Chapter Text
Charles had been drifting in and out of the conversation for what felt like hours, his mind hazy and disoriented. The music thudded around him, vibrating through the floor and up into his bones, and all he could catch were fragments of Lando’s animated chatter. Something about the last race, or maybe plans for the weekend—it all blurred together. He blinked, trying to focus on Lando’s voice as it grew sharper, the background noise fading slightly. Lando was in front of him, gesturing wildly, while Oscar stood by his side, nodding along with an easy smile.
“Are you even listening, Charles? Is he listening?” Lando’s voice cut through, tinged with impatience, and Oscar’s accented laugh brought him back to reality.
“I think now he is,” Oscar confirmed, but the words barely registered. The room spun a little too quickly, and the lights seemed too bright. Charles just needed to clear his head, to escape this crowded, buzzing space before the unease completely took over. “Good, so as I was saying—”
“Sorry, Lando, I don't feel too well. I'm going to get some fresh air and be back in a bit.”
Walking through groups of drunk people wasn’t easy, but seeing as he was fairly woozy himself, he managed. On the way, he grabbed a few more drinks, said hi, hello, and see you later to some people he certainly met before or knew but could not remember for the life of him. A couple of people bumped into him, sending him stumbling sideways, while others were far too close, invading his space without care. He barely noticed the touches until one guy leaned in, sniffing near his neck.
“What the hell?” Charles muttered, jerking back, eyes narrowing at the stranger who simply grinned.
“Relax, mate. You smell good. Like… really good,” the guy said with a lazy smile, his eyes half-lidded. Charles frowned, brushing past him, his mind clouded with the confusion of why anyone would be sniffing him. Did he smell that strong? It wasn’t just one person, either. As he weaved through the crowd, more strangers leaned in closer than they should, whispering compliments, and telling him how nice he smelled.
“That cologne? Smells fresh,” a girl said, her voice slurred as she steadied herself on his shoulder before being pulled away by a friend.
“God, what is that scent? It’s… I can’t even describe it,” another murmured, her eyes wide as Charles brushed by.
He didn’t answer any of them, just forced a polite smile and pushed forward. The heat of the club, combined with the press of bodies, made his skin feel tight like he was suffocating under all the attention. Finally, he slipped past a few girls who definitely knew who he was and reached the door leading outside. The scent of fresh air hit him like a truck. But there was something else mixed in as well. A familiar scent. Far too familiar. It brought him back to his childhood, to his karting days when he would smell it.
Similar to a fresh morning after a storm lasting through the entire night. But it would change. Come race day, it was more like a hailstorm; on the podium, just like morning dew settling on grass. And then, every time their eyes met, as if a cold icy thunderstorm was just on the brink of turning into a catastrophe. Charles found the scent somewhat pleasant at times; however, the person the scent belonged to? Not so much.
“Verstappen.”
“Leclerc.”
The look of disgust Max stared at him with was… was more than enough to tell Charles that Max did not want to be around him.
“Do you have to always be parading those pheromones around like that? Honestly, it makes me sick.”
“Me? I came out for some fresh air but no, you have to be here stinking up the place!”
Max’s gaze was quizzical. As if something didn’t make sense in that head of his.
“Are you not on suppressants?”
Suppressants? Why would Charles need suppressants? It’s not like he was an Alpha.
“No? I’m a Beta.”
“But you can smell my—” Charles didn’t even let him finish that sentence. Cutting Max off with a scoff, he said, “Even a Beta like me is able to smell you. I think you’re the one in need of a suppressant. Verstappen.”
Max turned on his heels, heading back inside where Charles was just a few moments ago.
“Pretentious asshole…” Charles whispered under his breath. Him an Alpha? Charles could only dream of that happening. The benefits it would come with. Yes, he was with Ferrari; there was no complaining about that. But the thought that he could have been there much sooner if he were an Alpha instead of a mere Beta?
Charles inhaled deeply, letting the night air fill his lungs, hoping it would calm the storm brewing inside him. Instead, the only thing he inhaled was more of Max’s pheromones. He didn’t just envy the Alpha; he resented him. He resented how Max could so effortlessly stand on top, how the world seemed to bend around him. And no matter how hard Charles worked, how many risks he took, it never felt like enough. He was always chasing, always trying to prove he belonged among the best, and sometimes it felt like the world would never let him forget that he was just a Beta.
Max always knew how to get under his skin. The way he walked, talked, and dominated the track—everything about him screamed Alpha.
He pushed off of the building wall and took in another deep breath. Just how much longer is his chent going to linger? He thought shaking his head.
“You okay?”
Charles was so lost in his thoughts that he barely noticed when someone else stepped outside. He glanced up to see Pierre approaching, a concerned look on his face.
“You … you looked kind of …off, you know?” His voice was softer than usual, though it still carried a trace of his usual playful tone.
“Ah, of course, Pierre, I am a fruit that has gone bad.” Charles frowned as the thought crossed his mind. Is that why people have been smelling me? Do I really smell? Pierre laughed, then he threw his head back, signalling toward the doors leading inside. His eyes scanning Charles’s face. “I saw Max storming back inside. Did you two…?”
Charles shrugged, his gaze drifting away. “It’s nothing. Just Verstappen being Verstappen. You know how he is.”
“I do, so how about we forget all about him, and go get ourselves something to drink.”
“Fine.”
“Alright, but let's not take too long. Lando’s probably talking Oscar’s ear off by now. We’ll need to save him.”
With one last deep breath, Charles steps back inside, ready to face whatever the night—and the rest of his life as a Beta—has in store for him.
The pulse of the music hit him instantly, the bass reverberating through the floor and up into his chest. It was like diving into a whirlpool of sound and lights, and Charles could already feel his senses beginning to dull around the edges. Pierre led the way, weaving through the crowd with practised ease, and Charles trailed behind.
As they made their way back to the group, Charles spotted Lando almost immediately. He was at the centre of a small crowd, animatedly gesturing with his hands, eyes bright and full of excitement as he chattered on. Oscar was beside him, nodding politely, but there was a glazed look in his eyes that suggested he’d been subjected to Lando’s non-stop talking for far too long. And now Carlos had joined them, leaning casually against a table, looking equally amused and trapped as Lando’s voice carried on and on.
Pierre grinned as he slipped back into the circle, nudging Charles playfully. “Looks like we’re just in time.” Charles rolled his eyes, the corner of his mouth twitching into a reluctant smile. “Poor Oscar. Looks like his ears are about to fall off.”
Just as they join the group, Pierre waves over the bartender and orders a few rounds of shots.
“Cheers, Mate!” Carlos shoves a glass filled with the clear liquid toward Charles and he, although reluctantly, does take it. They go down smoothly at first but then the familiar burn kicks the back of Charles's throat and he can't help but cough. Glancing back up at Carlos, Charles noticed a hint of concern crossing his features.
“What?” Charles asked, looking around to see if anything had happened or if anyone had done something to have earned such a look from Carlos. When looking back at his friend, he realised. Carlos had been looking at him. “Do I have something on my face?”
“You’re starting to, uh … you know. Smell a bit. Need to head home?”
Charles stiffened, his smile faltering as Carlos’s words hit him. Charles appreciated the gesture, though it only made the knot in his stomach tighten. The comments from earlier—Pierre’s joke, the strangers sniffing him—flashed through his mind again, making him self-conscious in a way he hadn’t felt in a long time. But he pushed the thoughts aside, taking another sip of his drink. “Seriously, though, if you need to leave, just say. No shame in it.” Charles forced a smile, grateful but stubborn. “Thanks, Carlos, but I’m good. Just need to keep my head clear.”
Carlos gave a final nod, accepting the answer, though his watchful gaze didn’t entirely let up. Charles turned his attention back to Lando, trying to lose himself in the laughter and lightheartedness of the moment. The lingering doubt, the questions about his scent hung in the back of his mind.
As the night unravelled, they drank and danced, the sound of the music blending with the flashing lights as Charles let himself get caught up in the energy, the rhythm helping to push away the nagging thoughts. His feet moved in sync with the beat, however, the effects of the alcohol soon caught up with him, and he found himself making his way through the groups of people in the room and towards the bathroom. Navigating past swaying bodies and clinking glasses, Charles finally reached the barely lit hallway. The noise from the main area of the building was muffled here, and the air felt a bit cooler. He breathed in a sigh of relief, though once more the familiar scent from earlier still seemed to cling to his senses, growing stronger as he neared the men’s room.
As he stepped inside, the unmistakable aroma of Max Verstappen filled his nose, sharper and more intense than before. Charles’s heart skipped a beat, looking up, there was the man himself. Again. Their eyes locked immediately, and the tension in the air crackled between them.
Max's gaze hardened as closed the distance between them and before Charles could react, Max grabbed him by the wrist with a grip so firm that Charles thought his hand was going to fall off.
“I thought I told you to take a suppressant,” Max said, his voice low and insistent.
Charles’s heart raced, he tried to pull away, but Max’s grip was not letting up. “What are you— Let go of me!”
Max stayed silent, tugging Charles out of the bathroom and through the club’s exit. The entire way he could feel people staring at him. The cool night air hit him immediately as they stepped outside, the noise of the club fading behind them. Charles opened his mouth to say something, anything but Max’s scent and determined pace left him speechless. They walked swiftly down the street Charles’s mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. Max didn’t slow down, didn’t acknowledge any of Charles’s attempts to break free. They reached Max’s car, and without a word, Max opened the passenger door and practically shoved Charles inside.
“Where are you taking me?” Charles finally managed to say as Max fastened his seatbelt a put the car in drive. No answer came. The ride was tense and silent, Max’s knuckles white on the steering wheel as he drove through the city. Charles felt as if he swallowed a rock and now it was stuck in his chest. On top of that, a mix of frustration was building with each passing second. Max's scent was so overpowering now, that Charles could barely think, it was continuing to fill the car more and more. When they finally arrived at— what seemed like— Max’s apartment, he ushered Charles inside with a quick nod to the lobby staff. The elevator doors closed behind them with a thud, and Max finally turned to face him. The tiny metal room dimly lit.
“What’s going on?” Charles demanded, his voice tinged with urgency. “Why did you bring me here?”
Max refused to look Charles in the eyes. “I had to get you away from there. It’s not— it wasn't safe for you there.”
Charles frowned, struggling to understand. “What are you talking about? Just tell me what’s happening.”
Max took a deep breath, face scrunching, clearly wrestling with his own emotions. “Don’t understand, Charles? Something is going on, and I need to make sure you’re okay.”
Charles stared at him, the weight of Max’s words settling in. “Make sure I’m okay? What do you mean?”
Max’s gaze softened slightly, though his expression remained serious. “Just… stay here for a while. I need to sort some things out, and it’s better if you’re not exposed to any more tonight.”
Before Charles could ask more questions, a sharp ding interrupted their conversation. Max’s hand shot out, grabbing Charles’s wrist with a firm grip once again. Without a word, he pulled Charles through the apartment’s entrance. They entered Max’s apartment, a sleek, modern space spread over three floors. The first floor was an open-concept kitchen and dining area, with a marble countertop and a large, glass dining table. The kitchen was pristine, with top-of-the-line appliances and minimalistic decor.
Max led Charles past this area and up a flight of stairs. The second floor was fitted with a lounge, a comfortable sofa set facing a large flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. But what really caught Charles's eye was the sim racing setup that took up one corner of the room, multiple screens, a Red Bull minifridge … all of it. However, his eyes didn't— rather couldn't — continue to linger as Max continued up to the third floor, where the atmosphere shifted to a more private, personal space. Charles was met with several rooms, each door neatly closed. Max guided Charles to one of the said rooms and unlocked the door, pushing it open. Inside the room was a large bed that sat against one wall, and a set of bookshelves lined another. A desk with a laptop and a few personal items was tucked in the corner.
Max entered the room with Charles and moved towards a drawer, retrieving a small bottle of pills. He turned to Charles, his expression conflicted but resolute. “Take these. They’ll help with the—” Max hesitated, trying to find the right words. “They’ll help you feel better. I just need you to stay here and rest.”
Charles took the bottle, staring at it. “What exactly are these for?”
Max’s gaze was inscrutable, but there was a trace of urgency in his voice. “Just take one, trust me, okay? I’ll be back soon.”
Charles nodded slowly, though his mind was still spinning with questions. Max locked the door behind him, leaving Charles alone in the room. The sound of footsteps fading down the hallway and his voice getting softer was the only sign of Max’s departure. Charles sat on the edge of the bed, the bottle of pills resting in his hand. The apartment was quiet now, the gentle hum of the city outside barely audible. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself.
Charles fumbled with the pill bottle, pouring out exactly one tablet into his palm. As he looked around the room, he noticed a door leading to an ensuite bathroom. He grabbed a glass of water and swallowed the small, unassuming pill without much thought. It was only after he had taken it that he glanced at the bottle again, his heart sinking as he read the label.
Omega suppressant.
His hands trembled uncontrollably as the bottle slipped from his grasp, falling to the floor with a soft clink. Panic surged through him. Charles dashed back into the bedroom, his mind racing, and grabbed the door handle.
“Open the door, Max!” He bangs on it until he hears him come back. “Let me out of here, what is wrong with you? Giving me Omega suppressant, who do you think you are?!”
“Charles,” Max's rough voice sends Charles to his knees and he suddenly feels a strange, comforting sensation spread throughout his chest as he sinks to his knees, a sob escaping his lips as he leans his head against the door. The reality of the situation hits him and he begins to steady his ragged breathing. “I know that this is new for you, but I promise you. You'll be okay.” A soft sob escapes Charles as he sits there, leaning his head against the door. “I called my doctor, he'll be here first thing in the morning, until then get some rest, I think you'll need it.”
Hours passed, and Charles couldn’t shake the feeling of intense heat. He had already taken two ice-cold showers, but the feverish sensation persisted, making him feel as if he was burning up with a 40-degree fever. Now, once again, he found himself on the cold floor, calling out Max’s name in a desperate plea.
Meanwhile, Max remained on the other side of the locked door, listening to Charles’s agonized cries and whimpers. He paced nervously outside the locked door, the sounds of Charles’s distress weighing heavily on him. He could hear the desperation in Charles’s voice and the soft thuds as he collapsed onto the floor. It pained Max to know that he was partly the cause of Charles's suffering, but he knew he had to wait for the doctor to arrive before he could address the situation fully.
After another hour had passed and he could no longer hear Charles, Max unlocked the door as slowly and quietly as possible. Upon opening it, he saw a passed-out Charles in bed. Relief washed over him as he came closer to the man, Max moved to Charles’s side and sat on the bed next to him, “Charles, I’m here, the doctor will be here soon,” he said softly, trying to offer some comfort.
Charles barely managed to open his eyes, which were glazed with feverish discomfort. In a dazed state, he unconsciously wrapped his arms around Max, his breath coming in uneven, laboured gasps. “Max... I—” he tried to speak, but the words were lost in a haze of feverish confusion.
Max’s voice remained calm, though his heart ached at the sight of Charles’s suffering. “The doctor is on his way, Charles. Just hang in there a little longer.”
Footsteps echoed down the hallway, and soon the doctor arrived. Max stayed by Charles’s side, his concern evident as the doctor began his assessment. The doctor took Charles’s vitals, drew some blood, and administered an injection to help stabilize him. Once the initial treatment was complete, the doctor requested a moment alone with Max outside the room, leaving Charles alone once again.
In the hallway, the doctor spoke with Max, his tone both professional and reassuring. “Charles is experiencing a shift. Although becoming an Omega at his age is uncommon, it’s not unheard of. We need to manage this situation carefully. The fever and discomfort should start to subside once the medication takes effect. For now, he needs rest and monitoring. He is very lucky that you have caught onto it otherwise something rather unpleasant might've happened.”
With that, the doctor left the room, closing the door gently behind him. Max returned to Charles’s side, sitting quietly as he watched the rise and fall of Charles’s chest. The room was filled with a hushed calm, a stark contrast to the turmoil Charles had been through.
Max took a deep breath, trying to process everything the doctor had said. Charles’s condition was still fragile, but at least the immediate crisis seemed to be under control. Max knew that once Charles woke up, there would be many questions to answer, and he would have to explain everything in detail.
For now, all Max could do was stay by Charles’s side, offering the silent support he needed. As he gently brushed a strand of hair away from Charles’s forehead, he hoped that the worst was over and that the rest of the night would bring some much-needed rest and clarity for both of them.