always | m.v.
- synopsis: in which you're always there to comfort him
Max got hate.
It was a known fact, but one you vehemently despised. It broke your heart seeing the comments on posts, hearing what people thought of your boyfriend and what things they had to say about him.
Everyone hated people when they were at their best, they loved dragging them through the mud. Max had started getting a lot of hate after winning his second World Champion title. Due to the fact that he always stated that he didn't care about anyone's opinion of him, it only added to the fuel of hate already coming in.
The biggest amount of hate came swirling in after he had won his third World Championship. Max had absolutely dominated the 2023 season, rendering it obvious that he would be the one ending up winning the Championship once again.
As amazing as that was, the fans didn't seem to share the same thoughts. They started spreading hate that Max was taking all the fun out of the sport, that the races had become predictable and a lot of fans had given up watching because they had got sick of seeing Max win all the time. It broke your heart when you would see the toll it would have on your boyfriend.
The night after you guys celebrated in style in the clubs of Qatar, the mood dropped when you guys made it back to the hotel and Max finally opened his phone.
You had been taking your make-up off, starting on your night skincare routine, while Max settled on changing out of his clothes and getting into bed.
"Max?" you called out, the silence coming from the room being unusual for your boyfriend. He was always one to talk about everything and anything while you did your skincare, knowing you would get bored otherwise.
No response.
It made you slightly suspicious, but you let it go for the moment, figuring he had just fallen asleep.
Finishing up, you dried your hands and tied your hair in a loose ponytail before exiting the bathroom. You, however, were not prepared for the sight that met your eyes.
Max was sitting at the edge of the bed, silently sobbing in his hands, his phone discarded on the floor by his feet. You immediately sat down next to him, enveloping him in your arms.
"Shh, it's okay. I'm here, you're okay" you cooed in his ear, rubbing soothing circles on his back and whispering sweet nothings in his ear.
His sobs were wrecking his body, his tears soaking up your shirt. He was holding onto you tightly, afraid that you would just vanish in thin air if he let go of you for even a second. You didn't know what had brought this on, Max had never been one to cry or let what others said about him affect him.
His sobs slowly started dissipating and turning into little sniffles after a while, his body now void of any tension, slumped against your own tiredly.
"Do you want to talk about it?" your voice was soft, your hands still caressing his soft hair and his back.
He was silent for a moment, so you didn't press any further. You didn't want to make him feel obligated to talk about what was bothering him if he didn't want to.
"They all hate me" he spoke up, making your eyebrows furrow.
"Who hates you?" you questioned, still keeping up your soothing motions.
"The fans. They all hate me because I've come first this season. They're all saying they hate the sport because of me and that I never give anyone else a chance and it-s getting boring. It's not my fault that I win, I just do it because I like it" he confessed, sniffling before straightening up and pulling away from you.
You shook your head, watching him as he picked up his phone from off the ground. He unlocked it and glanced at it for a second before handing it to you.
"He's taking all the fun out of the sport, I gave up watching it because of him"
"He should honestly just give up and make some room for other people. Nobody likes him winning all the time"
"He's definitely cheating, there is no way someone is that dominant compared to all the other drivers. Does Red Bull honestly want us to believe he's winning on pure talent and with a good car? Not buying it"
"Max should go and kill himself, nobody wants him in this sport anymore. It was fun at first, but now it's making me hate even hearing about Formula 1"
The comments made your heart break little by little. You couldn't understand how people could be so cruel, how they could hate on someone so dedicated and talented, judging him for anything he did.
"Oh, baby. None of those things are true, Max" you said to him while cupping his face, but he shook his head and looked down.
"It is, they're right. Maybe I should just retire and stop racing, that way everything could go back to normal" he shrugged, but the idea sounded ridiculous to you.
"Baby, listen to me. Those people have no idea what they're talking about. They have no idea how much work you put in during the whole year to be able to drive the car. Nobody knows how much pressure you're under, they have no idea. Baby, you've worked so hard to get here and it's finally paying off. You're so talented, so driven and so dedicated to this sport, your wins and titles are just the fruit of your labor. Don't let people tear you down just because they're frustrated and have no idea what they're talking about" a new wave of tears started falling from his eyes and down his cheek, but he was smiling at you this time.
"I don't deserve you" he whispered, hugging you and burying his head into the crook of your neck.
"You deserve me and everything that you have achieved. I love you, and I am proud of you. Next time you're feeling like this, please come to me. I hate seeing you cry over this" you felt him nod, which brought small relief to your heart.
"I love you too. Thank you for always being here for me, I don't know how I would be able to cope with everything if it wasn't for you" he replied, leaving small kisses on your neck.
"You're never going to have to know what it's like without me. I never plan to leave" you reassured him, giving him a squeeze.
You couldn't even begin to thank your lucky stars for giving you such a perfect boyfriend, someone you were sure you were going to love for the rest of your life.
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