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Singapore fucking sucks. It’s hot. It’s humid. It’s a long fucking race—even for the winners.
Charles holds the first place trophy aloft in his hands. It dangles precariously in his fingers as he and Pierre practical sprint to the Pack Room to hide from the media, to catch their breaths after a gruelling few hours.
Charles just wants to curl up in his nest, the nest he made when arriving at track on Thursday. He’s so exhausted he doesn't even care that Pierre is going to bully him for the amount of navy blue that is threaded through its protective fabric walls.
The second Charles shoulders the door open, he’s placing the trophy down on the table littered with water bottles and sponsor filled caps.
Pierre chokes on his own spit.
“C’est quo–oh mon Dieu.” Charles’ eyes widen. “Calamar.”
“Je le vois.”
“Calamar.”
“Qu’est-ce qu’il fait?”
“Calamar.”
“Il est dans ton nid.”
“Calamar.”
“Oi what are you two just standing in the doorway for?” Lando asks, brushing past both of them. He then immediately trips over his own feet. “Is Max is your fucking nest?”
Charles brings his hands up to his face. “Oh my god he’s in my nest.”
Pierre barks out a single laugh before Charles’ hand is crossing the distance between them to slap over his mouth.
“Shhhh! You’ll wake him,” he whisper-shouts.
Charles can’t see half of Pierre’s face, but he can feel the Frenchman smile under his grip, and he can see the way his oldest friend’s eyes crinkle in delight.
“I dare you to wake him up.”
“Lando!” Charles hisses.
The Brit raises his hands in surrender.
“I can’t do that. He looks comfortable, and he crashed out earlier. Maybe he needs the comfort.”
“Of your nest?” Lando teases.
“It’s made up entirely of Max’s clothes, maybe he made a mistake. That crash with Oscar looked bad.”
Lando sends Pierre a scandalised look. “You’re on the Charles denial train? I had to listen to him yap about Charles, you were his teammate!”
“Shhhhh!”
Pierre rolls his eyes. “Teammates with Max. Best friend of Charles. Worst half a season of my life.”
Lando snickers.
“Stop it you two, you’ll wake him.” Charles watches the up and down motion of Max’s chest. “Pierre, can we go to your nest?”
Pierre’s eyes light up again. “What? Don’t want to curl up with your alpha?”
“He’s not my alpha.”
“He’s not your alpha?” Oscar shrieks, emerging from a pile of papaya blankets in the far corner of the room. “I thought he was your alpha.”
Lando sighs, coming to hug Charles to protect him from the evil-teasing-Pierre—not that he isn’t doing it too. “No, Osc, how many times do I have to explain it to you? Max and Charles aren’t mated.”
“But– Have you seen them?”
Pierre’s hands come up to cover Charles’ ears. “Shhhh. He can hear you.”
“Tasse-toi.”
Oscar’s expression is still stricken, and he looks to be going through the first stages of grief.
Pierre takes pity. “Come, omega pile in my nest. It’s okay.”
“I let Max go into Charles’ nest,” he whispers. “I thought they were mated. I thought it was okay.”
“It is okay,” Pierre assures him.
Lando goes to pull Oscar out of the papaya pile. “Osc it’s fine. Look at Charles, he’s going into Pierre’s nest because he doesn’t want to disturb Max. Look, he doesn’t care. He’s actually really happy that Max is in his nest, under all that panic, but don’t tell him that because Charles is in denial.” He gets Oscar to his feet. “C’mon. Let’s go snuggle with Charles.”
“I’m sorry,” Oscar whispers, falling into Charles’ open arms. “We just had that crash, and he looked really bad, and he beelined towards your nest.”
“It’s okay, Oscar,” Charles soothes, brushing the Aussie’s hair down. “It is just a shock, you know, to see him there.”
“It really shouldn’t be,” Lando mutters.
“You know if you did wake him up, he’d just pull you down into the nest right, calamar?” Pierre asks pointedly.
“You are so mean to me.”
“Are they really not mated?” Oscar asks, looking at Pierre. “I thought they were, that’s why I didn’t say anything when Max fell into Charles’ nest. I feel like I did something wrong.”
“You didn’t do anything wrong, Osc,” Lando assures him. “Look at how many other people came into the pack room after you and didn’t say anything.”
Practically the entire grid is sequestered into some personalised corner of the room.
“But Charles–”
“I am not upset.”
“I was going to say: freaked out.”
“That is because I am, how do you say, down bad?”
Pierre snickers.
Lando groans. “That’s the worst part, Osc,” the Brit whines. "He’s aware of it. Max is at least in actual denial about being obsessed with Charles.”
“I am not obsessed with Max.”
“Oscar thought you were mated. I thought you were mated. We all thought you were mated.”
“I thought you two got mated in Val d’Argenton,” Pierre agrees.
“Why does everybody think that? It is one thing for you all to think we are mated. It is another that everybody agrees it happened at the puddle.”
“The inchident had a great impact on us all,” Oscar tells him. “One of the great moments of our generation.”
“You are all so mean to me, and after I won today?”
“Congrats on your win,” Oscar deadpans.
“Thank you. And I am sorry for your crash.” He starts petting the younger omega’s hair again. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. Just a bit of bruising from the seatbelt.”
Charles purrs softly. “That is good.”
“You should check on Max. He also crashed,” Oscar says after a beat of silence.
The Monegasque groans. “You are going to start bullying me about Max too? My own son?”
“Well I just learnt that other-dad is apparently not my dad!”
“Shhhh. Lower your voice, you’ll wake him. He is safe in the nest.”
“Pierre,” Lando hisses. “Your best friend just let Oscar get away with calling Max other-dad.”
“I know. I heard it too.”