the archer | Max Verstappen

fifteen

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

𝙲𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚊-

When I heard about the crash, I felt my stomach drop.

I'd watched the screen freeze with that awful, tense silence that falls over the crowd whenever something goes wrong. 

They replayed the footage, the impact, the car spinning out, and suddenly, everything felt a little too real. 

I held my breath, keeping my expression calm, convincing myself he was fine. 

Max was tough; he'd come through worse before. 

But even so, I couldn't ignore how my hands shook or how I had to fight to keep myself still.

The stoic mask felt thin, barely holding together as I made my way to the hospital. 

It's funny—I've spent so much time keeping everything casual with him, treating this relationship like a game we're playing. 

But when I heard he was hurt, none of that seemed to matter. 

I just needed to see him, to know for myself that he was okay.

When I finally reached his room, I stopped outside the door, taking a breath to steady myself. 

It felt like my heart was racing as fast as his car had been. 

I opened the door quietly, half afraid of what I'd see. 

But there he was, looking up as I entered, his expression somewhere between surprised and relieved.

I tried to keep my voice steady as I asked him how he was, but I could tell he saw right through me. 

He looked at me for a long second, like he was piecing something together too. 

And in that moment, I realized just how much I cared about him—more than I'd let myself believe.

The relief washed over me like a wave, and I could finally breathe again. 

It wasn't until I felt my shoulders relax that I realized how tense I'd been. 

We didn't say much, but just knowing he was okay made everything else fade into the background.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

𝐌𝐚𝐱-

I knew the crash looked worse than it was. 

By the time they got me to the hospital, the adrenaline had mostly faded, leaving me with a few bruises and a headache that I'd probably feel for days. 

They'd already run tests, and I knew I'd be fine. 

It was a relief, honestly, but I'd never admit to how rattled I'd been in the moment.

What I didn't expect was Catalina.

When she walked in, it was like a shock to the system. 

She stood there in the doorway, looking like she'd just run straight here without a second thought. 

Her face was calm, but her eyes gave her away. 

They held this fierce, quiet worry that threw me off guard. 

I wasn't used to seeing her like that—at least, not for me.

I'd assumed she'd keep her distance, that she'd send a polite text or wait for the PR team's statement like usual. 

But here she was, standing right in front of me, looking at me like I mattered more than just as a headline or a "relationship" duty.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice steady, but there was this edge to it, like she'd been holding her breath since the crash.

I nodded, suddenly feeling the need to reassure her. 

"I'm fine. Just a bit banged up."

But she didn't move or take her eyes off me, like she was making sure she could see it for herself. 

For a moment, the air between us felt heavier, different.

And then, something hit me—a feeling I couldn't really pin down, but I knew it was about her. 

The way she looked at me right then was enough to make me forget the pain, to forget about the crash entirely.

When she finally relaxed, just the tiniest bit, it felt like some unspoken weight lifted.

 I didn't know what to say, so I didn't say anything. 

I just let her stay close, let her worry, and let myself feel something that I hadn't let myself feel for anyone in a long time.