Lestappen and the Grid

The rooftop bar was packed.
Music pulsing, lights flickering against champagne glasses. The harbor below glittered like scattered stars. The grid had taken over an entire section, drivers spilling over the couches, half-drunk and fully feral.

Max had shown up with his race suit half-zipped, hair still damp from the champagne spray, and Charles, despite his better judgment, hadn't looked away since.

Carlos sidled up to Charles at the bar.

"Drink?"

Charles waved him off, eyes still shamelessly tracking Max across the room.

Carlos snorted.

"You're hopeless."

The Button Incident

At some point, Max had swapped his race suit for a white button-down — one button already missing, another barely hanging on for dear life.

Lando:

"Max, mate, you look like a frat boy who just lost at beer pong."

Max:

"I won. I always win."

Oscar, deadpan:

"Your button's about to tap out."

And of course — because the universe was a chaotic neutral — the moment Charles walked past, the last button on Max's shirt gave up, dangling by a thread.

Pierre:

"OH, HERE WE GO."

Yuki:

"SOMEONE GET A NEEDLE."

Max grabbed Charles's wrist with a smirk.

"Hey, Princess. Got a minute?"

Charles blinked.

"For what?"

Max tugged at the offending button.

"You're good with stitches, right?"

Charles went bright red.

"I'm not sewing your damn—"

The entire grid started chanting.

Lando & Pierre:

"SEW IT. SEW IT. SEW IT."

Seb, sipping water like it's tequila:

"Let the boy fix his future husband's shirt."

Charles grumbled something in French, grabbed the emergency sewing kit Seb kept in his pocket (because of course he did), and sat Max down.

Max, fully shameless, leaned into him, arms spread along the back of the couch.

Max, voice low:

"You're blushing again, Leclerc."

Charles, through gritted teeth:

"Because you're an idiot."

Max, grinning:

"Your idiot."

Charles dropped the needle. The grid erupted.

📍 The Slow Dance™

When the DJ finally dropped a slow, late-night track, the couples started pairing up.

Oscar and Lando.
Pierre and Yuki.
Carlos dragging Seb in.
Even George and Alex spinning like idiots.

Max appeared in front of Charles, hand out.

"Dance with me."

Charles shook his head, smiling, tipsy and tired and achingly aware of the eyes on them.

"You wish."

Max stepped closer.

"They say only you know how to dance with me."

Charles swallowed.

"Is it true?"

Max, voice impossibly soft.

"It is."

And like some kind of ancient cosmic rule, Charles caved.
He took Max's hand.
Let him pull him in.
And they swayed in a world that felt smaller than the rooftop it happened on.

Pierre:

"I can't do this anymore."

Yuki:

"I'm filming this for the wedding."

Lando:

"Ten bucks they kiss by the next GP."

Oscar:

"Cowards. Do it now."