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Arthur had been withdrawn since breakfast, not saying much and hovering close to the couch. Usually, he’d have something witty or cheeky to throw Charles’ way, but instead he tugged a blanket off the backrest and wrapped himself up in it, curling into a ball.
Charles noticed immediately. He knew his brother better than anyone. Setting his coffee aside, he crouched in front of him.
“Petit frère… What's the matter? You’re so quiet today.”
Arthur peeked out from the blanket, his eyes glassy and unsure. He gave a little shrug but didn’t answer. Charles tilted his head, studying him carefully, until he caught the tiny shift in Arthur’s expression—softer, more vulnerable, smaller.
“Oh,” Charles murmured, his voice gentle. “I understand now.”
He sat beside him on the couch, easing Arthur against his chest. “You’re little today, hm? That’s okay. Big brother’s here.”
Arthur nodded almost imperceptibly, burying his face in Charles’ shirt. His thumb drifted to his mouth, and he sucked softly, needing the comfort.
Charles frowned just a bit. “Mhm, I don’t want you to get sick, mon petit.” He smoothed Arthur’s hair and reached behind the couch cushion where he kept a small bag for days like this—just in case. He pulled out Arthur’s pacifier, pale blue with little stars on the handle.
“Here we go,” he whispered, brushing Arthur’s hand down gently. “Much better than your thumb.” He slipped the paci into his little brother’s mouth, smiling when Arthur instantly relaxed, eyes fluttering closed with relief.
“That’s my good boy,” Charles praised softly, kissing the top of his head.
The rest of the morning passed slowly, with cartoons playing while Arthur lay sprawled across Charles’ lap. Charles stroked his hair absentmindedly, humming little French lullabies. Every so often, Arthur would cling tighter, and Charles would adjust the blanket, keeping him warm and snug.
When lunchtime came, Charles coaxed him into the kitchen. “Come, petit frère, you need food in your tummy.” He made something simple and soft—macaroni and cheese, cut fruit on the side—sitting with Arthur at the table and helping him eat when his hands got too wobbly.
After, Charles wiped his mouth gently with a napkin. “Très bien. You did so well.”
Arthur, pacifier back in, padded after him to the living room, holding tightly onto his brother’s sleeve like a toddler. Charles pretended not to notice, only smiling softly as he settled back on the couch with Arthur curled up against him again.
By evening, Arthur was drooping against him, half-asleep. Charles whispered,
“Bedtime for my baby brother.”
He carried Arthur to his room, tucking him under the blankets. Arthur fussed when Charles tried to leave, so Charles climbed in beside him, wrapping an arm protectively around him. Arthur snuggled in, pacifier still bobbing gently, his face finally peaceful.
“Bonne nuit, mon petit frère,” Charles murmured, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Sleep well. Big brother’s here.”
Arthur gave a soft hum of contentment, and soon his breathing evened out, safe and cared for in Charles’ arms.