xi. first kiss.
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willalane what the hell, sure.
> augslade willalane ily pls

altheaperez hard launch eeee!!!
> augslade altheaperez call me

carlossainz55 ❤️
> augslade carlossainz55 💗

lenore.slade well!
> augslade lenore.slade kill yourself.

augustusslade happy to see you online again
> augslade augustusslade the bitch is back.

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

Augustine glances at Althea, "do you think I overdid it...?" she asks quietly.

Althea glanced up at her and shakes her head, "I think you didn't do enough. I would've posted more but..." she shrugs, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips, "I think you did just fine."

Augustine brightens slightly and then her smile falters, just a little bit, "Tell me how you really feel."

Althea shrugs, her lips set in a small line, "It's not really my place to comment." she says quietly before her gaze flicks to Augustine, "I think what you're doing is deserved — Max treated you like scum on the bottom of his shoe and it's only fair that you do the same thing to him." Althea pauses and tucks a strand of dark hair behind her ear, "but I think the better question is... do you really feel anything for Carlos or are you just using him...?"

Augustine blanks, "what...?" she asks softly.

"Augustine," Althea chides. "It's okay to admit that Carlos is what you use to hurt him with." she says softly, "but I just hope you're not in too deep."

That resonates with Augustine — what was she doing...? Was she seriously trying to hurt Max by using Carlos? Did Carlos deserve that...? There was no doubt that Max deserved it — but Carlos...?

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

Max glanced at the box in his nightstand, neatly printed on the box is his full name in Augustine's elegant scrawl — underneath it is her name followed by a heart.

He'd never really opened it before — Augustine always told him to save it for a rough night; or when she was gone and he missed her.

He was never really good at verbalizing his feelings or thoughts — to admit that he missed Augustine would be admitting that he was in the wrong. He hated being wrong.

He gently opened the box, wincing at the sight of various polaroids of the two of them; he can hear Augustine's voice begging him to stop laughing and to stay in the frame, and he can feel her fingers running through his hair. The scent of her perfume lingers — Augustine sprayed all of her letters to him with her perfume and even kissed the envelopes with a signature lipstick.

He hadn't realized how unfamiliar her handwriting had become to him — he never looked at her notes anymore and now that he really thought about it, they'd disappeared in the last few months leading up to the split. He'd kept most of them, of course — Augustine always said sometimes just a little encouragement would go a long way.

And it did.

He opens one of the envelopes, her scent lingers in the old envelope; the box served as a cage, a cage for all things Augustine Serenity Marie Slade — a cage for a person he'd torn down to nothing but a shell of the person he knew.

Max,
good luck today. even if
you don't win, you're still
my #1 — A <3

He frowns at the sight of it — his fingers tracing the swirls of her writing — a slight smile curves on his lips at the glitter ink staining his fingers; even with time, Augustine's pen ink never fully dried.

He reaches for another one; the envelope is blue and it looks faded, he winced when it tears but he casts it aside as he opens the letter.

M,
very proud of you.
always. — A <3

Each time he opens a new envelope, the more he realizes how much time Augustine had invested in him, how much emotion and energy she'd put into him — and how quickly he'd dismissed it.

There's another envelope, when he opens it, piles of miniature polaroids spilled out — pictures of them, pictures that of Augustine, and pictures that Augustine had taken of him, unaware and asleep, most of all, he can feel the love she put into them, even going as far as dating them and in her neat but elegant script captioning them.

M+A, July 12th 2015. Max E. Verstappen, 2014. Augustine M. Slade + Max E. Verstappen, January 1st 2018.

They stung — he'd rather be punched than look at how in love Augustine had been and how lifeless he had looked in comparison.

He remembers the first time he'd kissed her and how she immediately pushed him away and cursed at him in Dutch; he remembers it all too well and the moment feels like it was a million years ago, when it had only been four years.

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

MARCH 2014.
Max leans lazily against the edge of the doorframe, watching as Augustine paced back and forth, her hands animated as she rambled on about something he wasn't entirely following.

"I'm just saying, it's ridiculous," she said, her voice tinged with frustration. "How can anyone think those two movies are even remotely comparable? The cinematography in the second one is leagues better, not to mention the—"

"Augustine," Max interrupted, though his tone was more amused than annoyed.

"What?" she said, barely pausing in her tirade. "I'm serious, Max. It's not even a competition. And don't get me started on the dialogue—"

Max sighed, shaking his head as a faint smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth. "You talk too much."

She stopped pacing, turning to glare at him. "Excuse me?"

But before she could say anything more, Max pushed off the wall and stepped toward her, closing the gap between them in one swift motion. Without giving her a chance to react, he leaned in and kissed her. It was quick but deliberate, his lips pressing against hers with the kind of boldness only a sixteen-year-old boy could muster. It's easy enough to shock Augustine and give her a quick shot of adrenaline.

It takes a second for the moment to register in Augustine's mind before she starts to shoot rapid fire curses in Dutch at Max, "Ben je helemaal gek geworden? Waarom zou je dat doen?! Ik was niet eens klaar met praten!" Are you completely out of your mind? Why would you do that?! I wasn't even done talking!

Watching her ramble is enough to make him want to kiss her again, he doesn't answer her though; he misses the soft sound of shock that she makes when he does something unexpected. He reaches for her wrist, tugging her in gently, causing her to stumble just a little bit so they're standing nearly chest to chest, he tucks a strand of blonde hair back behind her ear and before she has the chance to fight with him or regain her composure, he kisses her again.

This time it wasn't to shut her up or win an argument or to tease her; it was because he wanted to. Because in the seconds since he'd last kissed her, he already missed how her breath hitched and he missed the soft sound of shock she let out just as her brain caught up to what was happening.

And there it was again — the soft involuntary sound that escaped her lips that parted in shock, Max can feel the adrenaline of kissing his friend's sister coursing through him, knowing that the minute they part Augustine would curse him out again.

But when he pulls away from her, there isn't a sound that leaves her lips, she stares at him, shocked, her icy eyes impossibly wide as she processes the moment. "Why..?" she asks finally.

"I wanted to." he admits and then proceeds to step closer to her, leaning in a little more, "because I like you."

He watches the words hit her and his lips form a small grin as her face turns a bright scarlet; he likes the flustered expression on her face and he likes it even more when it worsens when he kisses her forehead.

She tasted of watermelon lipgloss and something else je couldn't quite figure out.

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃

Augustine Slade was haunting him; the taste of her lipgloss and the sweet taste of coffee that followed her soft kisses, and even worse, the smell of her perfume. He was still in love with her — he just wasn't sure that she was in love with him.

Not that he blamed her; he had been an asshole. He'd broken up with her on her birthday and then slept with her sister. Augustine deserved to hate him and that... that was what was tearing him apart. Augustine... Augustine... Augustine...

He missed kissing her, he missed the taste of her on his lips; he'd work to get her back — he had to. Augustine lingers on his mind like a tattooed kiss and he knew that she'd haunt all of his what ifs if he didn't fix this.

Victoria was right, he did miss her — the thrill of Lenore had expired and he did miss Augustine. She'd come back, she had to. No matter how long it took.

It would be different this time — he was sure of it.

𓏲ּ ᥫ᭡ ₊ ⊹ ˑ ִֶ 𓂃