Chapter Text
"… what the everloving fuck?" Max mumbled under his breath, slowing his van as he pulled up to the gate at Spa.
There was debris on the ground, and one of the poles on the side was bent and crumpled sideways. He reached for his badge, but the same security guy he drove past on his way out just gave him a thumbs up and waved him on.
"I was barely gone for half an hour," Max lowered the window, gesturing at the pole in confusion. "What happened here!?"
"One of the Mercedes trucks lost the breaks. They almost ran me over!"
"They lost the breaks?" Max raised his eyebrows.
"Right? You'd think they would know how to build a car! Apparently not!"
"Damn. Toto must be rolling in his grave …"
"Who?"
"Eh, no one," Max shook his head, waving goodbye as he drove into the paddock that was yet to be set up.
He threw a glance at the Mercedes' lot, seeing the team offloading at the back and a few pale-faced guys huddled around a crumpled and torn front bumper and driver's cabin.
Oh cheer up, guys. It's barely a scratch! Back in my day, you had headsets smashed worse than this, he chuckled to himself as he drove onward to the skeleton of the Red Bull motorhome.
"Offload!"
Within five seconds, the kitchen staff rolled out single file, emptying the van of all fresh local produce like ants on a sugar pile, double checking and signing in inventory on the go.
Max could see why the other caterers sometimes joked that this was a pit stop, not a delivery.
But are you really surprised? I mean, look who's running the show …
"Max!" Yuki came running out last, apron already on and stained from prep.
"I got everything," Max proudly smiled, returning his completed shopping list.
"Great, thanks," Yuki grabbed the signed sheet, pulled Max down into a kiss, and handed him a new clipboard in the same breath. "But no, you didn't. We are missing about three hundred endives, I sent you a list of nearby farmer's markets that are open today - good luck."
"Did they short us, or?"
"I refused two crates, they weren't fresh enough. And not just us, Ferrari got screwed over too. The group chat is fucking fuming, I don't think we're ever using this supplier again. Who the fuck sends browning lettuce to the F1 paddock? Genuinely, what the fuck?! We can't have one easy weekend this summer, can we?"
"Hey, if it helps, one of the Mercedes trucks crashed into the gate earlier," Max filled him in on the gossip.
"They what?"
"Lost the breaks apparently," Max nodded. "Looks like everyone's fine, but the front of the truck got hit pretty bad from what I saw."
"Huh. Okay, damn … guess I won't complain anymore."
"Too bad," Max sighed, catching his hand for a moment before heading back to the driver's seat. "You're kinda hot when you do!"
"Endives, Max! Three hundred of them!"
"Yes, my love!" Max laughed as he drove off.
"And what are you guys staring at," Yuki turned around, rolling eyes at his staff. "He's on the same bullshit every weekend, don't you get tired?"
"No."
"Nope!"
"Not at all!"
"… yeah, can't really blame you," Yuki laughed as he corralled them back inside. "Neither do I."
« Sir, good morning! How are you today? »
« Good, it's good! Have you seen the cherries? They are delicious this week! »
« Really? Then I think I'll take some. But I was looking at your endives - are these all you've got? »
« No, no, we have one box more. »
« That's great! Could I see them? I'm from the Formula catering team, we're about three hundred endives short. »
« Oh up at Spa? We're going to the race this weekend, I hope it's a good one! You said three hundred endives? »
« Yes, three hundred. »
« Well we will pull 'em together for Spa alright! Niels, oi! Call Jacobs up here, they need endives at Spa - I know he had some! »
« Thank you very much, sir. »
« It's nothing, it's nothing! We'll get you sorted in a minute, ha! But they know what they're doing up at Spa, eh? Sending a local guy, that's how you get things done. Where are you from? That's one hell of an accent on your French! »
« I'm half Dutch, actually. But I spend a lot of time in Japan now, so … haha, French is like a fifth language at this point. »
« Five languages? Fucking hell, I barely remember Dutch! »
« Me too, sometimes! »
« Here, the other box - what you say, they looking good enough for the VIPs and stuff? »
« Sir, I think these are perfect. I'll take your two boxes, and what your friend is bringing over also looks good! »
« Good, good! And which team? Which team are you from? »
« We're catering for Red Bull this year. »
« Red Bull, eh? Ah, brings back memories! What, has it been thirty years now? Something like that, when they had that guy … Niels, what was it again? »
« Verstappen, wasn't it? »
« Right! It's been a while, but I'll never forget! They were short on beets, their catering director was down here herself! Verstappen ate my beets the year he won, what, every single race? I'll never forget! »
It wasn't every single one, Max thought to himself with a smile as he loaded up the endives. Just … hell, even I don't remember anymore.
It was fucking wonderful, what a little bit of time did - even for people like him. No one really remembered 2023 anymore, even if they thought they did. It all became legend, it all became myth, it was all just feelings in people's hearts rather than actual race results nowadays.
Maybe I would have been easier on myself back then … if someone told me that some guy in Belgium will remember helping out our catering team for longer than I remembered my podium count.
No one really remembered Vegas 2025 anymore either. Last time Max checked, it was buried somewhere deep on the Wikipedia list of notable F1 events, with one short paragraph and a picture of their kiss. But he of course had the TV broadcast recorded and copied in two separate folders and at least one cloud storage on every computer he's ever owned, because that was the whole point of it all. Yuki did it for him. For them.
It was better if the rest of the world could forget.
And Max was glad they did.
"I got three hundred twenty, and a few extra," he proudly returned to home base after completing his quest. "And they even complimented my French!"
"You are a fucking hero," Yuki fell into his arms, rewarding him with another kiss. "Now please get in, I made some sandwiches for the Mercedes team - their kitchen isn't even up yet, they're already having a shitshow of a weekend, so I thought we could at least give the guys something. Will you take it over to them?"
"Yes, boss!"
So there he was three minutes later, with a loaded platter in the Mercedes' garage. Oh, the situations Yuki's hospitality put him into. And to think that years ago, he'd get mauled on sight just poking his nose in here! It was fucking wonderful … what a little bit of time did.
"Hey guys! I heard someone wanted to start their F1 career early by taking the pole - who's the lucky fella?"
"Steve, another one for you!"
"It was the fucken' brakes, mate, the whole truck went …"
"Glad you're fine," Max smiled. "Everything safe inside?"
"Yeah, we just hit the cabin. No free win for Red Bull this week!"
"Hey, I'm just the catering," Max raised his hands in defense, leaving the platter with one of the guys. "We wanted you to have these, since your kitchen's not up yet - get something to eat if you're gonna get yelled at later. And stay safe, alright? Tell those fuckers to buy you some better trucks!" He laughed, waving goodbye on his way out.
"Oh man, this is some good shit … Steve, you should crash every weekend if we'll get freebies like this!"
"Who did Red Bull even hire this year? Save one for the boss, maybe we can say they should do our catering too."
"… Wafel Leaf by Tsunoda," one of the guys read off the napkin.
"Hey …" another pondered, watching the silhouette of Max's back in the distance. "… wasn't he the world champion a bunch of times?"
"Was he?"
"I don't know. Maybe it was his husband? I just remember dad always complaining how confusing it was with two Tsunodas in the race when he watched it on TV. But I think I read somewhere that they have a catering business now?"
"Some fucking retirement that is … I'd rather die!"
"Who knows … maybe they were so used to racing, this feels slow to them?"
"Didn't one of them own a yacht? What's wrong with plopping your ass on that and chilling for a bit?"
"… I'm sure Tsunoda would say that's boring."
"Which one?"
"Probably both of them."
"Done and delivered," Max returned to the conveniently empty Red Bull kitchen, catching Yuki in the corner of the storage room. "Are we vying for a Mercedes contract next year?"
"I'm just being nice," Yuki smiled. "But a little bit of good reputation doesn't hurt, does it?"
"It doesn't," Max agreed, slowly pinning Yuki's back against the shelves as they kissed.
A taste of each other's lips, hands cupping faces, necks bearing a tiny mark or two when they couldn't hold back - it was all an exact routine by now.
"How are we with the schedule?" Max whispered into Yuki's ear.
"All on track. If you need to go up to the office to start making calls for Hungary, you can."
"I already have everything on standby - just waiting for your menu."
"Ah … I hate when I'm holding you up," Yuki sighed. "I'll get it to you tonight, I promise!"
"No rush," Max shrugged without a care in the world, bringing their lips together again. "You know I work fast."
"Wanna help in the kitchen again?"
"I'd love to."
"We'll see where I need you once everyone gets back for the second round of prep."
"Oh, really?" Max grinned, looking around them. "I didn't even notice they were gone."
"Yeah, funny how for some reason the whole kitchen empties when you're back from delivery."
"Hey, I asked politely," Max defended himself. "Or would you rather they watch?"
"Fuck not," Yuki rolled his eyes, pulling Max down into another kiss. "How long did you tell them to stay out?"
"Five minutes," Max sighed between kisses, parting his lips as he closed his eyes.
"… make it ten next time, alright?"
"Yes, my love."
In less than a day, the chaos would be in full swing again, and Yuki would need all of his senses to focus on making impeccable meals for the VIP guests. But until then … it was fine if his gaze slipped a little, if his ears followed the sound of Max's laughter through the motorhome, if he buried his nose in Max's neck until he could suffocate on his scent.
They were the first two in the kitchen every morning.
The last two back at the hotel on most days: often only to shower and sleep for the night.
Yuki had grown accustomed to firm pillows over the years.
But Max's chest also wasn't as firm as it used to be these days.
Still, when Yuki lay his head to rest each night, 'his pillow' always smelled like Max now.
It was all he wanted that whole time.
"Night, Yuki."
"… night, Max."
It was all he wanted.
Even after all this time.