Archive of Our Own ^beta

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.

Chapter Text

It had been a week and a half since Max first met Charles. A week and a half since that dinner. A week and a half of seeing him every single day.

Charles drove him to class every morning without fail, always early, always waiting. He took him home after class, took him out to lunch or dinner. He brought him breakfast every morning—warm pastries, fruit cut the way Max liked it. He asked how he was doing and actually listened to the response, his eyes locked intently on Max’s face.

There were dates, flowers, and nesting materials placed gently in Max’s hands. Kinder chocolates because Charles remembered that he liked those. He had been, without a doubt, the sweetest Alpha Max had ever met.

He even met Lando. Who—without a shred of fear—had told him he was an idiot for being born an alpha.

Max braced himself instinctively, waiting for the reaction he knew would come. The sharp retort, the bruised ego, the condescending attitude. Every other alpha Lando had ever antagonized had snapped at him, called him weak, told him he was nothing but an omega.

Charles had simply chuckled. He had shrugged his shoulders lightly and said, “I couldn’t decide what gender to be born into.” That was all.

Lando had stared at him as if Charles had glitched out of reality. He had stared over at Max as if to silently ask, what is wrong with him? Why isn’t he fighting me? And Max had not had an answer for that.

But now, his thoughts were too occupied to consider much of anything. Whatever Charles wanted with him, Max was no longer sure about.

Since that declaration—I want you to be my omega—Max had expected to be placed in some kind of relationship. Something tangible. Something defined. But aside from the care, the attention and the presents, Charles had not attempted to do anything.

He had not attempted to kiss Max. He had not attempted to do anything but give Max hand kisses, he opened doors for Max, held jackets for him. He was incredibly gentle and made Max feel like he was precious to him.

And that’s what made Max feel lost. He could not tell if the words uttered by Charles that night had been madness or if they had been something incredibly real, because Charles had not attempted to kiss him. He had not attempted to do anything but be incredibly gentle with Max.

“Chéri?” Charles’ voice broke through the fog in Max’s head.

Max blinked, slowing to a stop, only then realizing he was standing at the edge of the street where Charles always waited for him after class. The familiar black car was parked exactly where it always was, impossibly polished, impossibly patient.

“Oh—hi,” Max said softly, offering a small smile, trying not to look like he’d been overthinking his entire life because of the alpha standing in front of him.

“Are you ready?” Charles asked gently.

There was no rush in his tone. No expectation. Max had the strange certainty that he could tell him he needed five more hours and Charles would simply nod and wait without complaint.

“Yes,” Max said, giving a small nod.

Charles smiled and moved to open the car door for him, extending his hand as he did. Max still hadn’t grown used to being treated like this—to the care, the attention, the quiet insistence that he mattered.

“Thank you,” Max whispered as he took Charles’ hand and climbed into the car, the scent of rain wrapping around him the moment he settled inside.

Charles closed the door carefully, then walked around to the driver’s side. He slid into the seat beside Max, started the engine, and before pulling away, reached for Max’s hand again. He pressed a small kiss to his knuckles—unhurried, familiar—then placed their joined hands gently between them as he began to drive.

“Would you like to get something for lunch?” Charles asked.

Max’s throat went dry. He was hungry. And he wanted to spend time with Charles—wanted it badly. But the constant thinking, the looping questions, the ache of uncertainty had left him exhausted.

“I’m a little tired,” Max said softly. “Could we go out tomorrow?” He hesitated, choosing his words carefully, trying not to hurt someone who had been nothing but kind to him.

Charles didn’t hesitate. “Of course,” he said easily.

He lifted Max’s hand once more and kissed his knuckles again before refocusing on the road. The car made a smooth turn, heading towards Max’s building.

The ride was brief, with soft music humming in the car. Most times, they talked about things like school, work, and anything else they could think of, but this time around, Max said nothing. His mind was too busy, too noisy, with thoughts competing with each other and leaving no space for anything else.

“Here we are,” Charles said gently, pulling the car to a smooth stop.

He stepped out first, as he always did, opening the door for Max and extending his hand. Max took it automatically, letting Charles help him out, the familiar warmth grounding him.

“Thank you,” Max murmured.

As they walked toward the building, something settled heavily in his chest. The realization came quietly but firmly—how much he didn’t want this moment to end. How much he wanted to keep breathing in that rain scent, to stay wrapped in Charles’ presence just a little longer, to simply be near him.

“Everything okay?” Charles asked when they reached Max’s door. His voice was soft and attentive. “You’ve been very quiet.”

Max swallowed. Before he could overthink it, before doubt could catch up with him, the words slipped out. “Do you want to come in?” he asked. “We could order food.”

Charles blinked. He’d never been inside Max’s apartment before. And suddenly Max wondered if this was too much, too soon—but the truth was simple. He didn’t want Charles to leave.

“It would be my pleasure,” Charles said without hesitation.

Relief bloomed instantly. Max smiled and unlocked the door, stepping inside and slipping off his sneakers. Charles followed, doing the same, the small, domestic gesture feeling strangely intimate. The apartment was quiet, familiar, and safe.

“Do you want to sit?” Max asked, nodding toward the small sofa. “I’ll order the food.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out his phone.

Before he could even take a step, Charles’ hand closed around his wrist, firm but gentle.

Max froze, and Charles stepped closer. Their breaths mingled, their lips just centimeters apart. Max’s heartbeat against his chest, his breath catching as his eyes met Charles’ wide, questioning gaze. And for a moment, Max knew it. Knew that this was it.

“Let me order,” Charles said softly, a tranquil smile easing onto his lips.

Max stopped, frozen in place. He blinked, his heart continuing to pound in his chest, because he had been so sure this was the moment—when Charles would finally kiss him. Not offer to buy yet another meal for him.

Max nodded, the movement on autopilot and unrelated to his thoughts. He did appreciate the gesture, really. He just couldn't help the confusion that was building inside of him with each and every second that passed.

What were they? Was this friendship, in Charles’ mind—a pleasant, patient thing that could potentially become something more someday? Had Max completely misunderstood everything?

Charles’ smile grew even wider as he focused on his phone, his fingers flying across the screen as he searched for food options. Max spun on his heel, meaning to go change, meaning to give himself a moment to clear his head... but he couldn't help himself.

He did it before he could talk himself out of it. Max spun back around. Charles looked up from his phone, a look of surprise on his face as Max stood there, tense, and uncertain. Charles opened his mouth but before he could say a word Max talked—

“What you said the first time we met,” Max asked suddenly, voice sharper than he meant it to be, “was that just a joke?”

Charles blinked. A faint frown appeared on his beautiful face. “Wha—” he started.

“Do you want us to be friends?” Max cut in, arms crossing over his chest, brow raised. “Or what exactly do you want from this?”

Charles’ eyes widened, genuine surprise washing over his features—and God, he looked so stupid and so hot in that moment that Max almost wanted to kick him for it.

“I told you,” Charles said softly, his voice pulling Max’s attention back. “I want to marry you. I want you to be my omega. I want you—in every way.”

That familiar tug hit Max’s chest again. Butterflies erupted in his stomach, his throat tightening painfully as the words sank in.

“Wasn’t I clear?” Charles asked gently, his tone careful as he stepped closer, closing the distance without crowding him.

Max nodded slowly. Charles had been clear—from the very beginning. But his actions didn’t match what Max had been taught to expect. How could someone be this direct, this certain, and still do nothing more than hold hands, open doors, linger patiently at his side? Max’s mind struggled to reconcile it.

“Why are you questioning it, then?” Charles asked, head tilted slightly, his voice soft—curious rather than defensive.

Max swallowed. His throat was dry and tight with everything he was still not saying. But instead of speaking, he stepped closer to Charles.

Before he could change his mind, Max raised his hands and cupped Charles’ face, his thumbs brushing against the warmth of his skin. Then he leaned in and kissed him.

Charles stopped for a moment, for just a millisecond, but then his hands came to life and grasped Max's waist, pulling him closer so there was no space between them. Max's fingers threaded through Charles’ hair, holding on for all he was worth.

Charles made a soft noise against Max's lips and bit down gently. When Max gasped, Charles deepened the kiss slowly, then more confidently, sending a shiver down Max's spine and causing a warm, dizziness feeling to wash over his body.

Max had never been kissed like this. It was overwhelming, too much for him. Too good. Too real. Charles tasted like rain and comfort and something familiar that Max had not known he was missing. He tasted like home. His lips were soft, his body solid and warm against Max's, grounding him as everything inside Max felt unsteady.

Finally, the kiss broke and Max was gasping for air. He was lightheaded. His hands were still locked in Charles’ hair, holding on for all he was worth because he was sure his legs would have given out long ago if not for this hold.

Charles’ pupils were blown wide. A soft—almost smug—smile curved his lips. “I didn’t kiss you before,” Charles said quietly, “not because I didn’t want to.” He lifted one hand, cupping Max’s cheek gently. “Believe me, I’ve been yearning for those lips.” His thumb brushed along Max’s jaw. “But with the whole waiting a few years before marriage thing… I thought you wanted to take things more slowly.”

Max nodded, breath still uneven. He didn’t want to get married yet—but he definitely wanted to be kissed like that again. And again.

“I—” Max started.

Charles kissed the tip of his nose, a small, affectionate gesture that made Max’s chest ache. “I want to marry you tonight,” he admitted softly. “But I’ll wait as long as you want me to.” He leaned in again, brushing their lips together this time, barely a whisper of a kiss. “And not to pressure you,” he murmured, “but I hope this means I can kiss you whenever I want. Because after that… I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.”

Max gasped—but Charles swallowed the sound, kissing him again, just as deep, just as perfect as the first time. One kiss blurred into another, time slipping away until they were breathless, clinging, lost for about fifteen minutes, until the door flew open.

“OH MY GOD,” Lando shouted, already sprinting toward his room. “NOT IN THE SHARED AREA. USE PROTECTION. I DON’T NEED TO SEE THIS.”

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

They had been courting… dating, or as Charles described it, preparing for marriage—for about a month and a half.

From Max’s point of view, everything was perfect. Charles was sweet and loving, always paying attention to the smallest details. Flowers would appear out of nowhere. Chocolates, always the right kind. Nesting materials that smelled like rain. He picked Max up every morning, drove him to class, patiently waiting around. Took him out to dinner, walked him home, looked at him in a way that made Max’s chest feel all warm and fuzzy inside, as if he were exactly where he needed to be.

Lando, of course, saw Charles in a very different light. To him, Charles was insanely intense, a danger to society, someone who should be locked away in a very stylish but very secure lunatic asylum.

Max had thought the same, but after that first date, after the way Charles looked at him as if nothing else existed in the whole world, Max could not help but be charmed by all of Charles’ beautiful insanity.

Now, with Charles’ hand warm and steady in his own, Max could not shake the feeling that he wasn’t ready for the next step. Charles—casually, as if it were nothing—had bought an apartment in Genève. Even though he still traveled constantly to that city near Vaud, where his father’s business was located.

“So,” Charles said, stepping forward and opening the door. “Here we are.”

The apartment was generous although… penthouse was more accurate. Max’s breath caught as he stepped inside. The space was enormous, bathed in natural light, decorated in soft beiges and whites with subtle touches of black. Everything felt intentional, curated—clean lines, expensive textures, the kind of place that looked like it belonged in a magazine spread rather than real life. It was stunning.

“Let me give you a little tour,” Charles said easily.

He pointed out the living space, which was open and airy and flowed into the kitchen seamlessly. Then the game room, with the consoles all neatly arranged and the billiards table standing in the center. The laundry room, the bathroom, the second bedroom, and finally the main room, which was large, elegant, and quiet.

When they went back into the kitchen, Charles opened the refrigerator and pulled out a Red Bull and a bottle of water and handed the Red Bull to Max without comment. Max smiled, he knew Charles hated the drink, and that meant he had bought it for Max.

“Thank you,” Max said, taking it and sipping gratefully.

“So,” Charles asked, leaning casually against the counter, eyes on Max. “What do you think?”

Max swallowed, then smiled softly. “It’s beautiful,” he said honestly. “Very big.”

“But?” Charles asked gently.

Max blinked. “There is no but,” he said quickly. Charles narrowed his eyes just a little. Max rolled his eyes with a sigh. “Okay—fine. I just think it looks… perfect. Like something straight out of a magazine.”

“And you don’t like that?” Charles asked, leaning back against the counter, arms loose, clearly curious rather than offended.

Max bit his lip, considering. Then he shrugged. “It’s nice,” he said honestly.

Charles chuckled. “You’re a terrible liar.”

Max groaned. “I’m not lying. I do like it. I just—”

“Just?” Charles prompted, smiling now, brow raised in patient curiosity.

Max huffed, running a hand through his hair. “I just would like to see more… you.”

Charles’ eyes widened. “More me?” He tilted his head slightly.

“Yes,” Max said, warming to it now. “Where are the abandoned shoes? The hoodies thrown over the sofa? The nests?” He gestured around them, arms lifting. “The things that make a place feel lived in. Like someone actually belongs here.”

Charles blinked and for a brief, terrifying second, Max thought he’d crossed a line—offered an opinion where none was asked about something that wasn’t his to comment on.

Then Charles smiled soft and delighted, just before he laughed, head tipping back slightly. “I—” he said, shaking his head. “I think you’re right. It does need more coziness.”

“Exactly,” Max said, nodding eagerly. He took another sip of his Red Bull.

“Maybe what it needs is a nest to start with…”  Charles said casually.

Max nodded to himself. “Yeah. That’s a great idea.”

Charles’ smile turned dramatic instantly. He placed a hand over his chest like he’d been struck by something profound. “If only I knew how to make a nest,” he sighed. “Or if only I had the most beautiful, smartest, most perfect omega to guide me in creating one half as lovely as the ones he makes…”

Max laughed, shaking his head. “You’re so dumb.”

Charles grinned unabashedly. “Would the most beautiful, perfect omega,” he asked solemnly, “please help me with my nest?”

Max giggled. “Fine,” he said.

They made the nest in Charles’ bedroom—because Charles had insisted that this was where it belonged.

He helped more than Max had expected. He handed over hoodies and blankets carefully, one by one, held pillows steady while Max adjusted them, even tugged fabric into place with a seriousness that made Max laugh. At one point, Charles had solemnly requested that Max scent every single piece they used.

“So, I won’t miss you,” he’d said, entirely earnest.

It was… sweet. Ridiculously so. The whole process had been fun. Max had laughed at how intent Charles was, his tongue stuck between his teeth as if nest-building was the most important thing he’d ever have to do.

Charles, on the other hand, stole kisses whenever he could: Max’s cheek, his nose, and of course, his lips. Those kinds of kisses made Max forget what he was saying more than once.

By the time they were finished, the nest was in the middle of the bed, medium-sized, soft, layered in warm textures. It looked inviting.

“Okay,” Max said, stepping back to admire their work. “Now go in and test it.”

Charles climbed into the nest obediently, lowering himself carefully before stretching out with a satisfied sigh. He patted the layers around him, thoughtful. “It’s cozy, but—”

“But?” Max asked, brow raising, already preparing himself to throw a pillow at Charles’ face for daring to criticize their creation.

Before he could move, Charles stood up from the nest smoothly, picked up Max with surprising gentleness, and set him directly into the nest as though Max were part of the original design.

Max squeaked, looking surprised. Charles grinned, that face that made him both gorgeous and slightly stupid-looking and got into the nest with him. He wrapped his arms around Max, holding him close. Max was too surprised to object... not that he wanted to.

“Yes,” Charles said contentedly, pressing a kiss into Max’s hair. “Now it’s perfect.”

This wasn’t the first time they’d shared a bed. Charles had stayed over a few times. After late nights drinking too much... but this was different. This was more intimate.

Maybe it was the fact that they were alone. No Lando in the next room. Maybe it was the fact that this nest was something they’d made together. Layers of Max's scent and Charles’ presence. Max snuggled deeper into the nest. Into Charles’ arms.

The combined scents made his eyelids heavy. His body slack. He let out a purr without meaning to.

“Good night, mon petit gaufre,” Charles whispered, pressing a gentle kiss to Max’s forehead.

That was the last thing Max remembered from that day.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

It had been almost a month since Charles had shown him the apartment. Max had been there almost every day since. He had promised himself it would just be on the weekends, but that had not been the case. Charles had invited him over to do homework, to watch a movie, to eat dinner, and somehow, no matter what, Max had always ended up staying. Always ended up sleeping there.

Charles was warm. He kissed Max’s cheek distractedly, snuggled up against him as he slept, kept him close. And somehow, Max had gotten lost in all of it. In the warmth, in the safety, in the way his body seemed to just melt when Charles touched him.

The few days that Max had not been over at Charles’ apartment, Charles had been over at his dorm, hanging out, eating, kissing him softly. And when Charles had asked him to stay over, Max had folded because he was weak, but because he had also wanted Charles there, and it had just been easier to say yes. Easier than imagining the empty space that Charles would leave behind.

But as he sat cross-legged on the floor of Charles’ living room, his laptop out in front of him, he couldn’t help but think about just how quickly it had all happened. How normal it had all felt.

Strong hands cupped his face from behind, gentle but sure, tilting his face upwards. Max looked up, and there was Charles, upside down from his perspective, leaning in to kiss him. It was a strange kiss, a little clumsy from their perspective, but it was still perfect.

When it ended, Max straightened and turned just enough to look at him. He narrowed his eyes. “You promised you wouldn’t distract me from my homework,” he said.

Charles grinned unapologetically. “It’s not my fault,” he said, chuckling. “You’re too pretty. You’re distracting me.”

Max huffed, but a smile threatened to escape anyway. He coughed lightly, trying—and failing—to hide it. “What are you doing?” Max asked.

Charles rarely talked about his work, but Max knew it had something to do with investing, creating buildings, houses, that kind of stuff, but nothing else.

Charles hummed thoughtfully, but then, without warning, he put his arms around Max, effortlessly lifting him off the floor, settling him onto his lap before Max even knew what was happening.

Every time Charles did something like this, Max was shocked all over again by how strong Charles was, by how effortlessly he picked him up, especially considering Max wasn’t a small person—he was, in fact, one and a half centimeters taller than Charles.

Still, though, there was something about sitting on Charles’ lap that felt… right, and Max relaxed immediately, snuggling into his chest, nestling there like he was meant to be there.

Charles’ arms came around him naturally, strong, and warm, and Max felt Charles’ smile against the top of his head before he kissed it softly.

“Okay…” Charles said, shifting slightly as he pulled his laptop closer. “Remember I told you about that building we were constructing?”

Max hummed in response, eyes lifting to the screen. A tall structure filled the display—pale stone catching the light, rising in elegant tiers. A narrow central tower stood proud, flanked by lower wings that gave the whole building a sense of balance. In front of it stretched a long, rectangular fountain, its light-blue water perfectly aligned with the main entrance, reflective and calm.

“Well,” Charles continued, a note of pride creeping into his voice, “we finished it this week. And the government contacted me. They want to rent it—to use it as the city hall.”

Max blinked. “Are you serious?”

Charles grinned. “Yes. Well—originally they wanted to buy it, but I declined.” He shrugged lightly. “It’s more beneficial to keep ownership. It generates more income long-term.”

Max’s mouth dropped open. Charles chuckled and leaned down to kiss him, brief and affectionate.

“That’s in that city you said you were focusing on developing?” Max asked, still staring at the screen.

“Yes,” Charles said. “It’s in an empty city, a little bit north of Vaud.”

Max nodded slowly, eyes tracing the clean lines of the building. “You’re not doing something super futuristic with it, right?” he asked cautiously.

Charles laughed softly. “You’re more into the classics?”

Max tilted his head back slightly to look at him. “Yeah. I think most houses now all look the same—white, minimal, boring. Older ones had more personality. More complex designs. They felt… intentional.”

Charles hummed thoughtfully. “Then I’ll make that house I promised… our house leans more Neoclassical,” he said easily. “With a proper gaming room for your video games—and a cinema room for our movie nights.”

Max smiled, warmth spreading through him. He lifted a hand and cupped Charles’ face, thumb brushing his cheek. “I want an office too,” he said, giggling.

Charles smiled back without hesitation. “You’ll get your office,” he promised. “I’ll get mine, and each of our pups will have their own room.”

Max raised a brow, holding back a laugh. “How many pups do you think we’ll have?” he asked lightly. He wasn’t sure about the future but the way Charles spoke about it with such certainty always made his chest feel warm and fuzzy, like it was something solid he could lean into.

“With you?” Charles said, eyes turning mischievous. “I’ll have a million pups.”

Max laughed, head tilting back, the sound spilling out of him. Charles chuckled too, leaning in to kiss Max’s cheek.

“But,” Charles added more softly, nuzzling the skin there, “I’ll be happy with whatever you decide.”

Still smiling, Max leaned closer and said, “I want two. Or three.”

Charles nodded seriously, as if it was writing in stone. “Okay,” he said, tightening his hold just a little. “Then I’ll get at least a six-bedroom house—just in case you change your mind later.”

Max laughed again. “I don’t think so.”

Charles shrugged, completely unapologetic. “I can’t be too careful.”

He cupped Max's face, his thumbs brushing gently against Max's jaw, and kissed him, soft, slow, deep enough to make Max's breathing catch, until Max's phone interrupted them.

They broke apart, both a little reluctantly, but Charles still smiled, still looked fond, still completely unruffled, while Max gave him a sorry look. They hadn't done anything, Max hadn't been ready, Charles hadn't pushed him, hadn't even suggested it, but still, Max felt a little guilty, like something had been paused, like a breath hadn't been finished.

He picked up the phone and put it on speaker. “Hi, Nico,” he said. “You’re on speaker.”

“You’re with Lando?” Nico asked from the other end.

“No,” Max replied. “I’m with Charles. Is everything okay?” He frowned slightly, a sudden unease settling in.

Nico hummed on the line, and Max knew that sound. He knew exactly what Nico—and Lando—were thinking. That he was spending too much time with Charles. That this was too fast, too intense.

And maybe it was, but Max couldn’t stop himself. He wanted to be with Charles. Charles made him feel good—safe, wanted, steady in a way Max had never known before.

Max snuggled closer against Charles’ chest, instinctively seeking the warmth there. Charles’ arm tightened around him in response, steady and familiar.

“Is everything okay, Nico?” Max asked again, softer this time.

“No!” Nico replied dramatically through the phone. “My dad is going insane about the job. I swear, I’m one PowerPoint presentation away from quitting.”

Max chuckled. “And you wanted me to get into politics?” he teased. “Yeah—thank God I didn’t listen to you.”

“Maaax,” Nico whined, long and pitiful. “At least I won’t be suffering alone.”

Max laughed harder, feeling Charles shake silently beneath him as he tried—and failed—to contain his own laughter. Max reached out, hugging Charles’ arm.

“You sound completely insane,” he said between laughs.

“No,” Nico insisted, voice cracking theatrically. “I swear I can’t do this anymore. It’s unbearable. I don’t know how anyone can work with my dad—he’s too much.”

Max giggled. “Maybe you should find another job?” he suggested lightly.

“Yeah?” Nico shot back. “Where?” Max could practically picture him, one perfect brow raised. “You know my dad knows everyone in Germany and the Netherlands. Where exactly am I supposed to apply?”

Max bit his lip, a joke forming on the tip of his tongue—something wildly inappropriate about Nico selling his body, but before he could say it, Charles spoke.

“I can help you with that,” Charles said calmly.

Max blinked, shifting slightly in Charles’ lap to look up at him, eyes wide. Charles just smiled down at him, soft and reassuring, as if this were nothing.

On the phone, Nico went very quiet. “…Is this real?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes,” Charles replied easily. “There’s a small city we’re developing north of Vaud. There isn’t much there yet, and because there are no official residents, there’s no formal vote for a city mayor.” Max felt Charles’ hand rest securely at his waist as he continued. “I was going to ask a friend—Lewis—to take the role,” Charles said. “But you can have it for the first four years. Build contacts. Get experience. Then, you can apply for the position you really want.”

There was a pause on the line. Max stared at Charles, stunned—not just by the offer, but by how effortlessly he made it.

“Seriously?” Nico asked softly over the phone, disbelief bleeding into his voice.

Max felt a tug in his chest, sharp and sudden. He knew that Charles was doing this because of him. Because Charles understood how important Nico was to Max.

“Yeah,” Charles said easily, smiling as he spoke. Max had never wanted to kiss him more than in that moment. “Although you’d need to work with Lewis. He’ll help keep things running smoothly and support me with some projects.”

“Yes—yes, of course, no problem,” Nico said breathlessly. “When would I start?”

Max stayed completely still. Charles turned his attention to him, green eyes soft and steady. He lifted a hand, cupped Max’s cheek, and stroked his skin with his thumb in a calming, grounding motion.

“Let me make a few calls,” Charles said gently. “You could probably start next month, once the national elections align.”

“Thank you,” Nico said, voice thick with emotion. “Really. This is… this is amazing.”

Charles chuckled. “You’re welcome.”

There was a beat of silence before Nico added, sharply, “Max, you cannot let that man get away. If you do, I’ll kill you.”

Max, who had been too stunned to interrupt any of it, burst out laughing. The sound spilled out of him, breathless and bright. He looked up at Charles, who was already watching him—eyes warm, focused, so full of feeling it made Max’s chest ache.

“That’s the plan,” Max said with a smile. Heat rushed to his cheeks as Charles’ smile grew impossibly wide.

“What’s the city called?” Nico asked, businesslike now. Max could picture him already scribbling notes into his planner.

Charles glanced at Max before answering. “We changed the name a few weeks ago,” he said. “It was previously known as Nebelhain. Now it’s called Gaufre.”

Max froze.

“You named the city waffle?” Nico asked. Max could vividly imagine the judgmental expression, the scrunched nose on the other end of the line.

Charles leaned in and kissed Max’s nose. “Yes,” he said softly. “That’s my favorite scent.

Time stood still. Max was frozen in place, his heart beating so loudly that Charles would surely feel it. The world narrowed to that one word, that one truth.

Max didn’t hesitate. He ended the call, without a goodbye or a reason, and kissed Charles, breathless and overwhelmed.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

It had been at least three months since they had met. There had been kisses—soft ones, lingering ones, stolen ones in the hallways. Hugs that had lingered a little too long. Cuddles that had turned into naps, and naps that had turned into mornings. And Max had felt fuzzy and warm every time he was around Charles, as if his body had somehow adjusted itself to a new default mode—safe.

But he was currently curled up in the corner of Charles’ couch, wrapped up in one of Charles’ hoodies—the big one he had stolen that morning before Charles took him to class. He felt soft. He felt taken care of.

“I left Red Bulls in the fridge, okay?” Charles was saying as he paced lightly around the living room. “Your favorite snacks and chocolates are in the larder. The numbers for takeout are on the counter—” Max watched him, fond and quiet. “—and the card to pay for anything you want is in the bedroom,” Charles continued easily, “on your side of the bed.”

Something fluttered painfully warm in Max’s chest at that. Your side of the bed. As if it were already a given. As if Max belonged there.

“Okay,” Max murmured, nodding.

Charles stopped in front of him and crouched down so they were at eye level. “Also,” he said gently, “the keys to any of the cars are on the console table. Please don’t walk to class—or anywhere. Use the car.”

Max chuckled. “Okay, Charlie,” he said, amused by the intensity of the care.

Charles smiled, but it softened quickly. “I know how beautiful, smart, and strong you are,” he said quietly. Then he paused, lifting a hand to cup Max’s cheek. “But I also know how awful the world can be sometimes—especially to omegas. So, if you ever need an alpha…” His mouth curved into a small grin. “Even if it’s just to use as a punching bag.” Max laughed, shaking his head. Charles chuckled too, squeezing his hand. “Carlos is downstairs,” Charles added. “Just knock on his door. He’ll be available, okay?”

Max nodded. “Okay. I’ll look for your friend if I need help opening a jar,” he said, laughing.

Charles laughed with him, shaking his head fondly. Max couldn’t help thinking about the first time he and Lando had met Carlos—and how unexpectedly well Lando and Carlos gotten along. Lando had declared Carlos the stupidest but funniest alpha he’d ever met, which somehow felt like the highest praise.

“Good,” Charles said softly. He leaned in and kissed Max—slow, gentle, unhurried. “Thank you for taking care of the apartment,” he murmured, then nodded toward the small fish tank Charles had bought a few days earlier. “And the fish.”

Max giggled. “You’re welcome,” he said softly.

Then he shifted, reaching for his bag on the floor. From it, he pulled out a folded blanket—new, soft, something he’d bought that afternoon after class. He’d spent hours with it, absentmindedly scenting it while studying.

“I thought you might want this,” Max said, careful, almost hesitant. He held it out between them. “It might help with your… rut,” he added, the last word dropping into a murmur.

He hated talking about things like that. No matter how much Charles made him feel safe, it embarrassed him, it was too intimate for him to say out loud.

Charles had just told him casually that he would go to Gaufre and spend his rut there, in one of the newly finished houses. He would ask Max to stay at the apartment under the guise of taking care of the fish, but Max knew better than that. Charles wanted Max in his space.

What Max appreciated the most was what Charles hadn’t said. He hadn’t suggested Max would be there with him during his rut. Hadn’t asked. Alpha ruts were overwhelming for Omegas, and they hadn’t even crossed that line in their full senses yet, so it would have been too risky.

Charles blinked when he saw the blanket. He took it carefully, like it was something fragile, and brought it to his chest. “Thank you,” he whispered.

Then he leaned in, one hand lifting to cup Max’s cheek again, thumb brushing his skin gently. “This is…” He swallowed. “You are so perfect.”

Max chuckled, shaking his head, warmth spreading through him. He leaned forward and kissed Charles softly. “Be careful,” he murmured against his lips.

“You too, mon petit gaufre,” Charles replied, kissing him again—slow, sweet, lingering just enough.

Max’s hands slid into Charles’ curls, tangling there as he kissed him more deeply, holding on, letting the moment settle between them.

*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ

It had been two days since his rut began, and it seemed to be growing deeper than he remembered.

Not as intense as the first one—nothing ever would be quite as intense as the first one—but heavier. As if something within him had been stirred awake and refused to settle back down.

His first rut had been nothing more than a blur. He didn’t recall the moment when his Enigma had taken over. Only snippets came back to him if he tried hard enough: heat, hunger, instinct without reason.

He had woken up afterward to the body of an alpha who had brought him food lying dead in front of him. Blood had stained the room, soaked into the floor, into his clothes, into him.

Charles hadn’t felt guilt about what he’d done. He had killed before. He’d been bred for it, raised for it, ever since he was twelve years old. Violence wasn’t foreign to him, it was a language he’d learned well.

What scared him wasn’t the bloodshed. It was the fact that his enigma had been completely in charge. That was when he started taking the meds.

Not because of the kill, but because of his enigma have fully matured. And that meant something far worse than bloodshed: exposure.

For years, there has been a deal. Enigmas have always been at the top of the food chain, even before anyone dared speak of it. When alphas and omegas began demanding rights, began refusing to be treated like property, like tools, like slaves, as they called it, society had changed just enough to keep the illusion of progress alive.

The pyramid hadn’t fallen. It had just been rearranged. Enigmas retreated into the shadows. Officially banned. But in reality, they ran things. Quietly. Owning land, running government, and placing their own people into positions of power, trusted individuals who were loyal only to them. And power flowed exactly where it had always flowed.

Charles had learned how to hide. How to rein himself in. How to find the perfect balance of medication and distance that kept his enigma dormant enough to pass for an alpha.

But now, lying there, body trembling with tension, senses stretching too far, something was wrong. The medication was supposed to dull this. Flatten it. Keep it all manageable.

Instead, Charles felt too much. Too much heat building beneath his skin. Too much instinct pressing against his chest. Too much restlessness that wouldn’t settle no matter how still he was.

Charles lay there, eyes fixed on the ceiling, breathing slow and strained. “Maybe it’s just expired,” he thought.

The door to his suite opened, cutting sharply through his thoughts. “Charles?” Pierre stepped inside, a bag in his hands. “I brought you some food,” he said casually, as if nothing in the room felt wrong.

Charles barely registered the words. His body reacted before his mind could catch up. His fangs slid down involuntarily, sharp and aching. His hands curled into fists, muscles locking, a low, warning growl tearing its way out of his chest. Heat surged violently through him, vision blurring at the edges.

Pierre was still talking. “I also found this in your car—”

“No.” The word ripped out of Charles between clenched teeth. “My. Omega.”

The fog thickened instantly, swallowing the room. Charles felt it creeping into his eyes, narrowing his vision until there was only threat, instinct, and possession. Pierre finally saw it—the shift, the danger—and went pale as understanding slammed into him.

“Shit,” Pierre breathed. He dropped everything immediately—the bag, the blanket, whatever else he’d been holding—letting it scatter across the floor as he backed away, hands raised. “It’s yours,” he said quickly. “The omega is yours.”

“MINE.” The word vibrated through Charles’ bones.

His body seemed to move without permission. He crossed the space in long, predatory strides, bending to retrieve the blanket from the floor. As soon as he inhaled, the scent struck him with full force: warm, sweet, and unmistakable.

Waffles. Home.

He clutched the fabric, his fingers grasping it as he pulled it toward his chest and inhaled it like oxygen. His gaze fell, and there, on the floor, the car keys. Charles claimed the keys.

“Charles!” Pierre called after him, panic sharp in his voice.

Charles didn’t stop, he couldn’t. His body was moving, fast and unstoppable, his mind screaming orders it no longer had the authority to give. The world blurred—hallway, elevator, air, metal—until suddenly he was in the car, hands on the wheel, engine roaring to life.

Stop, he told himself. His body didn’t listen. The road stretched endlessly ahead of him, lights smearing into streaks. His thoughts collapsed into a single image, vivid and consuming—

Pale skin, blue eyes, pink lips, blond hair…

Mine. Max.

The need to reach him burned hotter than fear, hotter than reason. That’s the last thing he remembers before his enigma took control.

Chapter Text

Charles woke with a deep inhale. His body felt heavy. His muscles ached, that deep, post-rut ache, like something had run through him, something that had left nothing unscathed.

He stared at the ceiling, his mind racing. What the hell happened? How did I get here?

The room smelled thick, dense with the metallic, rutted heat of rut, with something else, something sweeter, layered over it.

Max.

Charles’ eyes flew shut, and he ran his hands down his face, trying to piece together the fragmented memories. Snippets flashed at him, jagged bursts of recollections.

The blanket with Max’s scent. He had left it in the car on purpose, to keep the scents from interfering with his enigma senses, to keep the rut from getting worse.

Pierre holding it, the growl he had made, the keys, the car, the... did I drive here? Was I fully rutted, fully under the control of my enigma?

Charles’ heart began to beat faster. His eyes flew open, and this time, when he breathed, he could smell it, really smell it.

Max’s scent was everywhere. Not faint, not lingering, but strong, fresh. Charles’ heart began to beat faster.

There was a hint of slick, of something, layered over the top of Max’s scent. The nest in the corner of the room was destroyed, the blankets rumpled, the pillows ripped from their neat, precise stacking.

And Max... Max was nowhere to be seen.

Charles’ stomach dropped. Had he hurt him? Max wasn’t ready for that. Charles knew that. Would his enigma allow him to make that choice?

Charles’ eyes darted around the room wild. There was no sign of clothing, no sign of blood, no sign of struggle, aside from the destroyed nest. Max was simply... gone.

He pushed himself upright, sitting on the bed too quickly, the room tilting for a split second, when—

*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ

Max was half asleep, the bed smelled like rain… like Charles. But deeper.

He shifted lazily beneath the sheets, patting the mattress beside him, searching for the familiar warmth so he could curl closer, press his face into a chest that smelled like safety. But both sides were cold. Empty.

He frowned in his drowsy state and forced his eyes open. Darkness filled Charles’ bedroom. The ceiling unfamiliar in the low light.

That’s when he remembered. He was alone. Charles was supposed to be in Gaufre, dealing with his rut away from him.

Max exhaled softly, trying to settle back down. But something felt wrong. His instincts stirred uneasily beneath his skin, prickling at the back of his neck. He had the distinct, overwhelming sensation that someone was watching him.

The unease crawled up his spine. He shifted in bed—and then froze. There was a shape in the darkness.

“O–oh my God,” Max gasped, heart slamming violently against his ribs.

A tall silhouette. Broad shoulders. An alpha. Then the scent hit him… rut and rain.

“Charles?” Max asked softly, cautiously. His hand fumbled toward the bedside lamp.

The light came on, and Charles stood there. Red-rimmed eyes, wide, disheveled hair, sweat glistening on his skin, the smell of rut clung to him so thickly that Max was pretty sure someone could smell it from down the hallway. He seemed bigger, wilder, like a mountain held together by sheer will.

Max’s breath caught. He knew what alphas were like when they were in rut. He knew what they were like when they were irrational, when they were possessive, when they were instinctual. His heartbeat loudly in his ears.

“Charlie?” he tried again, voice slow, careful—testing.

“Omega,” Charles said.

He wasn’t using his alpha command voice. That alone made Max relax—just a fraction.

“What are you doing here?” Max asked softly. “You’re supposed to be in Gaufre.” How the hell did he even get here?

“My omega,” Charles breathed. This time it sounded different—

He moved closer and reached out, cupping Max’s face. His hand was warm. Trembling slightly. And then he leaned down and kissed him. Soft and deep, with traces of need in it. Hunger. But it was controlled.

Max had melted into it, into the warmth and the scent of rain that seemed to cling to him like gravity. But then his brain had caught up. He pulled back from the kiss, looking up at Charles.

He should have felt threatened. He didn’t. He felt safe. And he didn’t know if it was because they’d been together long enough for his omega instincts to trust him completely... or something more.

“Charlie… did someone drive you here?” Max asked carefully.

Charles blinked slowly, as if the question had to travel a long way through the fog in his head before reaching him.

“Drove…” he said, voice rough. Max’s heart dropped. “To find my omega,” Charles finished, breath uneven.

Max swallowed. He had driven, through rut and alone. “Okay…” Max said softly, forcing calm into his voice even though his pulse was racing. “You need to sleep.”

Charles wasn’t looking at his face anymore. His red-rimmed eyes had dropped lower—fixed on Max’s bare legs peeking out from beneath the sheets. He was only wearing shorts and one of Charles’ oversized shirts.

Max wasn’t naive. He knew what ruts were like. He knew desire could become something raw and consuming. He had felt Charles’ arousal before—mornings tangled in sheets, warmth pressed against him. But those times, Charles had been fully himself. In control. He would murmur an apology, kiss Max’s forehead, and disappear into the shower.

But Charles wasn’t fully there. And Max had never dealt with an alpha in rut before. He didn’t feel prepared. But beneath the nerves—beneath the instinctive awareness of danger—there was something else…

Trust. A steady certainty that, somehow, he was still safe.

“Come here,” Max said gently, lifting the edge of the blanket and creating space beside him. “We’re going to sleep.” Charles didn’t move. “Charles,” Max clarified firmly, sitting up straighter. “Just sleep. We’re not doing anything else.” He pointed a finger at him for emphasis.

Charles’ gaze flickered from the blanket… up Max’s body… Hunger burned in his eyes—thick, instinctive—but restrained.

“Charlie,” Max said again, more pointed this time. “We’re just going to sleep. I can purr for you. I can hold you.” He hesitated for half a second before adding, with a small lift of his chin, “Or you can go to the sofa.” He nodded toward the door.

Finally, Charles’ eyes lifted up to look at Max’s face. He blinked twice. And then, a low, rough growling sound came from Charles’ chest before he began to move towards Max. He moved slowly, every step deliberate, heavy, as if trying not to lunge forward.

Charles climbed onto the bed and began crawling forward, positioning himself over Max, gently pushing him back against the pillows. Charles’ arms rested on either side of Max’s shoulders, towering, smelling of rut. Yet, Max didn’t panic.

Yes, Max’s heart was pounding fast, his senses were on high alert. But beneath that, Max did not sense any fear. There was only certainty.

Max huffed, pushing Charles aside with both hands on his chest. Charles moved to the side of the bed without any struggle.

Max knew that Charles could have overpowered him if he wanted to. Charles could have held Max down without any trouble. But Charles didn’t. And that, made Max feel in control, safe.

Max shifted closer to Charles and settled onto the bed properly. Charles did not hesitate, he instantly wrapped himself around Max, arms wrapping around his waist, legs intertwining.

Chuckling, Max shifted, adjusting Charles’ head to rest on his chest. “Comfortable?” Max murmured.

Charles made a low approving sound. But then those large hands began to wander—slowly, instinctively—downward.

Max immediately caught them. He untangled his arms from around Charles and grabbed his wrists, guiding them firmly back up to his waist.

“Hands up,” Max warned. “Or you’re sleeping on the floor.”

Charles’ grip tightened around him instead, pulling him closer, but he obeyed. His hands stayed at Max’s waist.

Max relaxed again and wrapped his arms around him, fingers threading gently into his curls. He pressed a kiss into Charles’ hair.

“Good alpha,” Max whispered.

A low grumble vibrated against his chest. “My omega,” Charles muttered through clenched teeth.

Max giggled quietly. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever you say, big wolf.”

He kissed his hair again, and then began to purr, soft, steady, soothing. Gradually, he felt Charles’ body begin to loosen. The tension in his shoulders began to ease. His breathing slowed. Though the rut still radiated from him, hot in his skin, sharp in his scent, Charles was calming down.

Max felt the evidence of it pressed against him, against his thigh, a reminder of how strong it still was. But Max did not dwell on it. Instead, he reached out and switched off the lamp. Darkness enveloped them.

Charles’ arms were around him, tight, possessive, but not overwhelming. Max felt safe, safe in a way he had never expected to feel, in the arms of a rutting alpha.

His purring grew softer as sleep claimed him. He thought he heard Charles whisper something against his skin, maybe French, maybe English. He didn't know. The words slid away before they made any sense. But the softness, the love, were unmistakable.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

Max woke up to being trapped in warmth. He blinked slowly, his lashes fluttering with each movement. It took him a moment to realize why he couldn’t move.

Charles… they were completely tangled up. Charles’ face was buried in the crook of his neck, his nose rubbing gently against Max’s scent gland, as if searching for something even in his sleep. His arms were wrapped around Max’s waist, holding him firmly. One of his large hands rested possessively on Max’s waist, the other resting in Max’s ass. His thigh was between Max’s legs, and the unmistakable pressure of his erection against Max’s thigh reminded him that the rut hadn’t vanished.

Max huffed, he wasn’t really uncomfortable. If he were honest with himself, it was kind of hot. The problem was, though, Max needed to keep his head clear, or things could get out of hand fast.

Max breathed deep. The whole room smelled like Charles’ rut. It was musky, rich, and intoxicating. It smelled like rain hitting warm earth. It smelled like something primal, something grounding. It was thick in the air, curling into Max’s lungs, settling there comfortably.

Max shook his head, attempting to clear it. He shifted slightly, though, and a deep growl rumbled against the side of his neck. Max froze, it wasn’t frightening. It was new, raw, possessive, and annoyingly hot.

Max shook his head again, this time more firmly, breathed in through his mouth, and tried to shift again.

Another growl, this one even lower, and this time, Charles’ arms tightened around him, holding him closer, more firmly against his body.

“My Omega,” Charles murmured, voice thick with sleep and rut.

Max huffed. “Charles,” he whined softly. “Let go.”

“Mine,” Charles muttered, tightening his hold even further.

Max groaned, squirming slightly in protest. “Let go,” he insisted, trying to pry Charles’ arms off him. “I’m starving. I want breakfast.” He wriggled again, attempting to untangle their legs. “And you need to eat and hydrate too,” he added firmly, trying to sound authoritative despite being half-trapped beneath a possessive, rutting alpha.

Charles blinked his eyes open slowly. For a moment, he looked almost disoriented—until his gaze focused on Max.

His pupils were blown wide, swallowing the green almost entirely. The sight of it sent a quiet shiver down Max’s spine.

“Charlie,” Max said carefully, swallowing. “We need to eat.”

“Eat…” Charles repeated, like he was trying to process the word through fog.

And then, before Max could react, Charles pulled him closer. His mouth found Max’s neck—kissing first, then grazing softly with his teeth. Not enough to hurt.

Max gasped. “Not that kind of eat!” he protested, voice pitching higher. “Real food, Charles!” He tried to push at his shoulders, attempting to create space.

Charles tilted his head slightly, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Delicious,” he murmured, lowering his head again.

But this time Max pressed his palm firmly against Charles’ mouth before he could reach his neck.

“No. No, no, no,” Max said pointedly. “You need to let go and let me eat—or you’re going to see me really angry.”

Charles blinked at him, confusion written across his face as if he were trying to make sense of what was going on. And then, slowly, his grip relaxed. His hands, which had been holding onto Max’s body, released him. He sat up, pushing himself off the bed to a sitting position at the edge.

Max looked at him, still breathing hard. He hadn’t forced him, hadn’t cornered him, hadn’t scared him, even when he was completely in rut. Charles stood up and started walking to the door.

“Where are you going?” Max asked quickly, scrambling out of bed to follow him.

“Feeding my omega,” Charles replied, voice still deep with rut, moving toward the kitchen.

Max’s brain short-circuited. While Charles had always been attentive, never expecting Max to do the ‘omega tasks’, always washing dishes himself, helping build nests, cooking with Max... Max hadn’t expected rut Charles to be the same way.

Max had expected him to be more intense, more controlling, more demanding, more frightening... Not this large, possessive, half-feral alpha whose first instinct was to make sure Max ate.

They reached the kitchen, and Max knew very well that Charles didn’t know how to cook. Yet, still, it didn’t stop him.

Charles opened the cabinets, pulling out energy bars, cookies, chocolates... anything easy to eat. He poured orange juice into a glass, placing it all neatly before Max, and then peeling the wrappers for him as if Max were some fragile thing that needed careful handling. And then, stepping back, he watched him.

Max’s throat constricted at the look, at the protectiveness emanating off Charles, even through the haze of rut.

Without a word, Max turned to face the fridge. He pulled out a bottle of water, twisting off the top, and walked back to Charles. He held it up.

Charles blinked, perplexed.

“Drink,” Max said firmly.

Charles took the bottle automatically and swallowed a small amount before instinctively tilting it toward Max’s lips, offering it back to him like he was ensuring his omega stayed hydrated.

Max shook his head. “No,” he said again, stubborn now. “You drink it. I’m not eating or drinking until you finish that.”

He crossed his arms slightly, raising his chin. He was aware of the draining effect of the rut — the exhaustion, the weariness, the fatigue, even without the act of sex. The body used a lot of energy. Charles needed a drink more than he did.

Charles blinked at him again, and then he did as he was told. He picked up the bottle and started drinking properly. Max felt some of the tension leave his shoulders.

But then the sound of the knock at the door came through the apartment. Charles’ head turned towards the door at once. The change was instantaneous.

Max felt the reaction in the air — the spike of territory. The scent around Charles changed. Max moved closer and touched Charles’ face softly, trying to get him to look at him again. Charles’ pupils were large, dark, and alert.

“I’m opening the door,” Max said calmly. “You stay here. Drink. Eat.” He leaned forward and pressed a soft peck to Charles’ lips. “Or no cuddles later.”

Charles blinked and gave a small nod. But Max didn’t miss the way his shoulders tensed. The way his scent deepened. The low, possessive sound that escaped his chest—almost a warning.

Max shrugged off the unease because Charles had seemed obedient enough, and he walked toward the door.

He opened it to find Carlos standing there, chest rising quickly like he had run the stairs instead of taking the elevator.

“Max!” Carlos said breathlessly. “Pierre lost Charles. We’ve been looking for him all night and I saw his car downstairs and—”

Carlos stopped mid-sentence. Max watched the color drain from his face. A deep, thunderous growl erupted from behind him. Max turned.

Charles stood only a few steps away, body rigid, shoulders squared, eyes blazing. He looked ready to launch himself forward—like a predator spotting a threat too close to what was his.

Max blinked once and lifted a finger, pointing at him sharply. “Don’t you dare move, you territorial alpha,” he said firmly. Charles didn’t step forward—but the air felt charged. “Carlos is just checking on you,” Max continued calmly. “He’s leaving in a second.”

He rolled his eyes lightly, trying to diffuse the tension before turning back to Carlos. “He came here last night,” Max explained. “I put him to sleep. We just woke up and we’re having breakfast. I didn’t know you guys were looking for him.”

Carlos’ eyes flicked between them, wary. “You’re okay?” he asked softly.

“Yep,” Max replied, he understood the concern.

“You sure?” Carlos asked again, hand lifting slightly as if to reach for him. “Don’t you want to go home and—”

“No.” The word came from behind him, low, possessive, and final.

Arms wrapped tightly around Max’s waist from behind before he could react. “My. Omega.” This time Charles used his alpha voice and it hit like a physical force.

Max’s whole body froze. A shiver ran down his spine, his knees buckling. His breathing hitched painfully in his throat. His chest constricted, his heart beating wildly out of rhythm. His eyes stung, and tears welled up without his permission.

It wasn’t pain; it was instinct. Submission fighting to get through to his nervous system, and he fought it. He took a sharp breath and stood upright.

Across from him, Carlos looked just as affected. Jaw clenched, his shoulders tense, fighting the command and tone.

Max blinked hard, his mind a mess, and turned in Charles’ arms, his hands rising to cradle his face.

“Don’t do that,” Max whispered, breath unsteady. “Don’t use your alpha voice. Please.” His fingers trembled slightly against Charles’ skin.

Charles blinked once. Twice. His expression shifted—like he was pulling himself back from somewhere dark and distant. He looked confused and strained. Like he was concentrating with everything he had left.

“Mine,” Charles repeated, but this time it was softer. His normal voice.

Max swallowed and nodded. He wasn’t completely sure himself—but he said it anyway.

“Yes,” he breathed, still slightly shaken. Then he lifted his chin, trying to steady his voice. “But you can’t do that again.” He shook his head. “You can’t talk like that in front of me. Ever.”

Charles stared at him closely, searching his face as if trying to understand what Max was saying.

After a long second, Charles nodded slowly. “D’accord, ma petite gaufre.” (Okay, my little waffle)

The softness of it eased something tight in Max’s chest. Max nodded back, inhaled deeply, then leaned forward and pressed a quick kiss to Charles’ nose. It was small—but grounding.

Then he turned toward Carlos. Carlos looked torn between panic and disbelief. Like he wasn’t sure if he should drag Max out by force or salute him for surviving this far.

“I’m okay here,” Max said gently. Carlos raised a brow, unconvinced. Max swallowed again. “I promise. He’s listening. He hasn’t done anything I don’t want.” He hesitated, then added more firmly, “I have your number. I’ll call if I need help.”

Carlos studied him for another beat before nodding slowly. “Okay,” he said. “I’ll stay downstairs. At all times.” Then he reached into his pocket. “And take this.” He pulled out a syringe.

Max blinked. “What’s that?”

“A tranquilizer,” Carlos said quietly, nodding toward Charles without looking at him directly. “In case you need to…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

Max shook his head immediately. “I don’t—”

“Please,” Carlos interrupted, urgency creeping into his voice. “Just take it. As a precaution.”

Max swallowed. He truly didn’t think it was necessary. Charles had been cooperative, at least until the moment Carlos had suggested taking him away...

What made it impossible to dismiss the risk entirely was the fear in Carlos’ eyes… Why didn’t Carlos respond to Charles’ Alpha voice and instead looked the same or more scared than Max?

Usually when an Alpha hears the voice of another Alpha they start fighting for no apparent reason, rather than marking territory. Max didn’t know if it was because Carlos was Charles’ friend or if he didn’t like the confrontation... maybe it was something else.

Still—Max knew that if he reached toward Carlos right now, if he stepped away from Charles, the territorial instinct could spike again. So instead, Max turned slowly and cupped Charles’ face once more.

“Schat,” he said softly, meeting his eyes. “I need you to grab carefully—” he emphasized the word “—what Carlos is giving us.”  Charles’ jaw tightened slightly, but he stayed still. “Then you give it to me. Okay?”

“What?” Carlos blurted sounding scared.

Max glanced back at him quickly. “If I get anywhere near you right now, he might use his voice again. And I can’t deal with that.”

Carlos nodded stiffly. For a moment, the room felt too small. Max felt a ripple of unease slide under his skin. Max turned back to Charles.

Charles was looking at him with something unreadable in his eyes—something dark, protective, almost wounded, like instinct and thought were still fighting inside him.

“Please, Charlie,” Max said softly. “Grab the syringe carefully. Scent it. Then give it to me, okay?”

Charles nodded slowly. His gaze flickered briefly to Carlos, and his entire body shifted—subtly tense and protective. One arm remained locked around Max’s waist, anchoring him firmly against his chest, while his other hand extended toward the syringe.

Carlos looked like he might actually pass out. As Charles’ fingers closed around the syringe, Carlos immediately stepped back, as if proximity alone were dangerous.

Charles lifted it toward his neck. For a second, the air thickened. Then he released his scent deliberately over it—marking it, claiming it—before turning back to Max and handing it to him with careful precision.

Max took it gently. “Thank you,” he murmured, leaning in to press a kiss to Charles’ cheek. “You did amazing, schatje.”

Charles responded with a low grumble before nuzzling into Max’s neck, pressing a lingering kiss there that made Max giggle.

“Stop, Charlie!” he laughed softly.

Charles pulled back just enough. Max turned toward Carlos, aware his cheeks felt warm.

Carlos cleared his throat, trying to regain composure. “Keep the syringe close,” he said. “Call me if you need help. Pierre will be downstairs with me.”

“Okay. I will,” Max nodded. “Bye, Carlos.”

Carlos opened his mouth to say something else, but the door slammed shut. Max blinked and turned back toward Charles.

Charles with one arm still wrapping around Max’s middle, pulled him flush against him. The other hand slid lower to his ass as he leaned down and kissed him—slow, deep, unhurried but heavy with possession.

Max gasped softly and broke the kiss just enough to breathe. “Move that hand up,” Max said, frowning lightly. Charles complied instantly. Max’s lips curved into a small smile. “Good alpha.”

He leaned in again, fingers tangling in Charles’ curls, the other hand still clutching the syringe carefully. The kiss deepened—not frantic, but weighted, deliberate.

Truthfully, Max wouldn’t have minded that wandering hand. But Charles smelled too good. Looked too intense. Too powerful.

And Max wasn’t about to test the limits of a rutting alpha just because he found him unbearably attractive in that moment.

So, he kept control… for both of them.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

Charles on rut was a whole different story. He reeked of it, a rich, warm, intoxicating smell that clung to the air, the sheets, and Max’s own flesh. He wanted to be in close contact at all times. Cuddles, kisses, flesh against flesh. He would bury his face in the crook of Max’s neck and breathe deeply, growling low in his chest when Max rubbed soothing circles over his back.

Max enjoyed the close proximity too. Enjoyed the softness of Charles when he was in his arms, the protectiveness and neediness all at once. But rut also gave Charles a certain edge, a restlessness, a desperation that was at times difficult for Max to deal with.

His hands would roam, touching Max’s waist, squeezing his hips, dipping down lower until Max would catch his wrists, gently but firmly. And Charles would obey, right away.

That was the thing. Even in the midst of the testosterone and fever, Charles never pushed. He would pull his hands away the moment Max asked him to, though a certain level of frustration would creep into his heavy eyes. He would then resort to burying his face in the crook of Max’s throat and breathing him in, kissing the spot, his body tensed with unspent lust.

His erection was always present, insistent, almost painful. It flipped Max’s stomach, curiosity and nervousness combined. He wanted Charles. But not like this. Not when Charles was burning up and barely lucid, not when his thoughts were jumbled by instinct and rut.

Despite Charles’ care, despite his indirect requests for more, Max, with more effort than Charles probably realized, continued to say no.

After breakfast, they went to the nest, a carefully constructed pile of blankets and pillows in the corner of the bedroom. Max brought water bottles, electrolyte drinks, granola bars, and anything easy to consume. They spent hours like this. Charles sleeping, holding on, waking occasionally to snuggle closer, to nuzzle against the side of Max’s neck.

But by the afternoon, the fever had escalated. Max saw it in the glassy look of Charles’ eyes, in the tremble of his hands. The rut had no outlet. His body wanted something it wasn’t getting, and it hurt him.

“Shower,” Max decided quietly.

He guided him to the bathroom, steadying him by the waist. Charles was warm—too warm—skin flushed, breathing uneven. Max turned the water on cold, letting it run.

“Okay, Schat,” Max said gently, stepping back. “You need to get under the water.”

Before he could move away fully, Charles grabbed his waist, pulling him close. His forehead pressed against Max’s shoulder.

“Shower with me,” he mumbled.

Max’s heart twisted. He cupped Charles’ face, thumbs brushing over overheated cheeks. “No,” he said softly but firmly. “You need to shower alone.”

Charles blinked slowly, trying to focus. For a second, it looked like he might argue. But he didn’t. Still, he didn’t let go.

“Stay,” he repeated, quieter this time.

Max swallowed. “Okay,” he conceded carefully. “I’ll stay. But you shower alone. I’ll sit there.” He pointed to the toilet seat just outside the spray.

Charles let out a low, dissatisfied noise from the back of his throat but nodded. Sweat was beading along his forehead. His hands were shaking as he tried to get his shirt over his head, but it was a clumsy motion. It was harder than it should be.

Max looked away, feeling it was too personal, too charged. But Charles was struggling. Taking a deep breath, he stepped forward and began to help. He pulled the shirt up over Charles’ head, trying not to touch him too much. He was looking at Charles’ shoulders, at his collarbones, anywhere but at his face. When he tried to help with the waistband of his pants, though, he couldn’t help but notice.

Charles’ body was tensed from the heat and the strain, and his huge erection was heavy and flushed against his stomach. It was instinct and biology and fever, but it was definitely not desire. Not really. Not in the way Max was used to thinking of it, anyway.

Max felt his cheeks heat up, and he tried to concentrate on the task at hand. He was just helping. He was not looking at it.

But the moment the clothes were off and Charles was naked, he just grabbed Max and pulled him against his chest, the water from the shower spraying out around them. His hands landed on Max’s hips, strong and claiming, and he kissed him, deep, hungry, and desperate. Not rough but overflowing. Max felt the heat of him, the need of him, and the evidence pressed against him. Max felt his breathing hitch.

He pushed against Charles’ chest with a great deal of effort. “Charlie, shower,” he said, his breathing heavy, his palms pressed against the warm, flushed flesh of Charles’ chest.

Charles followed his mouth, trying to kiss him again, but Max turned his head at the last moment, and the kiss landed on his cheek.

“Schatje,” Max said more firmly now, voice steady despite the way his pulse was racing. He pointed toward the running water. “Shower. Now.”

Charles let out a low growl—more frustrated than threatening. There was no anger in it, just irritation at being denied something his body desperately wanted. But he obeyed.

He stepped back from Max's body, then moved towards the stream of cold water. The second it touched his overheated skin, a sharp hiss came from his lips. His muscles visibly tensed as the shock of the cold temperature worked against the fever brewing underneath his skin.

Max stepped back, then sat down on the toilet seat, folding his hands together in his lap as if he needed something to anchor him. He didn’t look up. He didn’t dare.

He didn’t want to see Charles, didn’t want to see how even though he was flushed, even though he was shaking, even though he was under cold water, Charles still managed to look unfair. Too perfect. Too strong. Too broad-shouldered. Too intense.

Max breathed heavily, forcing himself to calm down. The shower went on for a while. The cold water did seem to be working, though. Charles’ breathing steadied, though it wasn’t quite back to normal. The tension in his muscles eased, though it wasn’t quite gone. Eventually, though, Charles got out of the shower, stepping onto the bathroom floor, which soon began to dot with water under his feet.

The edge of urgency in him had calmed, though, the edge of desire, the edge of rut… it would come back.

Max got up, handing him a towel, then clothes. He stayed close enough to catch him if Charles swayed, stayed far enough away so that there wasn’t any touching.

Charles got dressed slowly, still warm to the touch, though less glassy-eyed. Max sat down, watching him. Waiting. But as soon as Charles was fully dressed, something came back into his eyes. It wasn’t fever. It wasn’t desire. It wasn’t lust. It was something else. Something steadier. Before Max could even begin to place it, though, Charles walked towards him, scooping him up into his arms.

“Charlie—!” Max gasped, startled, instinctively wrapping his arms around Charles’ neck.

Charles didn’t answer. He just pressed a kiss into Max’s hair, slow and lingering, and carried him back toward the bedroom.

His hands were strong and sure. And his kisses were still just a little desperate…

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

They went back to sleep after Max, had prepared a simple soup and fed Charles spoon by spoon.

Charles hadn’t protested. He had sat on the counter in the kitchen, quiet and compliant, as Max had guided him through each spoonful. When Max had wiped the corner of his mouth after finishing the meal, Charles had looked at him with something soft and unfocused in his eyes, something vulnerable.

Now the room was quiet. Charles slept curled into Max, his arms tight around Max as he held him as if he would vanish. His breathing was deep and steady, his face pressed into Max’s collarbone.

Max purred softly, steady, and soothing. He wasn’t tired yet, he was... thinking.

Thinking about how impressed he was. Every time he had said no, Charles had immediately backed off. No anger. No struggle. Just a step back. A recalibration.

Max had expected something different from a rutting alpha. But Charles had chosen him over instinct and hunger.

That did something to Max’s confidence. It made him think of something he hadn’t been quite ready to confront before.

Perhaps... perhaps, when Charles was again fully conscious and the rut had passed, they might attempt to be intimate with one another.

Not right away... they needed to discuss things. There were also practical considerations to be made. Contraceptives, for instance.

Max was allergic to most types, and the thought of getting pregnant in college, without a stable mate, without a formal mating bond... made Max’s stomach turn with fear. He wasn’t ready to handle that kind of responsibility.

For the first time, however, the idea of intimacy did not terrify him. It made him feel... hopeful.

Max leaned down and kissed Charles’ curls softly. So much had occurred so fast. Yet the way Charles felt about him, so openly and so deeply... made everything seem simple. Safe.

Max breathed in deeply, letting the scent of rain calm him. He simply needed to get his head on straight one more day.

Charles said his rut lasted four days. They were almost through it. Max shut his eyes and purred softly.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

Max woke up to the unmistakable wet warmth between his thighs. He was disoriented for a moment, thinking he was still dreaming, heavy, hazy, suspended in that thick place between sleep and instinct. But the feel of the wetness clinging to his thighs was too tangible, too fresh. His body was already reacting, but his brain was just catching up.

He breathed in deeply, and the room was heavy with Charles’ rain scent, like soaked pavement, like thunderstorms in the distance, the sharp… grounding alpha scent of the man with whom he was lying. The scent was everywhere.

He was tucked in snugly within the arms of Charles, one strong forearm draped over his waist, the other resting at his hip. Heat was radiating from the him.

Max swallowed. He had to get up. Had to shower. Had to get some fresh clothes before the scent and the warmth and the feel of the man he was lying with tangled his brain too much and he couldn’t think properly.

He tried to carefully slide out of Charles’ arms, but the arms just tightened around him. Not painful, but unyielding.

Max clamped his lips shut, attempting to calm his breathing. To relax. Since the other problem, the distracting and very present problem, was the fact that Charles’ erection was pressed firmly against him.

And then, Max realized, Charles wasn’t just erect; he was also moving. Still fast asleep, his body was grinding lazily against Max’s side, instinctive and slow, his hips rolling in a steady rhythm as if chasing an orgasm in his dreams. There was a low, rumbling noise coming from his chest, not quite a growl, not quite a sigh.

Max’s breathing caught. He shook his head lightly and made another attempt to get free, but the motion only made Charles’ hips press closer, seeking friction.

Then, there was a hot, gravelly noise coming out of Charles’ throat, deeper and laced with something almost primal. Max whimpered in spite of himself.

Charles’ eyes opened. His pupils were dilated. There was a faint sheen of sweat on his skin, and his curls were damp on his forehead. The fever of his rut clung to him, making the rain scent in the air seem like being in the midst of a thunderstorm. He was devastatingly handsome like this.

“Omega,” Charles breathed, voice rough and thick, almost reverent.

Max swallowed hard. “Charlie… I need to shower,” he said softly, though his voice lacked conviction.

Charles’ hips stilled. For a second, he simply looked at him. Then one large hand slid between their bodies, deliberate and slow, until Max felt those fingers pressing against his clothed crotch.

Max gasped. The contact sent a spark straight down his spine — heat coiling low in his stomach. It felt good. But he couldn’t. He needed to clear his head. Needed space. Needed water. He grabbed Charles’ wrist and pulled the hand away gently but firmly.

“Charlie, I nee—” he started.

But Charles leaned closer, his breath hot against Max’s cheek, voice deeper now, threaded with rut-heavy need.

“I need to make my omega come,” he interrupted.

Max swallowed the moan that nearly escaped him, his throat tightening around it as if physically holding it back would steady his resolve. The scent in the room was overwhelming—rain-soaked earth and storm-heavy air wrapping around him, thick and possessive. Beneath it, his own sweetness bloomed warmer, richer, the scent of waffles and sugar turning heady with slick.

He forced himself to breathe. “Not now,” he said, voice fragile but firm, breath brushing against Charles’ collarbone. “I need to shower, Schat… we can’t do that. I’m not ready.”

Charles’ hand, damp with Max’s slick, moved slowly upward. Max’s eyes widened as he watched him bring his fingers to his mouth. The sight alone made his stomach tighten, heat spiraling low and dangerous. Charles’ tongue slid over his skin, tasting him, and Max almost choked on a gasp he couldn’t contain.

“I can eat you,” Charles murmured, voice rough with rut, deeper than usual, edged with instinct. The words weren’t a demand—they were a promise. A need.

Max felt it in his bones. In the way his body reacted instantly, hips twitching despite himself. His slick pulsed hotter between his thighs.

“No,” Max said quickly, shaking his head, strands brushing against Charles’ jaw. “No… we need to do this when you’re in your full senses. We can’t—I can’t do it right now.”

Charles blinked, slow and confused, head tilting slightly like he was trying to understand something through fog. The fever from his rut clung to his skin, sweat dampening his temples. He looked powerful and vulnerable all at once—an alpha straining against instinct.

Max cupped his face, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones, grounding him. “I need you with me,” Max whispered. “I need you to choose it. Not just want it.”

For a moment, something clearer flickered behind Charles’ eyes. Recognition. He nodded.

Max leaned in and pressed the smallest kiss to his lips, soft and trembling. He tasted himself there—salt and sweetness lingering on Charles’ tongue—and it made his stomach flip.

But Charles’ erection was still hard and insistent against his thigh. His hips began to move again unconsciously, slow, and needy, grinding against Max in his sleep-heavy rut haze. The friction sent sparks through Max’s nerves, dragging a helpless whimper from his mouth.

Max closed his eyes. He wanted to help him. Not because he felt obligated. Not because he felt pressured. Quite the opposite.

Charles had been careful. Every touch deliberate. Every pause meant to check him, protect him. If Charles hadn’t been in rut—if his mind wasn’t clouded with instinct and heat—Max wouldn’t have hesitated.

But this mattered. In Max’s mind, there had always been a path. A rhythm. Steps he wanted to take before giving himself fully to an alpha in rut. It wasn’t fear. It wasn’t doubt. It was choice.

And he needed Charles to meet him there—with clear eyes, steady hands, and the rain scent softened into love instead of storm.

Even as his own body betrayed him. Even as slick continued to warm between his thighs. Even as Charles’ hips rolled again, seeking friction, a low, frustrated rumble vibrating in his chest.

Max’s hand moved slowly between their bodies until it brushed the waistband of Charles’ pants.

He froze there for a second. His heart was racing. The room was thick with rain and alpha — heavy, storm-soaked air wrapped around them — mixing with the sweet, warm scent of waffle that clung to his own skin. It made everything feel softer and sharper at the same time.

“I’m going to help you with my hand, Charlie,” Max said carefully, lifting his gaze to meet Charles’ dark, blown pupils. “Just my hand. Okay?”

Charles looked wrecked already — breath shallow, skin flushed from rut fever, muscles tense under his skin — but he nodded eagerly, desperate and trusting all at once.

Max swallowed and slid his hand inside Charles’ boxers. The heat of him startled him.

It felt bigger than he remembered. He had looked closely the day before, memorized the sight of it, but feeling it like this — warm, heavy, alive in his palm — made his breath catch.

For a second, his mouth watered instinctively. He forced himself to swallow the reaction. Focus. Using the slick already dampening his own skin, Max began to move his hand slowly, carefully, dragging his palm down Charles’ length in measured strokes.

Charles’ hands dropped from Max’s hips immediately, gripping his ass, holding him close as if anchoring himself to something solid in the middle of the storm raging through his body.

Max bit his lip at how good that felt. Not just the heat. Not just the weight of Charles’ hands. The closeness and the intimacy.

A low deep moan slipped from Charles’ chest when Max’s thumb brushed over the sensitive tip, slow and exploratory. The sound was deep and rough — rainclouds breaking open — and it sent a shiver straight down Max’s spine.

He wasn’t experienced. This was his first time doing this for an alpha. But the way Charles’ head tipped back, throat exposed, lips parted as breath escaped him in broken waves — it made Max feel powerful in a way he hadn’t expected. Proud.

His strokes stayed slow, deliberate, testing reactions. He adjusted slightly, paying attention to the way Charles’ breathing changed, the way his grip tightened when Max focused more on the tip, circling lightly there.

Charles growled softly — not angry, not rough — just instinctive. The word slipped out of him like a claim. “My omega.”

And that did it. Max felt another wave of slick gather between his thighs at the possessive tone.

Charles’ hands slid lower, instinct pulling him toward Max’s entrance, toward the heat there — and for a second, it felt too good. Too easy to fall into. Too much.

Max’s mind snapped back into place. “No,” he said suddenly, stopping his hand.

The loss of contact made Charles gasp — sharp, needy, confused. Max shifted, gently but firmly pushing Charles back until he was lying against the mattress. Charles went without resistance, obedient in a way that softened something in Max’s chest.

Max shifted carefully and settled over Charles’ thighs, the heat between them immediate and undeniable. Charles’ hands moved to his waist on instinct, fingers spreading wide as if anchoring himself there.

Max caught his wrists gently and held his gaze. “Keep your hands there, okay?” he said softly, steady despite the way his pulse was racing.

Charles looked slightly bewildered by the request, rut-hazed and flushed, but he nodded. Watching Max like he was the only thing in the world.

Max swallowed and slipped Charles’ pants and boxers just low enough to free him. His hand wrapped around Charles again, warm, and careful, reacquainting himself with the weight and size of him. Even now, even knowing what to expect, it still startled him how solid and overwhelming he felt in his grip.

Charles groaned, head tipping back, eyes fluttering shut. The sound vibrated through Max’s chest and straight down into his belly. He had to bite his lip to keep his own moan from slipping free.

He kept his pace slow at first, deliberate, wanting to soothe rather than inflame—though he wasn’t entirely sure that was possible in the middle of an alpha’s rut. His hand moved in measured strokes, learning the rhythm of Charles’ breathing, adjusting when his hips twitched.

“My omega…” Charles breathed through clenched teeth, voice thick, reverent.

The possessive tone made Max’s slick dampen further between his thighs, and he shifted unconsciously where he straddled him. He added his second hand, fingers overlapping, trying to cover more of him, trying to give more. It was almost unfair how large Charles felt in his grasp—how even with both hands, he couldn’t quite encompass him completely.

Charles’ hips began to move, thrusting upward into Max’s grip, the motion desperate and needy. It made everything more intense—the friction, the closeness, the scent of rain thickening in the air around them. Max could feel every movement where he sat, and it made his breath catch.

Charles’ hands tightened at his waist. “I can make you feel good,” he said, voice rough and low.

And God, Max wanted that. He wanted to melt into it, to let instinct take over, to let the alpha take care of him the way his body craved. But he couldn’t. Not like this. Not when Charles wasn’t fully himself.

“I know,” Max whispered, breathless. “I know you can… but not today. Just a few more days.”

Charles’ eyes closed briefly, jaw flexing as he fought instinct with reason. When he opened them again, they were darker, intense, locked onto Max’s face.

“Mine,” Charles breathed, hips still moving.

The word hit Max like a pulse through his chest. He swallowed, heart thundering—but when he answered, it wasn’t fear that made him nod.

“Yours,” he whispered back.

The moment the word left his lips, something in Charles snapped. His body tensed, a low, broken moan tearing from his throat as he peaked hard, head falling back, throat exposed, sweat shining against flushed skin. He looked devastating like that—undone, powerful, vulnerable all at once.

Max kept his hands steady, guiding him through it, making sure he didn’t feel alone in the wave of release. And as he did, he realized something that made his own breath hitch.

He hadn’t lied. He didn’t feel claimed out of obligation or instinct alone. He felt claimed because he wanted to be.

Because somewhere between restraint and heat and whispered promises, Max had already chosen him.

Completely.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

After Charles’ knot finally softened and receded, the tension drained from his body almost instantly. The sharp, feral edge in his scent mellowed into something warmer, heavier. He looked exhausted, lashes heavy, curls damp with sweat against his forehead.

Max pressed a soft kiss to his lips, lingering just long enough to feel the shift from heat to tenderness.

“Stay here,” Max whispered, brushing his thumb over Charles’ cheek. “Or no cuddles for you.”

Charles huffed softly at this, seemingly displeased but too exhausted to argue. His hand tightened on Max’s wrist for a moment before releasing him.

Max went into the en-suite bathroom, the water washing off the slick on his thighs, the alpha scent, the dizzying feeling still in his veins.

When Max came out, freshly dressed and with his hair damp and his cheeks flushed from the steam, Charles was leaning against the pillows, his eyes fixed on the bathroom door as if he’d been counting off the seconds. His expression made something flip in Max’s chest.

Max went to him immediately, cradling his face in his hands and kissing him lightly. Charles growled into the kiss, not aggressively, not possessively, but in need, and pulled Max closer, his arms wrapping around his waist.

Finally, Max forced Charles to get up and go into the bathroom to shower, making the water as cold as he could to calm the rut still in his system.

Max, meanwhile, made quick work of stripping the bed. He changed the sheets as the bathroom door remained slightly ajar, because if Charles couldn’t see what he was doing, he’d probably forgo the cold shower and come out half-soaked and half-hard again.

The new sheets were crisp and clean, scented lightly with laundry detergent. Max smoothed them out over the mattress, his fingers caressing the pillows as he tried to calm the whirlwind in his brain.

When Charles finally emerged, clean and dressed in soft clothes, his hair damp from the shower, he crossed the room in two long strides and gathered Max into his arms without hesitation.

He pulled him down onto the bed, and he was wrapped around him like a shield, like an anchor. His chest vibrated low and contentedly against the back of Max’s head.

Max smiled and let himself sink into the feeling, a small purr escaping from his chest in reaction. He tightened his arms around Charles.

Charles began speaking softly then, a constant litany of French and Italian words. The words poured out of him like poetry, warm and worshipful. Max picked out a word or two here and there—mon amour, bellissimo, mia vita—but finally he reached out blindly for his phone, which was sitting on the bedside table, and typed a few words into a translator program. (my love, beautiful, my life)

His breath caught and his cheeks flushed as he read the words that came up. Charles was telling him how much he loved him. How beautiful he was. How lucky he felt. How he couldn’t imagine a life without him. And Max felt soft inside, felt it in a way that nearly broke him.

Eventually, after a quick meal of toast, honey, and fruit, eaten from the same plate, they came back to the bed. The blankets were tangled around their legs, and they were wrapped around each other.

As the afternoon drew on and Charles’ fever began to break, the haze of rut slowly clearing from his eyes, he grew quieter, but also more intense.

He confessed things in that half-lucid state, voice low against Max’s hair. How much he loved him. How he wanted Max to be his omega. How he had already chosen the ring he wanted to give him one day. How he’d been speaking to realtors about the house—one with light and a garden and space for cats and future pups and quiet mornings.

And then, of course, there were other things... secrets.

Personal details that felt too much, his plans, about the city, about the future that he was building quietly, with Max at the center of it.

But Max’s mind was spinning. It seemed almost too honest, too raw, to be hearing those things while Charles was still vulnerable from the fever.

But Max couldn’t pull away. Not if he tried. Not when every word seemed to wrap itself around him like warmth. Not when it seemed to make something inside of him bloom, something vulnerable, something terrifying, and something hopeful.

Charles loved like a storm, and Max wasn’t sure if destiny would allow him to have that kind of future he had planned… but lying there in Charles’ arms, listening to promises spoken in rain-scented whispers—

He wanted it more than anything else.

*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ

He pushed himself upright, sitting on the bed too quickly, the room tilting for a split second, when Max stepped in, warm light from the hallway outlining him.

He looked impossibly soft—loose hoodie, hair messy, cheeks naturally flushed. In his hands, he carried a tray carefully balanced with a bowl, pancakes, and a glass of juice.

“Charlie,” he said gently, a small smile curving his lips. “You’re awake already.”

Charles blinked, still shaking off the remnants of sleep and fever haze. His gaze dragged over Max instinctively—searching, assessing, and memorizing. He reached out and carefully took the tray from Max’s hands, setting it on the bed beside him without even looking at it. His focus was entirely on Max.

“I made—” Max started, shifting his weight adorably from one foot to the other.

“Are you okay?” Charles interrupted, voice rough with urgency.

Max froze slightly, confusion flickering over his face. A faint pout formed, soft and unguarded. “Yes?” he answered—but it came out like a question.

Charles’ brows pulled together. He reached for Max’s waist slowly, as if afraid he might spook him. “Did I hurt you?”

Max blinked harder. “What? No.” His frown deepened. “You don’t remember?” he asked carefully.

Charles shook his head once, a crease forming between his brows. He pulled Max a little closer, but cautiously—like he was handling something fragile. “Are you sure? Did I make you do something you didn’t wa—”

“Of course not!” Max cut in immediately, shaking his head with firm insistence. “You didn’t hurt me. And you didn’t do anything I didn’t want.” He said it clearly. But then he bit his lip and looked away.

Charles noticed instantly. “But?” he pressed, voice tightening. His eyes scanned Max’s body unconsciously—neck, collarbones, wrists, thighs—looking for marks that shouldn’t be there.

Max sighed softly and stepped forward, cupping Charles’ face between his palms. His thumbs brushed along Charles’ jaw in a grounding gesture. He swallowed once.

“I know we haven’t really talked about that kind of stuff…” he began, cheeks turning pink. He looked down for a second, lashes fluttering before he forced himself to continue. “And you had a really high fever. You were… not fully there.” Charles’ stomach dropped. “I wanted to help,” Max said quickly, words rushing now. “You were uncomfortable and frustrated and I just—”

“You?” Charles prompted quietly, still trying to piece together missing fragments.

Max’s eyes flicked downward briefly toward Charles’ lap before darting away again, mortified. “I touched you,” he admitted in a small voice. “With my hand. I helped you knot.” He swallowed. “Just once.”

Charles gazed at him. He struggled to make sense of it. Max, soft, hesitant, blushing Max, taking care of him when he was half-delirious with rut.

And that was all he had done? Charles’ enigma during rut was feral, insatiable. Instinct clawing at his control. The knowledge that Max had been there, taking care of him, and that he didn’t even remember—

Charles’ hand rose, cupping Max's face firmly, turning it back towards him. Max's face was bright red now, biting his lip.

“I’m sorry if I overstepped,” Max blurted, panic creeping into his tone. “I just—”

Charles didn’t let him finish. He pulled Max closer and kissed him slowly, deeply — tasting the sweetness of waffles on his lips.

But he didn’t let the kiss stretch too long. He needed to be sure. “Are you sure I treat you the way you deserve?” Charles asked quietly when he pulled back, his voice softer than usual.

Max blinked, surprised by the question. He nodded instinctively. “I am,” he said — but then hesitated. “There was… an incident though.”

Charles’ expression changed instantly. Concern sharpened his features. “What happened?” he asked, tension creeping into his shoulders again.

“Carlos came by looking for you,” Max explained. “He mentioned me going back home…” Charles nodded slowly, listening carefully. “I think your alpha didn’t like that,” Max continued gently. “So, you used your voice.”

Charles froze. “Mon amour…” he whispered, dread flickering in his eyes.

But Max shook his head quickly. “It wasn’t directed at me,” he reassured him. “And you stopped immediately when I told you to. You didn’t use it again.”

Charles held his gaze, searching his face as if trying to detect something unspoken — fear, hesitation, hurt. But Max didn’t look frightened.

Still. What happened wasn’t normal. “Can I check you?” Charles asked softly. “Just so I can feel better.

Max pouted a little at that, but he nodded anyway. Charles pulled the sleeves of Max's — his — hoodie up, looking at his arms. There were no bruises. There were no marks. His hands touched Max's neck, then lower, feeling him.

When he touched the hem of the hoodie, he paused and looked up at Max, seeking permission. Max nodded again. Charles pulled the hem of the hoodie up just enough to look. And then he saw it.

The red marks around Max's waist – the outline of where his hands had grasped him.

“There are marks,” he breathed.

Max glanced down and chuckled softly. “Schat, that’s just a little redness from you holding me all night. It happens if someone grips too long. It’ll disappear before lunch.” Charles blinked slowly, processing. Max leaned in and pressed a small kiss to his lips. “I promise I’m okay. You were soft. You took care of me.” He smiled faintly. “You didn’t even want me cooking for you. You insisted on feeding me instead.”

Charles swallowed, emotion flickering across his face before he nodded once. “Okay.”

“I would’ve kicked you otherwise,” Max added playfully, grinning.

That finally made Charles laugh. Max shifted and settled onto his lap, kissing him again — just a peck this time.

“Let’s have breakfast,” he said. “I’m starving.”

Charles nodded and wrapped his hands carefully around Max’s hips — deliberately avoiding his waist. Careful not to hurt him.

*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ

Carlos’ father examined him thoroughly. Bloodwork. Testosterone levels. Residual suppressants in his system. Everything that could be measured was measured.

Nothing was wrong. The medication wasn’t expired. The dosage was correct. The suppressants were still active in his bloodstream.

“There is no physiological failure,” Carlos’ father had said calmly, reviewing the results again as if they might change. “On paper, your enigma should have remained muted.”

Charles left the meeting with a sense of unrest if it wasn’t the medication… Then what had triggered it? This question followed him home to his apartment.

It wasn’t the lack of control that frightened him, what unsettled him the most it was the possibility of it happening again. And this time, Max getting hurt.

Charles’ jaw clenched. He could live with being dangerous, but he could not live with hurting Max.

He sat at his desk, attempting to concentrate on work, blueprints covering the screen, numbers and projections running through his mind. He tried to get into a routine, to get into control.

Max was in class. He glanced at the time, automatically calculating when he would pick him up. His hand hovered over his phone, fighting the urge to call him for the fifth time today, to make sure he had eaten.

His phone rang, interrupting him, with an unfamiliar number. Charles was about to ignore it, but this feeling… something inside of him was tightening for no reason.

He answered and froze… it was the hospital.

Chapter Text

He ran down the corridors, the sharp echo of his shoes hitting the floors sounding too loud in his ears. His heart thumped so violently that it felt as if it would burst out of his head. His breath came in ragged, quick gasps, and his rain scent thickened instinctively, sharp with fear and urgency. People gave way before him.

Carlos waited outside the room when Charles reached the end of the corridor. His arms crossed, jaw set, expression controlled, but the tension in his posture gave away his anxiety.

“Hey,” Carlos said quickly, stepping forward.

“What happened?” Charles asked. His voice was low and tight, each word clipped. Every muscle in his body was coiled, ready for something catastrophic.

Carlos exhaled carefully. “He had an allergic reaction,” he said seriously. “The school medical team administered epinephrine immediately. We continued with oxygen therapy and IV fluids once he got here.” Charles’ pulse roared in his ears but Carlos held his gaze. “He’s stable now,” he added. “You can go in.”

Charles’ touch on Carlos’ arm was brief, a gesture of thanks, and then he was stepping past the man. He pushed open the door.

Max was sitting up in the bed, surrounded by the sterile white of the hospital bedding, which made his pale skin seem even more pale. His cheeks were flushed, whether from the allergy he’d experienced or the medication he’d been given, and his blue eyes were wide and slightly glassy as he met Charles’ gaze.

The pout of his lips, the hitch in his breathing, made something inside Charles twist painfully. His omega, small and vulnerable in the large bed, surrounded by the cold glare of the hospital lights, in pain and suffering.

And in a brief, fleeting moment, Charles thought the world had shrunk to the image of Max, his blue eyes looking up at him.

*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ

When Max heard the door open, he expected a nurse, he didn’t expect Charles.

The moment he saw him, standing there with a deep frown carved into his features and worry darkening his eyes, Max felt his heart sink. He hadn’t meant to scare him. He didn’t even know how Charles had found out so quickly, but the sight of him like that, made Max’s chest ache.

Charles crossed the room in two long strides. His hands came up immediately, cradling Max’s face, thumbs brushing gently over his flushed cheeks. “How do you feel, mon amour?” he whispered.

Max’s lips trembled slightly. “I’m okay,” he whispered back — but the pleading in his eyes betrayed him. “Hug me. Please.” His voice shook.

Charles’ hands slid down and he pulled Max into his arms instantly, holding him carefully — not too tight — as if Max were something fragile that might shatter under pressure. Max clung to him without hesitation, his arms locked around Charles’ waist, his face pressing into his chest.

“Please, schat,” Max murmured into the fabric of his shirt, desperation soft but real. “Scent me.” He needed grounding, he needed home and Charles smelled like home.

Charles froze a little, but then he let it happen. Charles’ scent spread through the air, a crisp rain scent, soothing but sharp, surrounding Max in a warm, safe embrace. Max couldn’t stop his purring as his entire body relaxed into Charles’ embrace.

Charles held him tightly, burying his face in his hair and pressing soft kisses to his temple.

The world stopped. Charles whispered soft words into his hair, French, English, Italian, a mix of languages blending together in a warm embrace. He reached over to the tray on the bedside table, unwrapping chocolates, and coaxing Max to eat something sweet. He pressed kisses to his temples, his cheeks.

“What happened?” he asked quietly, voice still careful. “Please, tell me chéri.”

After a moment, Max swallowed and took a slow breath. He left Charles’ arms and looked up at him. Charles’ eyes were full of patience, love, and a kind of softness that made Max’s throat constrict painfully.

Max’s lips twisted into a pout. Charles leaned down and kissed him lightly on the lips. It was a soft kiss, a grounding one. Max was still shaky from all the things that had happened to him, but the fear was gone.

He didn’t want Charles to be worried about him, but he knew he had to explain. With a deep breath, he prepared himself to talk.

Max moved a bit from the hospital bed. He patted the space beside him. Charles hesitated for a moment. Max saw the worry in Charles’ eyes, the silent question of whether it was a good idea to get into the bed because it might hurt him.

Charles moved carefully, slowly, and sat down in front of him on the bed. He sat down but didn’t get too close.

Max wanted to snuggle into Charles, to bury his face in Charles’ chest and forget the smell of disinfectant and the beeping machines. But they had to talk, so instead, Max held out his hand. Charles didn’t hesitate this time. He took it at once, kissing the back of the hand lightly before holding it between them.

“Can you tell me what happened?” Charles asked quietly.

The softness in his voice only made Max feel worse. He took a shaky breath, trying to keep it steady, and squeezed Charles’ hand.

“I know we haven’t talked about this,” Max began, sniffing lightly. “Actually… that’s what I wanted to tell you after class. At dinner. I—”

“Is everything okay?” Charles interrupted gently, a faint frown appearing between his brows.

Max nodded quickly. “Yes.”

He inhaled again. “When you were in your rut—”

“Did I hurt you?” Charles cut in immediately, worry flashing across his face. There was panic there too — controlled, but real.

“What? No!” Max said, startled. “Of course not. I told you everything that happened.” He swallowed. “But…” He forced himself to look into Charles’ eyes. “I’ve wanted to talk to you about…” His voice trailed off. He looked away. Saying it out loud felt vulnerable in a way that made his stomach twist.

Charles’ free hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing gently over his skin. “You can tell me anything,” he said softly. “You know that, right?”

Max nodded. After the rut — after everything — he trusted Charles in a way that felt deeper than before.

“I know,” he whispered. “It’s just… this topic isn’t something I like talking about.”

Charles nodded slowly. “Okay. Take your time. I’m here.”

The patience in his voice almost undid him. Max bit his lip hard, trying to stop the tears from forming. He took another steadying breath. “I think I’m ready to be…” His voice trembled. He cleared it and tried again. “I mean, if you want to, and if you’re ready too, of course.” He rushed the last part, nerves overtaking him.

This was not coming out the way he had planned, but he had already started and now was no turning back now. He squeezed Charles’ hand again and stared at their intertwined fingers.

“I think I’m ready to be together,” he finished quietly. “Intimately.” The last word barely left his lips — spoken almost into the space between their hands.

But since Charles didn’t say anything, panic suddenly erupted in Max's chest, his cheeks flushing red as he thought maybe Charles wasn’t ready, maybe he had rushed it.

Max tilted his head up, about to apologize, and froze as Charles remained motionless, his eyes wide open, his mouth open as if he was trying to say something, but the right words were not cooperating.

“I— you— can—” Charles muttered incoherently, voice barely functioning.

Max blinked. “If you don’t wa—”

“No!” Charles interrupted, a little too loudly. Max startled — not frightened, just surprised. “I of course want to,” Charles rushed out, breath uneven. “And I’m ready. Whenever you want, tomorrow or in a year. Just say the word.”

Max stared at him for a second, then he giggled. It was so sweet, so earnest and so very Charles. He nodded, tension easing from his shoulders.

Charles’ expression softened immediately. He cupped Max’s face gently. “But—” he added, pressing a kiss to his nose, “you still haven’t told me how you ended up here.”

Max’s smile faded slightly. He looked down at their joined hands, then back into Charles’ green eyes. “It actually… has to do with what we just talked about,” he admitted quietly, he bit his lip. “I’m allergic to most contraceptives.”

Charles’ mouth fell open and the flicker of fear in Max’s chest returned — a sudden, irrational dread that Charles might rethink everything. Before that thought could spiral, Charles spoke. “You didn’t know you were allergic?”

Max looked down again. “I did,” he admitted softly, shame creeping into his voice. Then he rushed to explain, “But I thought maybe it wouldn’t be that bad if it was just once. I just… I don’t think I’m ready for a pup yet.”

Charles blinked. “Chéri…” he breathed.

“I’m sorry,” Max interrupted quickly, eyes filling.

“Don’t apologize,” Charles said immediately, leaning forward to kiss his cheek.

“But please,” he continued more seriously, thumb brushing beneath Max’s eye before a tear could fall, “never put yourself at risk like that again.” Max’s lower lip trembled but Charles kissed it softly. “I’ll take the pill religiously,” he promised firmly. “Every day. I’ll take it in front of you if that makes you feel safer. Seven-thirty a.m., when I drive you to class. You’ll watch me take it.”

Max let out a small, watery chuckle, the sound catching slightly in his throat as he wiped at his tears. “You don’t have to,” he said softly. “I trust you.”

Charles’ grin softened into something warmer. “Let me do it,” he insisted gently. “That way I have an excuse to see you every morning.”

Max laughed properly then, head tilting back as warmth flooded his chest. Charles chuckled too and cupped his face again, pressing the lightest kiss to the tip of his nose.

“I’ll buy condoms too,” Charles added, thoughtful and serious again. “And just to be safe, we can both get tested right now. That way we’re sure. No risks.”

Max’s heart thudded painfully in his chest at how carefully Charles was thinking through everything. Not just about himself — but about him.

“I promise,” Charles continued quietly, “I’ll make sure we’re safe. Pup-free for a few years.” Max giggled through lingering tears. Charles smiled, then grew more serious. “I won’t risk hurting you or losing you. I’ll wait as long as you need. For a wedding. For pups. For a life together.”

The tears slipped down Max’s cheeks freely now. Charles gently brushed them away with his thumbs.

“I love you, Max,” he said. There was no hesitation in his voice, it was steady and real. “You set the pace,” Charles added softly. “You lead us. I’ll follow.”

Max blinked at him, overwhelmed. An alpha — Charles — saying that so openly. So willingly. In a world where alphas were raised to dominate, to decide, to lead.

“I’m yours,” Charles finished quietly.

Max reached up shakily and held his face, a knot tight in his throat from the emotions pressing against it.

“I love you too, Charlie,” he whispered.

Charles blinked, like he hadn’t really expected to hear it. Like he still couldn’t really believe it. Before leaning in and kissing him. It tasted like rain and comfort. But Max pulled back, even though all of him wanted to stay there. Because there was something he had to ask.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked quietly.

Charles blinked, then scratched the back of his neck, almost sheepish. “Carlos is doing his medical practice here,” he admitted. “He saw your name on the intake list and called me.”

Max’s chest tightened at the thought of Charles dropping everything and rushing to him.

Before that thought could fully settle, Charles added quickly, “I’m sorry if that’s too much.”

Max shook his head immediately. “No,” he said softly, almost breathless. “It’s not too much.” His cheeks warmed slightly. “Thank you for being here.”

Charles’ smile softened, the tension finally easing from his features. “I’m happy to be here,” he said quietly. “But I’m even happier that you’re okay.”

Max felt warmth bloom through his chest again. He squeezed Charles’ hand gently, grounding himself in the contact.

“I would like, though,” Charles continued, brushing his thumb over Max’s knuckles, “a full list of your allergies. I need to make sure you’re safe. And far away from anything that could make you sick.”

Max pouted slightly, cheeks flushing pink. “I’m just allergic to contraceptives,” he admitted. Then, after a small pause, he added sheepishly, “And… I kind of lie and say I’m allergic to seafood.” Charles raised a brow. “I just don’t like it,” Max clarified quickly. “And if people think you’re allergic, they don’t try to force you to ‘just taste it because this one is the best.’”

Charles laughed, the sound warm and unrestrained. “Okay,” he said. “I will absolutely keep contraceptives far away from you and I’ll support your seafood lie.”

Max giggled. “Thank you.” He hesitated, then added more thoughtfully, “I can’t have too much lactose either. It gives me a stomachache.”

Charles nodded seriously, as if receiving strategic information. “Alright. We’ll monitor our lactose intake.”

Max chuckled at the phrasing. “Our?”

Charles grinned. “If you suffer, I suffer.”

Max shook his head fondly. “Thank you.” After a moment, he glanced around the hospital room, the sterile walls, the steady beeping machines. “Do you think we can go soon?” he asked softly. “I don’t like hospitals.”

Charles squeezed his hand again and lifted it to his lips, pressing a kiss there. “Yes,” he said. “I’ll ask Carlos about your discharge and the prescription. And I’ll have him add the best contraceptives for me.” He paused, looking back at Max more seriously. “I’ll start taking them immediately,” he said gently. “But you don’t have to rush. You don’t have to feel pressured. Whenever you’re ready… you tell me.”

Max felt his heart flutter painfully at that. “Thank you,” he whispered.

“No need,” Charles replied with a small smile, leaning in to kiss his cheek, he pulled back, thoughtful. “Do you want us to take the tests now? To check that we’re both healthy?” he asked. “Or would you rather wait?”

Max blinked, cheeks turning red again. “Let’s do it now,” he said quickly. “Please. I don’t want to come back.”

Charles laughed softly. “Sure.” He reached for his phone. “I’ll ask Carlos to bring everything.”

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

They took the tests, and the nurse explained everything in a calm, professional tone – blood samples taken, signatures given…

“You’ll get your results by email within a few hours,” she said with a polite smile before leaving them alone once again.

Max felt strangely shy standing there with Charles afterwards, as if taking these tests together had somehow changed things between them – made things more real.

A little later, Max was officially discharged. He went up to the counter to ask about his bill, already reaching for his wallet – but the receptionist smiled. “It’s already been taken care of.”

Max didn’t need to ask who, he turned slowly to look at Charles, who was pretending to be very interested in a plant in the corner of the waiting room.

“Charles,” Max started quietly.

Charles only lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It wasn’t a big deal,” he said easily.

Max tried to insist, pulling out his card anyway. “I can pay you back.”

Charles stepped closer, gently pushing Max’s hand down. “It’s not a big deal,” he repeated, softer this time. “Please, Carlos gave me a discount.”

Max swallowed. It wasn’t about the money—it was about feeling like he wasn’t contributing enough. But Charles’ face wasn’t patronizing. It was protective and kind so, Max let it go.

Next, they went to the pharmacy. Max waited in the car, looking through the window to see Charles talk to the pharmacist. He looked intent, serious—the smell of rain lingering in the car.

As Charles got back into the driver’s seat, the paper bag in his hand was much fuller than it should be.

Max raised a brow. “That doesn’t look like just contraceptives.”

Charles started the engine casually. “It’s not just that.”

Max leaned over to peek into the bag, catching sight of antihistamines, a small inhaler refill, and something for stomach sensitivity.

“You didn’t have to, I have medicine for the allergy at my dorm and—”

“I know,” Charles interrupted gently, eyes still on the road.

Max frowned slightly. “Charles, I can pay you back.”

“I know,” Charles whispered. He reached over, taking Max’s hand and bringing it to his lips, pressing a soft kiss against his knuckles without taking his eyes off the road. “But let me take care of this… of you.”

Max felt his heart flutter painfully at the words because there was no ego in it, no ownership. Just quiet care and love.

He knew if he kept arguing, Charles would only grow more stubborn — and honestly, Max didn’t want to fight it so he nodded softly. “Thank you.”

Charles squeezed his hand once before letting go.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

When they reached Max’s apartment, the door barely had time to close behind them before Lando was on his feet.

“Why didn’t you call me?!” Lando demanded, standing up from the sofa so abruptly that Oscar looked startled beside him.

“It wasn’t a big deal,” Max said immediately, rolling his eyes to downplay it. “Hi, Oscar.”

“Hi, Max,” Oscar greeted with an amused chuckle.

“I swear I almost had a heart attack when Carlos told me,” Lando continued dramatically, pointing accusingly at Max.

Max blinked. “Carlos told you?” Genuinely thrown. “Since when are you two besties?”

“Since YOU,” Lando snapped, pointing again, “decided to practically move in with your boyfriend.”

He nodded pointedly toward Charles. Max felt heat crawl up his neck and into his cheeks. “I haven’t moved out.”

“You could’ve fooled me,” Lando shot back.

Oscar snorted quietly from his position on the sofa. Max crossed his arms over his chest in a defensive position, but his eyes flickered to Charles, who was standing by the door, rain scent steady, his eyes unreadable but amused. And Max hated how that look made him feel.

Finally, after a number of dramatic accusations from Lando, most of which were exaggerated and accompanied by wild hand gestures, and after he had inspected Max like a worried mother hen to be absolutely certain he was all right, they finally settled.

Charles ordered pizza for everyone, insisting on it without discussion. They ate in the living room, boxes on the coffee table, Oscar laughing occasionally at Lando’s comments, Charles quiet, his eyes on Max, his hand resting almost unconsciously on his thigh under the table.

Eventually, the night quieted. Lando dragged Oscar toward his room with a muttered, “We are NOT listening to whatever happens next,” and Max rolled his eyes while grabbing Charles’ hand.

“Come on,” he murmured softly, while he led him to his room.

Max climbed into his nest first, adjusting a pillow before reaching for Charles, pulling him down with him. Charles did not resist, and he easily followed.

He settled in, Max snuggling into Charles’ chest, his cheek resting just below his collarbone. Charles’ arms immediately went around him, strong and steady, the scent of rain on him faint but comforting.

“I need to tell you something,” Charles whispered after a few minutes.

Max hummed softly, tilting his head back slightly to look at him in the dim light filtering through the curtains. Charles’ features were half-shadowed, green eyes softer than usual.

“I have to go to Gaufre for a few days,” Charles said quietly. “Work.”

Max felt it immediately — that subtle drop in his chest. The idea of waking up without Charles there, of not smelling rain in the mornings.

Charles cupped his face gently and made his thoughts stop. “I know spring break is next week,” he continued. “Do you want to come with me?” Max blinked while Charles brushed his thumb along his cheek. “We can stay in one of the apartments we just finished. You could visit the lake, meet Nico in his ‘mayor era,’ drive to Vaud if you want, or just rest.” His voice softened further. “I’ll save time for the two of us.” He leaned in slightly, lips brushing near Max’s. “To relax,” he added quietly. “And to kiss.”

Max let out the softest gasp — barely a sound, more like a breath catching. He hadn’t expected that. Not the invitation, nor the certainty that Charles wanted him there.

“You’re sure it’s okay?” Max asked softly.

Charles didn’t hesitate. “Yes,” he said firmly. “I want you there.”

The way he said it left no room for doubt. Max’s chest warmed, something blooming inside him, something dangerously close to belonging. Charles leaned in and kissed him softly, short and sweet, a promise rather than a demand.

Max smiled against his lips. “I’d love that,” he whispered when they parted.

Charles’ smile widened, pleased in that quiet way he got when Max agreed to something important.

“Perfect,” he murmured, kissing his cheek. “I’ll make the arrangements.” He paused, then added casually, “You can invite Lando and Oscar too.”

Max blinked at him in surprise. “You don’t mind?”

Charles shrugged lightly. “If it makes you happy.”

Max felt his heart melt all over again. “I’ll ask them,” he said softly. “Thank you so much, Schat.”

“You’re welcome, mon petit gaufre,” Charles replied warmly. (My little waffle)

Then he leaned down and kissed him again — deeper this time, slower, still careful. Still sweet. Max curled closer into him afterward, heart full, mind already imagining Gaufre — the lake, the quiet, the chaos.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

Gaufre was beautiful. Charles drove them there in his silver Ferrari Purosangue, the purring of the engine low and smooth.

The journey took about an hour and a half, though it didn’t feel like it was taking that long at all. Charles had one hand on the steering wheel and the other resting loosely on Max’s thigh, thumb making distracted circles.

They took the scenic route, and when they arrived at Lausanne, Charles suggested a small detour. They strolled through the Olympic Museum grounds for a while, their hands intertwined, though Max found himself staring at Charles more than the exhibits. The way he navigated the space, confident and not arrogant at the same time. The way he instinctively guided Max away from the uneven pavement. The way he glanced at him every now and then to make sure he was still smiling.

Later, they stopped to have sandwiches from a small café near the lake, the breeze off the lake cool but no longer biting, like winter was finally beginning to loosen its hold and spring was starting to seep into the air, the sunlight not so harsh, the grass not so frosted.

Rather than sitting at a table, Charles leaned back against the hood of the car and drew Max in between his legs, offering him half of his sandwich. They ate there, looking out over the water, the lake stretching out endlessly blue in front of them, the sky pale overhead.

Max laughed at something Charles said and almost dropped his food, and Charles leaned forward to wipe a little bit of sauce from the corner of his mouth with his thumb, then brought it to his lips without thinking. It was simple, domestic, and intimate.

By the time they made it to Gaufre, the sun was lower in the sky, shining down over the construction cranes and the buildings that were still under construction.

The town was alive with possibility. It wasn’t fully formed yet, scaffolding surrounded the pale stone buildings, the streets were still being paved, and the construction workers in their reflective jackets moved in a smooth, choreographed rhythm. But there was something about it, something promising. Charles slowed the car as they went through.

“That’s where the hotel will be,” he said, pointing toward a structure near the lakefront. “Five floors. Rooftop terrace.” He pointed again. “Police station was inaugurated last week.” Then another direction. “That building will be offices. The hospital is almost done — just interior finishing now. The school starts construction next month.”

Max listened intently to this, observing the change in Charles’ voice when discussing the subject. It was more animated, more focused.

Following his circuit of the main district, Charles headed towards a quieter part of town near the lake where several apartment complexes had already been completed. The style of the apartments was very elegant. They were made of light stone and had tall windows. They were understated but refined.

The apartment was airy and bright. It had a balcony overlooking the lake. The water sparkled gently in the afternoon sunlight. The kitchen was small but very modern. The living area was open and warm. It smelled of Charles.

Max stepped onto the balcony, hands resting on the railing as he looked out at the water. “This is where you stayed during your rut?” he asked softly.

He felt Charles approach before he heard him. Strong hands slid around his waist from behind, pulling him back until his body pressed flush against Charles’ chest.

“Yes,” Charles murmured near his ear. He kissed Max’s cheek, slow and soft. “I stay here every time I come.”

His arms tightened slightly. “I like the view.”

Max hummed in acknowledgment, eyes still on the lake. “It’s beautiful,” he whispered. “It feels… peaceful.”

There was something about the quiet here — no city noise, no dorm walls, no rushed schedules. Just open space and possibility.

Charles gently turned him in his arms until Max was facing him. Up close, his green eyes were softer than the lake.

“You’re beautiful,” Charles said simply.

Max felt something tighten in his chest at the sincerity. It almost hurt — how easily Charles said things like that. How deeply he meant them.

He reached up slowly, cupping Charles’ face between both hands. Then he kissed him. The kind of kiss that felt like standing at the beginning of something that didn’t scare him anymore.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

Gaufre didn’t only bring peace, it brought drama, laughter, noise, and friends.

And because Nico was there, newly appointed mayor of a city that barely existed, and yet managed to look both tired and overimportant at the same time. Max saw him every day for lunch, and every day, Max ended up laughing so hard, he cried.

Nico had taken the job way too seriously, coats tailored, a leather folder clutched tightly in his arms, dark circles around his eyes, but the way he complained about it was completely dramatic.

And Lando had shown up yesterday, with Oscar, and the chaos level had multiplied by two right away. Four of them, driving for twenty minutes to get to Vaud, where Nico insisted on “inspecting local businesses,” which meant shopping, coffee, juice, and Lando almost fighting a boutique owner over a jacket.

The previous day, Charles had organized a dinner, and they all met at a restaurant near the lake, long table, dim lighting, the lake sparkling in the sun outside the windows. Carlos, Pierre, Lewis, all impeccably dressed and calm, Nico already in a bad mood, Lando and Oscar making out at the end of the table.

And Charles had invited Daniel, the newly appointed police captain, a man with a mischievous grin and a humor that danced on the thin line between inappropriate and brilliant. Max had immediately taken a liking to him, they all ate too much, they all laughed too loudly, and at some point, Pierre almost choked on a glass of wine because of something Daniel said about traffic regulations being “just a suggestion.”

But right now, Max was on his third day in Gaufre, and his third chaotic lunch with Nico. They sat outside a small restaurant near the lake, sunlight shining on the water, construction sounds humming in the background.

“I swear,” Nico groaned dramatically, dragging both hands down his face, “Lewis is the most stubborn, controlling, insufferable person I’ve ever met.”

Max giggled, already anticipating where this was going. “Worse than your dad?” he asked innocently.

Nico froze. “Do not,” he said slowly, pointing at Max across the table, “bring that topic to this table.” Max burst into laughter. “Maybe,” Nico continued dramatically, “they should work together and kill each other... or kill me. Honestly, both scenarios are appealing at this point.”

Max laughed so hard he had to lean back in his chair, head tipping toward the sky. “You’re not real,” he managed between breaths.

“He’s insane!” Nico shot back. “He’s always hovering like I’m incompetent. And he has that stupid smile — that one that makes everyone think he’s nice? He’s not. He’s an asshole.”

Max bit his lip to contain himself. “Want me to tell Charles you quit?” he offered lightly.

Nico’s head snapped up. “What?! No!” he said instantly, horrified. “I need this job. I cannot go back to my father.”

“Okay, okay, relax,” Max said, raising his hands. “I was just suggesting alternatives, seeing how miserable you are.”

Nico made a face that could only be described as tragic. “Can’t you ask Charles to fire Lewis instead?” he muttered.

Max laughed outright. “No, that’s his friend and business partner… or something complicated. I don’t interfere with his empire-building.”

Nico let out a dramatic sigh and dropped his forehead onto the table with a thud. Max reached over and patted his head affectionately, trying not to laugh too loudly.

And then — as the realization struck — Max’s grin turned wicked. “Wait,” he said slowly. Nico lifted his face just enough to glare at him. “Is this drama because Lewis is hot?”

Silence. Nico stared at him like he’d just committed a crime. “What?” Nico asked, dangerously calm.

Max leaned forward, eyes sparkling. “You think he is hot,” Max concluded. “And you like him. And that’s why you’re here pretending you hate him because you don’t know what to do about it.”

“I hate you,” Nico replied flatly.

Max burst into laughter again. “Oh my God,” he said between giggles. “You like him.”

Nico looked like he was contemplating homicide. And Max had never been happier to be in a city that didn’t officially exist yet.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

After lunch with Nico and spending a languid, sun-soaked afternoon at the lake with Lando, his bare feet digging into the sand, the crumbs from their shared sandwiches still stuck to his fingers, Max finally made his way back to the apartment.

The door closed behind him, and the silence was unlike the vibrant, chaotic day that had just passed.

He took his time in the shower, the water washing away the smell of sunscreen and lake water, the steam rising up around him as he tried to calm the buzzing under his skin. When he came out, he didn’t bother getting properly dressed, just something comfortable and easy, and went back to the bedroom.

The nest was still there, the blankets tangled, the pillows piled up in the shape that was so familiar, the smell of rain, waffles, and cotton. He curled up in the nest, pulling the throw blanket over his legs, and curled up on his side, his phone glowing in his hands as he mindlessly scrolled through it, not really reading the words on the screen.

Everything was fine, more than fine, and yet... something inside him was restless. He needed Charles, not just the kisses, not just the soft touches, not just the promises whispered in the fevered afternoons. He had told him that, and they had done everything responsibly, and the results came back clean. Charles was even taking the contraceptives, serious and careful about it. There were no real barriers, only the emotional ones.

Max could not bring it up again, every time he thought about it, his chest tightened. It was awkward now, too deliberate, too heavy. Especially knowing how careful Charles had been, how he never pushed, never even hinted at it unless Max had first.

Max loved the fact he didn’t feel pressured, but somehow, it made it all the more difficult. Because it was now his turn. He would have to be the one to say it, to open the door fully. And it was like stepping off a ledge.

The bedroom door opened quietly, Max looked up. Charles entered the room, and for a second, Max forgot how to breathe.

His cheeks were flushed, his curls slightly damp at the temples, a hint of sweat at his collarbone. His fitted shirt clung to his arms in a way that made them look unfairly broad and strong. He looked warm and stupidly handsome.

“Hi, chéri,” Charles said with an easy smile as he approached. “How’s your day been?”

He leaned down carefully, being mindful of the nest, and gave Max a soft peck on the lips.

But he had no chance to back off or step away because Max’s arms immediately wrapped around his neck, and he pulled Charles back down.

The kiss continued immediately, this one deliberate. Max’s fingers intertwined in his curls, holding him close as if he thought he might back off.

Charles let out a soft groan into the kiss, his hand settling on Max’s waist, his other hand pressing against the bed to ensure he didn’t crush Max or the nest he’d carefully built. His thumb found Max’s hip almost involuntarily.

Charles attempted to back off a little, his breathing hitched in his throat—but Max didn’t allow it. He shifted his position, his leg loosely wrapping around Charles’ waist, holding him in close.

Their mouths met again, it was a slower, deeper kiss. Their tongues touched, their breaths mingled, and their mouths moved together in a hungry, but not urgent, kiss.

When they broke apart, it was because they had to, because they needed air in their lungs. Their foreheads were together, their noses touching, their chests heaving in and out in a rhythm that wasn’t quite synchronized.

“Fuck,” Charles breathed, voice low and shaken. Charles closed his eyes for a second. When he opened them again, his pupils were blown wide, green nearly swallowed by dark. He looked undone in a way that made Max’s stomach flip. “I love you,” Charles whispered, pressing a lingering kiss to Max’s cheek. Then he leaned back slowly, almost reluctantly. “I’ll go shower,” he added quietly.

But Max didn’t let him go. Instead, he tightened his arms around Charles’ neck and drew his leg more firmly around his waist, holding him there.

Charles blinked down at him, looking momentarily stunned, a little confused, a little breathless and devastatingly handsome. He opened his mouth. “Wha—”

But before he could finish—and more importantly, before Max could lose his nerve—Max interrupted. “Can we do it?” he blurted.

The words hung between them, fragile and electric. Charles’ eyes widened instantly. For a split second, he just stared at him, as if trying to determine whether he was still half-asleep, whether this was another dream layered over reality.

“You mean…” Charles began carefully, voice softer now, cautious in a way that revealed how much this mattered. He didn’t want to assume. Didn’t want to push.

Max felt a nervous giggle bubble out of him despite the intensity of the moment. He nodded. “Yes.”

Charles blinked again, throat bobbing visibly as he swallowed. “Now?” he asked, almost breathlessly, like he was afraid the answer might disappear if he spoke too loudly.

Again, Max nodded, his cheeks on fire, his heart thudding in his chest to such a degree that he thought Charles could hear it.

For a fraction of a second, Charles stopped, and in this moment, Max wondered if he had pushed too hard, too fast. Had he pressured Charles? Was Charles hesitating?

But then Charles moved, his mouth came down on Max’s, warm and certain, kissing him with a passion that wasn’t frenzied or desperate. Charles’ body was on top of Max’s, but he wasn’t holding Max down or trapping him, he was surrounding him. One arm held his weight against Max’s head to prevent himself from squishing Max, and his other arm reached from his waist to his hip, his hand gripping firmly but carefully.

Instantly, Max’s fear vanished because Charles obviously wanted this. Max’s hands went back into Charles’ hair, pulling on his curls, grounding himself in their texture and warmth. Max’s hips moved up against Charles without thinking about it, seeking contact.

A moan rose up in his throat, but Charles swallowed it as their mouths met in a hot, wet, messy kiss. Charles’ hand on Max tightened a little at his hip—not enough to hurt, just enough to hold him in place. When their mouths parted, it was because they had to breathe. Their breathing was labored, mixed together. Max’s chest rose and fell beneath Charles’ shadow, his lips red and puffy.

Slowly, Max let his hands travel down from Charles’ hair to his shoulders, then across his chest. His fingers ran across the fabric of the shirt, feeling the muscles beneath the material. As he got to the top button of the shirt, he stopped. He looked up to find Charles was gazing at him with an unnerving level of focus. His eyes were dark, his jaw clenched.

Charles gave a slow nod. Max took a deep breath and popped the first button of the shirt, then the second and third, until Charles’ shirt was open. Warm skin was visible beneath the fabric. Steady breathing rose and fell with each inhalation. Max’s fingers rested there for a moment on Charles’ chest. Feeling the strong beat of his heart.

Charles leaned in slowly. His mouth pressed to Max’s cheek. Then he moved down. His lips followed the line of his jaw. Down to the base of his neck. When his mouth found the spot of warm, sensitive skin just beneath Max’s ear—over his scent gland—Max shivered. The feeling of Charles’ wet lips on the spot sent a shiver down his spine.

“I love you,” Charles whispered against his skin, voice low and full. “Mon petit gaufre.” (My little waffle)

The nickname made Max’s breath hitch. A soft moan slipped from his lips when he felt Charles’ hands slide under his t-shirt, palms warm against bare skin. His entire body reacted instantly—goosebumps rising, muscles trembling.

Charles paused immediately. He lifted his head, tilting it slightly to search Max’s face. “You want to slow down?” he asked quietly, eyes steady and present.

“No,” Max breathed, almost desperate. “Please.”

Charles studied him for another second, then nodded once. He pushed the t-shirt up slowly, peeling it off Max’s body inch by inch. The air in the room brushed over newly exposed skin, cool against warmth, and the sensation made Max shiver again—especially under Charles’ gaze.

Charles looked at him like he was something rare. “You’re so pretty,” he murmured, leaning in to kiss him softly.

When their lips parted, Max cupped Charles’ face between his hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones. “You’re so pretty too,” he whispered back.

Charles chuckled softly at that, shaking his head as if he didn’t quite believe it. Then he leaned back in, lips returning to Max’s neck.

This time the kisses were slower, wetter. His teeth brushed lightly over skin—not biting, just grazing—while his hands settled at Max’s waist, thumbs tracing slow circles against his sides.

His mouth traveled downward—over the hollow at the base of Max’s throat, along his clavicle, across his chest…

And then his lips closed around his nipple. Max’s entire body jolted, a sharp inhale left him as a shiver rippled down his spine. His cheeks flushed instantly, hips buckling slightly without permission, a soft moan spilling from his mouth before he could stop it.

Charles’ tongue moved with slow precision—kissing, drawing heat to the skin, coaxing reactions from Max that felt brand new. The world narrowed to sensation: warmth, pressure, the steady rhythm of breath against his chest.

Max had never felt this before. His head tipped back, eyes fluttering shut, fingers tightening in Charles’ curls. A wave of warmth pooled low in his body, his underwear dampening with slick.

“Alpha,” Max breathed without meaning to, the word slipping free like instinct.

Charles groaned softly in response, the sound vibrating through Max’s chest. He lifted his head, looking up at him with flushed cheeks and darkened eyes, mouth slightly swollen from kisses.

“Please,” Max whispered, voice unsteady.

Charles nodded once, expression intense but controlled. His hands slid down slowly to the waistband of Max’s joggers, fingers brushing over fabric. “I’m going to remove this now,” he said quietly, eyes locked on Max’s.

Max’s breath caught. “Okay,” he answered—barely more than air.

Charles hooked his fingers into the waistband of Max’s joggers and underwear and pulled them down slowly. Fabric slid over flushed skin, over trembling thighs, until Max was left completely bare against the sheets.

The air felt cooler now, Max felt it everywhere. His cheeks burned hotter than the rest of him, a wave of vulnerability washing over his chest. For a split second, instinct made him want to cover himself—hands hovering slightly, unsure—

But then he saw the way Charles was looking at him, not hungry in a careless way, but soft. Like Max was something he wanted to keep and protect.

That look made it impossible to hide. Charles shifted, lowering himself to his knees in front of him. His head was suddenly very close to Max’s center, his presence warm and grounding. Strong arms slid around Max’s thighs, drawing him closer without force, just invitation.

He leaned in and pressed a slow kiss to Max’s inner thigh. The sensation made a soft moan slip from Max’s lips before he could stop it. The faint scrape of Charles’ stubble against sensitive skin combined with the wet warmth of his mouth sent a shiver through him.

“Schatje, I—” Max started, breath already unsteady.

But the words dissolved the moment he felt Charles’ tongue drag slowly over the slick heat of his entrance. Max’s entire body reacted, his legs trembled. His hips bucked involuntarily. A gasp tore from his throat as something electric shot straight through him.

“Oh mijn god,” he breathed, head tipping back against the pillows. (Oh my god,)

It was overwhelming and too good. His breath came faster, chest rising and falling unevenly. His fingers tangled into Charles’ curls, gripping instinctively as the sensation built low in his stomach, tight and coiling. He was so close. And God, he wanted to let go. But he also wanted—

“Wait,” Max whispered, breathless and soft.

Charles stopped immediately. He lifted his head at once, slick shining against his mouth, eyes wide and alert. “Are you okay?” he asked quickly, voice stripped of anything but concern. “You don’t like it? I’m hurting you?”

Max blinked down at him, heart squeezing painfully at how worried he looked. He shook his head quickly. “No, no. I’m good. I’m just…” He swallowed, throat tight—not from fear, but from how deeply Charles cared. “I want you,” he finished, voice shaky with want.

Charles searched his face for another second, then nodded slowly. “Okay,” he said gently. “Now?” he asked, giving him room to change his mind.

Max let out a soft, nervous chuckle and nodded again, cheeks deepening in color. “Yes.”

“Okay,” Charles repeated.

He shifted back onto his knees and reached for the button of his own pants. His fingers moved quickly at first—but then he paused. Max’s heart dropped instantly, panic flashing through him. Had he moved too fast? Was Charles unsure? But when Charles looked up again, it wasn’t hesitation in his expression. It was worry.

“I don’t have condoms,” he whispered quietly.

Max’s breath caught sharply at Charles’ words. For a split second, his heart lurched—but then he exhaled slowly through his mouth, tension melting from his shoulders when he realized what Charles was worried about.

Charles was already shifting, starting to rise from the bed. “I’ll go buy them,” Charles said, voice determined, trying to step away.

Max pushed himself halfway upright and grabbed his wrist before he could move. He shook his head. “It’s okay,” he said softly. “We did the tests. And you’re taking the pills…” His cheeks flushed deeper as he felt the warmth spread down his neck and across his chest, over his completely bare body. “Can we…?” he added quietly.

Charles froze. His eyes widened immediately, something stunned and soft flickering across his face. “Yes. Of course,” he said at once, softer now. “Do you want me to pull out before I knot? Just in case?”

Max bit his lip. He didn’t even need to think about it. He shook his head. “No,” he whispered.

Charles studied him carefully for another heartbeat—making sure, truly sure—then nodded once. “Okay.”

He stood and removed his pants and boxers in one smooth motion, fabric falling away easily. Max’s breath left him in a slow, stunned exhale. He had seen Charles before. But seeing him like this—fully undressed, strong shoulders, broad chest, solid thighs—felt different now, more real, and bigger… much bigger. A small, nervous flutter opened in Max’s stomach at the sight of him.

“If you want to slow down, or if something feels wrong, you tell me,” Charles said quietly. His voice wasn’t teasing now. It was firm. Grounded.

“I promise,” Max replied.

Charles nodded, then leaned over him, guiding him gently back down onto the mattress. He hovered above him, bracing himself with strong arms on either side of Max’s head, careful not to press his full weight down. Max felt small beneath him.

Charles’ hand came up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing softly over warm skin before he leaned down to kiss him. The kiss was slow and grounding—tasting faintly of Max’s own slick still lingering there. Too short.

When Charles pulled back, that same hand slid between their bodies. He positioned himself carefully, eyes never leaving Max’s face.

“Okay?” Charles asked softly.

Max nodded and Charles began to move forward slowly. Just the tip at first.

Max gasped—not from pain, but from the sheer newness of the sensation. He had used toys during heats before, he knew the feeling of fullness. But this was warm, alive, different… it felt heavier. More deliberate.

Charles paused immediately, watching him closely. Max nodded again, breath trembling.

Charles pushed in slowly, inch by inch, giving Max time to adjust. The stretch was intense—slick, tight, overwhelming in a way that made Max’s fingers curl into the sheets. It didn’t hurt, but it was a lot.

The feeling of their bodies coming closer and closer with every slow movement made Max’s head spin. For a fleeting second, it felt endless—like Charles would just keep filling him and filling him until there was no space left inside.

His eyes fluttered shut as a wave of fullness sensation washed over him. Completely, overwhelmingly full. His vision darkened briefly at the edges as he adjusted to the pressure, to the heat, to the reality of it.

And then Charles finally stilled, breathing just as unsteadily as Max beneath him. Charles stayed still for a few long seconds, giving Max time.

Max’s breathing was uneven, chest rising and falling in shallow pulls as he adjusted to the sensation. Charles’ lips pressed gentle, grounding kisses to his cheek, then his temple. His hand remained firm at Max’s waist, thumb tracing slow, reassuring strokes against his skin. Their bodies were flush together—warm, slick, heartbeats knocking against each other through skin and bone.

The fullness was overwhelming. Slowly, the dizziness eased. The spinning in Max’s head dulled, though faint white sparks still flickered at the edges of his vision. He blinked, focusing on Charles’ face above him.

“Please… move,” Max whispered, voice trembling but certain.

Charles tilted his head, eyes searching Max’s carefully checking for tension, pain, doubt. When he found none, he nodded slightly.

He began to move, slow at first. He pulled back carefully, the drag of him almost completely leaving Max making his breath catch sharply. It felt so good—too good—the friction stretching and sliding in a way that made Max’s toes curl.

And then Charles pushed back in, deep… so deep. A broken sound tore from Max’s throat as his eyes rolled back, spine arching instinctively. It wasn’t rushed.

“Je t’aime tellement,” Charles whispered against his skin, his hand still caressing Max’s side. His lips brushed along his jaw, warm and reverent. “Je veux que tu sois à moi… s’il te plaît, sois à moi.”  (I love you, I want you to be mine... please, be mine.)

Max didn’t understand every word—but the tone wrapped around him like silk and storm at once. It made his chest feel soft and tight at the same time. His legs trembled with every slow, deep thrust.

“I’ll give you anything,” Charles murmured before capturing his lips in a messy, breathless kiss.

Their mouths moved together without rhythm, without grace—just need. Just heat. Charles was everywhere—over him, inside him, surrounding him—and the sensation made Max feel impossibly full.

“You are the prettiest thing I’ve ever met,” Charles breathed against his lips, sweat-slick skin sliding against skin. His pace never faltered, each movement steady and sure. “I love you, mon petit gaufre.” (My little waffle)

Max wanted to say it back, he tried. But when he opened his mouth, all that came out was a trembling moan.

Tears slipped from the corners of his eyes without warning—not from pain, but from the intensity of it. It was too much in the best way. Each thrust found that perfect place inside him, sending sparks through his lower stomach as the pressure built tighter and tighter.

“You are my everything,” Charles whispered, breath uneven now. “I’m completely yours.”

Max’s body shook as the sensation peaked. The pleasure snapped through him all at once, and he came with a sob, tears spilling freely down his flushed cheeks. Charles kissed along his jaw as it happened, his hand steady at Max’s waist, holding him through the tremble of his legs wrapped around his hips.

“Marry me,” Charles breathed against his skin, still moving slowly. “Be mine.”

Max’s mind felt fractured and bright, but through the sobs and tears he managed to whisper it—felt it settle deep in his chest as he said it. “I’m yours.”

The words barely left his lips before Charles groaned low in his throat, the sound raw and undone.

And then he felt it, the sudden tightening of the knot forming inside him and the way they were locked together.

For a moment, Max's world had gone white. Everything had seemed distant, muffled, like he'd been underwater. The only thing he could quite hear had been Charles’ voice, low and shaking, whispering words in French, in Italian, in English... soft declarations poured into his skin. Max couldn't quite process what he was saying.

His mind had been too light-headed, too overwhelmed by the feel of being knotted, for real. Not with a device meant to soothe a heat. His body had felt claimed in a way that had been both instinctual and emotional at once, and he'd floated around in a world between reality and dream.

When the pressure had eased minutes later, when Charles’ knot had loosened and their bodies had relaxed slightly, Max had been aware of something else, warmth spreading through his insides.

It had been strange, unlike what he'd thought it'd be. Not unpleasant, but... new. Intimate in a way that had flipped his stomach around.

Max blinked slowly, clearing his mind from its haze. The world around him had snapped back into focus. The sheets. The soft light filtering through the curtains.

Charles was kissing his cheek gently, over and over, like he couldn’t stop. “You are so pretty,” Charles murmured. “I love you.”

Max let out a breathy giggle, still a little dazed. He cupped Charles’ face, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones, and looked into his eyes. “I love you too, Schat.”

Charles’ eyes widened slightly, like something had just clicked in his mind. A dumb, boyish smile began forming on his lips.

“You’re really mine?” Charles asked, voice quieter now. Vulnerable.

Max nodded, still smiling. “Yes.” Then he lifted a finger, mock serious. “But no marriage until I finish my degree,” he added firmly. “And no marks. Not yet.”

Charles nodded immediately, eyes soft, completely earnest. “Okay. I promise.” He swallowed gently. “I told you. You set the pace and I’ll follow.”

Max’s breath hitched all over again. He still couldn’t get over the fact that there was an alpha out there who could say that, mean it, it wasn’t common.

But then again, Charles wasn’t common, either...

He hadn’t acted like other alphas Max had seen or heard of. From the time they met, and especially when he was in rut, Charles had been so gentle.

Max reached up and cupped Charles’ face again, and they kissed, long and wet and perfect. It tasted like rain and waffles, like the best thing in the world. When they finally came up for air, their foreheads touching, Charles ran a thumb over Max’s cheek.

“Let’s get cleaned up,” he suggested softly against his lips.

Max hummed thoughtfully, eyes half-lidded. “Hug me a bit more first,” he whispered, already sliding his arms around Charles’ neck.

“D’accord, ma petite gaufre,” Charles murmured with a smile. (Okay, my little waffle,)

He wrapped one arm around Max securely, the other braced carefully so he wouldn’t press too much weight onto him. Their bodies fit together naturally, warm and calm now.

Max sighed contentedly, fingers tangling into Charles’ curls. A soft purr slipped from his chest without effort.

*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ

Charles opened his eyes to the warmth, the soft body against his chest moving slightly against him. He made a low groaning sound – not threatening, just sleepy – to let his omega know he was not ready to face the day just yet.

Max settled back into immediately. Charles breathed a sigh and buried his face into the blonde hair that smelled like waffles and rain and the shampoo from the night before.

It felt like he was dreaming. The memory of Max saying “I’m yours” echoed in his head like a fragile thing. The look in Max’s eyes when he chose him.

After they had finally cleaned up from their encounter, Max had insisted on remaking the nest. Charles had helped him, providing him with blankets and pillows to arrange into the nest again while they waited for the burgers to arrive for dinner. Max had complained about him distracting him.

They had fallen asleep together again – until Max’s soft, lingering kisses in the middle of the night woke Charles up again. Charles had taken his time, careful and soft, making Max melt into his touch. Charles had learned the sounds Max made when he was feeling good. Charles had learned the way Max’s body would arch into him when he wanted more. The second time had been better. Deeper.

They had fallen asleep again together, this time too comfortable to bother getting up to take another shower.

Max’s warm naked body was moving against him now. Charles felt the familiar stirring of his erection when Max’s ass had rubbed against his dick.

“Charlie…” Max whispered sleepily.

Charles opened his eyes. Morning light filtered gently through the curtains, illuminating Max’s profile as he looked back over his shoulder. Blonde hair messy, blue eyes still heavy with sleep. Beautiful.

“Chéri,” Charles murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips. “Good morning.”

“Morning,” Max whispered, voice still husky. He turned his head slightly toward the window. “Can we have breakfast by the lake?” he asked, pointing lazily outside.

Charles hummed approvingly, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “Of course, mon amour. Anything special you want?”

Max shook his head slightly. “Not really.”

Charles could picture the pout even without seeing it. He smiled against his skin. “Okay,” he said softly, reaching for his phone. “I’ll order something.”

Still holding Max, he opened the screen and started choosing half of the breakfast menu, which consisted of pastries, fresh juices, and sandwiches, among many other items, much more than he needed. Charles was done ordering when a sigh escaped Max's mouth.

“You okay?” he whispered immediately, voice gentle.

Max hummed, nodding slightly against the pillow. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I was just thinking about how much I like this place.”

“The apartment?” Charles frowned faintly, already calculating layouts in Geneva, wondering how quickly he could replicate the balcony view, the light, the quiet.

Max’s giggle cut through his thoughts. “It’s a beautiful apartment,” Max said, “but I was talking about the city.”

Charles stilled, his mind went blank for a second. When he had taken on the Gaufre project, it had been nothing more than strategy — land, development, expansion, long-term profit. Another city, another investment, another increase in the family fortune. He had never once imagined it as a home.

“You like it?” Charles asked carefully.

Max nodded and reached for his hand, tangling their fingers together lazily beneath the sheets. “It’s beautiful,” Max murmured. “It’s peaceful. It has mountains and lakes… it reminds me of the Netherlands a little. But quieter.”

Charles felt something tighten in his chest at the comparison. “You’d like to live here?” Charles asked, voice quieter now.

Max shifted in his arms, turning fully to face him. He cupped Charles’ face with both hands, smiling — soft and unguarded. “If I didn’t have to go to class every day,” Max said honestly, “yeah… I think I would.”

Charles swallowed. He could see it suddenly. Not just scaffolding and contracts — but Max walking by the lake. Max in a house overlooking the mountains. Max building nests in rooms filled with light.

“I was thinking…” Charles began carefully, “after you finish college. When we get married. When I buy you the house I promised…”

Max blinked, startled. Then a small frown formed between his brows, and that familiar pout appeared. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “My first instinct is to say yes,” Max continued softly, “but we have to think about the future, your job, my job, taxes… reality.”

Charles chuckled softly at the seriousness in his voice, and Max’s pout deepened. Charles leaned forward and kissed him gently — not to silence him, but to soften the tension.

“If you want to live here,” Charles said against his lips, “or in the Netherlands, or in China, or anywhere else… I’ll make it work.” Max’s eyes searched his. “I’ll pay both our taxes,” Charles added with a teasing smile. “I’ll change my job if I have to.”

Max narrowed his eyes. “That’s not how life works.”

Charles laughed softly, completely unbothered. “That’s how my life works, chéri.” He leaned in and kissed Max’s nose gently. “I told you — you set the pace. I’ll follow. If you decide you want to move to the Bahamas tomorrow, I’ll pack a bag and meet you at the airport.”

Max huffed, rolling his eyes, but the smile tugging at his lips betrayed him. “You’re crazy.”

Charles grinned wider and pulled him closer, their legs tangling beneath the blankets. He brushed a stray strand of blonde hair off Max’s forehead with careful fingers. “I love you,” he said quietly. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”

Max blinked at him, visibly softening. “I love you too,” he whispered, cheeks turning pink, voice almost shy.

The weakness in those words had an effect on Charles’ chest. He touched Max’s face and kissed him.

Even as Charles kissed him, his mind was already at work, planning. There was a beautiful house near the edge of Gaufre, just at the point where the city met the trees. It wouldn’t be difficult to buy and expand that sector a little. Get the property, reinforce the area, add the kind of garden Max would like. Lots of light-filled rooms, a good office for Max. Plenty of bedrooms for the pups.

And if Max decided later on that he didn’t want to live there, then it would simply be their retreat. A place for a weekend, a vacation, a place to get away to. It was not an excess, it was simply planning.

The kiss ended gently, taking him out of his thoughts.

“Schat?” Max whispered against his lips.

“Yes, mon petit Gaufre?” Charles murmured.

“I think we should get ready for breakfast,” Max said, pouting slightly.

Charles nodded, and before he could begin to sit up, Max’s hand on his stopped him, Charles looked back down at him.

Max’s cheeks had deepened in color, and that shyness was seeping back in, and his eyes darted away before refocusing on Charles’ face. And then, Max’s hand moved down, with a curious and warm intent, and Charles took a sharp inhalation.

All he could think of in that moment was just how lucky he was, to have this beautiful, soft, stubborn omega.

Every promise he made, every vow he took, feel utterly inadequate and small compared to the way he felt for Max.

And when Max looked up at him, shy and determined, Charles knew one thing with absolute certainty, wherever they lived, whatever their lives became, he would spend the rest of it trying to make the omega he loved the happiest person in the world…

Chapter Text

After the spring break, they went back to Genève. Max went back to attending his classes. Charles went back to driving him to his classes every morning and picking him up in the afternoons. He worked either at their place or went to Gaufre whenever the situation required it. Regardless of the distance, Charles was always back in time to sleep next to Max.

Spring came and went in the blink of an eye. Everything was perfect and looked great from the outside: steady, stable, and almost idyllic. However, Max had the nagging sensation that something was not entirely right. Not anything specific. Just a quiet undercurrent beneath the surface of their days, a tension lurking beneath the softness.

At times, the sensation would appear during the quiet evenings spent at home with Charles working late at his laptop or taking a call and returning with this strange expression.

The sensation was soothed during their first summer vacation. Charles took him to Monaco and Max could feel the change the moment they left the house.

A Lamborghini Urus was waiting for them, sleek, dark, imposing, and it drove them directly to the airport, where a private jet was waiting for them.

Max, standing there, his single carry-on bag, suddenly felt acutely aware of himself, of the smallness of his luggage, of the unfamiliarity of this world. But Charles was there, soft, attentive, his hand resting warmly against the small of Max’s back, guiding him, speaking softly in French when Max fell silent.

Monaco was a stunningly beautiful place, the beaches stretching out endlessly, the Mediterranean air warm, the food rich, everything shimmering, the yachts, the buildings, the marble floors.

It was excessive, though, when Max began to realize how deeply rooted Charles and his family were there. Hotels, restaurants, homes, government offices – everything seemed to bear the stamp of their presence.

It was making his chest ache, in a way he couldn’t quite explain. But Charles’ parents weren’t anything like the imposing figure he had built up in his mind.

Hervé welcomed him warmly, taking both of Max’s hands in his own with surprising gentleness. “If he doesn’t treat you well, you let me know,” Hervé had said firmly, shooting Charles a pointed side glance that made Max laugh nervously.

Pascale was the same, kind, gentle, affectionate, making Max feel like he was meant to be there, like it was only natural that he was standing there beside Charles.

Arthur was friendly and courteous, though obviously young, distracted and smitten with his omega and girlfriend, Jade.

Every single thing was beautiful, perfect, and welcoming. They spent a week in Monaco that felt like it was outside of time altogether. A week that was a whirlwind of sun and sea, of mornings spent on yachts cutting through the water of the Mediterranean, of afternoons spent swimming in crystal-clear water, of evenings spent dressed in linen and dining in front of the sea.

Charles took him to shops where the sales staff knew him by name, he made appointments at the spa, pressed flowers into Max’s hands each morning: peonies one day, white roses the next, and insisted on showing him everything the city had to offer, like he was revealing a treasure.

Max had never felt so spoiled in his life. He felt like he was the only person in the world, like he was adored. Charles looked at him like he had always been meant to be there. For a little while, Max let himself believe it.

Their next destination was the Netherlands. The minute Charles proposed the idea, Max felt a twisting sensation in his stomach. It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go home; he did. He wanted to eat his mom’s food, to walk the familiar streets of his hometown. But he wasn’t really looking forward to seeing his father.

His mom and Victoria immediately fell under the spell of Charles. They treated him like he was one of their own, fussing around him and laughing slightly of his attempts to speak Dutch. Charles, effortlessly polite, arrived with carefully chosen gifts and Max couldn’t help but fall in love all over again.

Everything seemed easy at first. They ate waffles from the little stand Max had loved since he was a child. Max drove Charles around town, pointing out where he grew up, where he used to ride his bike, the school he attended. They walked along the beach, wind tangling Max’s hair while Charles listened to his stories like they were precious.

For Max, the change was immediate when they reached his father’s house. Max could see the way his father stood up a little straighter than normal, his chest puffed out, his shoulders squared. It wasn’t the typical protective posture he adopted around alphas. It felt… different.

Max didn’t understand what was going on. His father had always been wary of alphas who showed interest in his children; he was critical, distant, hard to impress. But there was something sharp in his eyes when he looked at Charles.

As if measuring him and comparing. Max didn’t know if it was the money—the undeniable wealth that Charles exuded so naturally. The Bugatti Chiron that was parked outside his father’s driveway was impossible to ignore. It shone under the grey Dutch sky like something from another world, something that didn’t belong in this quiet neighborhood.

Max had never been poor. He had never been anything but well-provided for, lavishly so, really. He had never gone to bed hungry or worried about the roof over his head or the clothes on his body. But the kind of money that Charles had... that was on a different level altogether. It was not the kind of money that provided comfort, but the kind of money that provided power, legacy, and influence.

He saw the way his father clenched his jaw when Charles handed him the bottle of expensive rare wine, the way he talked with such assurance and authority about business, the way he talked about his properties abroad.

His father had always been a hard man, a demanding man, but Max had also seen the way he provided, the way he took care of his family, no matter if his marriage to Max’s mom didn’t worked. But Max had always felt that his father had that quiet, unspoken desire for an alpha son — someone strong, assertive, dominant… but even then his father had never been cruel to him or to his sister.

When he asked his mother about his father behavior to Charles, she only sighed softly and brushed it aside. “Your father is an old man who doesn’t know how to behave,” she murmured, as if that explained everything.

They stayed four days, and by the end of it all, Max felt the urge to leave. The air was heavy in his lungs. Charles did not protest he just gathered their things and started driving.

And just like that, the Netherlands gave way to the Amalfi Coast. The rest of the summer was a palette of colors that felt unreal. Villages tumbling into the sea, houses stacked like pastel secrets against hillsides. Lemon trees filled the air with their scent, warm and piercing.

They drank limoncello in Positano as sunset melted into the sea, sailed towards Capri with the wind in their hair, spent days floating in the sea’s turquoise waters that seemed to soak up all their tension... at least for a while.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

Months went by like a single breath of time, and through all of it, Charles was everything Max could have ever hoped to have found in a partner.

He was attentive, but in ways that felt almost surreal, like he was giving Max his undivided attention, like the smallest thing Max would say was of the utmost importance to him. He remembered things, like dates, Max’s preferences, the way Max liked his sandwiches cut. The exact kind of pastry Max reached for on stressful mornings.

He took Max to Finland for Christmas, where the snow fell thick and quiet, and insisted on putting Max’s hand into his coat pocket to keep it warm. They went to Japan during cherry blossom season, where they walked through streets lined with pink blossoms, and Charles took pictures of Max like he was something special.

Every morning, Max would wake up to breakfast that appeared like magic, without him ever having to ask. Every Valentine’s Day, Max would wake up to flowers that were never the same twice, and dinners that felt like they were only meant to be shared with him.

He was there through the highs and lows, through the heat and the ruts, he was the one Max needed. When Max studied all through the night, Charles stayed up with him. When Max felt like giving up on himself, Charles talked him up with such conviction that it felt impossible.

By June 2019, with twenty one —almost twenty two— years Max was graduating two years early. He was getting his degree. The event was held on a grand stage and auditorium filled with people, and when his name was announced and followed by the words “with honors,” Max felt something warm envelop his chest.

Of course, Charles would not let this occasion go by without making some sort of statement. He arranged for a small celebration with their closest friends and families.

There were balloons and a cake, and Max stood there by a backdrop designed for his graduation pictures. He was there dressed in his suit and holding his awards for being the top of his class and for graduating early, feeling slightly embarrassed by all the fuss but loving every minute of it, nonetheless.

And just a few days before this event, Max received a call that did not feel real even until this very moment. It was from Ubisoft, and they wanted Max to work for them as a Quality Tester for their video games. A full-time job that would start this September.

Max stared at his phone for a while after receiving the call, his mind trying to process the entire thing. He was going to test video games. Professionally. He was going to get paid for something he loved to do. It was all too surreal and too impossible for Max to comprehend and process. It was all too good to be true that Max was afraid to wake up from this dream of his.

A few days after the graduation celebration, Charles took him on a trip he had planned out for Latin America.

They went to Mexico, where the air was warm and alive with color. They had street tacos that were so spicy that Max's eyes were watering, while Charles was laughing and providing him with water. They also went to the beach, which was impossibly blue, and stood in awe before the ancient pyramids, the history thick with the heat.

Next, they went to Peru, where Charles tasted the ceviche, enjoying the freshness of it, while Max scrunched up his face at the look of the fish and ordered the Lomo Saltado instead. They also went up Machu Picchu, gasping for breath at the altitude and the wonder of it all. And also went sandboarding, stumbling, laughing, and falling on the sand.

Then came Brazil, where they stood beneath the arms of Christ the Redeemer, looking out over the city of Rio, which seemed to go on forever. They also stood before the thundering Iguazu Falls, the roar of the falls seeming to be inside them. Max also acquired a secret passion for the Pão de Queijo and ordered it wherever they went.

Finally, there was Argentina, where they had rich, perfectly grilled meats that just melted in Max's mouth. They also wandered the streets of Buenos Aires, before going further south to Tierra del Fuego, where the world seemed raw and untouched, the wind whipping around them as if reminding them how big it all was.

Everything had seemed so beautiful, so perfect, and so selfishly, so exclusively, theirs. But nothing lasts forever…

Ultimately, they returned to Genève. The apartment was now hollow and barren, with all of their possessions already packed and shipped ahead to the new life that awaited them in Gaufre.

Max expected them to go directly to their new apartment, but instead, Charles drove towards the city center.

“Just something quick to eat for the road,” he had said casually, pulling up in front of Luma Café and Max didn’t question it.

Charles stepped out first and walked around the car, opening Max’s door like he always did. The gesture was familiar, soft. They walked together to the door, Max stepped inside the café and stopped.

The entire floor was covered in white rose petals. Tulips were arranged everywhere — along the windows, wrapped around the pillars, framing the walls in delicate ivory and blush. The place smelled faintly sweet, floral, and clean.

In the very center stood a small table. Two cookies-and-cream frappés rested on it. Max swallowed.

A memory flashed through him — the first time they had met. The awkwardness, the tension, and the way he had almost rejected the red-jacketed alpha who had looked too intense, too much.

He turned slowly to look at Charles and that’s when he saw him. Kneeling, right there on the petal-covered floor.

His red jacket stood out vividly against the white surroundings, making him look almost unreal — like a painting. In his hands, a velvet navy-blue box lay open. He looked beautiful and a little dumb. Just like the first time. Max’s breath caught in his throat.

“Max Emilian Verstappen,” Charles began, his voice steady despite the way his fingers tightened slightly around the box, “you are the love of my life.”

Max’s vision blurred almost instantly. His hands flew to his mouth, trying — failing — to hold back the tears already spilling over.

“Since the moment I saw you,” Charles continued, eyes never leaving his, “I knew you were the person I wanted to spend the rest of my life with.” The café was silent except for the soft tremor in Charles’ voice. “I will forever be yours. And I hope you can be mine too.”

The tears fell freely now. Max thought of how close he had come to not showing up to that first date. How he had almost left this crazy, intense alpha sitting alone at that restaurant. How he had nearly missed this — this overwhelming, consuming, perfect kind of love.

“Will you make me the honor of becoming my beautiful husband, mon petit Gaufre?”

Max let out a breath that sounded half like a sob, half like a laugh at the nickname. He nodded, unable to trust his voice.

Then he bent down and threw his arms around Charles’ neck, kissing him deeply — clumsy, tear-wet, desperate. Just like that first kiss in his dorm door. Just as overwhelming and just as certain.

When they finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Charles slid the ring onto Max’s finger.

It was breathtaking. A large diamond that caught the light in a way that made it shimmer almost violently against the soft white petals.

Max barely looked at it, he kissed Charles again instead. Because this beautiful, ridiculous, devoted alpha was going to be his forever.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

On that night, Charles drove them towards Gaufre. Max was expecting him to turn towards the apartment complex, the one with the view of the beautiful lake, were they had stayed many times before. However, Charles did not slow down; he just continued driving.

Max glanced at him. “Where are we going?” he asked softly.

Charles merely smiled and reached for Max's hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles before returning his eyes to the road.

The lights of the city began to thin out. Max realize they drove further than he'd ever been in Gaufre, towards the edge of the city where the roads grew darker and less populated, lined with old trees.

And then Max saw the wall. It was tall, seemingly endless and intimidating. It ran along the road, made of pale stone and iron bars here and there, hiding whatever was behind it from curious gazes. It was protective, private, almost territorial.

The car slowed as they got closer to enormous wrought-iron gates, richly decorated, black metal curling into intricate patterns, edged with gold details that caught the headlights.

The gates stood high and proud, and they enclosed a long, straight driveway that disappeared into carefully manicured darkness. They swung open smoothly, as if they were expected, and then Max saw the villa.

It stood at the end of the driveway, lit softly against the night, beautiful, symmetrical, and impossible. A Neoclassical Palladian mansion, that look like it belonged on the set of a film.

The facade was beautifully balanced. A wide, impressive front door, flanked by balustrades, tall windows reflecting the moonlight, and at the top, four massive classical columns supporting a triangular pediment. Max blinked.

For a split second, his mind leapt forward, irrational, breathless, wondering if this was the place Charles saw in his mind, the place of his dreams, for their wedding. The kind of world that Charles saw when he talked of forever.

Charles parked in front of the entrance, and Max didn’t move. He just sat there, hands resting in his lap, heart pounding faster than it should.

Charles, stepped out quickly and rounded the car to open Max’s door. Max let him help him out, feet touching the driveway as he slowly turned toward Charles with a questioning look. He didn’t understand what they were doing here, especially this late at night.

Charles ignored the confusion on his face. He only smiled — soft, sweet, slightly stupid in the way Max had learned meant he was excited and nervous all at once.

He took Max’s hand and guided him toward the entrance. Before they could even reach the door, it opened from the inside.

A man in his early fifties stood there in a perfectly tailored suit. His posture was straight, his expression professional — polite, discreet, as if this were an entirely normal arrival.

Max barely registered him because he interior stole his breath. A double-height foyer opened before them, luminous even at night, marble floors gleamed beneath soft golden light, detailed ironwork traced the balcony above, carved moldings framed the ceiling, accented with subtle gold leaf that caught the glow of chandeliers.

At the center stood a round pedestal table placed atop a circular inlaid floor medallion, the marble swirling in delicate patterns beneath it. A large arrangement of tulips and hydrangeas spilled outward in pale creams and soft blues, their scent faint but present.

To the side, a sweeping curved staircase rose gracefully upward, framed by tall fluted columns and paneled walls in warm neutral tones that emphasized height and symmetry. Everything felt deliberate.

Max turned slowly toward Charles who was watching him, smiling — that soft, excited, slightly nervous smile that made him look younger somehow. Like the red-jacketed alpha from the café. Like the guy who had once stared at him too intensely across a small table.

“Do you like it?” Charles asked softly. His voice was careful.

Max blinked, still trying to take in the height of the ceilings, the marble beneath his shoes, the echo of space around them. “Of course,” he breathed. “It’s… beautiful. It’s like something out of a dream.”

Charles grinned — relief flashing across his face — and leaned down to press a gentle kiss to Max’s cheek.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” Charles began, and now Max could hear it clearly — the nervousness tucked beneath his composure. “But… welcome home, mon petit Gaufre.”

Max’s breath hitched. Home? The word hit harder than the mansion ever could. He felt frozen in place, as if his body hadn’t caught up with what his ears had just heard. This couldn’t be real. People didn’t live like this. Places like this were for movies, royalty and people who were untouchable. Not for him.

“Wha— I— you—” Max tried, but the words tangled uselessly in his throat.

Charles stepped closer immediately, cupping his face with both hands. “If you’ve changed your mind,” he said quickly, the words tumbling out now, “we can move. We have my apartment in Monaco. We can go back to Genève. I’m preparing a house in the Netherlands too, but we can rent somewhere small in the meantime if that feels better. Or we can—”

Max didn’t let him finish. Because Charles was being too much, too generous, too ready to reshape his entire world at the smallest sign of discomfort, too overwhelming in the way he loved.

So, Max kissed him, hard and almost desperate. Because what else do you do when the love of your life hands you a palace on a golden plate and then tells you he’ll throw it all away if it makes you uneasy?

When the kiss finally broke, Max kept his forehead pressed against Charles’. “This is unreal,” he whispered against his lips.

Charles chuckled softly and kissed the tip of his nose. “I put some of our pictures around the house,” he admitted, almost shyly. “Not too many. I didn’t want to do too much without you. I thought maybe… we could make this place ours together.” His thumb brushed over Max’s cheek gently. “We can put nests in every room if you want, leave our shoes in the middle of the kitchen, leave Red Bull cans on the piano and fill this with noise and chaos.” His voice softened even more. “Just… make it a home. Together.”

Tears slipped down Max’s face before he even realized he was crying. It felt like a fairy tale — the kind he used to watch as a child and dismiss as fantasy. A prince who would cross kingdoms for love, a castle, and a promise of forever. And yet Charles stood here in front of him — real, warm, nervous — looking at Max like he was the miracle.

“I love you,” Max whispered, the words fragile but certain.

“You are my life,” Charles replied immediately, brushing away the tears from Max’s cheeks with his thumbs. His own eyes glistened. “I will forever be yours,” he whispered for the second time that day, pressing a soft kiss to Max’s nose. “Until death do us part.”

And then he kissed him, slow, deep, and tender in a way that felt almost impossible. So full of love it felt like Max might break under the weight of it.

* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ꕤ ˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ꕤ ˚･ﾟ

Max sat in his office, the late afternoon sun filtering through the high windows as another day at the office dragged on.

Work had been non-stop lately. Having been with the company for only a year and a half, he had just been promoted to the position of department manager. It had come too easily, too fast, as if his whole life had been sped up without his permission. Everything had been too good, too easy, too perfect.

He leaned back into the tufted beige leather armchair in his home office, letting out a slow breath. The room itself was a quiet statement of success with one entire wall was dominated by a massive arched window framed in black metal, dressed in long, dark floor-to-ceiling curtains that hung like velvet shadows. Beyond the glass stretched their perfectly maintained backyard — trimmed hedges, pale stone paths, and the faint shimmer of the fountain in the distance.

Behind him, dark wood built-in bookshelves lined the walls, extending upward into an arched alcove filled with neatly arranged books, awards, and framed photographs. At the center of the room, placed atop a large patterned rug, sat his substantial dark wood executive desk. Three monitors glowed softly before him. Consoles — every generation, every model he had ever loved — were arranged neatly along the sides, organized with almost obsessive care.

It was everything he had dreamed of as a teenager. Sometimes it scared him how perfect everything was.

He had the job he once fantasized about — testing video games, managing teams, earning a salary large enough that he didn’t have to check price tags anymore. He lived in a house most people only saw in magazines. And he had been married for one year to the most attentive, devoted, ridiculously handsome man he had ever known.

His eyes wandered to his left hand, which rested on the desk. The engagement ring sparkled just as it had the first day, the large diamond sitting beside his wedding band.

Memories came flooding back, the day they arrived at this house. Max had not skipped the tour. The feelings had been too overwhelming, too loud. Max had turned to Charles and asked for the bedroom.

Charles had thought Max was tired and overstimulated from the day. He had smiled softly and smoothed Max's hair before leading him upstairs with gentle hands.

But Max hadn’t wanted sleep. The moment the bedroom door closed behind them, something inside him had snapped. He remembered the surprise in Charles’ eyes when Max pushed him gently back onto the mattress. The way the composure melted from his face. The way he had laughed breathlessly when Max climbed on top of him, kissing him with urgency, with need, with something that felt like claiming.

Not because of the house and not because of the wealth. But because in that moment, Max had understood he was overwhelmed by how loved he was. And he had wanted to show Charles — without words — that he chose him. Not the walls, not the marble, not the grandeur. Him.

That night they had made love — slowly, softly — just before they mated. The memory surfaced so vividly that Max’s fingers moved to his neck without thinking, brushing over the faint raised skin of his mating mark.

He exhaled softly, contentment settling deep in his chest. His gaze drifted to the framed wedding photograph on his desk. It was positioned carefully between his monitors, impossible to ignore.

In the picture, he wore his white suit — delicate floral embroidery tracing the fabric like something out of a painting. A sheer lace-trimmed veil had fallen gently over his shoulders, softening the sharp lines of the suit. He was holding his bouquet, eyes bright, cheeks flushed with happiness. And beside him stood Charles in his black suit and perfect posture. Smiling at the camera with that mixture of pride that made Max’s heart ache even now.

A knock on the door pulled him from the memory. Max straightened slightly in his chair, shaking off the haze of nostalgia and forcing himself back into the present.

“Come in,” he called out.

The door opened, and Charles stepped inside with an easy smile — a cookies-and-cream milkshake in one hand and a coffee cup in the other.

“Hi, mon petit Gaufre,” Charles said warmly as he approached. He leaned down to kiss Max’s cheek. “How was work?” Max inhaled the familiar scent of him — clean, warm, comforting. “Did you finish for today?” Charles asked, handing him the milkshake.

Max hummed contentedly, nodding as he stood from his chair and stretched slightly before leaning in to kiss Charles’ cheek in return. “Yes. I finished.”

Charles grinned, brushing a stray strand of hair off Max’s forehead with gentle fingers. “I’m glad,” he murmured, sliding a hand around Max’s waist and pulling him closer. “Let’s go celebrate your promotion.” He spoke the words against Max’s cheek, warm breath sending a shiver down his spine.

Max giggled softly at the sensation. “Nico is going to kill you if we arrive late.”

Charles hummed thoughtfully. “I’ll die happily,” he replied, his hand drifting lower with familiar boldness.

Max laughed. “You’re so dumb, Schat,” he said, tilting Charles’ face up so he could look at him properly.

And there it was, Charles’ eyes, which were normally a clear, bright green, had started to darken, his expression taking that particular look that Max knew too well. Desire, possession, and love.

He looked devastatingly handsome. And in that moment, Max felt like he was the luckiest person alive, to have this house, this life, and this man. This love.

But beneath it all, beneath the warmth, comfort, and familiarity, the thoughts that had been lurking at the back of his mind had crept back in. They had talked about it before, never setting a date, never making a plan, just a simple “later.”

But now, however, Max had been unable to stop thinking about it…

“You okay?” Charles asked softly, his brows drawing together as he studied Max’s face. “Are you tired? Do you want to lie down in the nest for a bit before dinner?”

Max blinked, because Charles, the love of his life, his husband, was offering him rest instead of expectation.

It should have been normal, it was normal, and yet Max knew it wasn’t for everyone… Max had seen it, heard it, the alphas out there, the ones who treated marriage like ownership, who treated omegas as something to use instead of to love.

But Charles, he had never broken a promise, had never ignored his comfort, had never forced him, even after all the years they had been together. He loved him loudly, yes, possessively at times, but always with respect, always with care.

Max swallowed, his emotions constricting his throat. Max raised his hands, cupped Charles’ face, his thumb brushing gently over his cheekbone. Max leaned in, his lips pressing softly to his cheek.

“I love you,” he whispered.

Charles smiled — that stupid, beautiful smile that made him look younger, softer. “I love you more, my beautiful husband,” he murmured back.

Max shook his head faintly. He trusted Charles. Trusted his honesty, his kindness. So, he said it. “Can we have a pup?” The words came out quiet. Vulnerable.

Charles froze. His eyes widened, breath catching as if the air had suddenly thickened. “Now? … Like… I—” he stumbled, blinking rapidly.

Max couldn’t help but giggle softly, warmth creeping up his cheeks as he nodded. “If you’re ready,” he said gently, “I am too.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “We’re almost twenty four, both established in our jobs. We have our house. And… I want to be a mom.”

Charles looked stunned — overwhelmed in the best way. Then something shifted in his expression, something bright and determined.

“Yes. Of course,” he said quickly, almost breathlessly. “I’ll schedule an appointment. I’ll talk to Carlos about stopping the contraceptives. We’ll find a gynecologist,” and an obstetrician for you— make sure everything is safe. We’ll do it properly.”

Max felt that deep ache in his chest — that painful, overwhelming awareness of how deeply he was loved.

He nodded, sniffing softly as tears threatened to spill. “Thank you, Schatje,” he whispered.

He leaned in and kissed him deeply, holding onto him — grounding himself in the warmth of his husband’s body. When they pulled apart, Max rested his forehead against Charles’.

“And… I want to make love now,” he added softly, a mischievous glint returning to his eyes. “Even if we risk getting killed by Nico.”

Charles laughed, the tension breaking instantly. His hands slid down to squeeze Max’s ass, pulling him impossibly closer. “Of course,” he said winking, his entire face scrunching in a way that reminded Max of the very first day they met. “We need to practice for the pup.”

Max couldn’t resist and kissed him again.

*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ*⩩𓄼𓄼⩩*･ﾟ

They stood there in the elevator descending from the hospital, and Charles felt like the happiest man alive. Max, his omega, was pregnant with their pup.

It was just a couple of months ago that they had been standing there in Max's office, talking about this very thing cautiously, almost shyly, as if saying the words too loudly would scare it away. And yet here they were, and it wasn't a dream, wasn't a plan for some future date. It was real.

The elevator moved quietly down to the parking garage. Charles couldn't help himself and leaned forward to place a soft kiss on Max's small, barely existent one-month baby bump over the fabric of his white overalls.

Max chuckled, shaking his head affectionately. “You’re ridiculous,” he murmured.

In his hands, he had a small bouquet, consisting of lilies, daisies, and some greenery, along with some baby’s breath, which was woven delicately between the flowers. Charles had purchased the flowers on his way to the hospital before the appointment.

Charles had known. He hadn’t needed the test, his enigma instinct, that primal sense, had known that something had changed. The sweeter scent of Max. The tired look that had become a part of him. The faint glow that seemed to be emanating from him.

“I can’t believe we’re going to have a baby, Schat,” Max said softly.

The smile in his voice made Charles’ heart stutter in his chest. He felt absurdly, overwhelmingly lucky. He straightened and kissed Max’s cheek, lingering there.

“I love you so much,” Charles whispered against his skin. “You and this baby are the most precious things in my life.”

Max blinked, and for a second his smile trembled. His eyes — impossibly blue — turned glossy, tears pooling as he tried to hold them back. He had already cried enough in the doctor’s office when they saw the confirmation. Maybe he didn’t want to cry all over again.

“I love you too,” Max whispered, barely audible.

The elevator doors opened to the parking garage. Charles stepped out first and offered his hand, guiding Max carefully with a palm resting at the small of his back as they walked toward their car. The world suddenly felt more fragile.

“We need to celebrate,” Charles declared as he opened the passenger door for him.

Max giggled softly. “Please, let’s not make a huge fuss,” he said, settling into the seat and adjusting the bouquet carefully on his lap. “Just dinner with our family and friends.”

Charles grinned — indulgent, already planning more than that but willing to follow Max’s lead.

“Okay, mon petit Gaufre,” he said, leaning to kiss Max’s cheek. “Anything you want, I’ll make sure you have it. You are my everything.”

He closed the door, went to the driver’s side, and got in, turning to look at his husband properly. Max looked radiant in his beige jacket, his white striped sweater peeking out from under his white overalls, his cheeks still flushed from emotion.

“You are my everything too, Schat,” Max whispered.

He leaned across the console, and Charles met him halfway, kissing him slowly — gently — like they had all the time in the world.

For the first time, the future didn’t feel distant. It felt close enough to touch.