the archer | Max Verstappen

twenty-three

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

𝐌𝐚𝐱-

It's been a month.

 A month since everything exploded.

She's still here—at home, locked in her own little world, staying away from the cameras, avoiding the public eye. 

I get it, I really do. 

If I were her, I wouldn't want to face the world either. 

But it's hard. 

So hard. 

I can't keep myself away from her.

 Even when I'm in the middle of a race, part of me is thinking about how she's doing, whether she's okay, if she's hurting.

I've been back and forth, coming to her after races, trying to be there for her in the small ways that count. 

The quiet nights, when she's wrapped in a blanket, staring out the window, not saying much but needing me to be near her. 

And I am. 

I show up because it feels like the only thing I can do, the only thing I know how to do.

She hasn't posted, hasn't said a word to the media. 

I'm sure she's getting messages, calls, but I can't help but feel like it's all so wrong—her life being torn apart like this. 

And I can't shake the feeling that it's my fault, somehow.

I still haven't told her how I feel. 

Not exactly. 

There have been moments, fleeting ones, when I thought I could just say it, tell her everything that's been on my mind since the crash, since the night she looked at me with that softness in her eyes.

But it's never the right moment. 

She's not ready for it, I know that. 

And I'm scared. 

Scared of the possibility that if I say it, she'll push me away again. 

I've seen her do it, time and time again. 

So I keep my distance when I need to, and I try to be patient.

We're getting closer, I can feel it. 

When I come back after races, she lets me in a little more each time. 

Sometimes, she just needs someone to sit with her in silence. 

Other times, I catch her smiling when I say something stupid to break the tension, and for a moment, it feels like things are almost normal again. 

Almost.

But she's still distant. 

Still not the same Catalina I knew before all of this happened. 

I don't know how to get her to talk, to open up. 

The walls are up, and I'm standing on the other side, trying to figure out the code to break them down.

I catch myself wondering if we'll ever get back to that place. 

The one before the scandal, before all the confusion, before everything became so complicated. 

I miss her laughter. 

I miss the way her eyes would light up when I'd say something that made her laugh, the way she'd roll her eyes when I'd tease her.

I don't know where this is going, but I can't stop myself from hoping. 

Hoping that eventually, she'll see that I'm not here just for the PR, not here because I'm obligated or because I'm trying to save face. 

I'm here because I care.

Maybe that's the hardest part. 

The waiting.

Because, deep down, I think I know—no matter how hard it is, no matter how much fear I feel, I want her. 

Not just because of what happened. 

Not just because of the PR mess we're still tangled in. 

But because... I love her. 

And I'm terrified that she'll never feel the same way.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

𝙲𝚊𝚝𝚊𝚕𝚒𝚗𝚊-

I don't know when it started, really. 

Maybe it was when Max showed up at my door after the scandal broke, staying long enough to make sure I was okay but never pushing me to talk when I wasn't ready. 

Or maybe it was the little things—how he always made sure I wasn't alone at the races, how he'd randomly send a text to check in, even when he was busy. 

I've never been good at accepting help or kindness without feeling like I'm supposed to give something back, but with him, it felt different. 

He didn't ask for anything in return.

He didn't want anything from me. 

He just wanted to be there.

I keep replaying his laugh in my head.

 It sounds so real, so unguarded, like he doesn't have to hide behind the walls he's built around himself. I want to be like that. 

Free, without this constant pressure to be someone I'm not. 

It feels like Max is the only person who's seen past all of this—the PR, the scandal, everything—and still stayed. 

He doesn't treat me like a fragile thing. 

He's patient, but not in a way that makes me feel weak.

The way he supports me, even when I push him away, I don't know how to handle it. It's like he sees me for who I am, even when I don't want to see myself.

And then there's the moment I didn't expect—the way he makes me feel... like I'm actually worth something more than what's been thrown at me. 

The way his eyes soften when he looks at me, like I'm not just the girl everyone's been talking about, the girl they've tried to tear down. 

He makes me feel like I'm worth more than that.

So, yeah, I'm starting to realize it. 

I'm starting to realize that what we have is not just some PR thing anymore. 

It's real. 

And I don't know what to do with that.

I sit down at the piano after another long day. 

My fingers run over the keys, and it's like they know what I need before I do. 

The lyrics start flowing, and they're about him. 

About Max. 

About how I feel when I'm with him, even when I don't say it out loud. 

It's not perfect, but it's me. It's how I've been feeling.

"Walked in expecting you'd be late
But you got here early and you stand and wave
I walk to you

You pull my chair out and help me in
And you don't know how nice that is
But I do

And you throw your head back laughing
Like a little kid
I think it's strange that you think I'm funny, 'cause
He never did

I've been spending the last eight months
Thinking all love ever does
Is break and burn, and end
But on a Wednesday in a cafe
I watched it begin again"

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───