Chapter Text
Arthur never expected the secret to slip. He’d been so careful, tucking it away in the quiet corners of his life, saving it only for when he was alone. Little space wasn’t something he could ever explain easily, not when everyone expected him to be tough, composed, the younger Leclerc brother pushing through the racing world with grit and determination.
But the thing about secrets is that they always find a way out.
It had been a rare free afternoon in Monaco. Charles was supposed to be out with friends, leaving Arthur the apartment all to himself. Perfect. No cameras. No fans. No older brother watching with his sharp, worried eyes. Just quiet.
Arthur padded barefoot into his room, hoodie sleeves swallowing his hands, his favorite soft blanket draped over his shoulders like a cape. He clutched the worn stuffed bunny he’d had for years — the only remnant of his regression he allowed himself to keep in plain sight, though even that he always tried to make look like “just nostalgia.”
The moment he sat on his bed, pulling his knees to his chest, the world softened. His breathing slowed, the tension in his shoulders melting as he let himself go small. He hummed softly under his breath, words muddled, eyes drooping in that floaty haze where the stress of being “Arthur Leclerc” dissolved.
He didn’t hear the door at first.
“Arthur?”
Charles’ voice carried down the hallway. Then a knock. Then the door creaked open.
Arthur froze, wide-eyed, bunny clutched so tight his knuckles ached. He wanted to move, to hide, but his body wouldn’t listen. Charles stepped in, expecting maybe a nap or Arthur watching something on his phone. Instead, his gaze landed on the scene — his little brother curled up, sleeves hanging, cheeks pink, stuffed bunny against his chest.
Arthur’s heart dropped.
“I—!” His voice cracked. He scrambled to pull the blanket tighter, shoving the bunny halfway under his arm as though hiding it might erase what Charles had seen. His throat burned, embarrassment clawing up his chest until tears welled before he could stop them.
Charles blinked once, twice, then softened immediately. He crossed the room in just a few quiet steps and crouched beside the bed.
“Hey,” he whispered, gentle as if Arthur were glass. “Mon petit… why are you crying?”
Arthur shook his head, cheeks wet. “Is stupid,” he mumbled, curling tighter, trying to disappear into the fabric of his hoodie. “Don’ look, Charlie, please—”
“Shh, no, no, don’t say that.” Charles’ voice was steady, warm in the way Arthur had only ever heard when Charles was comforting him after bad races or sleepless nights. Carefully, he reached out, brushing the wet strands of hair from Arthur’s forehead. “Nothing about you is stupid. Do you hear me?”
Arthur sniffled, staring at the floor, shame twisting in his stomach. “Is… weird.”
Charles didn’t answer right away. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and held out his arms. “Come here.”
Arthur hesitated, biting his lip, but the pull was too strong. He leaned into his brother’s chest, tucking his face into the fabric of Charles’ shirt. The moment Charles wrapped his arms around him, the dam broke. Arthur sobbed quietly, shaking as the older Leclerc pressed his hand against the back of his head.
“It’s okay,” Charles murmured, rocking him gently. “You don’t have to hide with me. Ever.”
Arthur whimpered, voice muffled. “You don’ think ’m gross?”
Charles’ chest tightened. He kissed the top of Arthur’s head, arms curling tighter. “Never. You are my little brother. I think…” He let out a soft laugh. “I think you’re very cute, actually.”
Arthur peeked up at him, eyes watery and red, cheeks burning at the word cute. Charles only smiled, brushing his thumb across his cheek to wipe away the tears.
“See?” he whispered. “You don’t have to be scared. You’re safe.”
Arthur hiccupped softly, burying himself back into Charles’ chest. For the first time, he let himself lean fully into it, no walls, no pretending. Just little Arthur, held in the arms of his big brother who didn’t think less of him for it.
—
Later, after Arthur had calmed and drifted in that soft, hazy state against him, Charles glanced around the room. His heart tugged. Aside from the old bunny, there wasn’t much — no toys, no coloring books, no little gear that might bring Arthur joy or comfort.
Charles kissed the top of his brother’s head again and thought, fiercely, You’ve been doing this all on your own, haven’t you?
He could picture Arthur, keeping this secret tucked away, too scared to ask, too convinced it was something to hide. The idea hurt.
Silently, Charles promised himself then and there: he would change that. His little brother deserved to feel safe and spoiled, to have the things that made his small heart happy.
“I’ll take care of you,” Charles whispered so softly that Arthur, half-asleep, only made a small content noise in response. “You’ll never have to hide again, petit trésor.”
And Charles meant it. He’d spoil his baby brother endlessly — not because Arthur needed gifts, but because he deserved love, comfort, and the freedom to be exactly who he was.
For now, though, Charles just held him closer, rocking him until the soft snores of his little brother filled the room.
—
Arthur woke up the next morning tucked into his bed, head resting on Charles’ chest. His big brother had stayed with him the whole night, one arm curled protectively around his shoulders, the other resting near his hair as though shielding him even in sleep.
For a moment, Arthur panicked. He remembered last night, the tears, the bunny clutched in his arms, the way Charles had seen him small. But then he looked at Charles’ calm, sleeping face and the panic ebbed. His brother hadn’t been disgusted. He hadn’t yelled or teased. He had held him and whispered that he was safe.
That safety lingered now, soft and fragile, like a warm blanket he didn’t want to lose.
When Charles stirred awake, blinking groggily, Arthur ducked his head shyly.
“Bonjour, petit,” Charles murmured, voice still husky from sleep. He pressed a kiss into Arthur’s hair. “How are you feeling?”
Arthur shrugged, not trusting his voice, but the way his hands tightened around his hoodie sleeves gave him away.
Charles noticed, of course. He always noticed.
“Still small?” he asked gently.
Arthur bit his lip, cheeks coloring, and nodded once.
“Good,” Charles said simply, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. He sat up a little straighter, pulling Arthur back into his lap so his little brother was curled against him again. “Then we don’t rush today. We take it easy.”
Arthur blinked up at him, almost disbelieving. “You… you really don’ mind?”
“Mind?” Charles chuckled, brushing his thumb across Arthur’s cheek. “Arthur, I love you. You could be anything in front of me and I’d never mind. But this?” He kissed his forehead. “This I find very sweet.”
Arthur blushed, hiding his face in Charles’ chest with a tiny whimper.
—
A few days later, Charles found himself sitting in a quiet corner of a baby store, heart hammering nervously as if he were the one doing something embarrassing.
But he had been paying close attention since that night. He had seen Arthur chewing on the drawstrings of his hoodie, nibbling at the edge of his sleeve, even absentmindedly biting the handle of a spoon. Each time, Charles’ protective instincts screamed louder. His baby brother needed something safer, something made for comfort.
So here he was, scanning through shelves of pacifiers. He carefully picked one with a soft silicone teat and a simple design in pale blue. Nothing too childish that might scare Arthur off, but gentle enough to soothe.
He also slipped a coloring book into the basket, some crayons, and a ridiculously soft blanket that reminded him of Arthur’s favorite hoodie.
When he came home, Arthur was curled up on the couch, sleeves over his hands, eyes half-closed with that floaty look that Charles now recognized instantly.
“Hey, petit trésor,” Charles said softly, setting the bag down.
Arthur blinked up at him, curious. “What that?”
Charles sat beside him and pulled out the blanket first. “Something for you. Try it.”
Arthur hesitated, then buried himself in the blanket. The way his whole body relaxed made Charles’ heart squeeze.
Next, Charles pulled out the coloring book and crayons. Arthur’s eyes widened, and though his cheeks went pink, he reached for them shyly.
“You don’… think it silly?” he whispered.
Charles shook his head. “I think it’s perfect. For you.”
Finally, he reached into the bag and held up the pacifier. Arthur froze. His mouth parted, a soft whimper escaping as he instinctively tugged his sleeve toward his lips before stopping himself.
Charles’ heart broke a little at the sight. “I’ve seen you chewing on things,” he said gently. “Your hands, sleeves, strings, even spoons. That’s not safe, mon petit. So I got you this. Just try, hm?”
Arthur’s cheeks were burning, but his hands trembled as he reached for it. He hesitated, looking up with wide eyes. “You… you don’ think it gross?”
Charles leaned down and kissed his forehead firmly. “Never. Nothing about you is gross.”
With shaky fingers, Arthur brought the pacifier to his lips. The moment he slipped it into his mouth, something inside him seemed to unlock. His whole body sagged into Charles’ side, a soft hum vibrating in his chest. His hands fisted into the blanket, eyes fluttering closed as he sucked gently, tension draining away.
Charles wrapped his arm around him, pulling him into his lap again. “That’s it,” he whispered, rocking him slightly. “See? So much better.”
Arthur whimpered softly, cheeks pink, pacifier bobbing as he nuzzled into Charles’ chest.
“You’re perfect like this,” Charles whispered, holding him close. “My baby brother. And I’m going to take care of you, always.”
Arthur didn’t answer with words — just a tiny, muffled sound as he curled tighter into Charles’ embrace, pacifier soothing him as he slipped into that safe, little headspace.
Charles kissed the top of his hair and silently vowed again: Arthur would never go without, never feel ashamed. He’d make sure his baby brother had everything he needed to feel small, safe, and loved.
And he did. Because Charles wasn’t just his big brother anymore — he was his caregiver, his safe place, his constant.