🦁|max verstappen.

The teacher's voice barely reached you as you stared at the paper in your hands, your stomach in knots.

Teammate: Max Verstappen.

Of all the people in the class, you just had to be paired with him.

Max was a mystery, shrouded in leather jackets and bruised knuckles. Everyone knew him: top of the class, star of the boxing club, the guy who barely spoke to anyone outside his inner circle. People whispered about him in the hallways, stories of fights he'd won, people he'd intimidated. He wasn't exactly the kind of guy you'd go up to and talk about anything.

But now, you had no choice.

You found him after class, leaning against a wall, scrolling through his phone. He looked up as you approached, his sharp eyes locking onto yours. Up close, he was even more intimidating: tall, broad-shouldered, with a jawline sharp enough to cut.

"Hi," you began, clutching the project paper, trying to maintain a casual smile. "Looks like we're colleagues."

He looked at you for a moment, then exhaled through his nose. Not quite a sigh, but close.

"It seems so," he said in a low, rough voice.

"So... you want to get together later?" you asked. "We can start planning the project."

"I can't," he replied. "Boxing training."

Of course. You sighed and tried not to let their cold answers affect you. You continued in a light tone, not letting your smile fade. "Okay… so, when are you free?"

"After training," he said simply. "At my house. Fewer distractions."