Adrenaline: A Lestappen Story

𝟏.𝟑 - 𝐛𝐥𝐮𝐫𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬

"I could have sworn I saw him entering the bathroom. There's no way he left the party without a word," A second voice called out, unmistakably Gianpiero, Max's main race engineer. Max's muscles coiled in tension as he stood in the shadows of the restroom stall. In that suspended moment, the reality of escaping unnoticed seemed to fade like a distant mirage. On the other side of the stall, a conversation unfolded, the Red Bull engineers expression their concern over Max's absence.

Charles stood frozen, his years of training suddenly irrelevant and his reaction time laughably slow. As Charles remained rooted in stillness, Max seamlessly transitioned from contemplation to action, a kinetic force in motion.
Emerging from the concealment of the restroom stall, he instinctively positioned himself as a shield, protecting the other man from prying eyes.

"Max! Where the hell were you?" they exclaimed, their faces a mix of joy at finding him and confusion.

"Had too many drinks... didn't sit well with me," he lied, heading directly to the sink to wash his hands.

"Do you feel better now?" one of them asked, to which Max reluctantly nodded in silence.

 "Alright! Hurry up, everyone's looking for you; they're about to play your song!" they shouted drunkenly, pulling Max out of the bathroom before he had even finished washing his hands. The journey to the exit felt like the longest he had ever taken, his body resisting the urge to push his friends away and return to the stall where Charles lingered.

"C'mon, Max!" one of his friends insisted, noticing the slow pace of the blond and opening the door to ease his passage. Charles could do nothing but listen as the Red Bull team coaxed their driver away from the bathroom, taking with them the fleeting moment that had been shared between them.

Five minutes or an eternity – Charles couldn't discern time in the stagnant air of the restroom stall. He stood there, paralyzed, attempting to recollect himself while clinging to the faint hope that Max might find a way back. Reality eventually set in, and Charles understood that Max, the life of the party and the reason for celebration, had quickly shift the spotlight away from their shared encounter. Exiting the stall, he washed his hands, recalling moments ago when their encounter began. Struggling to comprehend how swiftly it progressed and ended, he made his way to an exit, leaving behind the shadows of what they had done.

When a hand reached for his arm, hope momentarily flooded him and he turned around in anticipation, hoping to see the blond. Reality crashed hard and soon he realized the hand was too small to be the other man's.

"There you are," Alexandra, his girlfriend, remarked, her tone carrying an air of nonchalance, as if she had found him in the most predictable of places. She asked no questions about his whereabouts, merely dragging him along back to the bar where more drinking ensued. In her presence, Charles couldn't help but feel a stark contrast to the private intensity he had shared with Max just minutes before.

It wasn't until an hour later when Charles struggled to form a coherent sentence that he was helped out of the party. Unbeknownst to him, at the same time, Max accompanied his team principal, Christian Horner, outside to wait for his chauffeur. The brunette might have been too drunk and unsteady; his eyes were not focused on anything except trying to get into the car without becoming overly nauseous. However, the blue eyes of Max were unable to break their gaze on him, watching every move Charles made and hoping that he would turn around.

Breaking away from the magnetic pull of Charles, Max exchanged hurried farewells, his focus momentarily diverted. When he returned his gaze to where Charles had stood he discovered an absence. Like a phantom, Charles had seamlessly dissolved into the shadows, finding refuge within his car, leaving Max with the echo of their unexplored connection lingering in the air.