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Summary
“No, I am going to Florida.”
“Miami is in Florida, Charles.”
Charles whips around with a sudden finger in his face for the second time this evening. A drunken Charles special, it seems. “I am not stupid, Max. Do not treat me like that, yes?”
It sort of makes Max think about that Binotto clip from years prior. He holds his hands up in defence. “Alright, alright.”
Charles stares him down, finger now hovering over Max’s top lip. Max can vaguely smell his skin, not enough to categorise any of the scents, but enough to have him swallowing a whine. He wants to take Charles’ finger into his mouth just to see what would happen. He doesn't.
“I cannot stay here. This city drives me crazy,” Charles mumbles. Max wouldn't have heard it if they weren't this close. Almost chest to chest, nothing but a sliver of self-control and doubt between them.
(or: Charles needs to escape Monaco, Max will follow him anywhere)