Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

George woke up with this kind of deep peace filling his heart that he’d been getting used to throughout the past weeks. It was the kind of peace that came from knowing that you were falling asleep in the arms of the person you loved with your whole self, and that you were going to greet the next day with them by your side. 

At first, George had found it hard to grasp that feeling like this was even possible. All the mornings he’d spent with anxiety and bone-deep sadness nagging at him had made him believe that he would spend his whole life like that. Those dark moments, those doubting voices in his head, the heavy days - they were still there, but now he had Max who loved him despite all his demons. 

George wasn’t alone anymore and it changed everything about his life - the darkness inside him didn’t magically disappear, but he wasn’t afraid of getting swallowed whole by it, not now when he knew Max would never let that happen, would always ground him in his arms. 

The Brit stretched out lazily, humming in content at the rays of Monaco sunshine coming in through the blinds and warming his body. As he rolled over to the other side of the bed, his hands found empty sheets, but he didn’t panic - he was already used to Max getting up earlier than him to treat him with a tasty breakfast. It looked like the Dutchman couldn’t get enough of spoiling him and it made George incredibly flustered every single time. 

George’s eyes travelled up and stopped on a little post-it note waiting for him on Max’s pillow. He smiled widely - it seemed like leaving those short notes was becoming Max’s new habit and the Brit found it more than sweet. He reached over to grab the small piece of paper, excited about what cheeky message his boyfriend had come up with this time. 

Morning, schatje
I went to grab some fresh bread for breakfast.
You were sleeping so peacefully that I didn’t have the heart to wake you up.
You deserve to sleep in and take some rest,
especially after how eventful last night was…

The last part made George chuckle and he couldn’t help, but blushed at the memory of what had happened just hours earlier. He closed his eyes dreamily and it was enough to transport him back and feel the echo of Max’s hands working him up so skillfully. A sigh escaped his lips as he thought how gentle and merciless Max had been at the same time, his touch feather-like but so deliberate. The Dutchman already knew too well how to handle George, which words to whisper in his ear, and it felt so exhilarating for the Brit to be known and loved like that. 

‘You’re so pretty when you’re under me, my boy, so pretty…’ Max’s words from last night sounded loud and clear in his mind as he remembered the sensations that had accompanied them. His whole body trembled pleasantly and he failed to bite back a small moan as heat came rushing down to the lower part of his stomach…

But then George opened his eyes and forced himself to hold back with a few deep breaths. He knew that Max would be disappointed if he didn’t wait for him to come back and join. He couldn’t wait for Max’s lips to curl up into a teasing smirk when George would pull him back to bed and tell him how much he had to fight himself to stay patient, how powerful just the memory of him was. Yes, George was down bad for his boyfriend, but he couldn’t care less about it, not a single hint of embarrassment in his eyes as they gleamed with expectation. 

He sat up comfortably with his back against the bedframe and redirected his thoughts into a safer area. The pair was back in Max’s Monaco penthouse, taking some time to themselves in the few free days they had after the Baku GP and before they would have to head to Singapore. The apartment was slowly but surely becoming their small island of peace, where they could hide away from the world and just be with each other. George loved how easily they slipped into the home atmosphere every time they were here together - sharing meals on the balcony with a breathtaking view, playing with Max’s cats, going for an occasional match of padel to their favourite club. Just two people in love, not racing drivers under constant pressure.  

A sudden sound harshly pulled him out of those comforting thoughts. It was just a knock on the door, but Max never knocked, he always left the door open, they were in bloody Monaco after all, who would try to rob anybody here? A little seed of anxiety planted itself in George’s chest, but still he got up, grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the armchair to look at least half-decent and walked to check who the unexpected guest was. 

He was almost sure that it was just Max and another one of his silly ideas, so he wasn’t in a hurry, stopping by in the living room to give a good morning scratch to Jimmy still sleeping on the sofa. But the knock on the door repeated, louder and more urgent, almost aggressive. George felt another wave of unease come over him as his brows furrowed in confusion. 

‘Wait here, Jimmy, your dad is impatient today…’ He muttered to himself although now he was less and less sure that it was Max behind the door. 

As he reached the entrance, his hand hovered over the handle, hesitation taking over him for a moment. Something told him not to open the door, but in the end he ignored the feeling, blaming it on his general anxiety problems and finally grabbed the handle confidently. 

When he opened the door and saw the person in front of him, his mind went blank for a few long seconds, as if not wanting to accept the image. Then George felt cold sweat on his back despite the sunny weather as his breath hitched in surprise. His first thought was they should have seen it coming, that it was to be expected to happen at some point, but now it was too late for such dwellings. 

Right in front of him stood Jos Verstappen - a grim expression on his face, jaws clenched tight and eyes the coldest shade of blue; the exact same shade that Max’s eyes had and yet they couldn’t look more different to George, one pair filled with infinite love every time he looked into them, while the other seemed to be set in merciless stone. 

He had no idea how much time had passed when he finally managed to utter, his voice trembling:

‘Good morning, sir, I… Sorry, Max just went out to grab some groceries…'

‘Of course you’re here, parading around his house half-naked, opening the door as if you owned the place.’ A dry laugh escaped Jos’s throat after the condescending remark. ‘But maybe it’s better that it’s just us. We should have had a nice talk way earlier already, don’t you think?’

George hesitated, unsure what to do. He didn’t want to let Jos in, knowing what he’d done to Max in the past, knowing what kind of a man he was, but he was also afraid of what could happen if he didn’t cooperate, afraid of making the situation even worse. He thought that maybe everything would be okay if he let Jos talk, if he just bit his tongue and endured. 

‘What, you won’t invite me to my own son’s apartment?’ Jos looked at him expectantly. 

‘Oh, sorry, of course… Yeah, come in.’ George shook himself awake and stood aside to make way for the Dutchman. 

He closed the door behind him and took a deep breath, telling himself that everything was fine, that he could do this if he just stayed calm. As he followed Jos into the spacious living room, suddenly he felt embarrassed, remembering that he still didn’t have his shirt on. 

‘Sir, if you’d give me a moment…’ George gestured to the corridor, already walking towards the bedroom. ‘I’ll just grab something to wear and…’

‘What the fuck are you even doing here?’ Jos stopped him in his tracks.

‘I…’ The question came so unexpectedly that George could just stare at the other man with wide eyes.

‘What? Cat got your tongue now when you’re faced with some responsibility for your actions?’ Jos’s voice was becoming louder and more fierce with every word as he kept approaching the Brit, every step bringing him closer. 

‘Sir, I…’ George knew it was no use trying to hide the truth, it was already out in the open for the world when he and Max had kissed publicly a week ago and made their relationship official. ‘I’m here, because… Because Max wants me here, we… We love each other.’

The Dutchman’s face contorted in a mix of anger and disgust at George’s words before he uttered a dry laugh and ran a hand down his face.

‘Is that what you’ve been telling yourself?’ He asked, his tone patronizing. 

‘What… what do you mean?’ The Brit couldn’t hide his confusion, nor his fear as he tried to widen the distance between him and Jos with small steps backwards. 

‘I mean that Max doesn’t love.’ Jos spit the words out. ‘It’s not what I taught him. He doesn’t love. He only possesses.’

Something twisted inside George at the ugliness of this statement. He knew it wasn’t true, yet just the implication felt like a dagger to his heart. He wouldn’t just stand there and listen to this man making Max look like a monster he wanted him to be. A sudden surge of bravery made him step forward, his eyes resembling a storm as he said with utter confidence:

‘It’s not true. Max loves me, I know that.’ He swallowed hard before continuing despite his heart hammering in his chest, despite his breathing growing more and more shallow. ‘I know what you did to him, I know what you wanted to make him become, but he was stronger than that. He is not like you. He’s not a monster.’

Silence fell on the men as George’s words echoed around - brave, unwavering, accusatory. For a moment Jos just looked at the Brit, his brows furrowing as if he was surprised that the man in front of him had enough courage to say such words. But then something changed, the surprise disappeared, replaced by something colder and sharper visible in every line of his face. 

His eyes darkened with something evil and before George could react, the man closed whatever distance was still separating them and a second later he was right in front of him, grabbing his neck with force and pushing him against the wall. 

The air escaped from the Brit’s lungs the moment his back connected with the wall and panic spiked inside him. Instinctively, he grabbed the hand that was locked around his throat, trying to force it away, but Jos was too strong and he had the advantage of surprise. George couldn’t even think rationally, his heart racing too fast and his lungs struggling for oxygen. The only thought clear in his head was that he had to get away from this man, that he was in danger and there was nobody around to help. 

‘How dare you talk to me like that, you bastard?’ Jos’s voice was quiet now, but all the more terrifying. His face was so close to George’s that the Brit could feel his breath washing over his skin, which made him flinch in disgust. 

‘I can’t fucking believe that my son fell so low for someone like you, for someone so pathetic and weak, for… For a man.’ The last words were spit out with clear revulsion. George kept wringing under his hold, but Jos didn’t care as he continued. ‘You know, at first I thought that it was impossible, all the rumours I’ve been hearing. I was sure that my son is way better than that. But then I saw those photos of you kissing…’ He closed his eyes tight as if just the memory was making him nauseous. ‘This is not what I raised my son to be. I raised him to be a champion, not a fucking faggot.’

The cruelty of his words cut through the fog of fear that clouded George’s brain and he felt a sharp pang of pain inside his chest. The pain added fuel to the fire of his fury and with a sudden surge of strength he pushed the Dutchman away successfully, using the whole weight of his body to lunge forward. 

The moment Jos’s hand left his throat, he gasped for air, crouching down, but the relief was only momentary. Jos cursed in Dutch under his breath, stumbling over his feet, but he quickly regained his composure and darted towards George before he could escape. Soon enough, his hand was back around the Brit’s throat as he shoved him against the wall with even greater force than before. 

‘You think you can outsmart me, huh? You can’t even seriously compete for a fucking championship and you think you could beat me?’ He hissed close to George’s ear. 

He opened his mouth, ready to utter more insults, but his eyes stopped on something that made him hesitate. George followed his stare with a struggle and saw that the Dutchman’s eyes were fixated on a red mark blooming under his right collarbone - a lovebite Max had left the night before, George could replay the pleasant moment in his head clear as a recorded video. 

If earlier Jos’s face was a picture of anger and revulsion, now every one of his features scrunched up in utter fury. His hold on George tightened even more as he pushed him harder into the wall. George’s stomach twisted at the pure hatred he saw on the Dutchman’s face. 

‘This is what you make my son do, you pervert? Is this his mark?’ 

The question came with a slight release of the hold around the Brit’s neck, so that he could answer, Jos wanted him to confirm. George sucked in the new portion of air that suddenly became available, but he didn’t speak. He just stared in panic, tears staining his cheeks, his pupils blown wide. 

‘Answer me!’ Jos’s thunderous shout echoed in the room, the command making George flinch yet again. 

‘Y-yes..’ He finally uttered, his voice barely audible, hoarse and wheezing. 

‘This is all on you, this is all your fucking fault.’ The Dutchman’s grip became suffocating back again. ‘You’ve destroyed what I’ve been building for years. You made my son soft, weak, lacking… His life is supposed to be centred around racing, not around some British doll of a man. But this ends now, you’ll pack up your things and you’ll leave and never come back, is that clear?’

George’s vision was filled with dark spots now, the world around him swaying from the lack of oxygen in his lungs, from the physical pain and from the overwhelming panic. He could only think of Max, he wanted to call for him at the top of his lungs, but he couldn’t, his voice taken away from him. 

‘You’re going to leave my son’s life, because I tell you so. Because he’s so much bigger than you, because he’s supposed to achieve so much more and you won’t be a distraction in that, because…’

The string of words was interrupted by a much gentler voice coming in from the hallway, accompanied by the soft thud of foodsteps. 

‘I’m back, schatje ! Hope you’re already awake, my sleepy boy, I…’

Max entered the living room and stopped abruptly, his eyes growing wide as he took the sight in, disbelief clouding his judgment.

The sudden appearance of the third person made both Jos and George freeze, unable to move - George from the relief flooding his veins, Jos from surprise and anger that he was interrupted. For a few seconds all three men just stood and stared at each other, the situation too grotesque and unexpected. 

Finally, it was Max whose instinct pushed him to action, any hesitation gone as his hands curled into furious fists by his side, his eyes centered on George - crying, whimpering, hurting. He had to protect him, that was all that mattered. 

‘Let go of him right now! Leave him alone!’ 

Max shouted, voice full of fury, but he didn’t wait for his dad to listen. Immediately after he lunged forward and pushed Jos away from George, the older man went tumbling down to the floor from the impact.

Max didn’t spare him a single glance, he instantly turned towards George and grabbed him before the Brit could collapse to the ground, closing him in the safety of his embrace. 

‘I got you, baby, I got you, you’re safe now. God…’ Max’s throat tightened as he saw the bruises around his lover’s neck from where his father strangled him. Tears filled his eyes and his chest ached in this terrifying way that came from seeing his lover hurt.  ‘God, I’m so sorry, my beautiful boy, I…’ 

George held on to Max with the last ounce of strength he had in him, gasping for air and trembling all over from fear, from the pure strain it took for his body to hold on. His pale hands locked into weak fists around Max’s shirt, desperately trying to ground himself, looking for protection. His face was wet both with tears and sweat, the hair near his temples plastered to his skin.

‘I’m here now, liefje, I won’t let anything bad happen to you, shh…’ Max kept rocking him gently in his arms and leaving kisses on the top of his head. ‘Just keep breathing for me, that’s it…’

The Dutchman almost completely forgot about his father still being in the room, his entire attention focused on George and making sure he was safe by his side. 

Meanwhile, Jos scrambled up to his feet, hissing as he felt some sharp pain in the shoulder he’d landed on and stood a few feet away from the scene, watching with growing contempt until he finally said:

‘Can’t you see how fucking pathetic he is? This is not what I raised you to be, Max.’

Max’s eyes shot up, his gaze was filled with the coldest fury, highlighted by the glistening tears. As he spoke, his voice was even and confident despite the intensity of his emotions:

‘Don’t you fucking dare call him pathetic. You are the one who is pathetic, projecting your failures onto your son, turning me into some sort of a sick project of yours.’

‘I made you the champion you are today, Max, I did!’ Jos shouted, his face red with anger. ‘Without me, you’d be nothing!’

‘I never asked for any of it!’ Max finally shouted back, not holding back anymore, spilling the words that had been stuck in his chest for so long. ‘I only ever asked for your love and approval, because you are my fucking father! And the only way to get that was to win, so that’s all I ever fucking did!’

It seemed that for a moment the slightest hint of hesitation painted the older Dutchman's features, the mask of fury and disappointment slipping down enough to show something that looked an awful lot like guilt. But the moment passed quickly, barely noticeable, and Jos’s eyes lit up with fire again:

‘You ungrateful bastard! So what?! Now you’re going to throw all that we’ve worked away for some fucking failure of a man who only stays in F1 because he’s Toto Wolff’s fuckboy?!’

Before the older man even finished, Max was already getting up and a moment later he was by his father’s side, his fist connecting with Jos’s jaw in one quick, sharp movement. The older man fell to the floor with a groan of pain, clutching the side of his face.

‘Don’t you fucking dare talk about him like that! He’s the man I love, he’s the only person who made me believe I was capable of something good despite how you ruined me.’ Max stood above his father, fists still curled by his sides, chest heaving in quick breaths. ‘You ruined so many things in my life, but not this. You don’t get to ruin this.’

The Dutchman gritted his teeth hard and lifted his arm to land another blow to the man under him, but his hand was locked in place with a soft grip. He knew it was George without having to look back, he would recognize how his touch felt always and anywhere. 

‘No, Max, stop.’ George’s still hoarse voice reached his ears. ‘He’s not worth it.’

Max slowly turned to look George in the eyes and their beautiful shade of blue reminded him what was the most important thing in his life from now on - loving George fiercely and protecting him in all the ways he could. He lowered his arm slowly and grabbed George’s hand, interlacing their fingers tightly. 

‘See, he’s already made you softer. Weaker.’ Jos said while standing up shakily as an evil smile appeared on his face. The blood staining his teeth and dripping down his mouth only added to the terrifying image. ‘You’re gonna be nothing, son, just like him.’

‘Go the fuck away! Leave my house and never come back here again, do you hear me?!’ Max fumed with fury, but his voice stayed firm. One of his arms was extended behind him, protectively guarding George.

Jos laughed dryly at the sight, but began retreating towards the main door in slow, measured steps. He was almost by the door when he stopped and looked over his shoulder to say:

‘You’ll remember my words, son, you’ll…’

‘Leave!’ Max wouldn’t let him continue, he couldn’t listen, couldn’t look at his own father anymore. Not after what he’d done to George. 

Jos nodded in a condescending manner and finally stepped over the threshold. He left, but his shadows would haunt the house for a long time, staining it with his hatred and contempt. 

The moment the door closed behind him with a loud bang, Max turned around to George and held him close, his eyes scanning his body for any other signs of violence he could have missed earlier:

‘Are you okay? Did he do anything else to you? God, those bruises… Fuck, I’m so sorry, George, I should have been there to protect you, this shouldn’t have happened, this is so wrong, I…’

‘Max, shhh…’ George stopped Max from spiraling any further by touching his cheek gently. His voice was still weak, but he could finally stick to somewhat of a normal rhythm of breathing. His throat ached terribly, every time he swallowed it felt like his trachea was snapped in half, but the only thing he cared about now was being with Max. ‘It’s not your fault… You came, you saved me…’

As he spoke these words, something snapped inside him. Suddenly the seriousness and the danger of what he’d experienced cut through the fog in his brain as the adrenaline slowly disappeared from his system. He’d stayed strong and alert for Max, to stop him from doing anything he could regret later, but now he couldn’t hold on any longer.

The first sob that escaped from him was raw and loud, like a cry of a wounded animal. His knees gave out and he collapsed straight into Max’s arms. The Dutchman caught him instinctively and slowly lowered them to the floor, leaning against the sofa and pulling George’s trembling frame into his lap. 

‘I… I was so scared, Max…’ George mumbled between the sobs, staining Max’s shirt with a flood of tears. ‘I thought h-he would… he would…’

‘I know, I know, shhh… It’s all over now, baby, it’s all over. You’re safe with me, I promise.’ Max kept drawing calming circles on his back and whispering sweet nothings, despite his own tears falling down his cheeks. ‘It will never happen again, I’ll make sure. He won’t touch you ever again, I swear.’

George gradually calmed down, Max’s touch and voice being exactly what he needed. At some point Max grabbed the blanket from the nearby armchair and pulled it around George to keep the cold from gnawing at his still naked skin, its soft material additionally grounding the Brit in the present moment comfortingly. 

When Max could no longer hear George’s sobs, just his steady breathing, he asked softly, not wanting to push if the Brit wasn’t yet ready:

‘How did it even happen?’

George slowly looked up at Max and sighed when the Dutchman brushed some of his hair away from his eyes affectionately. After a longer moment, he spoke, staring blankly into the distance as if trying to disconnect himself from the memory:

‘I don’t know, he just… The guards must have let him into the estate, cause they know him and… He just knocked on the door and I let him in… I didn’t think he was capable of… If I only knew, I would have never let him in, I…’

‘George, stop.’ Max cupped his face and made him look into his eyes. ‘Don’t say like any of it is your fault. You’re the victim here. If there’s anyone to blame beside him, it’s me for not being here when you needed me the most…’

‘No, Max… You couldn’t have known.’ George protested weakly, leaning into the Dutchman’s touch. ‘He caught us both off guard…’

‘The thing is that I should have known.’ Max spoke with cold certainty. ‘I’m the one who knows what he’s capable of and yet I… I should have predicted he would do something after we let the world know about us, it’s exactly the reason why I hadn’t told him earlier… And still… I didn’t do enough to protect you from him. I failed at the most important task of my life, the only one that truly matters. I’d failed to protect the small boy I had been and now I failed to protect you…’

The way Max said it felt like a dagger to George’s heart - it was so full of pain, regret and self-loathing… George could feel that Max really believed that, believed that he’d failed him in some way, that he hadn’t done enough for him. The Brit couldn’t just sit still and watch him do this to himself when he loved him with his whole being. 

‘Maxie, please, don’t.’ George’s voice cracked as he practically begged. ‘Don’t do this to yourself… Look at me.’

Max found George’s glassy eyes and the Brit asked quietly:

‘Do you love me?’

‘Of course, I do, schatje.’ Max’s answer came immediately, not a hint of hesitation. ‘You’re the only one I’ve ever loved like that. I love you so much that it fucking hurts sometimes - the way my heart clings to you, begs for you when you’re away.’

‘Then you could never fail me, baby.’ Tears prickled in the corners of George’s eyes, but for the first time this morning they were tears of happiness at Max’s frank confession. ‘As long as you love me, as long as you’re here… You could never fail me, you’ll always be enough. You’re not responsible for your father’s actions, Maxie, none of this is your fault.’

Max opened his mouth to say something, but words failed him. Instead, he leaned forward, and ever so carefully, not to cause any pain to George’s strained neck, cupped his face and kissed him. George reciprocated it with the same gentleness, pressing himself harder into Max’s warm embrace. The kiss tasted of salty tears, George’s lips still trembled slightly from the intense fear he’d felt, not letting them forget about what had just happened. But it tasted also like coming home, like being safe and taking in a fresh dose of oxygen after struggling to breathe. 

They parted reluctantly and Max’s eyes wandered down to the bruises around the Brit’s neck, growing purple and looking so unbelievably painful. As his heart clenched tight, he reached out and, as delicately as he could, with shaking fingers, he traced the outline of the bruises. 

‘George… I have to take you to the hospital, somebody has to see this.’ 

‘No, Max… I’ll be fine. It hurts, but I can breathe just fine, it’ll be okay.’ George protested, the thought of sterile rooms and sharp lights making him sick. He needed to be home, with Max, that’s the only thing that he thought would heal him.

‘But… It might be more serious than you think, baby, I’m worried.’ Max insisted, his gaze still locked on the bruised skin. 

‘I know you are.’ George gave him a small, reassuring smile. ‘But I don’t want to go anywhere right now, see anyone, I… I just want you, please.’

Max wanted to object again, but the look George gave him melted his heart. He was pleading, desperately needing Max and Max only and the Dutchman always gave him just what he needed.

‘Okay, liefje. I’ll take care of you myself for now. You’ll let me put some ointment on this, yeah? It needs to be treated.’ George’s gentle nod was enough of an answer. ‘And you’ll tell me if it gets any worse, okay? Promise me, baby.’

‘Of course. I promise, my angel.’

George’s eyes sparkled with utter devotion and the sight was such a relief to Max that it felt like something incredibly heavy was lifted up from his chest. He pulled George closer and left a soft kiss on the crown of his head. 

They were still in danger, they still had to figure out what to do, how to make sure something like that never happens again, but in the safety of each other’s arms they could let themselves breathe. They could sit in the quiet that came only after the most dangerous of storms, knowing that what had saved them was their love. And it always would. 

Chapter Text

Max had no idea what time it was as he sat in an armchair by the tall windows of his bedroom, just as he couldn’t tell how long he’d been sitting there already, unable to move. He looked like a shadow of a man, with sunken eyes and pale face, with the way the city lights were illuminating his hunched figure. 

As his gaze stayed fixated on the city stretching underneath him, he thought once again that Monaco at night felt like a lonely place. All the lights, all the clubs and fancy restaurants couldn’t change the fact that he always felt out of place here, never truly belonging in all this glitz and glamour - the feeling intensified by the dark, pressing night sky. The only few times when he felt at home here came only recently, with George stepping into his house and filling it with the warmth and light the Brit carried around everywhere…

The thought of George made Max look over to the bed where the Brit was laying, his steady breath a sign of deep sleep. The Dutchman's heart clenched tight in his chest as he remembered holding George in his arms just a few hours ago, helping him fall asleep. It had taken two long hours of Max calming him down whenever the slightest noise had pried the Brit from the verge of sleep, his heart racing and wide eyes searching for the source of danger. Finally, his exhausted body had given up to rest in Max’s warm embrace.

No matter how hard he tried, Max couldn’t fall asleep though. He kept tossing and turning around in the sheets, but every time he closed his eyes, George’s bruises appeared imprinted under his eyelids. That’s how he ended up awake in the middle of the night, trying to distract himself by observing the city, but it was no use. 

His mind was a battlefield, the memories of the past day being relentlessly replayed under his eyelids again and again. His father’s hand tight around George’s throat, George’s eyes full of fear and hopelessness, his weak voice, the endless river of his hot tears… Max couldn’t take it, the guilt was gnawing at him no matter how many times he recalled George repeating that it wasn’t his fault. Because how could it not be his fault? If not for Max, Jos would have never stepped into George’s life, would have never hurt him. His violence would have been a bloodied stain only in Max’s story, exactly like it should have been…

A quiet sob escaped his chest before he could try to stop it. With sudden dread he realised that tears had been flowing down his cheeks for a longer time and he hadn’t even noticed; as if his body was trying to get rid of the rotting darkness of guilt inside him despite his efforts to keep everything inside, to stay strong, because that’s what George needed him to be. 

He clasped his mouth with both of his hands in vain hopes of pushing his emotions down, of delaying the truth he had to face. Because the truth was too scary, too overwhelming - he was a danger to George. No matter how hard he tried to keep his past behind, it would always catch up to him. No matter how much he loved George and how much he tried not to become what his father was, the violence would still find a way into his life with Jos always around. 

The lump in his throat from holding back the tears was becoming bigger and bigger, threatening to suffocate him. With a strained sound leaving his throat, he bent forward, closing in on himself, but the tame inside him had to break at some point, no matter how hard he fought to keep it intact. Finally he opened his mouth, the held stifled sob becoming an ugly, painful sound. The tears started to flow mercilessly now and the only thing he could do was to stay as quiet as possible as he succumbed to them. 

The sound of a body moving around in the sheets made his breath hitch. He didn’t want George to wake up and see him like that, all weak and trembling…

‘Max?’

The Brit’s hoarse voice was filled with confusion and longing - the sound felt like a stab to Max’s heart, but he didn’t answer, too afraid to let George hear him in this state. 

‘Max?’ The Dutchman saw the frame of George’s body moving around in the shadows as the Brit sat up. ‘Are you… are you crying?’

‘No, I…’ Max tried to sound as steady as possible, but his trembling voice immediately betrayed him. ‘I’m fine, George… Please, go back to sleep.’

George wouldn’t be fooled like that, not ever. The moment he heard the tears in Max’s answer, he didn’t hesitate for a second longer and left the bed. His cautious steps made the floorboards creak slightly, the sound intensified by the silence of the night. 

‘No, George, please, you need to rest…’ The Dutchman was desperately wiping the tears off of his cheeks as George was approaching him. ‘I’m okay…’

‘No.’

George’s firm answer made Max startle in surprise. In the next second he felt the Brit’s hand resting gently on his knee as George crouched in front of him and looked up, his eyes illuminated by the moonlight looking more ethereal than ever. For a moment Max just stared into them, their gentle beauty immediately calming him down. 

‘You’re not okay, baby.’ George spoke up, worry written all across his face. ‘You don’t have to pretend like you are… Why are you trying to hide from me?’

The note of pain was unmistakable - George couldn’t understand why Max was trying to pull away from him when all he wanted was to hold him through whatever was haunting his mind. Max heard it, a sharp pang of pain tore through his chest at the realization George was thinking it was his fault, that it was him who had done something wrong. 

‘George, liefje…’ Max’s voice broke yet again as he reached out to cup George’s face, tears pushing harder at the corner of his eyes as the Brit leaned into the touch starvingly. ‘Because you shouldn’t see me like this… Not now when you need me to be strong.’

Confusion disfigured George’s features in reaction for a fraction of a second, but it was quickly replaced by sad understanding. He grabbed Max’s hand and put it to his lips, the gesture so loving that the Dutchman felt the lump in his throat becoming bigger. 

‘My Maxie…’ The Brit looked straight into Max’s glassy eyes. ‘You got it all wrong, baby. I don’t need you to be strong all the time. I just need you to be here with me… With your whole self, with every single one of your emotions, no matter how hard or ugly they are.’

‘But I… It’s wrong.’ Max laughed dryly, not trying to hide his tears anymore, which were flowing down his face, glistening in the moonlight like small crystals. George barely stopped himself from leaning in and kissing them away. ‘You’re in pain, you’re hurt, you’ve been abused and yet… I’m the one wide awake at night with such pain tearing me apart that I can’t…’ He took in a long, staggering breath, his eyes darting around the room, avoiding George’s face out of shame. ‘This is not about me, you shouldn’t be consoling me right now when it’s you who needs me, I…’

‘Max.’ George stopped him at once. ‘Max, please, look at me.’ 

The Dutchman forced himself to look back into George’s eyes - the deepest love he saw in them made him question how could he look away even for a second. 

‘It doesn’t work like that, my love. Pain can’t be measured, there is no rule for when it’s appropriate to feel it and when it’s not. And still, you have every right to be in pain.’ The Brit stopped for a moment to make sure Max would understand his next words. ‘What your father did to you… The pain he caused didn’t become out-dated just because you’re not a child anymore. And you can’t keep it inside, ‘cause it will slowly kill you… And I can’t live without you anymore, so please, don’t hide away.’

Every next word unearthed something deep inside Max, something he kept hidden for a long time, because it was safer, because he couldn’t allow himself to face it when survival was his priority. But now he could finally let it go. In the safety of George’s love. 

‘Schatje…’ Max wanted to say so many things, wanted George to realise how deeply he loved him, how utter his devotion for him was. But he also needed to feel George close, flush against his body ‘cause he feared that otherwise he would just stop breathing. ‘Can you come into my lap, please?’

‘Of course, darling.’ George answered with a smile, not a hint of hesitation in his voice. 

Slowly, the Brit got up from the floor and moved to sit in Max’s lap, drawing his knees in and putting his arms around the Dutchman’s neck. Max immediately embraced him and pulled him tight against his body. One of his arms slipped around George’s waist, the other locked possessively around his thighs, dragging them even closer to Max’s abdomen. With a sigh of relief Max buried his face in the crook of George’s neck, inhaling his scent and savouring the warmth of his skin. 

George only helped pull their bodies tighter against each other, knowing how much Max needed the contact and needing it himself. He burrowed his fingers in the Dutchman’s hair, applying gentle but constant pressure to his scalp as his own head fell comfortably against Max’s shoulder. He let his lips rest on the base of Max’s neck, not exactly kissing, just providing another way of making him feel that he had him. Unconditionally. With no limits. Always. 

Their limbs were tangled together to the point where George couldn’t tell where he ended and where Max started. Their chests were flush against each other, so that Max didn’t know anymore whether the heartbeat he felt was his own or George’s. Their breaths created a steady rhythm, each exhale warmth on their skin, each inhale an intake of their scents mingled together.

They were one because for the moment neither of them could stand the thought of ever losing the other, of existing without the other being a steady anchor by their side, of facing the world alone, not as the union they were always supposed to be. 

Something about the warmth provided by George’s body helped Max to breathe easier, all his muscles relaxed instinctively, he hadn’t even realised how tensed up they had been earlier. The moment the tension left his body, all the restraint with which he tried to keep it together disappeared as well - his tears could finally flow freely, not subjected to his control anymore, just a pure display of raw emotion he couldn’t keep inside. The lump in his throat dissolved when he stopped holding back and let himself sob, his body shaking in George’s embrace.

‘It’s okay, baby… Let it go, yeah, just like that.’ George whispered against his skin as the flood of Max’s tears stained his t-shirt where the Dutchman buried his face. ‘I got you, my brave boy…’

Max held onto the Brit tightly, too afraid that letting go would mean the overwhelming wave of emotions swallowing him whole. George meant safety, George meant love and acceptance, George meant unconditional affection, and that’s exactly what Max needed all his life. He still couldn’t believe he finally received all of it in the form of an angel that George was to him. 

‘I’m… I’m so sorry.’ Max mumbled through the tears, his face still pressed tight against George’s shoulder. 

‘Shh…’ George soothed him. ‘You have nothing to be sorry for.’

‘N-no, I… I do.’ Even though he was still crying and shaking, Max forced himself to lift his head up just enough to look into George’s eyes. His face was a haunting mixture of relief and guilt, two emotions battling inside him for the rule over his mind. ‘It’s because of me that he did this to you, it’s… George, you deserve better. You deserve a home filled with peace and… You deserve so much better than me.’

George wanted to deny these self-accusations immediately, but what he saw in Max’s eyes took his voice away for a longer moment. Max really believed what he was saying, those weren’t just doubts or fleeting thoughts, deep down he truly believed that he wasn’t enough for George, not with his ugly past and present demons. The Brit felt his own cheeks wet with tears in reaction as fury filled him just as strongly as sadness, one thought filling his mind: ‘How could he hurt him like that, how could he…’

‘Max.’ He finally spoke, finding the strength in himself that they both needed. ‘Stop, please, just… Stop saying such things, they make my heart bleed.’

Through the fog of his tears, the Dutchman noticed the pain in George’s features and hesitated, unsure what to say.

‘I can’t stand the thought of you believing that I belong somewhere else, that I could ever choose anyone but you…’ The Brit continued and grabbed Max’s hand, interlacing their fingers tightly. ‘I only want you. I belong to you. I… Nobody else could make me happy, baby, nobody. Do you hear me?’

Max nodded gently, the river of tears slowly subsiding at George’s frank declarations. Suddenly he felt like an idiot for ever doubting whether George wanted a life with him. The thought must have been visible on his face, cause George read him like an open book:

‘And don’t make yourself feel guilty for the emotions, the fears, the doubts… It’s okay to have them. I’ll always be here to chase them away, as often as you need, okay?’ George took in a deep breath. ‘I want to ask you for one thing only, can you promise me one thing?’

‘Anything, schatje. Anything.’ Max answered instantly. 

‘Don’t hide from me when those dark thoughts reach you. Don’t try to run away or pretend that you’re fine… I’m here to share your pain, to make it feel lighter. I don’t want you to suffer alone. So don’t hide from me, please.’

Max took a good look into George’s eyes, making sure that the Brit would see the sincerity that filled his own, before answering:

‘I’ll try my best, I promise.’ 

George smiled gently, knowing that Max meant every word. He was more than aware that it wasn’t easy for him, that he’d been taught all his life to suppress his emotions and deal with them in solitude. But George would be there to show him there was a different way, a less lonely one, a less painful one. And he would never give up on him, no matter how long it would take for Max to heal. 

The Brit rested one of his hands on the nape of Max’s neck and gently pulled him towards himself until their foreheads rested against each other - the gesture they’ve grown to treat as the most intimate testimonial of their love. 

‘Shall we go back to bed, darling?’ George whispered a quiet moment later. ‘I’ll help you.’

Max only nodded in answer, looking at his partner with gratitude. George slowly untangled himself from his embrace, but he didn’t let go of his hand for a moment, squeezing it comfortingly as he got up and helped Max to do the same. The Dutchman followed him to the bed and soon enough they were under the covers, their bodies curling into each other just as tightly as they had on the armchair. 

As George reached out with his hand to play with Max’s hair, drawing comforting patterns on his scalp, the Dutchman couldn’t bring himself to look away from his lover. His eyes were locked on George’s face, the sight so dear to him it almost physically hurt thinking that just a few months ago he’d been falling asleep without it. 

‘Darling, I don’t want to spoil your fun, but you’re not gonna fall asleep if you keep staring at me with eyes wide-open.’ George said with a small smirk creeping onto his face.

‘Maybe I don’t wanna fall asleep. I think I can do without sleep as long as I have such a gorgeous sight in front of me.’ Max answered just as playfully. Relief filled George’s chest at the sparks in the Dutchman’s eyes - he was coming back to him from the dark place he’d fallen into.

‘My silly idiot.’ George chuckled, pointlessly trying to hide the fact that the compliment made his heart flutter. 

‘That’s right, your silly idiot.’ Max smiled in return before leaning forward to leave a gentle peck on George’s lips. ‘Always yours.’

For a longer moment the pair just stared into each other’s eyes, taking in the peace and the beauty of the simple scene - two people in love tangled in an embrace. No words were needed, love visible in every feature of their faces, every loving touch, every reverent caress of the skin, but Max still chose to say:

‘I love you, George.’

No matter how many times George heard these words coming from Max, his body reacted the same every time - pleasant warmth filling his whole chest and his heart swelling in affection. 

‘I love you, too, Max. This is the one thing you never have to doubt.’