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Room 407
The door to Room 407 creaked open at exactly 9:02 a.m., as Max Verstappen set down the last of his two duffel bags. He had picked this dorm room on purpose: corner unit, end of the hallway, one window that barely let in any sun. Quiet. Private. Ideal.Max liked quiet. It wasn’t about avoiding people. He just didn’t like the effort that came with them. The noise. The questions. The expectations.
Jimmy and Sassy—his cats—slunk out of their carriers and immediately found the warmest spots in the room: Jimmy coiled up in the sunbeam near the closet, while Sassy jumped onto the dresser like she already owned the place.Max set his laptop on the desk, tugged the hood of his sweatshirt lower, and sat on the edge of the bed. He could do this. One year. One room. Alone.
Or so he thought.
Twenty minutes later, the door burst open again.
Loud steps. A laugh. A rolling suitcase and a duffel bag that collided loudly with the edge of the bed. Max flinched.
“Oh, quel bordel,” a voice muttered—rich with a French-Monégasque accent and absolutely no concept of volume. “This is Room 407?”
Max didn’t look up, but he heard him. Heard the dog first—small, energetic, claws clicking against the linoleum floor—and then the boy who followed behind.Tall, curls tousled from wind or just existing, in a soft white hoodie that hung loosely off one shoulder. He glanced at the door, then back at Max, smile wide but confused.
“Oh,” he said. “Someone made a mistake.”
Max frowned. “What?”
“I asked for a single,” the stranger said casually, as if he were commenting on the weather. “Guess they doubled me up by accident. Classic.” He tossed his bag onto the floor and gave Jimmy, who had now padded toward him, a bright grin. “Bonjour, chat.”
Max watched warily as the boy crouched, hand hovering in the air. “Can I…?”
Max gave a barely-there nod.
The boy scooped Jimmy into his arms, cradling him like he’d done it a hundred times. Jimmy, to Max’s surprise, purred instantly.
“What’s his name?” the boy asked, still grinning.
“Jimmy.”
“Perfect,” the boy whispered like it was sacred knowledge. “And the other one?”
“Sassy.”
“Oh, fitting,” he chuckled. “I’m Charles, by the way.” He looked up, hand still gently scratching behind Jimmy’s ears. “Leclerc. Or just Charles. Whatever works.”
“Max.”
The silence that followed wasn't awkward. Just… cautious.
Charles gently set Jimmy down and motioned behind him. “That’s Leo. He’s… not exactly registered for the dorm yet. So. If you’re allergic or a stickler for rules…”
Max followed Charles’s gaze to the golden retriever peeking nervously around the bed frame, tongue out, tail wagging.
“I’m not,” Max said simply.
Charles smiled again. It was annoyingly warm.
“Great,” he said. “Then I guess we’re roommates.”
—--------------------------------------
Three days in, and Max had already learned three things:
Charles whistled while brushing his teeth.
Leo somehow managed to sleep on Max’s bed every afternoon without being invited.
Charles did laundry like he was preparing for a Pinterest photoshoot.
Max had gone to class that morning in a rush, hoodie half-zipped and earbuds in. When he came back, the dorm smelled faintly like laundry detergent and cinnamon. Charles was sitting on the floor, cross-legged in front of the beds, Leo dozing beside him.
And there were socks on Max’s bed.
His socks.
Folded. Sorted. Color-coded.
Max blinked, confused. “What is this?”
Charles looked up without guilt. “Laundry,” he said simply. “You left yours in the washer. It was done. I was doing mine anyway, so…”
“You didn’t have to—”
“I didn’t mind,” Charles interrupted. “Your cats watched me like I was performing surgery. Jimmy helped.”
Max crossed the room slowly, picking up a striped pair of socks. He turned them over in his hand.
“You folded them.”
Charles smirked. “You’re welcome.”
Max hesitated. “I don’t like people touching my stuff.”
“Oh.”
“I mean…” Max shifted awkwardly. “Thanks, though.”
Charles’s smile softened. “I figured.”
“Figured what?”
“That you don’t like people touching your things. You get twitchy when I move your chargers.”
Max gave him a long look. “I don’t get twitchy.”
“You do,” Charles said with a grin, not unkind. “It’s okay. I get it. You like structure. I like chaos. We’re yin and yang.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“And you’re secretly a sweetheart,” Charles replied.
Max turned to stuff the socks into a drawer, muttering under his breath. “I’m not.”
“You are,” Charles said cheerfully. “You gave Jimmy a birthday party last night.”
“That was a joke.”
“There was a candle involved.”
Max’s ears turned red.
Leo barked softly in his sleep, and both boys looked at him.
“You’re not what I expected,” Max said quietly, almost without meaning to.
Charles raised a brow. “Expected what?”
“Roommate.”
“Hmm,” Charles said, stretching out on the floor like a cat. “You either, Maxy.”
Max made a face at the nickname.
But he didn’t tell him to stop.
—----------------------------------------------------------------------
They lasted almost a full week without disaster.
It happened on a Wednesday.
Charles had class at 8:30. Max didn’t. He was curled up on his bed, half-asleep, when chaos erupted from the corner of the room.
A hiss. A bark. Something fell. A loud bang. Then Charles’s voice, muffled and panicked.
“Leo! No—wait! Jimmy, be nice!”
Max sat up, hair a mess, Sassy already sprinting past him like a blur of rage.
When he peeked over the edge of the bed, he saw Charles on the floor holding Leo by the collar, trying to separate him from Jimmy, who looked more offended than harmed.
“I swear,” Charles gasped, “they were fine this morning.”
Sassy hissed from the windowsill like she’d been betrayed.
“Put Leo on the bed here,” Max said calmly.
“What?”
“Do it.”
Charles obeyed. Leo jumped up, wagging like he thought this was a game and ended up settling in max's lap. Jimmy sat by the desk and licked his paw, pretending none of it happened.
Max looked over. “You okay?”
Charles was sprawled on the floor, hair falling in his eyes, panting slightly. “My ego is bruised.”
Max snorted. “Your dog lost to a cat.”
“Jimmy has claws like daggers,” Charles whined. “I’m filing a formal complaint.”
Max leaned back onto his bed. “Good luck.”
There was a pause, and then Charles crawled over to sit on the rug beneath Max’s bed, back against the frame.
“You ever had roommates before?” he asked.
Max shook his head.
“Me neither,” Charles said softly. “But this is kinda nice. You’re… calm.”
Max looked at him.
“You’re not.”
“I know,” Charles said, smiling. “That’s why I think it works.”
For once, Max didn’t argue.
Jimmy walked over and curled up beside Charles.
That felt like approval enough.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It started with a cough.
Charles waved it off at first. “Just dry air,” he insisted, voice slightly hoarse. “Maybe dust.”
By the next morning, his cheeks were flushed, nose red, and he was bundled up in three layers of clothing under a fleece blanket, shivering like a leaf.
Max found him hunched over a mug of tea at their shared desk, Leo sleeping by his feet.
“You’re sick.”
“No, I’m dramatic,” Charles said, trying to grin. It came out lopsided. “Big difference.”
Max raised an eyebrow, reached over, and placed the back of his hand gently on Charles’s forehead.
The contact was brief. Just a brush of skin. But Charles’s eyes widened.
“Jesus, Max—”
“You’re burning.”
“Well, someone’s warm hand is the thermometer of the gods apparently,” Charles muttered, then coughed so hard he had to lean on the desk for balance.
Max didn’t say anything else. He just turned, left the room, and came back five minutes later with medicine, a water bottle, and one of his own hoodies.
Charles blinked at the last item.
“You’re giving me this?” He held it up like it was holy. “This is the one you always wear.”
“I have three, beside all your warm clothes are in laundry”
Which Charles knew wasn’t true but he went along.
“You wear this one the most.”
“It’s clean.”
“That’s not—”
Max handed him the hoodie and opened the water bottle while passing the medication “Take this.”
Charles obeyed, dramatically, like he was being spoon-fed in a play. “You’re being nice.”
“I always am.”
“No. You’re usually… gruff.”
“I’m quiet. That’s different.”
Charles smiled weakly. “Thanks, Maxy.”
“Don’t call me that.”
“You like it.”
Max didn’t answer.
Later that night, Max found himself sitting on his desk, laptop open, when he realized the room had gone too quiet. He looked around.
Charles had fallen asleep on his bed, hoodie drowning him, Leo curled up beside him like a guard dog.
Sassy and Jimmy had taken watch too—Sassy on the windowsill, Jimmy pressed against Charles’s side like they were sharing warmth.
Max stared for a second too long, then quietly stepped around the bed, grabbed a blanket, and draped it over all of them without a word.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------
Two days later, Charles was mostly better. Still raspy, but not on the verge of coughing up a lung. He was stretched on his bed with Leo curled at his knees, Jimmy perched loyally on his chest, batting occasionally at his curls. Sassy sat by the window like she had better things to do, but was keeping watch just in case.
His phone was balanced on a book, FaceTime open with a loud, animated Pierre and a perpetually amused Carlos. Max was at his desk, highlighter moving in even strokes, a quiet presence in the corner of the room.
“No, he didn’t poison me,” Charles was saying, exasperated. “He brought me soup. From an actual kitchen.”
Pierre gasped. “You live with a man who uses stoves? Who cares?”
“Wild,” Carlos added. “Next you’ll say he’s literate.”
Max didn’t look up, but Charles smiled anyway. “I’m serious. He made tea and everything.”
“Oh, this is worse than I thought,” Pierre groaned. “He’s a gentleman.”
“Put him on,” Carlos demanded. “I need to see this domestic mystery man.”
Charles glanced over to where Max was, eyebrows raised in question. Max barely moved but gave a small shrug — not quite sure, but not no.
That was enough.
Charles flipped the camera with a lazy flourish. “Voilà. Max.”
Pierre leaned in dramatically. “Oh, he’s real. And blonde. You didn’t tell us he looked like he models winter coats for expensive catalogues.”
Carlos whistled. “Okay, Max. Respect.”
Max finally looked up, expression unreadable. “Do you always flirt with your friend’s roommates?”
“Only the hot ones,” Pierre shot back.
Max blinked. “Guess I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Charles let out a quiet laugh, caught somewhere between surprise and delight.
“He’s sharp,” Carlos said, nudging Pierre through the screen. “You’re losing ground.”
“Oh please,” Pierre said. “I’m still winning in charisma.”
Max gave the smallest smile. “Sure.”
It wasn’t much — barely more than a twitch at the edge of his mouth — but Charles noticed.
“You two done interrogating him?” he asked, pulling the phone back to his chest.
“Done for now,” Carlos grinned.
Charles ended the call and tossed his phone onto the bed a bit harder than necessary. It bounced once before settling next to Leo’s paw.
Max glanced over but said nothing.
Charles exhaled sharply. “They’re idiots.”
“Seem nice,” Max said mildly, turning back to his book.
“They’re too nice,” Charles muttered, dragging a hand through his curls. “Pierre’s always like that when he thinks someone’s hot.”
Max didn’t respond.
Charles threw a look his way. “You’re not gonna flirt back, are you?”
That earned a small lift of Max’s brows. “You think I flirt?”
“You could,” Charles said, tone casual but eyes a little too sharp. “They’d absolutely fall for that whole mysterious, brooding routine.”
Max gave a quiet hum. “You sound annoyed.”
“I’m not,” Charles said immediately, then backpedaled. “Okay, maybe a bit. Just—don’t steal my friends.”
That made Max smile — subtle, but genuine. “I didn’t know they were up for grabs.”
“They’re not,” Charles huffed. “But they’re easily distracted. You give them one smirk and they’re planning your wedding.”
Max finally set his pen down. “Is this you being jealous?”
Charles scoffed. “Of Pierre and Carlos? Please. That would be tragic.”
Max leaned back in his chair, eyes meeting Charles’s. “It would be cute.”
That threw Charles off. “What?”
Max shrugged, voice quieter now. “If you were jealous.”
Charles stared, blinking like he wasn’t sure how they got here.
“I just don’t like sharing,” he said eventually, softer now, less sarcastic. “And I see the way they look at you.”
Max considered him for a moment. Then, calmly: “I only look back at you.”
Charles froze.
The silence stretched.
Even Jimmy paused mid-curl batting, ears twitching.
Charles opened his mouth, then closed it. “You can’t just say stuff like that.”
Max turned back to his book with the faintest smile. “Sure I can.”
Charles groaned, flopping back into the pillows, face half-covered with a pillow now. “You’re terrifying.”
“Still not flirting,” Max said, flipping a page.
“You’re awful,” Charles muttered behind the pillow.
“Still tolerating you,” Max replied, and behind the calm of his voice, there was warmth.
—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
It happened by accident.
Charles had fallen asleep in Max’s bed.
It wasn’t planned. It just… happened.
They’d been watching a dumb nature documentary on Max’s laptop—well, Charles had insisted it was relaxing background noise, but Max had caught him narrating over the animals in dramatic voices until Max told him to shut up.
Charles had flopped sideways and passed out mid-sentence, Leo snoring at the foot of the bed.
Max had stayed up longer, scrolling quietly on his phone, letting the silence settle.
He didn’t know he’d fallen asleep too.
Not until the moment he woke up with Charles’s head on his chest, one arm slung across Max’s torso like he owned it.
And worse—Max had apparently been talking in his sleep.
“…Charlie…”
The sound of his own voice yanked him into full consciousness. He froze. Did Charles hear that?
He glanced down.
Charles was still asleep, face smushed against Max’s shoulder.
Max’s heart was hammering in his chest. He couldn’t move.
He also couldn’t breathe.
And then, Charles stirred.
Max shut his eyes instantly, pretending to sleep, trying not to panic.
“Max?” Charles mumbled groggily. “Your heart’s loud.”
Max didn’t move. Didn’t speak.
Charles didn’t press. Just let out a tired hum and sank back into Max’s side.
They slept like that for the rest of the night.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Max was unraveling.
He wasn’t dramatic about it — no shouting, no pacing. Just precise, silent panic.
His desk had been taken apart. Backpack gutted. Every drawer emptied and refilled. He’d even looked inside the fridge.
The USB was gone.
His lab notes, charts, citations. All of it. And the deadline? 8AM tomorrow.
Jimmy sat on the desk chair, confused why Max had picked him up twice, checked beneath him, then muttered sorry.
Where the fuck was it?
Sassy leapt onto the bed, giving him a look that bordered on pity. He ignored her.
The door opened, finally, and Charles walked in — hoodie damp from outside, cheeks flushed, Leo trailing behind him with a satisfied pant.
“Hey—sorry I didn’t text. Ended up at Pierre’s longer than I planned,” Charles said, kicking his shoes off. “Didn’t even realize how late—”
Max turned. “Where is it?”
Charles blinked. “Where’s what?”
“My USB.”
Charles frowned. “The black one? I… wait.” His expression shifted, just slightly. “I think I have it.”
Max stared.
Charles walked over to his tote bag, rummaged through it, and pulled out the small USB drive — same one Max had spent hours searching for like it held the key to his life.
“I found it near the speaker yesterday,” Charles said quickly. “I thought it was mine. I, uh, saved a playlist on it. Didn’t realize until Pierre plugged it into his laptop that it was all chemistry files.”
Max didn’t say anything.
Charles stepped closer. “I was going to bring it back right after—”
“You had it,” Max said, low and sharp. “This whole time?”
“I didn’t know—”
“And instead of checking, you left? Took it to Pierre’s?”
“I wasn’t trying to mess you up,” Charles said, soft but firm now. “It was a mistake.”
“I needed that, Charles.” Max’s voice cracked just slightly, frustration bleeding into his restraint. “I have a deadline in less than twelve hours and I thought I lost everything. I’ve been tearing the room apart like an idiot.”
Charles’s posture stiffened. “And I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to screw you over.”
“You didn’t even text.”
“I didn’t think—”
“Exactly,” Max snapped. “You never do.”
The silence hit hard.
Charles’s mouth opened, then shut again. His jaw flexed once.
“I guess,” he said after a beat, “I’ll go be thoughtless somewhere else.”
“Char—”
“No, it’s fine,” Charles said, not loud, not angry. Just tired. “I get it. You needed space. Here’s some.”
The door closed more quietly than it should have.
Hours Later
The room was too still.
Max hadn’t moved from his desk, except to plug the USB in and make sure the files were still there. They were. Untouched. He’d submitted the project on time, mechanically.
It didn’t help.
Because now the USB sat harmlessly beside his keyboard and Charles’s empty bed looked wrong. The last text Max had sent was still unread.
Rain began sometime after midnight. Gentle at first, then heavier — against the windows, against the weight in Max’s chest.
By 1AM, he was pacing.
By 1:10, he was pulling on a hoodie and leaving the dorm.
He found him where he’d guessed — the bench near the east quad, under the trees that barely blocked the rain. Charles was sitting hunched forward, elbows on his knees, soaked right through. His hair was plastered to his forehead, hoodie clinging to his shoulders. No umbrella, no jacket.
Max stopped a few feet away.
“Char.”
Charles didn’t look at him. “Max. Go back.”
“It’s raining.”
“Yeah,” Charles said flatly. “Noticed.”
“You’re gonna get sick.”
“Maybe I deserve it.”
Max’s breath fogged in the air. “Please don’t be stupid.”
Charles let out a hollow laugh. “Bit late for that.”
Max stepped closer, voice softer. “Char, come back. You’re soaked.”
“You mad at me again?”
“No.”
“You sure? Because the last time I walked into a room you were one sentence away from murdering me.”
Max sighed. “You had my USB, Charles.”
“I know.”
“You took it without asking.”
“I know.”
“I needed it.”
“I didn’t mean to screw you over,” Charles snapped, finally turning toward him. His eyes were tired. “I didn’t check what was on it, Max. I thought it was just music.”
“You didn’t bring it back.”
“I forgot, okay?” Charles threw his hands up. “I left it in my bag. Then I went to Pierre’s and time just—slipped.”
“You knew I had a deadline.”
“I didn’t mean to mess you up.” His voice cracked at the edge. “But I did. And I get it. You were mad. Rightfully. I just didn’t expect you to… snap at me like that.”
Max was quiet for a moment. “I didn’t mean to.”
Charles let out a breath. “That seems to be the theme tonight.”
Max looked at him. Really looked. Water running down his neck. His arms wrapped around himself like he didn’t even realize how cold he was.
“You can’t sit out here all night.”
“I’m not—”
“Char, please.” Max’s voice cut in low, firm, but not sharp.
That stopped Charles. He blinked.
“I wasn’t just mad about the USB,” Max said. “It was a bad week. I was already behind. And when you walked in with it—joking like everything was fine—I just… lost it.”
Charles didn’t speak.
“I shouldn’t have said what I said.”
Charles shook his head. “You didn’t say anything awful.”
“I was harsh.”
“You weren’t wrong.”
“I was tired.”
“I’m dramatic.”
“You’re soaked.”
“You’re annoying.”
Max snorted softly. “You’re impossible.”
Another beat. Then Charles looked up, rain sliding past his lashes. “You really came out in the rain to tell me I’m impossible?”
“No,” Max said. “I came because you didn’t come back.”
That landed heavier than either of them expected.
Charles swallowed. “I was gonna come back.”
Max just nodded. “Let’s go. Before your lips turn blue.”
Charles stood slowly, pulling his hood tighter. He walked beside Max in silence, their shoulders almost brushing. Just before they reached the dorm steps,
Charles spoke again.
“I’m used to you being quiet,” he said, voice low. “But not like that. Not angry. It felt weird. Like I didn’t know you for a second.”
Max’s hand flexed at his side. “Sorry.”
Charles shrugged. “It’s okay. Just… next time, yell at me earlier. Before you start imploding.”
Max glanced at him. “Noted.”
“And don’t let me take random USBs.”
“That too.”
A pause.
“Hey, Max?” Charles said, voice a little softer.
“Yeah?”
“I still saved your notes on my laptop. Just in case. I didn’t look at them, I swear. But I didn’t delete them either.”
Max gave the faintest smile. “Thanks.”
“And,” Charles added, smirking now, “I’m blaming you if I get sick.”
“I’ll make you soup.”
“From a real kitchen?”
“Don't push your luck.”
Charles bumped his shoulder. “Too late.”
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After that, everything changed.
Not instantly. Not dramatically.
But slowly.
Max let Charles fall asleep in his bed and didn’t shift him off. He let Charles hum during late-night study sessions and didn’t complain when Leo nudged Jimmy for space.
He even let Charles start using his mug for morning coffee.
“You’re not subtle, you know,” Pierre said during a group call one evening, watching as Charles sat pressed against Max’s side, Leo flopped across both their feet.
Max blinked at the screen. “Subtle about what?”
Charles didn’t even pretend. “We live together. You get comfortable.”
Pierre snorted. “Sure, Char. It’s not like you’re literally wrapped around him like a scarf.”
Carlos raised a brow. “Max looks less panicked than he did three weeks ago.”
“Because Max likes me,” Charles said casually.
Max choked on his tea.
Carlos and Pierre erupted in laughter.
Charles leaned in. “Don’t you, Maxy?”
Max flushed to the roots of his ears. “Don’t put me on the spot.”
Charles grinned, wide and open. “I’ll take that as a yes.”
Later that night, while the lights were off and Charles had already dozed off against Max’s shoulder, Max whispered into the quiet room, “Yeah. I do.”
Charles didn’t stir.
But Jimmy twitched in his sleep from the foot of the bed, and Max swore he saw the faintest hint of a smile on Charles’s lips before he drifted off too.
—-----------------------------------------------------------------
They were brushing their teeth one night, side by side, Charles swaying to a silent tune while Max spat and wiped his mouth like it was a military drill.
“I used to think you hated me,” Charles said, out of nowhere, toothpaste foam still on his lip.
Max blinked at him. “When?”
“The first week. Maybe the second. You never looked at me.”
“I looked.”
“You glared.”
“I was assessing.”
“Like a serial killer?”
Max smirked. “Maybe.”
Charles grinned around his toothbrush. “You don’t hate me now, though.”
Max rinsed and turned to him, face clean, calm.
“No,” he said. “I don’t.”
Charles tilted his head. “You like me.”
Max nodded once.
Charles stepped forward.
“You like like me.”
Max swallowed. “Charles.”
“What?”
“You’re dangerously close.”
Charles leaned in. “Am I?”
Max didn’t back away. “You are.”
And then Charles kissed him.
Just once. A soft brush, a test.
Max didn’t flinch.
He kissed back — unsure, slightly awkward, but real. Like he’d never been kissed by someone who meant it before.
When they pulled apart, Max blinked at him. “Okay.”
Charles grinned. “That was permission or reaction?”
“Both.”
“Maxy,” Charles said, voice warm, “I like you. Loudly.”
Max let out a breath — quiet, but full. “I like you quietly.”
“That works for me.”
—---------------------------------------------------------
From that point on, things didn’t change too much.
Charles still stole Max’s hoodies. Charles still let Leo sleep on Max’s bed. Max still did the dishes because Charles never dried them properly.
But they kissed sometimes — soft, slow, always in private. Max held Charles’s pinky under the table at breakfast. Charles napped with his head on Max’s thigh like it was his own personal pillow.
Jimmy remained obsessed with Charles. Sassy slowly tolerated Leo. Max would grumble about the mess but smile when no one looked.
And Charles?
Charles fell.
Not loudly. Not dramatically.
But completely.
One evening, as they lay together on Max’s bed, Leo curled between their legs, Charles whispered into Max’s hoodie, “I’m glad the dorm got it wrong.”
Max didn’t answer.
He just tightened his arm around Charles and whispered back, “Me too.”
And that was the beginning of them — not loud, not perfect.
Just soft, and real.
—---------------------------------------------------------------------------
It started at the campus café.
Charles had dragged Max out of the dorm after their morning lecture, mumbling about needing caffeine and fresh air and "God, Max, you can’t live off vending machine croissants.”
Max, hoodie-clad and half-asleep, followed obediently.
The café was packed — students hunched over laptops, some chatting at tiny tables, and one too-friendly barista behind the counter who looked way too excited when Max stepped forward to order.
“Hey again,” the barista — Jamie, according to the name tag — beamed. “Back for the usual?”
Max blinked. “Uh, I guess.”
Charles turned. “Usual?”
Jamie’s grin didn’t waver. “Vanilla oat latte, right? You always sit by the window. It’s cute.”
Charles’s brows lifted.
Max, for his part, looked confused and mildly alarmed. “I just like the sunlight.”
Charles crossed his arms, something bubbling in his chest that he did not want to name. “You didn’t tell me you had a barista best friend.”
“I don’t,” Max said quickly. “I didn’t even know his name until right now.”
“Jamie,” Jamie offered helpfully.
Max gave a tight smile. “Cool.”
Charles stepped closer — casually, totally not territorial — and slid his hand around Max’s elbow. “We’ll just take that to go.”
Max looked at him.
Charles smiled, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Class starts soon.”
“We don’t have class for another hour,” Max murmured.
Charles squeezed his arm. “We’ll walk slow.”
Jamie raised an eyebrow but handed over the latte. “Enjoy. See you next time, Max.”
Charles didn’t say anything until they were two blocks away and Max had taken exactly three sips of his drink.
“You’re pouting,” Max said.
“I’m not.”
“You are. Leo pouts the same way when you stop petting him.”
Charles side-eyed him. “That barista was flirting with you.”
“I noticed.”
Charles blinked. “Wait—you did?”
Max shrugged. “I’m quiet, not oblivious.”
Charles slowed his steps. “You didn’t seem fazed.”
Max stopped walking completely, turned to face him. “Do you want me to be?”
Charles lifted a shoulder. “I mean… It’s weird, isn’t it? Him calling you cute, remembering your order. Like, that’s our thing.”
Max stared at him for a long moment. Then, calmly, “You’re jealous.”
Charles opened his mouth. Closed it. “A little.”
And then Max did something unexpected.
He leaned forward, right there on the sidewalk, and kissed him. Firm. Sure. Hands on Charles’s hips like he wasn’t shy at all.
Charles’s heart forgot how to beat.
When Max pulled back, he tilted his head slightly. “Feel better?”
Charles blinked. “You kissed me in public.”
“You looked like you needed reminding.”
“Of what?”
Max smiled, soft but certain. “That I’m yours.”
Charles bit his bottom lip, eyes wide. “You’re not shy anymore?”
“Oh, I’m still shy,” Max said, sipping his latte. “But not about you.”
Charles just stared at him, slack-jawed and absolutely gone.
Max reached over, hooked their pinkies together, and started walking again like nothing had happened.
And Charles followed — totally flustered, mildly smug, and definitely planning to wear Max’s hoodie again tonight just because he could.
THE END (Hopefully y'all liked it i did all this in one sitting and now i'm tired as f***)