Chapter Text
Daniel had known Max for a long time, more than any driver on the current grid could claim to, having watched the blond arrive to the paddock in 2015 as a cute seventeen years old kid fresh out of his first season in the European F3, all nervous smiles and trembling legs like a little fawn; grow into Toro Rosso driver's development program carrying what would be his characteristic smirk — that had made everyone's nerves itch at the time —, and end as the razor-sharp driver he was today.
That little brat had made his life a living hell during their shared time at RedBull, always nagging and whining about everything and everyone; but Daniel was mature enough to admit that part of that resentment came from the unyielding attention the team gave to their new golden boy, the soureness and jealousy spreading like an infected wound.
Multiple nights staring at the ceiling of his room thinking if he was still good enough had done horrible things to his mind.
But learning to love that kid again after their tense stint as teammates was easier than he had thought. Outings spent behind questionable nightclubs at the periphery of Monaco talking about the pressure of being a F1 driver and days sat on the blond's living room looking through old newspapers and childhood photos made wonders in their relationship.
The few yelling matches and almost punches at the beginning of their amends also helped a lot.
With the years he had memorized by heart what made his blond friend tick and what laugh, which words were prohibited in their circle and what food made him cry; during one of those too emotional nights after an unfortunate DNF from the blond's side Max had clinged to his dress shirt and between drunk sobs and too much sweat had called him 'broer'. One of the few memories he would cherish the rest of his life.
So yes, he knew Max, he had every right to claim to, and he wasn't shy to show it to the world while also guarding selfishly every little detail he had pried from the RedBull driver. He was the one who had fought teeth and nails for a taste of Max's kindness and trust, the one Max searched for after a bad race during his first months in RedBull, the man he yapped with out of track, giving it all away so freely made something dark and possessive in his chest twist uncomfortably. Some would call it jealousy, he just didn't think about it.
However, as much as he liked to pretend it didn't happen, that selfishness had it perks, there was no point in denying it, being one of the closest friends to the blond meant that he could crash in the blond's house anytime to play FIFA, drag him to parties at the bay of Monaco, or steal the secret stash of Kinder Bars hidden in the blond's motorhome.
And the best part in his opinion. The hugs.
"Maxie!", a storm of curly hair and too big smiles made his way through the crowd of photographers, elbowing more than one who didn't get out of his way quick enough.
"Daniel?", the blond had been talking with an interviewer after the race when he heard the familiar tone of the Australian calling after his name, he turned his head searching for the brunette when suddenly the whole weight of a 31 years old Australian collided against his back, "oof", he stumbled forward, almost crashing down the fence between him and the cameras.
"Hey mate, well done!", tattooed arms encircled Max's shoulders and he was soon flooded by the smell of sweat and too strong cologne.
The blond recovered his balance and turned slowly on his heels, meeting face to face with a very smily Daniel, "sorry" he said to the interviewer even thought his eyes were still on the Australian, regarding his friend with a fonded expression.
He leaned forward to hug Daniel but just in that moment Daniel leaned in the same direction, almost bashing their heads together.
"Fuck! We almost kissed each other", laughed the Dutchman, changing directions and also throwing his arms over the other man, "that was very close hah, but there's nothing wrong with that", Daniel almost didn't heard the last bit, already having closed his eyes and clinged to the younger man. He knew that he must look stupid on the camera hugging his best friend like a teddy bear but Max was warm like he always was after a race and his arms were soft and secure around him, one under his armpit and caressing his back while the other was holding the bottom of his neck.
In 2016 Max had been a scrawny teenager, the fireproof hanging loosely around his frame even if he was wearing the smallest size avaliable and eyes too big for that face, he looked small, too small to be driving in F1 and surely not feed enough to withstand the G forces of the track even if the medical team had cleared him off at the start of the season. Daniel of course knew reasonably that Max had proved himself in Toro Rosso, and whatever Horner and Marko saw in that boy was enough to promote him to the main team, but as the oldest one of the pair he couldn't resist the need to be over his teammate like an overprotective mother hem.
The Dutchman had flipped him off after the fourth time he tried to insist him to drink some more water. In the first hour. And Daniel had pouted like the grown man he was and threw the bottle of water at the kid, who had dodged it like a frightened cat. It had required a few more weeks and more candy than water to persuade him but after an amazing race for both of them where he had been drinking RedBull from the cap of some mechanic he had felt two very wet arms wrapping around his waist, trying to lift him but to no avail.
"Maxie?", blue eyes shining with joy met confused brown ones.
"Let's get them Dani", had shouted Max, a smile in his lips that could melt the toughest glaciers; in that short-lived moment Daniel hadn't seen the youngest race winner of F1 history, hadn't seen a teenager with too much to prove to a sport that was famous for killing them young, hadn't seen the next World Champion; he had seen Max. Sunkissed Max with his sharp smile and ocean eyes. Too young and too fast.
"Yeah let's get them", Daniel said, lifting a hand as an invitation, Max laughed merely and clasped it with his own, shaking it vigorously. It was a deal, a promise, a prayer. It didn't matter, because someone in the crowd popped a bottle of champagne near them and soon both men were bathed by a spray of sweet nectar, laughing while entangled in each other arms.
"I feel something", both men and the interviewer laughed, Max still holding the Australian's shoulders and head thrown back when they separated, a bubbling laugh scaping his lips.
Daniel stared fondly at his ex-teammate. Max was taller, broader, more successful than his eighteen year old could ever dream of; but under the lights of the cameras and the sun of the afternoon, the man he met almost a decade before looked like the teen he had been.
Blond locks and blue eyes, too fast and a too sharp smile.
He still looked like the boy he had viewed through the golden droplets of their last champagne as teammates.