what prey must feel like when it hides unsuccessfully and is just about to be eaten.
“You said you can use a ruler. Tell me how big your piece of egg is, then.”
“It’s 1.2 centimeters.”
Suddenly, Max steps back and walks through the room back to his own workplace.
There’s a little bustle in the room as Max walks through it, all the other apprentices going back to their own work as the head chef’s attention wasn’t laser-focused on Oscar anymore.
However, they still all manage to send Oscar pitiful looks, Lando even daring to point his index finger at his temple while looking at Max who’s turned away from them. Oscar maybe would have smiled if Max then didn’t stride right back towards him, this time with a single rigatoni in his hand.
He handed that over to Oscar, too.
“Now measure this.”
“One centimeter.”
“Good. You really know how to use the ruler. Now I wonder if you know how to do math, as well.”
There’s the clearing of a throat from somewhere in the room. Oscar is not sure who it could be from, since usually none of them are really brave enough to say anything when Max is like this. He wants to give a warning look throughout the room because he really hopes that no one actually speaks up.
This is humiliating and unnecessary, yes, but it could be so much worse. It’s not the first time they’ve witnessed Mad Max, so Oscar knows he just has to get through it.
“Yes, chef. I know how to do math.”
“Alright. Here’s a little question for you. If the diameter of your rigatoni is one centimeter, and the piece of your quail egg is 1.2 centimeters. Does the egg fit in your rigatoni?”
“No, chef, it doesn’t.”
“So why are you cutting your egg into 1.2 centimeter pieces?”
“Oh, come on, mate,” Lando does speak up then and Oscar immediately shoots him a look, but it’s too late.
Max turns around with a frown, confronted with Lando frowning right back.
But Lando isn’t going to take this.
Lando has been subjected to Max’ moods and criticism aka downright bullying countless times, which means he knows exactly how it feels. He doesn't want his friends to feel like this, especially a nice person like Oscar.
And yes, okay, it is absolutely terrifying to be stared at by Max Verstappen, but Lando just squares his shoulders.
“That’s a little much, isn’t it? Making him measure it and all.”
Max tilts his head. “Is it? I think maybe it’s a little much for the one centimeter rigatoni to take a 1.2 centimeter piece of egg, no?”
What the fuck, Lando just thinks but doesn’t say that out loud.
“Yeah, maybe. But we all make mistakes sometimes. And that doesn’t mean that you have to be a- a little rough to him,” the Brit bites his lip. That was really close to calling his instructor a dickhead in front of everyone.
“I’m not being rough, I just want you to learn. And of course mistakes are okay but maybe not mistakes that will ruin the entire dish,” Max retorts, voice still dry and face still expressionless. Lando always thinks it’s a little weird how little emotion the man shows but maybe it’s good. If he’d say these kinds of things with a condescending tone or an expression like that, Lando would immediately call him a dick to his face.
“Cutting the pieces a little too big isn’t going to ruin the entire dish!”
“Yes, it-”
Just as Max wants to explain just how a Michelin restaurant recipe like this could definitely be gravely altered by cutting the pieces a little too big, George butts in as well.
“Oh, come on! Look at Charles’ pieces!”
The entire room bustles again as everyone turns to the far right side where Charles Leclerc has his worktop.
George feels a little bad for throwing the Monégasque under the bus like this, but honestly not too bad.
Because just like he thought, Max’ stoic face suddenly, finally gets an expression, just from looking at where the brunet man is perking up with a surprised look on his face.
Charles’ eyes are wide open at the mention of his name and when he sees that even the head chef is looking at him, he holds up one of his quail eggs, cut in half. He holds one half in each hand and smiles as he puts them together in the air.
“Look, I cut them exactly in the middle,” the Monégasque announces proudly.
Everyone in the room stares at him in disbelief, except for Max. Max stares at him in love, one might argue. The dopey smile on the Dutchman’s face definitely makes it look that way.
“Oh, that looks like it could even be two centimeter pieces, right? Maybe you should let him measure it?” Lando muses in a very fake innocent tone. Max side-eyes him but ignores the rhetorical question.
Charles is still holding up his egg and when he tilts his head to the side it looks much more like a puppy dog than when Max did it earlier. With Max it just looked like he was contemplating how to murder you with the utility knife.
“Did I do good?” the Monégasque then asks and George feels torn. On one hand, an adult man should not look this cute with his fluffy hair and his dimples, seemingly widening his eyes just a little more as he fishes for a compliment for doing the task completely wrong.
But, you see, on the other hand, Charles Leclerc is not… the most gifted chef, to put it lightly.
If you do not put it lightly, then he’s an absolute disaster in the kitchen. He’s clumsy, he doesn’t know his ingredients, and he’s exceptionally bad at doing anything he’s supposed to do.
Still, the man never gives up. He’s never frustrated when he again drops some kitchen utensil or when he accidentally pours way too much salt into literally anything.
Maybe a reason for that is that no one ever makes him feel frustrated for making a mistake.
Just like right now, as Max fucking Verstappen fucking beams at the brunet.
“Yes, you did very good, Charles,” the man’s voice is not dry as he says it. It’s more so dripping with warmth, matching his pink cheeks.
Lando throws his hands up in exasperation.
George wants to throw up.
Oscar is frozen in place.
Charles beams right back, his cheeks tinting a matching pink. “Thank you, chef.”
It’s embarrassing, really, to watch the two men look at each other like that. So embarrassing, that Lando clears his throat again, and thankfully does catch the head chef’s attention, who himself clears his throat then.
“Alright,” the blond shrugs and turns back to Oscar, face going back to no emotion but cheeks still betraying him. He pats the Australian on the back, with enough force to make Oscar stumble forward into his worktop. “Maybe the size of the pieces is not that important.”
Lando really has to bite his tongue on that one and Oscar knows that whenever this dumb timballo Napoletano class is finally over, he will probably have a little rage fit over all of this.
But he can hold out for some more moments, so he just shrugs at what the head chef says, not daring to agree nor object.
“I’ll still leave this here for next time,” the Dutchman mutters, pointing at the ruler before going back to his own workspace in the middle of the room. Of course not without taking another detour to Charles’, praising him for how evenly he halved his quail eggs.
2 Beef Wellington
It doesn’t even matter that Sebastian is sick and Max is his substitute because he’s still their instructing chef for anything related to meat, so the Beef Wellington situation would happen even if Sebastian wasn’t sick.
“I want exactly four centimeter spaces. You’re free to use the ruler,” Max announces after everyone cut off their unwaxed kitchen strings. He’s waving the ruler that had taunted Oscar a week before in the air.
And the Australian is just still traumatized enough that he actually goes up to get the ruler.
They all start tying off their beef filets while Max goes on to tell them what the next steps would be; namely heating the butter, finely chopping the onion and two garlic cloves and cooking them, then adding the mushrooms and so on.
At some point the blond chef starts strolling through the room, watching everyone’s work closely.
He stops beside Lando, and the Brit grits his teeth and pushes out his chest a little. He’s ready for whatever shit Max is surely going to throw at him.
“That doesn’t look like four centimeters, Lando.”
Lando is ready for this. He looks up into his head chef’s blue eyes and shakes his head.
“Nuh-uh, chef. You’re not going to do this to me. Oscar can keep the ruler. Size doesn’t matter, anyway.”
The other chefs in the room don’t really care for what’s going on between the two. Lando doesn’t mind speaking up and it’s not the first time that he disagrees with Max. They are in the second month of their course, so it isn’t as special as it was the first time Lando openly argued with Max.
Plus, Max doesn’t seem to be in as bad of a mood as he was when the pieces of Oscar’s quail eggs were too big.
But even if Max is in a good mood, he won’t just give up. So, in his usual dry tone, the blond says, “You’re right, Lando. It’s all about technique. And your technique is wrong.”
Lando narrows his eyes at Max.
“What, because I tie the meat too tight? Does the pressure affect the taste? ‘Cause I don’t think so.”
“Actually-” Max starts and Lando is fully ready to nip the chef’s unnecessary speech in the bud, when the Dutchman surprisingly stops himself. It seems like he’s in a truly good mood this morning, and Lando smiles to himself. This is much easier than he thought. He focuses back on his meat, happy to continue in peace, when Max’ raspy voice sounds again.
“Sloppy,” is all the man says and it makes Lando turn right back toward him, leaving the kitchen string to cross his arms in front of his chest instead.
“Excuse me?”
Max mirrors Lando by crossing his arms as well, and it takes all for the British man to not roll his eyes.
“You’re tying it in a sloppy way. The ropes of your string are not parallel. Trussing meat is not just about haphazardly tying strings around it. It’s hard work and you have to be meticulous about it, otherwise the meat will curl and cook unevenly.”
“What do you mean, not parallel?” Lando gets defensive. He uncrosses his arms to point at his filet. “This is perfectly parallel! You got a triangle ruler? Bring it on, mate.”
Lando’s chest is still pushed out and his head held high, but god, he hopes Max doesn’t actually have a triangle ruler because to be fair, he does see that the strings around his beef filet are a little askew. But he’s never been one to back down from a fight and he’s definitely not going to now. Even if he might be in the wrong.
The corner of Max’ lip pulls slightly to the side and Lando knows he’s fucked. He closes his eyes with a sigh as the Dutchman turns around to go over to where he has stored kitchen and geometric tools.
And just as the man opens the drawer to Lando’s humiliation, the saving grace that is Charles Leclerc speaks up.
“Uh, chef?”
Max’ head immediately snaps up, big eyes on the Monégasque. Lando would look at him too, like the rest of the aspiring chefs, but the Brit is too focused on Max’ hand that has just stopped its movement like Lando has stopped his breathing.
When he has the head chef’s attention, Charles asks with a sheepish smile, “Might I have some more kitchen string? I think I didn’t cut off enough earlier.”
That makes Alex’ eyebrows pull together drastically. He was the one getting the clew of kitchen string after Charles, and he hasn’t forgotten how long it had taken the Monégasque to get his piece as he had rolled off so much string.
So Alex knows for sure that Charles had cut off enough earlier. He takes a look at Charles’ beef filet, and oh. The Thai can’t stop the laugh coming out his mouth at the sight.
“Fuck, Charles, what did you do to your filet?”
At that, all the other men all look over and even Lando can’t miss this.
All his worry about geometry are gone from his mind when he sees the state of Charles’ beef. This is perfect.
Max couldn’t judge his slightly askew trussing when Charles’ meat looked like-
“Bondage!” Lando blurts out. “It looks like you’ve submitted your filet to fucking BDSM bondage!”
The room erupts in laughter and agreements but Charles doesn’t seem all that amused as he’s the one crossing his arms in front of his chest now. He huffs, “That’s not true. My filet is tied perfectly normal.”
“Normal for a pornstar specialized in bondage? Yes,” George jumps in to join the joke. “Normal for Beef Wellington? I don’t know, mate.”
Charles frowns down at his meat and of course that’s when Max comes to rescue.
“Let me see, Charles. I’m sure it’s not as bad as they say it is.”
The Dutchman walks over to Charles, and Lando is sure that if he wasn’t shooting heart-eyes at the man’s face then he would have already laughed at his filet.
And yes, just as the blond’s eyes swoop down to what’s on Charles’ workplace, the man’s lips pull into a big smile. Lando is honestly impressed that the man can hold back a genuine laugh.
“Oh, Charles, that’s-” Once again Max stops himself, this time because he’s biting his lip to keep himself from laughing.
Charles looks at the man with his big green eyes, full of hope, a pout still partially on his lips.
“It’s not that bad, right?”
“Yeah, no, no!” Max nods first but then shakes his head. “It’s not that bad,” he says and when a smile appears on Charles’ face, Max's encouragement amps up. “It’s not bad at all!”
It’s cute to see how Charles smiles happily at the praise, Lando can admit that. But still, there’s no way that Max is on his ass for not tying the meat in the perfect angle but then when Charles’ string is criss-cross all over the filet, the head chef just praises the Monégasque.
So, Lando takes a breath to say something, when Max already holds up a finger in his direction but never looks that way.
“It’s not bad,” he repeats once again for Charles before coming up to the brunet’s side, “Let’s just-” Max takes the knife from Charles’ worktop and cuts the string in the places where it’s definitely not supposed to be, “Cut it here... And here... We’re only doing vertical tying, nothing horizontal.”
“Oh, you wish you’d be doing something hori-” Yuki speaks up but promptly gets a kick to his leg from Oscar who’s working next to him.
Max ignores it or he’s too focused on the closeness of Charles.
The Monégasque at least has the decency to blush.
“Oh, I’m sorry, chef. I didn’t do well this time.”
Max nearly gasps, “No! It’s not a problem, Charles.” He puts his hand to the small of Charles’ back for only a second, and everyone in the room rolls their eyes.
There’s no way he could have seen all the looks on their faces, but right after that short moment, Max turns back to all of them, cocking his head to the side. “Are all the filets tied up already?”
And everyone suppresses another eye roll but they do all finally go back to their task.
Lando has peace for approximately one minute before Max is back next to him, saying in a low voice, “So, where were we?”
The fucker even holds the triangle ruler in his hand but Lando’s not scared.
The Brit puts on a scandalized expression and he at least has enough pity to not speak too loudly.
“Oh my god, chef, you did not think about Charles in bondage, did you? That’s so inappropriate!”
It works like a wonder, and Lando watches all too pleased as Max’ face immediately reddens.
“What- I- No, of course I didn’t!” the man splutters. Lando narrows his eyes, not quite done yet.
“But now you do, don’t you? Tight ropes all over his chest? Oh, or maybe hands tied behind his back?”
To this, Max doesn’t say anything. He’s rendered speechless but the color of his face says enough. Lando fights to hold in his laugh.
“Aha,” he says with a click of his tongue as if Max had actually admitted to thinking about his apprentice like that.
With his head still fiery-red, Max slaps down the triangle ruler on Lando’s worktop, only barely missing the Brit’s fingers. But Lando can’t even care, he smiles so hard.
They have a wonder weapon now, going by the name of Charles whatever all his middle names are Leclerc.
Lando’s so happy, he even uses the triangle ruler and gets his filet tied up all parallel.
3 Millefeuille
“What is this?”
George is so focused on cutting the jasmine jelly in 3.5 x 3.5 squares that he only notices the head chef when his hand waves in front of his jasmine jelly.
George’s head snaps up and he looks at Max, blinking blankly. He’s just about to say a confused ‘what’ when Max repeats his question.
“What is this?” This time, he’s pointing at something in George's workplace and the Brit looks towards it.
His heart skips a beat as he looks at the spatula. Fuck, he could never remember all the different types of tools that they use. He has bad flashbacks to their theoretical lessons when it was all about carving and boning and paring knives.
George knows the difference, and he knows when to use which knife but fuck, all the names. He’s always been bad at remembering that kind of stuff.
But Max is pointing at his spatula and thankfully there are not too many different kinds of that one.
George is still a little hesitant when he answers, “Uh, that’s an offset spatula.”
Max blinks at him and for a terrifying second George thinks that he even got that wrong.
“And what is this offset spatula doing here?”
Oh, thank god, George thinks, it is an offset spatula. But what is it doing there? The question confuses the Brit.
“Uh…”
“We used the offset spatula two steps before. When we were making the royal icing which has been drying for 30 minutes now. So I’m wondering why the offset spatula is still on your worktop, covered in batter?” Max takes a step back and turns to address the entire room. In a much louder voice he says, “Clean as you go, guys. Clean. As you. Go.”
There’s nothing more to the head chef’s announcement and so the apprentices all reply with a unified, “Yes, chef.”
George is not fully off the hook, though. Max turns back to him.
“You will clean all your tools by hand after this recipe so you’ll remember not to leave your workspace in a pigsty next time.”
Another, much more resigned sounding ‘yes, chef’ echoes through the room.
~
Alex is happy with his millefeuille.
The puff pastry, the dough, the crystalline jasmine, the vanilla chantilly. The royal icing, the jasmine jelly and the voatsiperifery foam milk.
Everything went smoothly, so smoothly.
The Thai doesn’t even like sweet things that much but with this White Millefeuille, he’s sure it’s going to be absolutely delicious and if he wasn’t bringing some of his dishes back for his girlfriend every day, he would surely eat the entire thing by himself.
“Alright, everyone. The last step before plating is to warm the metal square with the blowtorch to release it from the edges. Then carefully remove the millefeuille and transfer it to the plate. Understood?”
“Understood, chef,” everyone in the room nods and Max nods right back.
There’s some commotion as everyone gets their tools; as everyone grabs a blowtorch.
Just when Alex comes back with his, he sees Charles at the table next to him, turning the big lighter in his hands.
“I’ve never been good with stuff like this,” the Monégasque said to no one in particular, but Alex and Pierre heard it as their workspaces were both next to the brunet’s. “I hated using the Bunsen burner in chemistry class.”
Alex has to chuckle at that. Charles is so random, Alex can’t help but notice once again. He has no idea what a guy like Charles is doing in a cooking class. He knows that Charles is actually an architect and doesn't plan to work in a restaurant like the rest of them do.
No matter what the brunet’s motives for this class are; Alex is glad he’s here. He knows that some guys sometimes get a little peeved at the way Max clearly prefers Charles and gives him special treatment, but to be honest, Alex even finds it kind of cute. He would probably act the same way if it was his girlfriend in his class.
“Yeah, be careful, Charlot,” Pierre’s voice rips Alex from his thoughts. “Don’t burn anything.”
Alex focuses back on his own millefeuille, just hears the soft ‘yeah, yeah’ from Charles and readies his plate for transferring the millefeuille.
The Thai is holding up the metal square, thinking where to warm it first to take out the pastry. But just as he’s about to light the blowtorch, something catches his attention from the corner of his eye.
Alex turns to see what’s going on and his eyes widen in shock.
“Fuck, Charles! I told you not to burn anything!”
Just as the Frenchman says it, Alex can smell the smoke and, well, the fire on Charles’ workspace is hard to overlook.
Pierre is quick to act, grabbing his bottle of water from the cupboard behind him and quickly dumping it all over the fire.
There’s a sizzling sound as the fire is dying and then there’s a lot of smoke. Pierre and Alex both fan their hands in the air, trying to make the smoke disperse and not activate the fire alarm.
“Charles!” Max’ voice suddenly sounds loudly, and then the Dutchman basically sprints through the room to the Monégasque.
He’s way too dramatic as he grabs Charles’ shoulders, turning him left and right while looking him up and down. Alex has to laugh and immediately regrets it when he’s breathing in the smoke, resulting in him coughing heavily.
“Is everything okay? My god, what happened? Are you okay, Charles?”
“I’m okay, Max,” Charles says, expression on his face way too happy for just causing a small fire. Alex bets it has something to do with Max’ hands still on his shoulders. “Everything’s fine.”
“What happened?” Lance asks from the other side of the room, now everyone’s attention is captured by the incident.
“This dumbass,” Pierre answers and gives a gentle smack to the back of Charles’ head, “Burnt his spatula.”
Zhou snorts and goes back to his millefeuille but George just looks up, listening up.
Charles burnt his spatula?
George looks at the black remnants of said spatula, right there in the middle of Charles’ worktop. Considering that it had been wood just a few minutes ago, George knew that this was not an offset spatula but a normal one.
One that they used while they prepared the puff pastry for the millefeuille. Which was the first step. The very first step of the entire recipe.
George takes a breath.
So Charles did not only leave the spatula from the first step on his worktop for the rest of recipe but he also fucking burnt it. There is no way that he is going to get away with that.
“I said I’ve never been good with this!” Charles cries, his shoulders slumped and a pout on his lips. It’s a pitiful sight, really, and George nearly feels a little bad for him.
Because, Max should now berate the man and tell him that it doesn’t matter if he’s good at it; he at least should be able to use a blowtorch without setting his table on fire.
“Oh, Charles,” Max’ tone sounds too genuine. He would say other apprentice’s names in this situation too but dripping with faux sweetness. George dreads what will come next. “You should have told me. I would have done it for you. You could have seriously hurt yourself.”
George’s eye twitches. Yes, Charles could have hurt himself. But Charles could have also burnt down the entire kitchen and killed everyone inside it. What about that?
“I didn’t hurt myself,” Charles says with a shake of his head before he looks down to his dessert. “But I hurt my millefeuille.”
For a short moment, George gets distracted from everything because Charles says the word so perfect, so French. It’s really satisfying.
It’s not satisfying to see Max copy the miserable look on Charles’ face, both men now looking down at the burnt food. And okay, yes, maybe it’s understandable to feel some concern for it.
The top of the millefeuille definitely is not stark white how its name should imply, but instead it’s a crispy looking brown. If they were roasting marshmallows, that would actually be the perfect stage!
But, no, George has to focus. He knows exactly that if that was his millefeuille, Max would be tossing it right in the trash, telling him to be more mindful about how he treats his food next time. God, he would get such a long lecture about workplace safety and such things.
Everyone has already gone back to working on their own desserts, because yes, fires were dangerous and scary but honestly, it was not the first time something like this happened.
One time Lando forgot a piece of paper with notes on it in the oven next to his chicken which had then caught on fire, and some other time Oscar had gotten a little too enthusiastic with the heat of his stove when they were frying bacon which ended in the smoke alarm going off.
But while everyone was using their blowtorches in responsible ways, now having the perfect example of how not to do it, George can’t help but still be engrossed in the interaction between the head chef and Charles.
Thus, he witnesses how, in all seriousness, Max just gets some powdered sugar, sprinkles it all over the burnt part of Charles’ millefeuille and then winks at the man, “Barely even noticeable.”
It’s so silly that George sees no other way out than to continue preparing his own dessert.
4 Parsley & Cilantro
Alex feels very content as he squeezes the juice out of his lemon, and the sour taste it leaves on his fingertips can’t do anything to sour his mood.
He’s happy and not for the first time in the two months of this cooking class, Alex feels as if he’s made the right decision.
He quit his boring office job after three lifeless years there and with the support of his family and his girlfriend, finally signed up to a cooking class, preparing to apply for a job to all his favorite restaurants all over the city with the plans of having a more relaxed, more fun, and most importantly, more delicious life.
Alex always liked cooking at home and during the cooking class he noticed that he truly felt passionate about it and he was sure that he could easily take on a cooking job; spend half his day in the kitchen, and then still go home and dish up something for his girlfriend.
Not only were all the classes fun and educational and the dishes they made all delicious and challenging; the people were great as well.
Alex could confidently consider most of the guys in the class his friends. And even the instructing chefs are great.
Alex wouldn’t go as far as calling them his friends, but he likes them anyway.
Lewis has great humor, always cracking jokes in his classes, and Alex thinks about inviting the guy out for drinks when the course is over, because he’s sure they would get along splendidly.
Sebastian is just a great guy overall, the type of guy that has kindness written all over him. With him, learning never really feels as if he’s teaching you something but more like you’re working it out together, making his classes really fun and comfortable.
And then there’s Max Verstappen, of course. Alex knows that some guys in the class don’t love the man - and some guys (okay, only one) in the class truly love him-, but the Thai actually finds him incredibly interesting. Yes, he’s strict and he’s a little unpredictable, but he’s also a good teacher and somewhat amusing.
Even as the blond chef comes running at Alex, his hand stretched out in front of him, as he yells at him, the Thai man can’t help but be amused, a smile immediately coming to his lips.
“What are you doing?!”
Alex looks down at his hands and the green in them. He looks back up at a scandalized Max Verstappen.
“Uh, adding the parsley?”
“Are you sure about that?”
“Yes?
The head chef throws his hands up in exasperation.
“Okay, go ahead then. You’re the chef,” he says with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, and just when Alex is about to put the herbs into the mixer, Max stops him by grabbing his hand forcefully. “God, no! That’s cilantro! Not parsley!”
Yuki jumps from the sudden volume of Max’ voice, so much that he drops his own parsley to the floor, but the head chef seems to be so scandalized by the mix-up that he doesn’t even notice.
He’s still holding on to Alex’ wrist when he says, “How could you? That’s like confusing salt and sugar!”
At that, Alex has to laugh out loud. “No, it’s not! The cilantro gets mixed with the parsley, anyway.”
Max narrows his eyes at him like a teacher whose student is talking back at him. Well, it kind of is what’s happening. Alex has to bite his lip to not burst out in laughter again. He really likes Max.
“Yes, but do you remember what we’re making right now?”
A sigh comes from somewhere in the room, one that sounds suspiciously like Lando, but Alex doesn’t turn around to check.
“Pesto.”
“Wrong,” Max says and turns himself around, facing all the apprentices. “What are we making right now?”
“Pe-” Zhou Guanyu starts saying, promptly getting an elbow shoved in his side by Yuki who had obviously listened to Alex and Max’ little conversation and thus knew that ‘pesto’ was the wrong answer.
The room is silent except for the shrill sounds of a couple of mixers going. Some guys are looking at the floor, some are looking around in the air; most of them trying to avoid Max’ eyes one way or the other.
To Alex, it’s no wonder that Charles is the only one downright staring at Max, no shame in his face.
It is a wonder, however, that Charles - clueless, clumsy Charles - suddenly calls out, “Parsley pesto!”
Two words, just one word more than Alex’ answer, and yet, Max’ entire face lights up, a bright smile overtaking his previously rather glum face.
“Exactly! Parsley pesto! Well done, Charles,” the head chef nods with a proud smile, even going as far as giving the Monégasque two thumbs up. Two thumbs, not one.
Alex watches with glee how Charles’ face flushes a deep red, his eyes averting to his horrendously cut garlic.
Beside the heavy blush, there’s also a huge smile pulling at the brunet’s lips that they all don’t get to fully see because of the man looking down instead of at Max who’s staring at him, surely trying to burn the sweet sight into his memory.
Charles would surely combust to pieces if Max called him ‘good boy’. Alex has to giggle at the thought but he freezes when Max abruptly turns back to him, the smile gone from his face.
“Charles is right. We’re making parsley pesto. You could also make pesto with no parsley at all, only use cilantro. And yes they get mixed anyway, but right now we’re making parsley pesto. So it is important not to mix anything up and to have more parsley with just a smack of cilantro. Understood?”
“Understood, chef,” Alex nods back, keeping his expression serious and making sure to wave the cilantro in front of Max’ face before laying it to the side and adding the parsley to his mixer instead.
Max huffs and turns away; to praise Charles for whatever he’s doing wrong at the moment, Alex surmises and feels the corner of his lip pull up again.
Yes, he does love this cooking class.
Lando sprinkles the pieces of cut up walnuts over his pesto pasta, cringing a little when he sees how some pieces seem a little too dark.
He really liked the idea of toasting his walnuts so that their taste would get a little more intense but Max hadn’t given them any directive on how long to toast them.
So basically, it’s Max’ fault that now Lando’s walnuts are a little burnt.
Still, he knows the head chef will give him shit about it if he sees it, so the Brit makes sure that Max won’t see it by turning the burnt nuts around so that the non-burnt sides are up.
“Merde!”
Lando doesn’t turn around to Charles because exclamations like these happen about every five minutes.
There’s a lot that can go wrong when making pesto, and there’s even more to go wrong when you’re Charles Leclerc making pesto.
Lando can imagine the man squeezing lemon juice into his eyes instead of the mixer.
He could also imagine Charles dumping the whole container of salt into his pesto, or maybe somehow breaking his spaghetti before cooking them.
Or maybe the Monégasque just also burnt his walnuts.
“Charles, what happened? Are you okay?”
Lando rolls his eyes.
Every five minutes Charles will mutter/hiss/cry some French profanity and every five minutes, Max will go over to the man to check what he needs help with.
“Nothing, nothing,” Charles will always pretend nothing has happened, even if his nearly-done dish is laying shattered on the ground. “Just-”
This time, it seems to be something different though, and maybe Max’ concern is valid for once.
“Charles! You’re bleeding! Let me see.
Oh, Lando perks up, that’s no lemon juice and also no burnt nuts.
The Brit turns around and what greets him is a pitiful sight.
Charles is holding his finger up, blood dripping down and running over his hand.
They might all be a little peeved at the way that their head chef clearly likes Charles more than any of the others, but still, it’s hard to see how the brunet’s lower lip wobbles as he tries to hold back tears and fails miserably.
“Let me get you a bandaid,” Max says, taking a step back before he hears Charles’ quiet sniffle and immediately coming back to the man’s side. “Don’t cry, Charlie, please don’t cry. You’re okay, it’s fine.”
Max grabs some paper towels and uses one of his hands to gently press them to Charles’ finger while he pulls the man closer with the other, then putting his arm around the Monégasque in a protective manner. Lando suppresses a snort, because the only thing Charles needs to be protected from is himself.
“Don’t cry, it’s okay,” the man soothes again, talking so unlike he did when Oscar was close to crying because of the quail eggs. Lando wouldn’t be surprised if the chef starts calling Charles ‘baby’, considering how softly he’s talking to him.
“It hurts,” Charles whines, his lip pushed out in a pout.
“I know,” Max sympathizes, “Let me get you a bandaid and then we’ll finish your pesto together, alright?”
“Can you cut the walnuts for me?” The Monégasque asks with wide, tear-brimmed eyes and Lando is shocked at how he feels himself close to nodding. It’s hard to say no to a guy looking like that. Max isn’t strong enough, it seems.
“Of course,” Max’ smile is so bright as if Charles had just asked him out on a date, and not asked him to do the things he’s supposed to be doing himself to learn.
It’s painful to witness how the two men look at each other, how clearly Max wants to lean in to press a kiss to Charles’ forehead.
When Max finally does step away to get the bandaid, George speaks up beside Lando.
“Man, he would not give a fuck if it was one of us cutting ourselves.”
Lando snorts a laugh, “Nah. Even if I cut my entire finger off, he’d just scold me for not paying attention while cutting.”
“Ha, yeah, he would only complain about you getting the workspace dirty with your blood.”
George, Yuki and Lando all laugh at their instructive chef.
“Oh, but it’s kind of adorable, no?”
Lando looks to Alex and then follows his line of sight, ending up at Max having the most concentrated facial expression as he wraps the bandage around Charles’ finger.
And okay, maybe it is kind of cute seeing their usually so stoic and strict chef be so pathetically in love with a guy who’s just as pathetically in love with him.
And maybe it’s even okay that Max doesn’t bully Charles like he does with the rest of them. Because Lord knows Charles would have already been kicked out of the course if Max wasn’t a lovestruck loser for him.
Lando just grants Alex a half-hearted shrug and then finally goes back to flipping his burnt walnuts.
5 Chiffonade
“Chef, do you want those chiffonade vegetables cut the way you showed us yesterday?”
Pierre has to giggle at the way Yuki pronounces ‘chiffonade’ even though he’s probably just as bad at pronouncing sushi in the right way.
His giggle dies away when Max walks to the short Japanese man, standing in front of him and looking up into the air with an overly pensive look on his face.
“Hmmm, no,” the man says, sarcasm already dripping from his voice. Yuki rolls his eyes; never one to put up with Max’ bullshit. But the head chef isn’t done yet, “No, Yuki, I want you to cut the raw meat and wipe it off on the spinach so you cross-contaminate everything and we all get food poisoning, yes, of course, I want you to cut the chiffonade vegetables the way I showed you yesterday.”
Yuki shakes his head and mutters, “Damn, just say ‘yes’ next time,” causing Pierre to giggle right again.
His giggle turns into a full-blown laugh when Zhou remarks from his side, “Nah, to be fair, even Sebastian taught us not to ask dumb questions.”
“What’s there to laugh about, Mr. Gasly?”
“Nothing, chef,” Pierre quickly focuses back on his vegetables, slicing them just how they had learned yesterday.
“Thought so,” Max mutters as he passes him, thankfully with no comment on his cutting. “Charlie, are you okay? Do you need help with anything?”
It’s hard to focus on his own cooking when right next to him, at least once during every class with Max as their instructive chef, there is a romantic soap in its makings.
It’s too funny to see how Charles will blush every single time that Max comes over to his workspace, asks him if he’s okay or if he needs anything. It’s even funnier when, as Charles’ best friend, Pierre unfortunately knows about all the fantasies that the brunet has about their head chef.
“No, chef,” Charles quickly replies and Pierre has to grin again as he thinks back to one particular fantasy that Charles had described to him one drunken night. It wouldn’t surprise Pierre if his best friend ends up saying ‘yes, sir’ instead of ‘yes, chef’ one day.
“Alright. Just call me if there is a problem,” Max tells the Monégasque. Words that no other apprentice will ever hear from the Dutchman.
It’s only a couple of minutes later that Pierre notices a lack of movement from the table on his right.
When he looks over, he notices that Charles is indeed not doing anything, just staring down at his untouched vegetables like a child during dinner.
“You good, Charlot?”
The man’s head whips around to Pierre, eyes wide.
“Oh, yeah… I just- I think I’ve kind of forgotten how to chiffonade…”
Pierre snorts. “Oh? You didn’t pay attention when Max showed us yesterday? Oh, no, you were busy staring at his arms, weren’t you?”
Usually they all wear long-sleeved chef clothing but yesterday it had been so hot that for the first time Max had worn short-sleeved clothes. Of course that would mess with Charles and his hormones.
Even if the man denies it, “That’s not- No! Whatever, I was distracted, yes, but it does not matter why. Anyway, I don’t want to ask him now. That’s embarrassing.”
“Oh, come on, Charles. You know he won’t say anything to you.” Unlike the others. If anyone else asked Max to teach him to do something if they have just learned it the day before, Max would probably just say ‘no’ and to skip the step even if it is crucial to the recipe.
But for Charles, Max would run over and prepare the entire dish only to praise him in the end on how well he did it.
“Yes, he will! I always have to ask him all the time!”
Charles raises his knife in a way that just promises he will cut his finger again, so Pierre sees himself forced to intervene.
He quickly calls out, “Chef! Charles forgot how to chiffonade!”
Pierre barely avoids the knife that gets thrust in his direction accompanied by the frustrated groan.
There’s a frown on Max’ face that quickly turns into a soft look when he sees that it’s about Charles who’s once again red in the face.
“Don’t worry, Charles, I’ll show you again,” is what the head chef says as he makes his way through the room, skillfully ignoring all the incredulous looks from the others.
"You don’t have to,” Charles is quick to say, waving his hand, “It’s okay, really.”
“No, Charles, it’s fine,” Max pats Charles’ shoulder, his hand lingering a little too long. “It’s hard to remember everything that we learn here. It’s a lot of stuff, no? It’s normal to forget sometimes but that’s what I’m here for. To help you.”
Pierre swears there’s someone making a gagging noise in the noise and the Frenchman would bet some money to say that it was Lando.
Charles doesn’t say anything, probably can’t say anything because instead of just taking the knife and showing him like a normal person, like a normal chef; Max just puts his hand on top of Charles’ so that he guides his cutting.
“Usually chiffonade is done really fast,” Max uses both their hands to quickly cut the vegetables in slices but stops quickly again. “But that can be a little scary, so you can also go slow. Just like that.” It’s nearly obscene to watch how Max now moves their hands really slowly, pressing the knife into the cutting board and his fingers on Charles’. “See, it’s not that hard.”
Charles swallows a little too loudly at the word ‘hard’ and Pierre needs to look away.
He’s looking into the disgusted faces of Lando and Yuki and the averted eyes of Zhou and Oscar.
George is cutting his vegetables a little too aggressively and Alex meets his eyes, a gleeful look in his face. Pierre can’t help but grin right back.
“Doing so well, Charlie,” Max murmurs as he’s still the one to lead the knife, and it causes all the other men to glance around at each other.
“This needs to stop,” is what George mouths across the room to Lando who replies with a nod and another gagging noise.
Yuki rolls his eyes, Oscar heaves a heavy sigh, Alex claps excitedly.
Max Verstappen and Charles Leclerc stay blissfully unaware to all of their reactions and their mental plans to release them all from the tension in their kitchen which could be cut with a knife just like the vegetables on Charles’ cutting board.
+1
Only one week later, Sebastian Vettel is finally back, his arm healed from breaking it during a horse riding accident.
The apprentices rejoice at having the instructive chef back and even got him his favorite Black Forest cake as a welcome back gift for all of them to share.
They get double the amount of cake because even though it’s not on the course plan, in the first lesson back with the German, they make chocolate cake because Sebastian thinks that it would be nice motivation before they have to go back to the harder dishes. He also reasons that he discovered a new recipe for a delicious vegan chocolate cake that he wants to try out with all of them.
Just as they’re mixing the chocolate batter, Sebastian looks around them.
“So, how have things been? Have you all learned a lot? Were Lewis and Max good substitutes? Or do I need to have a word with them?”
He asks it with a smile that turns into a shocked expression when he hears the answers from his students.
“Max terrorizes us!”
“Yes, he bullies us!”
“He’s so strict!”
“I- What? Is that true?” Sebastian looks around, and only the shaking heads of the less dramatic apprentices makes the man’s expression turn back to a normal one. He hums, “I know that Max is a little strict. You know, his dad used to be a very famous chef, and Max… he didn’t have an easy childhood. I guess that’s why he’s a little strict. But I know he just wants you to do your best.”
“Okay, it’s sad that Max had a bad childhood but that doesn’t excuse him bullying us now!” Lando speaks up, eyes narrowing at the blond German, as if he’s trying to excuse Max’ behavior.
Oscar smacks the British man in the chest, feeling like his friend is exaggerating a little. “Max isn’t really bullying us. He’s just strict and expresses it in his own way.”
“It does help us to learn,” George admits, “I don’t really care that he’s that strict. I’d just like it if he was strict with everyone !”
That makes one of Sebastian’s eyebrows raise.
“What does that mean?”
Yuki sees Pierre about to begin explaining what George means but the Japanese thinks he can explain more efficiently.
So, without much fuss, Yuki says, “Max is in love with Charles.”
Sebastian snorts a laugh before his brows furrow together, “Charlie? Right, where is he today?”
Sebastian likes Charles. Everyone likes Charles; it’s hard not to love the guy who’s a total mess in the kitchen but still keeps trying and laughing. It’s okay that Seb likes Charles because Seb likes everyone. He’s nice to everyone, unlike some other people.
“He’s sick,” Pierre supplies.
“Yeah, that’s why Max is in such a bad mood today,” Lando adds, sighing at the memory of Max telling him that maybe he should become a wrecking ball instead of a chef considering how ruggedly he had been cutting his onions this morning.
“Hmm, so you guys think Max is into Charlie?” Sebastian had to smile at the thought. He knows how meticulous the man works so it’s fun to imagine him liking a person like Charles with no talent for cooking. Then again, he’s seen Charles and his pretty face. So it’s maybe not that big of a surprise.
“He has to be. Last week they nearly fucked in class,” Yuki says dryly, thinking about Max showing Charles how to chiffonade, scarring them all for all eternity.
Sebastian hadn’t been with them then but the look on his face is as scandalized as they had all felt right then and there.
Alex laughs and shakes his head, “It’s not that bad! It’s just that whenever Charlie makes a mistake, and you know Charlie,” Seb mirrors the fond look on Alex’ face and the Thai goes on with a smile, “He makes a lot of mistakes, and Max always helps him and is really nice to him. Sweet even. It’s cute, really.”
"Yeah, but whenever Max threatens to beat us with his meat mallet in one moment, and feeds Charles his food next, it’s not that cute,” Lando complains with a roll of his eyes.
“Max never said that he’d beat us with his meat mallet!” Oscar has to defend the head chef with a laugh at Lando’s dramatics.
“He did,” the Brit says with a frown, remembering clearly how Max had wagged the meat mallet in front of his face.
“Yeah, but only because you kept wanting to throw the larding needles over to Charles who obviously would not have been able to catch them,” Pierre has to interject, for the sake of fairness.
“That’s not-” Lando splutters, raising a finger but lowering it again as his face takes on a light shade of red that makes the other men laugh. “Whatever.”
“Does Charles like Max back? Or is it uncomfortable for him?” Sebastian asks in that way of his, always concerned that somebody doesn’t feel comfortable or safe in his kitchen.
“Oh, no, he loves getting babied by Max. It’s disgusting. They’re a great match, actually,” George calms down the German, and Pierre joins right in.
“Oh yeah, Charles likes Max a lot. I have to listen to him gush over Max all the time. You cannot imagine the things he said when Max wore that short-sleeved shirt last week…”
That gains the sympathetic look of Oscar, him patting Pierre on the shoulder with a quiet ‘my condolences’ which the Frenchman gladly accepts with a pitiful smile.
“How the hell can he even like Max? He’s such a -” Zhou starts, wrinkling his brows as he searches for the words, “-such a frog.”
“Well, if Max treated me like he treats Charles, I would probably like him, too,” George mumbles.
“That, and he’s hot,” Oscar says with a small shrug before his eyes narrow, “When he’s not yelling at you.” Lando snorts and the Australian quickly says, “Hey, Charles would agree with me!”
“Charles would probably also like it if Max yelled at him,” Alex snickers, “He seems like the guy to have a degradation kink.”
“Oh yeah, he does. One time he told me how he’d like to-”
Before Pierre can spill all of Charles’ fantasies, Sebastian interjects, raising his hands.
“Okay, okay, guys. We’re here to cook, not to gossip. Just tell me, do we need to do something about this? Maybe we should have an intervention so that we can all find a solution together.”
It’s such a Seb approach. They learn together and they create food together, and so they also find solutions together. It’s great, they all agree.
“Yes, please talk to him and tell him not to be mean to us anymore.”
“And tell him to get his head out of his ass and ask Charles out…”
Sebastian laughs and nods, “Okay. Lunch break. We will all talk to him. Now, let’s get our cakes in the oven!”
“Hey, Seb,” Max says with a smile that drops when he sees the five men trail after the blond. “Hey… Everyone else…”
They’re in the head chef’s lunch room, Sebastian standing in the doorway, with the small crowd of men behind him. Kind of like a mother duck with her little ducklings right behind.
Max and Lewis are sitting at their table. It’s the British head chef who looks equally confused at all the apprentices. “What’s up?”
“This is an intervention,” Sebastian says with a smile so bright and genuine that his words don’t quite fit.
“Intervention?” Max repeats with his head tilted to the side. “For what? For who? For Lando’s terrible cutting skills?”
Lando gasps and taps Sebastian’s shoulder in a ‘see? make him stop!’ way, and Sebastian nods soothingly, holding one hand up.
“No, Max. This is an intervention for you.”
“Me?” The man doesn’t seem too impressed. He opens the container of food he would have given to Charles if the Monégasque wasn’t sick.
“Yes. The guys,” Seb gestures behind him, at the adult men whose sheepish expressions resemble those of pubescent teenagers, “Told me that you might play favorites with your apprentices. With one of them. I’m not going to name any names.”
“Huh?” Max runs his eyes over the men. “I treat all of you the same way, don’t I?” His eyes stick to Lando for a second. “Am I extra mean to Lando, is that it?”
“No, no,” Seb says quickly, ignoring the way that Lando nods in protest behind him, “Not extra mean. More of the opposite. They think that you’re preferring someone.”
“I’m not,” Max answers, stabbing his fork into his food and taking a bite.
“Yes, you are!” George speaks up and the other guys nod.
“It would be fine if you’re strict like this to everyone but because there is an exception, it’s bad to see how we could be treated.”
“If only we all had fluffy brown hair and blue puppy eyes.”
Yuki’s words make Max’ eyebrows knit together.
“Charlie has green eyes.”
“Oh my god!” Lewis suddenly exclaims from beside the Dutchman, a bright grin on his lips. “That’s why you asked me who I think the prettiest apprentice is!”
Max’ face flushes and he waves his fork in the air to defend himself, “You also said Charles!”
“Yes,” Lewis nods, grin somehow getting bigger, and he doesn’t notice the affronted expressions of some of the apprentices, “And then you got mad and said that I have a girlfriend and shouldn’t go after Charles!”
“Yes, because it’s wrong to go after your apprentice!” Max counters quickly, trying to save himself when everyone in the room knows he’s lost already. When he hears how at least two people already inhale to argue, Max raises a finger and glares at the entire room, “ If you have a partner already! Then it’s very wrong. Otherwise- Wait. What- What is this even about?”
“This!” Oscar exclaims, waving his hands around. “It’s about how you prefer Charles and are much nicer to him!”
“I’m no-” Max starts and stops. He sighs, “Okay. Maye. But what can I do about the fact that Charles is really pretty and cute and he’s always trying his hardest and-”
“Wait, okay,” Pierre says, hoping to shut the blond down. He hears the exact same spiel every day from Charles every day, he can’t hear the same thing again from the other side now. “We’re not criticizing you because you’re in love with Charles. We’re criticizing you for being unfair to us because of it.”
Max is quiet, for a second, then he hums.
“Okay. I think you’re right… So you guys want me to help you like I help Charles?”
There’s moans all over the room.
“No!”
“God, no, ew!”
“Please, no!”
“No,” George shakes his head, “You can keep helping him, God knows he needs it. We don’t. Not that much, but we do want you to be a bit nicer to us.”
Max is quiet again. He’s thinking, toying with the food in his box.
“Alright,” he says after a moment. Another sigh, “You guys are right. I’m sorry for being unfair. I’ve been a dick now and then, and sometimes you didn’t even deserve it. I’m sorry, really.”
They knows Max as their strict instructive chef who's never been apologetic to any of them, and Alex almost feels a little pity at seeing him like this now. He smiles, “It’s oka-”
“No!” Lando is quick to cut in. “You need to make it up to us!”
“Yes,” Yuki agrees, with a suggestion in tow, “You need to confess to Charles.”
Before Max can react, Oscar cuts in again.
“No. Make it up to us by being fair. When you taste his soup during the evaluation, be honest. You tell him how it really tastes.”
The room is quiet.
Everybody knows what that means; being honest to Charles.
Lewis laughs and Max snaps.
“What the hell are you laughing about?”
“I’ve had Charles in my class one time. One single time and I don’t think he can make something edible if there’s nobody to guide him for every step. You can’t help him in the evaluation or he fails the class. If he survives the process of making the soup, then you won’t survive when having to taste it. This is terrific.”
“Oh, come on,” Max rolls his eyes at his colleague. “Charles is not that-” He stops and takes a breath. It’s hard when there are so many pairs of eyes staring at him with raised eyebrows. “Charles is not- He’s- Charles-” He bites his lip, not able to actually say that Charles is not that bad. “Okay! No problem. I’ll tell him my honest review after I’ve eaten the entire bowl of Charles’ soup because it’s going to be delicious. You’ll see.”
Sebastian claps happily. “That’s a nice solution! See, you’re going to notice Charles’ learning progress firsthand. See if you’ve taught him well.”
There’s a playful glint in Seb’s eyes that tells that he knows exactly how Charles’ soup is going to taste. But Max doesn’t say anything. Sebastian is not his boss but he had been his mentor back when Max was in training so he doesn’t quite dare talk back.
However, he does dare to glare at all of the apprentices, still hiding behind the German.
He makes sure his glare directed at Lando is especially mean, hoping the Brit remembers the meat mallet.
~
Evaluation week comes around and all of the apprentice cooks prepare their dishes, getting evaluated on their preparation and the dishes themselves. On Wednesday afternoon, it’s Charles’ turn and he places a bowl of his soup in front of Max with an unsure smile.
Sebastian had supervised Charles’ process of making the soup and now it’s Max’ turn to review its taste. It’s official, but it’s not that formal, so all the other apprentices as well as Lewis and Sebastian are all in the room, watching. Making sure.
“Charlie, how do you feel? Ready for Max’ honest feedback ?” Oscar asks, making sure to emphasize his words.
Charles shrugs and Max’ glare at Oscar transforms into a reassuring smile at the Monégasque.
“I’m sure it will be the best soup I’ve ever tasted,” Max says, not thinking at all about how his honest review of whatever the man had created would probably be the polar opposite of what he just said. He doesn’t care; just doesn’t want Charles to have this self-conscious look on his face.
“Well, bon appétit.”
Max brings the spoonful of soup to his mouth and tastes.
The other apprentices stand in front of him, mindful, because they wanted to see Max’ expression when eating the soup.
It’s not disappointing.
Max presses his lips together and one eye visibly twitches. He doesn’t move at all for a second and Alex is about to burst out laughing. He’d tried one of Charles’ soups before and his face had pulled into a grimace as if he was biting into a lemon. He has to give it to Max, he’s stronger than the lot of them.
Max manages to swallow.
“It’s-“ he looks at Charles who looks at him with a hopeful smile, eyes wide as he waits for his review. “Charles, it’s-“ Max looks over to Oscar who looks at him with narrowed eyes and a nod of his head. “I think-“ You’ve put in too much salt. Too much salt and no other seasoning. You didn’t mix the ingredients properly. Isn’t the soup supposed to be a little creamier?
Max looks at Charles again. “It’s delicious!”
Oscar groans. Sebastian laughs out loud.
“Max, it’s okay,” Charles says with a lopsided smile.
“No, Charles, I’m serious! It tastes really good! I love it,” Max makes a show of taking another big spoon of soup, bringing it to his mouth and only hesitating briefly before actually taking the spoon in his mouth. They all witness how he keeps the soup in his mouth for a second before actually swallowing it. “It’s-” He nearly chokes and clears his throat, “Good!”
At that, even Charles has to laugh. “Max,” he repeats with a grin, “I know it’s not good.”
Max shakes his head, reaching for a glass of water that isn’t there and no one has the compassion to bring him. “But it’s not bad, Charlie. It could be improved, sure, but nobody’s perfect, right?”
“Oh my God,” Oscar groans again, in disbelief about his head chef. Seriously, how could he have ever been intimidated by such a fool?
“I don’t even want to eat this myself,” Charles admits. The brunet bites his lip as he seems to contemplate what he says next. “Um, maybe… maybe you could just cook for me, instead? Then I wouldn’t have to hurt myself and destroy so many things?”
There are quiet gasps at Charles’ step and Alex grabs Pierre’s arm in anticipation.
“Charles, you don’t destroy much! It’s all part of learning and it’s all worth it if you break a plate or two in the process. Then that’s just a sign of your progress!”
“Oh my God, Max!” Alex can’t take it anymore, “He’s flirting with you! He’s asking you to cook for him because he wants to go out with you! This isn’t about him being a bad chef- sorry, Charles-,” Charles shrugs and waves it off, “This is about him being into you!”
“I- What?” Max looks up at Alex, then at Charles, his mouth open and not closing.
Charles thinks it’s adorable.
“The course is over now, right?” The Monégasque asks, seeming a little too happy about that. “So technically we could go out?”
Lewis, who just wanted to see Max throw up his apprentice’s soup, chimed in with a wink, “Oh, but isn’t it wrong to go after your apprentice?”
Max splutters, “I said only if you have a partner!” He turns to Charles, going soft immediately, “And I don’t have a partner. So I’d love to cook for you sometime. Outside of this kitchen, I mean.”
“Wow, Charlie,” Pierre pats his best friend’s shoulder, “A failed cooking class but at least you got a date out of it.”
Charles’ eyes widen. “Failed class? I’m not failing! Am I failing, Max? I know the soup isn’t that good but am I really failing?”
It’s just like always; Max looking at Charles’ puppy dog eyes once and he’s gone.
"Of course not! Who said that? You’re not failing anything. I’ll make sure you pass this class with flying grades!”
Yuki groans, Lando gags, Alex giggles.
Lewis laughs, so do Seb and Pierre.
George snorts, Zhou doesn’t really do anything, and Oscar snorts.
Charles mutters a little ‘win-win’ and Max subtly pushes the bowl of poison away from him.
++1
“Oscar, I have no idea how you endured having Max as your trainer.”
“Yeah, how didn’t you quit one week into training?”
“Oh my god, did he traumatize you so badly that now you’re going to be an asshole to your students, too?”
“Come on, guys! Max wasn’t that bad,” Charles laughs, but it’s very easy for him to laugh with his hand on Max’ thigh and the Dutchman’s arm secured tightly around his waist; their thighs pressed together even though the bench of the booth they’re sitting on is big enough for space.
“Yes, to you !” Lando cries, “Because he was in love with you like a loser.”
“Aw,” Charles coos, turning to his boyfriend, looking at him lovingly, “You hear that? You were in love with me like a loser.”
Max mirrors the brunet’s look, smiling dopily, “I still am.”
Like two magnets, they lean toward each other and kiss, right there in the restaurant that Yuki works at as a chef.
“Ew, you are so disgusting! Don’t do that here!”
“More disgusting than Charles’ evaluation soup?” Alex asks Yuki with a grin.
Charles laughs, but Max takes it more personally. For some reason, even after such a long time, he still won’t admit that the soup tasted like liquid bleach.
“That soup was not bad,” he defends it once again, for no reason at all.
“And yet, since then, Charlot has never touched a cooking spoon or any other cooking tool ever again,” Pierre sighs, making some of the other guys look up in confusion.
“You don’t cook?” Zhou asks with a frown, “Don’t you help with the dishes for your restaurant?”
“No, no, I do help,” Charles says and Max nods, “I taste whatever Maxie makes and then I give suggestions. But I’m mainly taking care of the interior design, you know.”
“You don’t want to cook?” George asks, wondering how if two chefs open their own restaurant, they should both take care of the food they are going to serve.
“God no,” Charles’ face shows disgust as he shakes his head, “I hate cooking.”
“You what?” Oscar’s head comically tilts to the side as if Charles' accent was too strong and he didn’t understand what he’d said.
“Yeah,” the Monégasque shrugs, “I only went to that class because Pierre wanted me to come and when he showed me pictures I thought Max was so cute that I agreed to come.”
“You what ?!”
Max kisses Charles on the cheek as the others run through their own miniature mental breakdowns.
They’re quiet until Lando screeches, “You put us through all of that knowing you didn’t actually care about cooking!”
“Hey, again: Max wasn’t that bad!” Charles defends his boyfriend like Max defends his soup.
“He made Oscar cry!”
“I didn’t cry!”
“Charles, I swear to god, if we don’t all get free food at your restaurant whenever we want…”