Chapter Text
Max enjoyed rainy days. It made the world soft, made it slow down, made everything seem quieter, as though time itself had slowed down to linger rather than rush forward.
Max was in a corner of Luma Café, tucked in around a small table, his laptop open in front of him, a half-finished frappé of cookies and cream on the table. From where he sat, the large front window of the café provided a perfect view of the street outside. Rain ran down the window in lazy streaks, umbrellas went by in a muted rainbow of colors, the pavement was dark and shiny. The interior of the café smelled of coffee and old books. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, their covers worn and inviting. Max had read more than one of the books on those shelves on afternoons such as this.
The door to the café opened, Max did not raised his view. He was too busy with his homework, too busy with the rhythm of the rain outside, too busy with the world outside the window, which seemed distant, unreal. The bell on the door chimed softly, blending in with the background noise of the café.
Then, suddenly, the air changed. The change was slight at first, a pungent, clean smell cutting through the warm scents of coffee and sugar.
Rain… but not the smell of rain outside, but something much more potent, like the rain itself had come inside.
Max stopped but he didn’t raise his head. He became aware of a presence near the counter, a voice exchanging pleasantries with the cashier, words passing him by without significance—until they became significant.
“I want the waffles, please.” The words were like a shock.
The voice was deep, smooth, with a rich accent that wrapped around every word. The accent itself wasn’t unusual, but it seemed to hold a strength, a richness, that made Max freeze, hands suspended, fingers hovering helplessly over his keyboard.
He turned his head, and what he saw made his breath catch. A broad back beneath a red rain-soaked jacket, a strong line of neck, a tumble of brown hair, still wet from the rain. The stranger stood with an air of confidence, an ease, like he belonged wherever he chose to be.
The voice alone might not have made Max glance up. The order itself did. Because Max knew the menu of Luma Café like he knew his own name, and there were no waffles.
“I’m sorry,” the cashier said, her voice gentle, apologetic. “We don’t have any waffles on our menu.” As she spoke, her eyes flicked toward Max—just for a second.
Max's stomach dropped. The stranger turned his head and their eyes met.
Heat poured to Max's cheeks, and they instantly began to burn. He felt like he was on display, like he was stuck in the chair, and like he could feel everything. He wished the chair would open up and swallow him whole, wished it would just disappear and leave him out of existence. He should have worn patches.
And to make matters worse for Max, the man was beautiful. He had messy brown hair that looked like it had never been touched by a comb, on purpose. He had deep green eyes that looked too focused, too alive, and a nose that gave his face a sharp, sculpted look. He had a strong build, and his body filled the space he was in easily. He was strong and fit, like he went to the gym and didn’t miss a day. He had broad shoulders under his jacket, and he had a relaxed stance, like he was sure of himself.
The man was imposing, and there was no denying it. He was an alpha, and Max knew it. But… he didn’t smell like it.
There was no scent coming off of the man, no edge to it, no warmth. Alphas usually had strong scents, and this man didn’t. Maybe he is wearing scent patches, Max thought.
The man was staring at Max, his eyes wide, almost like he had walked into something and hadn’t quite recovered. There was something almost endearingly dumb about the look on the man's face, his mouth was opening and closing as he tried to say something, and then again, like his brain was taking a little bit longer to catch up. He was unbearably hot.
The man took a step closer. “Wow,” the stranger finally said, voice low and warm. “You are so beautiful.”
Max felt the heat explode across his face, his cheeks burning instantly. “I—” he tried, but the word dissolved on his tongue.
“And you smell delicious,” the stranger added, just as easily, like it was the most natural observation in the world.
The redness spread, creeping down Max’s neck, his chest. He opened his mouth again, panic and disbelief tangling together. “I… mmh…” Babbling, that was all that came out.
The stranger smiled. Not smug. Not mocking. Just… sweet. Soft around the edges, eyes shining with something genuine, something almost shy despite the confidence in his posture.
“I’m Charles,” he said, extending his hand. Max took it without thinking. Charles lifted Max’s hand immediately and pressed a small, warm kiss to his knuckles. “May I have your number?” Charles asked gently. “I’d love to invite you to dinner tonight.”
Max blinked. His brain stalled completely. He couldn’t tell if this was real or if he’d slipped into some absurd, rain-soaked fantasy. His pulse roared in his ears, and for a moment he was certain he might actually pass out.
“I’m… Max,” he managed. It was all his brain would allow him to say, because when a devastatingly attractive alpha told you that you were beautiful and smelled nice, language became optional. Reality, too.
Charles smiled again, softer this time. “Such a beautiful name,” he said, almost like a sigh.
“Black coffee for Charles!” The cashier’s voice cut through the moment from behind him.
Max looked at him, but Charles barely reacted. He remained exactly where he was, unbothered, unwavering, his smile only growing wider.
“Would you meet me tonight?” Charles asked softly. “Eight o’clock. Le Jardinier.”
Max’s mouth parted without him meaning to. His breath caught somewhere in his chest, trapped, as his mind scrambled for words that refused to come.
“You are so pretty,” Charles added, like an afterthought, like something obvious. “I want you to be my omega.”
Max blinked. He closed his mouth slowly, the words repeating themselves in his mind long after they were spoken. He had never met anyone so... direct. So unapologetically forward.
Courtship was a thing, slow and careful. He couldn’t tell if he was flattered or offended. Maybe he was a little of both. Maybe he was neither. What was Charles expecting from this invitation? Something immediate? Instinctual? Or—silly as it sounded—was he asking for something more?
“Charles?” the cashier called again.
Charles didn’t even flinch, his smile only deepened, warm and patient. “Please?” he said gently.
Max swallowed, throat tight, then nodded before he could overthink it. Charles’ face lit up instantly. A bright, genuine grin spread across his features, transforming him completely. Still holding Max’s hand, he lifted it once more and pressed another kiss to his knuckles.
“See you tonight,” he said softly. “Mon petit gaufre.” (My little waffle)
Max had no idea what it meant. But it sounded indecent. He smiled, or at least tried to, already thinking that this was impossible, that there was no universe in which he would ever see this man again.
Yes, he was devastatingly attractive. But also—who did this? Who asked someone out and casually said they wanted them as their omega?
Charles finally turned, picked up his coffee from the counter, and started walking back to him, with that same infuriating smile, and said, “Eight. Le Jardinier.”
Max nodded again, stupidly. Charles’ smile grew even broader before he turned and walked towards the door, disappearing into the rain once again.
Max looked at the wall. What in the world just happened? How was any of this even possible?
Max closed his laptop, his hands shaking as he stuffed it into his backpack. He needed to go back to his dorm room. He needed to tell Lando all of this.
There was no way he was going to believe any of this shit.
* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ
“Landoooo!” Max shouted as he pushed into their dorm room, kicking the door shut behind him a little harder than necessary.
“Maaaaax!” Lando replied instantly, popping out of his bedroom like he’d been waiting for him.
“You won’t—” Max started, then stopped short, frowning. “Why do you look so happy?”
Lando was grinning like an idiot. “Why do you look traumatized?” he shot back, already dropping onto the small sofa.
“I asked first,” Max said, crossing his arms and sitting on the coffee table across from him.
“Ugh,” Lando groaned, rolling his eyes—though the excitement was obvious. “Fine. So I was on campus, right? And this beautiful omega was talking to George, looking absolutely unreal. So obviously I went over—pretended I was just saying hi to George—and he introduced me to him.” Lando paused to inhale dramatically. “And then we started talking. And I didn’t even notice George left. I missed my class, Max. We had lunch together, and at the end I invited him to dinner and now I’m spiraling,” he said, throwing his hands up before fake-crying into his palms. “Do you think he thinks it’s a friendly dinner? Because I want to date him. You should’ve seen him. He was so beautiful.”
Max blinked. “…I don’t know,” he said slowly. “Did you tell him you like omegas?”
“The topic never came up!” Lando groaned, collapsing back against the cushions.
Max huffed. “Well, you better tell him tonight. At least then you’ll know where you stand before you get even more love-struck.”
Lando threw his head back, curls a mess, one hand dragging down his face. “I really like him,” he said miserably, voice muffled behind his fingers. Then he froze. He dropped his hands, sitting up straighter, eyes narrowing on Max. “Wait. Why do you look like you just saw Gasper the ghost?”
Max sighed, rubbing his face. “You’re not going to believe this,” he said. “The craziest shit just happened to me while I was at Luma.”
Lando raised an eyebrow, all attention now. “Okay,” he said slowly. “Spill.”
* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ
Lando laughed the entire time, literally sliding off the couch and onto the floor, as Max explained step by step how the hot, unhinged alpha had invited him to dinner.
“I can’t believe this shit,” Lando said, still laughing as he hauled himself back up and flopped onto the sofa again, wiping tears from his eyes. “I physically cannot believe this.”
Max groaned. “I swear, I couldn’t invent this. Not even if I tried.”
Lando chuckled, still grinning. “So,” he said lightly, “are you going to see him? Because that restaurant is expensive.”
Max scoffed. “Are you insane? Of course, I’m not going to see that psychiatric patient. I don’t care how hot he is.”
Lando burst into laughter again, high-pitched, and obnoxious. “Oh my God!”
Max sighed deeply and stood. “Anyway,” he muttered, “have fun on your date. And thank you for fucking ditching me for dinner. I’ll just eat yesterday’s leftovers.” He turned very dramatically toward the bedroom.
“About that…” Lando said from behind him. Max stopped, turned slowly, one eyebrow already raised. “I ate the leftovers,” Lando finished.
“What?” Max spun around. “Why?!”
“I couldn’t eat during lunch,” Lando said quickly. “Oscar looked so good I felt like I was going to throw up, so I said I wasn’t hungry. Then I came back here and ate everything.”
Max groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “So, what am I supposed to eat now?”
Lando shrugged, entirely unbothered. “I don’t know. Le Jardi— whatever.” Max narrowed his eyes and Lando just chuckled. “Just think about it for a second,” he said. “You go. You have a fancy dinner paid for by the weird alpha. Then you tell him you like omegas. And if it gets too intense—” he grinned, clearly enjoying himself, “—I pretend to be your boyfriend.”
Max blinked. That… wasn’t Lando’s worst idea.
* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ
Max knew he was late—and he hated it. For a moment, he thought about turning back. Being late was, to Max, worse than not showing up at all. It was a failure, it was an inconvenient. But his stomach was twisting in pain, reminding him that he was hungry—and he was already there.
He stepped out of the Uber, and the night air immediately began to bite at his skin as he walked toward the entrance. A part of him had been hoping to find it empty, to find no sign of Charles and thus avoid the meeting altogether.
But Charles was there. He was leaning against the entrance, wearing a black sweatshirt and had his hands tucked into the pockets, looking effortlessly handsome and completely at ease. When he saw Max, his face lit up instantly, a genuine smile crossing his features.
Max paused, and then he took a deep breath. Just eat dinner, he told himself. Let him down gently. Then go home.
“Hi,” Max said as he approached, offering a guilty smile. “Sorry for the delay.”
Charles’ smile only grew. He reached for Max’s hand and pressed a soft kiss against it. “Hi, chéri,” he said warmly. “You look beautiful. Please, don’t worry about it. Thank you for accepting the invitation.”
Something tugged unexpectedly at Max’s chest. No matter how unhinged this all felt, how absurdly direct Charles had been, it was impossible to miss the sweetness in his voice, in the way he looked at him—as if Max being there genuinely mattered.
“Thank you for the invite,” Max said, forcing a small smile.
Charles’ expression softened further. “Let’s get you inside,” he said gently. “It’s cold out here.”
Max nodded. “Thank you.”
Charles walked straight toward the entrance, and Max followed—only then noticing the long line of people waiting outside. He opened his mouth to ask, confusion blooming, but before he could say anything they were already standing in front of the host.
“Good evening, Mr. Leclerc. Your table is ready,” the host said. She was a beta, dressed in a deep neckline, lashes thick and dramatic, her smile practiced and bright. “Please, follow me.” As she turned, her hips swayed a little too deliberately.
Max recognized the flirting immediately. He wasn’t good at it—had never been. The idea of trying made him want to crawl out of his skin. He was far too awkward, far too self-conscious.
“Thank you,” Charles replied coolly, the warmth gone from his tone for just a moment.
Then he turned back to Max, and the softness was back in an instant. He offered his hand once more, the palm up. “Ready, chéri?” he asked softly.
Max blinked, and then he slipped his hand into Charles’ with a shy smile, letting himself be guided inside as they followed the host further into the restaurant.
The restaurant was far more elegant than Max had expected. For a brief, uncomfortable moment, he worried that the black T-shirt he wore beneath the jacket and the dark jeans he was wearing might be completely inappropriate. But the hostess said nothing, and Charles seemed not to care in the least. He seemed pleased just to have Max with him.
Charles was dressed in expensive-looking pants and a coat, looking effortlessly chic in a way that Max could not quite grasp.
Everything was shiny in this place, the wood, the gold accents, the voices of the people they passed by, which seemed almost choreographed.
“Here we are,” the hostess said, gesturing toward a small table tucked into a private section of the restaurant. Candles flickered gently, casting warm light across the white tablecloth and the surrounding walls.
“Thank you,” Charles said politely.
Max swallowed as Charles guided him to the chair, pulling it out for him with an ease that made Max’s pulse stutter. He helped him sit, then moved to the other side of the table—only to pause suddenly.
Charles bent down and picked something up from the seat. Max’s breath caught. A bouquet—roses, tulips, and daisies, all in soft shades of pink and white.
Charles stepped closer and held it out to him. “This is for you, chéri,” he said quietly. “I didn’t know your favorite flowers, so I chose what I thought would fit your… perfect scent.”
Max’s breath hitched. He had never really been courted before—always too young, always overlooked, always unsure of where he stood. This didn’t even resemble the careful, traditional courtship people talked about. It had started abruptly, absurdly. And yet, sitting there with flowers pressed into his hands, his heart squeezed painfully in his chest.
“Thank you,” Max managed to say, his throat tight. “They’re… lovely.”
The smile on Charles’ face was soft and almost foolish, so obviously pleased that for a moment, Max forgot just how crazy the man had acted that day.
Charles went back to his seat across from Max and reached over the table, covering Max’s hand with his own. His hand was warm—large, veined, strong, with wide fingers that felt grounding.
And that’s when Max noticed it again. The scent… Rain.
He’d thought earlier that it was probably on Charles’ clothing from being outside, but now that he was close enough to see his neck clearly, Max noticed that Charles wasn’t wearing any patches. And the rain had stopped hours ago.
The scent wasn’t was warm. Comforting. The kind of scent you noticed after you’d already relaxed. Max liked it. Before Max could worry too much about how impossibly good Charles smelled, a waiter came over to their table. This one was a young, beautiful omega.
“Good evening,” he said brightly. “I’ll be your waiter tonight. Are you ready to order?”
Just like the hostess before him, he batted his lashes at Charles, voice pitched a little higher than necessary.
Max didn’t know how to feel. He knew Charles was handsome—that had been obvious the moment he’d seen him in Luma. But watching it happen like this, so openly, made Max feel lightheaded. He’d almost canceled this dinner because he thought Charles was crazy. And yet here they were, surrounded by people drawn to him by nothing more than his looks and presence.
Max couldn’t even blame them. What he couldn’t understand was how someone like that—an alpha this striking, this desired—had seen him and decided to ask him out. Had told him he was pretty. Had said it so easily, so sincerely, that it still felt unreal.
“Chéri?” Charles’ voice cut through his thoughts, gentle and grounding.
Max blinked. “Sorry?”
“Do you know what you’d like to drink?” Charles asked softly. “Or would you like me to order for you?”
Max nodded, grateful for the calm in his tone. “A gin and tonic, please,” he said quietly. “With orange, if you have it.”
The waiter looked at him for a second too long. He didn’t say anything. Didn’t do anything overt. But the look was enough—measuring, dismissive, like Max didn’t quite belong here. Like he was sitting in a place—or with someone—too good for him.
“Perfect choice,” Charles said immediately, smiling at Max, completely unbothered by the moment. “I’ll have the same, please. And for a starter, could you bring us the planche de charcuteries des frères Alcala?” (Alcala brothers charcuterie board)
“Of course,” the waiter replied, his voice suddenly much too high, lashes fluttering again. “I’ll be right back.”
He walked away with an exaggerated sway of his hips. Charles’ eyes never left Max. But Max still swallowed, his stomach twisting slightly as the thought crept in uninvited—maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.
“So,” Charles said gently, pulling Max from his thoughts for the second time that evening. “You’re studying?”
Max blinked. “Yes,” he said, nodding. “Computer engineering.”
“Wow,” Charles said, eyes widening with genuine interest. “That sounds really… complicated.”
Max chuckled softly. “It’s not that complicated,” he said, shrugging. “It’s just… boring.”
Charles blinked, his head tilting slightly. “You didn’t want to study that?”
Max bit his lip, hesitating before answering. “Not really,” he admitted with a small sigh. “But it was this or following the family business. At least with this, I can still learn a few things I like.”
Charles frowned, the concern immediate. “What would you have liked to study?”
“Something with computers still,” Max said, warming to the conversation. “That’s actually where my dad got the idea—technology is at its peak, so he thought it would be good for me.” He smiled faintly. “But I wanted something more fun. Like game design.”
“That sounds cool,” Charles said, a grin spreading across his face. “You like video games?”
“I love them,” Max said instantly.
“Which ones are your favorites?” Charles asked. He looked genuinely curious, not polite-curious, and it made Max feel unexpectedly comfortable—like he could just… yap.
“Anything where I can drive,” Max said, a little more animated now. “But also, FIFA. It’s one of the games I enjoy the most.”
Charles opened his mouth, clearly ready to respond, when the waiter returned.
“Your drink, sir,” the omega said, placing a gin and tonic in front of Charles.
“Thanks,” Charles replied absently. He barely glanced at him before lifting the glass and setting it carefully in front of Max instead. “Here you go, chéri.”
Max’s heart skipped, his pulse quickening at the attention. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the faint grimace twisting across the waiter’s face.
“Thank you,” Max whispered.
Charles’ smile eased slightly. Then, he reached for the second gin and tonic, placing it in front of himself, before accepting the charcuterie plate and placing it neatly between them.
The waiter halted momentarily at Charles’ action, a mixture of hesitation and confusion on his face before turning and leaving without another word.
But Max’s heart was racing uncontrollably. The butterflies danced in his chest, and he knew it was because of something as simple and intentional as chivalry itself.
“Where were we?” Charles asked as soon as the waiter was gone. He smiled, dimples fully on display, eyes warm and attentive. “Ah—yes. You mentioned the family business.” He leaned forward slightly. “May I ask what was so horrible that you didn’t want to be involved?”
Max had just taken a sip of what might have been the most delicious gin and tonic he’d ever tasted. He swallowed, then giggled, unable to stop himself.
“Politics,” he said, still smiling.
Charles’ brows lifted immediately, curiosity lighting up his face. “Wow. I didn’t expect that.” He studied Max for a moment. “Is your family from here?”
Max chuckled and shook his head. “No.”
“Hm,” Charles murmured, fingers brushing thoughtfully along his jaw. “I figured. But the Germanic accent made me think maybe Swiss…” His eyes narrowed playfully. “Germany?”
Max laughed, quickly covering his mouth with both hands to keep it from carrying too far. He shook his head again, laughter slipping through anyway. “No!”
Charles smiled, his green eyes impossibly vivid up close. “Dutch?”
“Yes,” Max said, nodding, still giggling.
Charles grinned. “Good,” he said with a soft chuckle. “My next guess would’ve been Norwegian. After that, I would’ve been completely lost.”
Max laughed again. “Technically,” he said between laughs, “I was born in Belgium. But I’ve lived most of my life in the Netherlands.”
“So, a Belgian?” Charles asked, raising a brow, amused.
“Half,” Max said with a grin. “My mom’s Belgian. My dad’s Dutch.”
“Beautiful,” Charles said lightly. “Smart. Funny. Multicultural…” He counted off on his fingers, then looked up at Max again, eyes bright. “Anything else I should know before I fall even more deeply for you?”
Max shook his head, laughing softly. “You’re crazy.”
* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ
It was an incredible dinner. Charles was impossibly sweet, calling Max pretty every five minutes, using words like chéri and mon petit gaufre in conversation. Max had no idea what the last one meant, but he loved the sound of it. The way it made him feel, all warm and fuzzy inside. (My little waffle)
He learned that Charles was from Monaco—a fact that nearly made Max choke when he’d casually asked if he was French. Charles’ reaction had been dramatic enough to make Max laugh, hand over his mouth as Charles protested, half-offended, half-amused.
Charles wasn’t studying. He worked for his father’s business, he told Max, he had already taken some college courses while he was still in high school. As soon as he turned eighteen, he started working full-time, like it had always been meant to be.
What Max enjoyed most—more than the food, more than the pretty words—was the way Charles listened.
The way his eyes never left Max’s face, the way he seemed to drink every word from his mouth like it was the only thing that mattered, like missing a single sentence would be like missing the stars themselves. The way his eyes stayed soft and warm on Max’s face.
Max wanted to be seen like that forever.
It made him feel small in a way that he loved—the kind of small that meant he could cling to something and know he was safe. It made his throat constrict and his heart speed up.
“And that’s how I finished my bachelor’s degree early,” Max said softly, cheeks warm, “and why I’m getting my PhD now.”
Charles looked at him like Max had just told him something sacred. “You are the most beautiful and intelligent person I’ve ever met,” Charles said with a quiet sigh.
The words sent shivers straight down Max’s spine. He couldn’t understand how easily they came to Charles—how natural praise seemed for him, how effortless it was to approach a stranger, to ask them out, to look at someone and decide they were worth everything. Was this just how Charles dated? Did the world simply align itself around him because he was handsome and confident and everything worked out the way he wanted? Or did this mean something more to him?
“I…” Max started.
But Charles interrupted him. “Please,” he said suddenly, his voice steady, serious in a way that cut through everything else. “Be my omega. Marry me.”
Max froze. Just for a second… then, he laughed.
He shook his head, breathless, unable to stop himself. This was, without question, the most unhinged experience of his life. First, a random alpha had invited him on a date without even knowing his name. Then he’d asked him to be his omega. And now that same alpha was asking him to marry him.
“You are crazy,” Max said, giggling.
Charles blinked. A faint frown appeared on his handsome face. “Why?” he asked, completely serious—like proposing to someone you’d met that morning was perfectly reasonable.
“Are you kidding?” Max asked, raising a brow. “We just met. I don’t even know your last name.” He laughed again, shaking his head. “People usually court each other. They date. At least a year passes before marriage, Charles.”
He smiled as he said it, still half in disbelief that he of all people was explaining basic dating etiquette.
Charles huffed, a small, thoughtful smile tugging at his lips. “So… can I ask you in a year?” he asked.
Max chuckled. “No.”
“But you just said—” Charles started.
“I said at least,” Max interrupted, laughing softly. “I’m only twenty. I want to graduate. Get a stable job. At least start the process of buying a house before marriage.”
Charles hummed, tilting his head as if carefully considering every word. “Okay,” he said quietly. “You get your degree and your job. I’ll take care of the house.” Max blinked—then laughed despite himself. “I’ll ask again in three years,” Charles said, grinning.
“My PhD will take four,” Max replied, shaking his head.
Charles smiled, utterly unfazed. “No,” he said confidently. “You’ll finish earlier. I know it. You’re too smart.” He leaned forward slightly, eyes bright. “And I’ll propose as soon as you have your job.” He winked—his entire face scrunching in the process, somehow managing to look both devastatingly attractive and a little bit dumb at the same time. “I promise,” Charles added softly, voice suddenly steady, certain. “From today on, you’ll have everything you want. I’ll make sure of that.”
There was something about the way he said it that was unsettling. Not arrogant, certainly. As though the future were already written, as though it were a matter of timing. His eyes sparkled, locked completely on Max.
It made Max feel warm. Important. As though he could actually be a person who was worthy of being wanted like that. Of being worthy of anything being done for him.
Max didn’t know what the future held. But the thought of this ridiculous, impossible future didn’t seem so bad.
He giggled, shaking his head. “You’re really crazy.”
Charles just grinned.
* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ
After dinner, Charles offered to take him home. What Max had not anticipated was being driven home in a Ferrari.
It was sleek and black and glided across the road like it had somewhere important to be—anywhere but a student neighborhood. Two stripes of the Monégasque flag ran across the top of the car—a nod to Charles’ heritage, screaming for attention. Max saw the way other students stopped and stared, nudging each other and turning their heads to follow the car as it slowed down by the dorms.
Charles parked the car with ease, and before Max could draw a full breath, Charles was already out of the car and moving to the passenger side door. He opened it for Max just as he had at the restaurant when he had asked if he could take him home.
Charles offered his hand. Max took it and stepped out of the car carefully, bouquet clutched to his chest with his other arm. It had a faintly sweet scent.
“Thank you,” Max whispered. “For dinner. And the ride.”
Charles smiled softly. “The pleasure was entirely mine,” he said, lifting Max’s hand to his lips and pressing a gentle kiss to his knuckles. That familiar tug pulled at Max’s chest again. “Let me walk you to your door,” Charles added.
Max nodded—because what else could he do? Charles didn’t let go of his hand as he guided him toward the entrance, walking at an easy pace, as if there were nowhere else he needed to be. When they reached the door, Max finally released his grip, holding the bouquet with both hands now.
“Thank you,” he said again, quieter this time.
“No,” Charles replied softly. “Thank you for letting me borrow a bit of your time.”
Max didn’t know whether he wanted to kiss him or lightly smack him for saying things like that. He settled for shaking his head with a small, breathless laugh.
“May I invite you to a second date?” Charles asked.
Max swallowed. He thought back to how the evening had started—convinced he’d never see this man again, certain he’d politely let him down after a free meal.
“Yes,” Max said, a little breathless.
Charles’ face lit up instantly. “Tomorrow?” he asked eagerly. “I can’t wait to see you again. I could come in the morning, drive you to class, pick you up for lunch—or we could get a drink. Something that’s not coffee.” He smiled. “Or we can do everything.”
Max chuckled, warmth spreading through him at the thought—at the fact that Charles had remembered his offhand confession about not liking coffee. At the way he was asking for a second date so quickly, when most people waited days to avoid looking desperate.
Apparently, Charles didn’t care about appearances at all.
“I get up too early for class,” Max said softly.
“It’s okay,” Charles replied immediately. “I’ll bring you breakfast.”
Max giggled, unable to help himself. This had to be the dumbest—and sweetest—alpha he’d ever met. “Okay,” he said with a smile. “See you at 7:30 a.m. sharp. I don’t like being late.”
“I’ll be here ten minutes early,” Charles said solemnly. Then his mouth curved into a grin. “Even though I hate waking up early.”
Max laughed, shaking his head. “See you tomorrow, Charles.”
“See you tomorrow, mon beau petit gaufre,” Charles said, his voice almost longing. (My beautiful little waffle)
Max smiled, still shaking his head, and turned to unlock the door. He slipped the key in, twisted it—then stopped. He turned back.
Without quite thinking about it, Max stepped closer. The bouquet was cradled in his left arm as he lifted his right hand and cupped Charles’ cheek. He leaned in and pressed a kiss to the side of his face—soft, warm, lingering just a second longer than necessary. Long enough to breathe in that rain-scent again, comforting, and familiar, like a place he wanted to stay.
He felt Charles’ hand settle firmly at his waist—not demanding—just like he was trying to hold the moment in place.
Max pulled back slightly, still close enough to see the green in Charles’ eyes. He smiled. “See you tomorrow morning.”
Charles let out a quiet sigh, blinking slowly. “À bientôt, mon précieux oméga.” (See you soon, my precious omega.)
Max grinned, turning on his heels as he felt Charles’ hand slip away from his waist. He stepped inside, the bouquet held carefully against his chest. Just before closing the door, he looked back one last time.
Charles was still there.
Max smiled again, then shut the door slowly—already missing the stupid, impossibly hot alpha who smelled like rain and felt far too much like somewhere Max wanted to stay.
*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ
Charles walked outside into the cool air, closing the door behind him softly. He knew it was insane. And yet, deep inside, he knew.
His father had always said that he would know, the moment he met his partner. Charles had always thought it was just another of those things his older people said, trying to romanticize biology. Something comforting, but not real.
And yet, walking there, his heart still racing, rain lingering on his clothes, he realized.
Even with the medication… the suppressants dulled his enigma instincts, muted them to something closer to what a regular alpha experienced. Never gone completely, but distant. Manageable. Predictable.
Until Max.
The moment he had seen him, those big blue eyes, pale skin with a flush of pink, those plush lips that seemed just too kissable, something ancient had stirred inside him. And then there had been the smell. Sweet, warm, mouthwatering. Like waffles, straight off the iron, rich, inviting, curling around Charles’ senses, settling in as if it had always belonged. As if Max belonged to him.
There had been no doubt. No hesitation.
Charles had never been a man who believed in relationships. Sex, yes. Convenience. Ruts, handled carefully. Bodies, chosen strategically. He had been meticulous—about protection, about the consequences, about never creating complications. Especially when he knew how enigma fertility worked. Especially when he knew he could get even the alphas pregnant.
But the moment he saw Max, none of that mattered. All he could think about was a life together.
Marriage. A house. Pups—soft and warm and hopefully with Max’s blue eyes. Futures he had never allowed himself to imagine had unfolded effortlessly in his mind, as if they had been waiting for permission.
Charles swallowed—and only then realized where he was. The Tiffany store in Genève stood in front of him, its windows glowing softly.
He didn’t hesitate. This wasn’t enough—not really. Max deserved the world. The rarest stones. Something worthy of him. But there was a date tonight, and Charles intended to make one thing painfully clear: he was serious. About all of it. About him.
“Hello,” a beta behind the counter greeted him brightly. “How can I help you today?”
The flutter of lashes didn’t go unnoticed. In another moment, Charles might have indulged it without thinking. Now, the very idea made his stomach twist.
The thought of cheating—even when Max wasn’t his yet—made him feel faintly sick. It was strange. Enigmas weren’t always monogamous. Cheaters existed at every level of society. And yet, something about Max had already rewritten the rules inside him.
“I want the biggest diamond ring you have available right now,” Charles said calmly. “I’m part of the brand collector program.”
The beta blinked, mouth falling open.
Charles barely noticed. His mind was already elsewhere—on that family ring. The one he would ask his father for. The one he would use to upgrade this ring once Max said yes. Because he would.
Charles had never been more certain of anything in his life.