Ignorance is bliss | Max Verstappen x Reader
Genre | Angst, Hurt/Comfort.
Warnings | Brief mentions of sexual activities, panic attack, Max and reader get in a fight.
Summary | Max and you have been dating for several months, and everything is going well. Except when paparazzi start chasing you for no reason. Is your boyfriend hiding something from you?
Author's note | This was requested by @butterflyexe ! Thank you lovely for the great idea! I tweaked it a bit though, so I hope you like it! I loved writing this piece but again, sorry for the crippling angst lmao 🥲 Not proofread as usual, oopsie
The doorbell of your apartment rings, and you leap off your couch, opening the door and throwing yourself into your boyfriend's arms.
"Oh, wow," Max says, pressing a kiss to your head. "Did you know it was me or do you throw yourself into the arms of everyone who rings your doorbell?" he adds, laughing.
"Of course I knew it was you," you reply, laughing too. "I've been waiting for you all week. And I noted that your flight was landing an hour ago, so it lined up," you explain, taking his hand and leading him to the couch, where you both sit down.
Max looks tired, the bags under his eyes casting blue and gray shades on his pale skin. He moves to lie down on the couch, resting his head on your thighs, closing his eyes.
"How was the work trip?" you ask, playing with his hair.
"It was great," he finally replies, opening his eyes and meeting yours. "Quite tiring, but interesting. It was nice to, erm. See my colleagues again," he says.
"I still can't believe your company paid for the trip all the way to Australia," you whisper as Max closes his eyes again under your caresses. "If I had known the automotive industry required you to travel that much, I would have applied for the job."
Max doesn't respond, simply taking one of your hand in his and gently stroking your knee with the other.
"You must feel so out of it with the jet lag..." you continue, concerned. "It's a good thing they gave you a few days to rest. When are you expected back at work?"
"Not until next week," Max says, playing with the rings on your fingers.
"And you said you're going to Japan after? That's such a weird ass schedule," you say, making him laugh. "I feel like you travel more than most influencers... Or even athletes," you state, making him open an eye.
"Perks of the job," Max says before planting a soft kiss on your lips, and standing up. "Can I borrow your shower?"
"Of course! You know the way," you wink at him, heading towards the kitchen. "I'll fix us something to eat in the meantime."
Sitting at the small table in your kitchen, illuminated by a few candles and the lights of the city outside, Max devours the plate you placed in front of him a few minutes ago. You silently observe him, both fascinated by the man before you and disturbed by a thought that has plagued you in his absence.
"I've been thinking," you start, making your boyfriend look up.
"Yeah? Tell me," he says, covering your hand with his.
"How come I've never been to your place?"
Max stops chewing, his light eyes fixated on yours.
"I didn't know you wanted to?" he replies, brows furrowed.
"Well I've never asked to, but isn't that how it usually works in a relationship? Once at mine, once at yours?"
"I'm sorry," Max replies. "I didn't realize it was important to you."
You suddenly feel guilty and squeeze your boyfriend's hand, giving him a warm smile.
"Forget it, sorry," you say, getting up to rinse your plate. "That was stupid. You're right, we're fine here."
After dinner, you and Max settle on the couch again, watching some show on Netflix. When you notice Max fighting against sleep, his eyelids heavy and his breath short, you grab the remote before turning off the TV. The sudden silence jolts him awake, and you laugh before pulling him by the arm and leading him down to your bedroom. You make a quick stop in the bathroom to remove your makeup and brush your teeth and, when you come back to the room, you find Max fast asleep under the covers. The sight is endearing. You press a kiss on his forehead before settling next to him, your cold body against his already warm one.
The next morning, you wake up alone in a cold bed. A familiar smell tickles your nostrils, and you make your way to the kitchen, your eyes still heavy with sleep.
"Good morning!" Max says, already dressed up, and looking much fresher than yesterday. "I made us breakfast."
"Wow, that's so sweet of you," you say before sitting at the table, taking a hot pancake from the plate in front of you.
"I'm sorry for falling asleep so fast yesterday," your boyfriend starts again. "To make it up to you, I'd like to take you out to lunch."
The offer takes you by surprise, and you stare at your boyfriend, mouth agape. It's been five months since you started seeing each other. Five months since you bumped into him by chance at the Monte Carlo casino while you were out dining with friends. Five months of being inseparable, but also five months of very limited outings. Max travels a lot for work, and you don't necessarily have the means to go out regularly in Monaco. Most of the moments you share therefore take place within the four walls of your apartment, and you're thrilled to get some fresh air with him for once.
"You seem happy," he says, snapping you out of your thoughts.
"I am!" you say, pressing a kiss to his lips. "Where are we going?"
"What about Nobu?" Max says.
"What? Max, that's way too expensive," you reply, furrowing your brows.
"It doesn't really matter, given I'll be the one paying."
"No way," you say. "We're splitting the bill. And I'm not paying three grands for some sushis, as delicious as everyone claim they are."
"They really are. So please, let me do this for you. Just this once? I can afford it," your boyfriend says, making you frown.
His words remind you that you don't know what your boyfriend does for a living. He's talked to you about cars, mechanics, but you're having trouble understanding what kind of job in the automotive industry requires so much traveling around the world. A job that apparently pays very well, given the restaurants he frequents. Realizing there's no point in arguing and not wanting to pick a fight with Max, you simply nod, lips pressed together. However, you're counting on one last point to escape the pricey restaurant and hopefully eat elsewhere. Somewhere more affordable.
"Well, if you insist," you finally say, popping a strawberry in your mouth. "I doubt we'll get a table for noon, though," you add. "I heard you have to book months in advance."
"Don't worry about that," Max says, stroking your cheek. "I need to stop by my place real quick before, can we meet there?"
Two hours later, you're sitting at one of the finest tables at Nobu, facing the sea. The fuck just happened, you think, watching your boyfriend immersed in the menu with a raised eyebrow. How? Before you have time to question it further, a waiter brings two champagne flutes and a bottle in a Nobu-stamped ice bucket to your table before hurrying away, thanking you two profusely for coming.
"Did you order this?" you ask Max, making him look up.
"No, I didn't. That's so kind of them."
"What the actual fuck, Max?" you snap, eyes wide. "What's going on?"
"What do you mean?" your boyfriend asks.
"Did you somehow not notice how everyone's been bending over backward for us since we walked in? I think the waitress behind you hasn't taken her eyes off us for the past thirty minutes. And since when do they bring champagne to people who haven't ordered anything?" you say with a worried look. "Are they confusing us for someone?"
"Why are you so worried?" Max asks, giving you a look that's meant to be reassuring but just looks uncomfortable. "Just enjoy the moment. And the view."
You sit back in your chair, biting the inside of your cheek. Something isn't right. You can feel it. Max adjusts one of his hair strands, and the sleeve of his shirt slips down slightly, revealing a watch you've never seen before. It takes you a few seconds to recognize the model, and when you do, your heart skips a beat.
"Is this a new watch?" you ask, trying to act nonchalant.
"What? Oh, yeah. Bought it in Melbourne."
"You casually bought a Rolex Daytona?" you ask, tilting your head.
"I didn't know you knew about watches," Max says, adjusting the collar of his shirt.
"You don't need to know about watches to know that this model costs almost a hundred thousand euros," you say, eyes boring into his.
The tension at the table has risen a notch, none of you uttering a word. As an anxious waiter places several plates in front of you, you glance around, suddenly realizing something you hadn't noticed before, absorbed in your conversation with your boyfriend.
"There's no one here," you say, still looking around. "It's noon on a Saturday, and the restaurant is empty."
Max sighs, running a hand through his hair.
"I know," he finally says, carefully meeting your gaze. "I wanted us to have some peace."
"I've privatized the restaurant," he says.
"How did you do that?" you ask, unintentionally raising your voice.
"I paid," Max simply says, grabbing a sushi.
"Several thousands!" Max almost shouts, making you wince. "What's up with all your questions?"
You're completely lost. You don't recognize the man you've been seeing for the past five months. The man who comes to your place by foot, usually in sweatpants, who spends evenings watching Netflix with you. Taking baths with you. Passionately making love to you. You have no idea who this new man is, covered in expensive clothes and accessories, on whom all heads turn and who raises whispers as he passes by.
"Who the fuck are you?" you simply ask, feeling your eyes start to water.
"Baby," Max says, finally realizing how uncomfortable and lost you are. "Please, can we just enjoy the meal? I'll answer all your questions at your place. I'll explain everything, but please. Let's not make a scene," he implores.
You swallow hard, staring at the ceiling to dry the tears in the corners of your eyes. For the rest of the meal, Max talks, telling you about his trip, about his life. You politely answer the few questions your boyfriend asks you, remaining silent the rest of the time. You don't even have an appetite anymore, having swallowed three sushi pieces before your stomach threatened to turn.
At the end of the meal, Max slips a credit card into the folder that a waiter has placed on the table, then adds three hundred-dollar bills. Tip, you think. More than what I earn in a day of work. The price of discretion, probably. The waiter leaves with the folder before coming back, and just as he's about to ask for something, Max shots him a look that makes him close his mouth. Your boyfriend thanks the young man before walking around the table, extending a hand that you grasp to rise as well. You thank the still-empty restaurant staff, giving them a genuine smile despite the anxiety twisting your stomach. Max opens the door for you, and you walk out on the street, thanking him.
For a moment, you curse yourself for forgetting your sunglasses at home, as the Monaco sun blinds you instantly. You blink in surprise, but your blindness persists as Max grabs your wrist and pushes you behind him. You try to open your eyes, but flashes keep assaulting you, and it takes you a few seconds to realize that they're coming from huge cameras pointed just inches away from your face.
"Max?"' you ask with a high-pitched voice, starting to panic.
Max turns around, pressing you against him and covering your eyes as he guides you through the screaming crowd. People push you in all directions, pressing against you, touching your arms, your face, crumpling your clothes. Screaming. At first, you can't make sense of what the voices are shouting, with all your senses being overwhelmed. But suddenly, you hear it. Max. They're screaming his name. Max looks up, and a new series of flashes burn your retinas as your boyfriend holds you even tighter against him, one arm around your shoulders.
"I'm so sorry," you hear him say among the voices.
"What's happening?" you ask, panting.
And, then, you feel it. The panic attack. Even though you've never experienced one before, you immediately understand what's happening to you. You recognize the signs. Your legs give way, and you have to cling to Max to keep from falling to your knees. Your heart rate and breath quicken until they're suffocating, while tears stream down your cheeks.
"I can't breathe," you croak, so weakly that you're not even sure if Max heard you.
"Hang on, baby," your boyfriend says, still walking. "We're almost at the car."
The flashes continue, and so do your tears. Max grips you as tightly as he can, shielding your face, lifting you halfway to help you walk. After a few seconds, the longest of your life, you hear a car door open, and Max gently pushes you into his car before closing the door and jumping in. He wastes no time in starting the engine, cutting through the crowd, disappearing into the alleys of Monaco.
You don't say a word. You're unable to speak. Unable to breathe. Still trembling. Crying. You don't realize it, but Max struggles to tear his eyes away from your body, which seems so small, so battered at this moment. He doesn't speak either, biting his lips until it draws blood. He hates himself. He knows he'll regret making you go through this for a long time. But now, all he can do is explain. Lay all the cards on the table. Something he should have done a long time ago.
The journey seems to last an eternity until you catch sight of a gigantic building, and Max drives into an underground parking. He parks the car and rushes out, opening your door, helping you out. You're still in shock, and Max supports you as he guides you to an elevator. A few seconds later, after twist of his keys, you find yourself in a vast penthouse overlooking the Mediterranean Sea. You don't even have the strength to ask questions anymore. To ask where you are. You sit down on the large couch, wiping the tears from your cheeks. Trying to calm your breathing.
Max watches you, standing at the foot of the couch. Bewildered. Not even daring to come close to you. The two of you stand in silence a few moments, until he finally speaks.
"I know it won't fix anything. But I'm truly, sincerely sorry."
You don't reply, head low. playing with the rings on your finger.
"I owe you some explanations."
"I'm a Formula 1 driver."
You finally look up, and the mascara streaks on your cheeks squeeze his heart in the worst way.
"I should have told you earlier. I should have warned you, but I couldn't. With you, I discovered normalcy. Anonymity. I discovered what it was live to have an ordinary life, away from the hustle, the stress, the constant judgment."
"So you knew how precious it was," you say, squinting your eyes. "And yet, you chose to expose me to all of those things."
"I hadn't planned for it to happen. I didn't want it to happen. I tried."
"I can't do this," you reply, feeling fresh tears roll down your cheeks.
Seeing you cry again, Max sits on the couch, pulling you close to him as another sob shakes your body.
"Why?" you ask, crying. "Why did you let me fall in love with the person I thought you were?"
Each of your words, each of your sobs break his heart a little more, but he takes it. He knows your anger is justified. Deserved.
"Because I loved you too. And I didn't want this to stop."
"You lied to me," you say between two sobs. "I trusted you. I trusted you so much."
It's too much. Even for him. A tear runs down his cheek. Max wipes it away angrily.
"If you never want to see me again, I understand. I'll come get my things. I'll erase your number. I won't stand in the way of you living a normal life, of finding love with someone normal. You deserve the best, even if it's not with me."
You despise him for having been himself, his most vulnerable self, with you. For charming you with his awkwardness, his foreign accent, his somewhat strict manners. You hate him for being the perfect man for you. You hate him for making your heart beat so strongly. But above all, you hate him for building your love on a lie, on fragile foundations doomed to collapse and sweep you both away in the wreckage.
"I hate you," you sob, making his heart stop. "And I hate myself even more. For not being able to let you go."
"Baby", he says, moving to kneel in front of you. "If you give me this chance, a chance to rebuild everything with you again, I swear that nothing will ever happen to you again. I won't let anyone near you, anyone touch you. Not even a glance. I will rebuild everything around us. We'll be untouchable. Indestructible."
"Are you ready, baby?" Max asks, meeting your gaze. "Once I post it, there's no going back."
"I think so," you say, biting on your fingernails. "Let's get this over with," you add, sitting on his knees while the driver presses a kiss to your neck, softly stroking your leg.
