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“I’m telling you,” Max said, gesturing sharply toward the garage like the snow was personally insulting him, “my car can get out of the garage. I have won races in the middle of a literal flood starting from seventeenth! I even drove on a snowy mountain slope in the middle of Austria once!”
The doorman, an old Frenchman with a quirky mustache and the air of someone who had surely seen worse rants from Monaco’s ultra-wealthy, barely blinked.
“Sir, with all due respect, the street is closed, there’s a weather alert for the whole region, the airport is shut down. Nobody is getting out. Not even a Formula 1 world champion,” he said, eyeing Max’s Red Bull suitcase.
Max opened his mouth to argue again, because it was Christmas Eve and he was supposed to be halfway to Belgium by now. He should’ve been in his childhood home already, arguing with his sister over how long the gravy should cook, singing cheesy children’s songs with his nephews and losing at board games he pretended he didn’t care about.
Instead, he was in his building’s lobby, dragging a stupidly heavy suitcase behind him, staring down a doorman who looked terrifyingly unbothered, stuck in the middle of a stupid snowstorm that had apparently dropped all of the Alps on Monaco in a single morning.
He glanced toward the glass doors; snow slapped against them in thick, sideways sheets.
The street beyond was invisible, swallowed in white.
Max closed his eyes. Inhaled, exhaled, then started counting… one, two… ten.
The lobby doors blew open hard enough to rattle the Christmas garland wrapped around the handrail, and a voice he knew far too well tumbled inside with the cold.
“C’est… pas possible,” Charles Leclerc said, breathless, stepping into the lobby in a burst of snowflakes, followed by a freezing gust of wind.
Charles tried to push the door closed with his hip while Leo wriggled wildly from where he was tucked inside Charles’ coat.
“Leo, arrête! Stop moving… mon dieu, Leo, calme-toi. We’re going back home!”
The door finally closed, Charles slumping against it in defeat.
His curls were sprinkled with snowflakes, cheeks red from cold, his hands shaking as he clutched Leo like a baby kangaroo.
Leo barked again, shaking him from his stupor.
“Fine, fine, I’m letting you down,” Charles said, lowering the zip of his coat and setting the dog on the floor.
“Charles?”
Charles stumbled to a stop, still half-panting, and froze when his eyes landed on Max Verstappen.
“Max?” he breathed, still winded. “Why… what are you doing here?”
Max tilted his head, slightly amused by the sight of the half-frozen Monegasque standing in front of him. “Apparently the building is holding us hostage.”
“Sir, it is not…” the doorman began.
“It is definitely holding us hostage,” Max insisted, louder.
Charles sagged, defeated. “Merde. I was supposed to be at Maman’s. Arthur already texted that he’s started the raclette without me.”
Max’s eyes softened, just a little.
“Yeah, I was supposed to fly to Belgium an hour ago to spend the holidays with my sister’s family, but the airport issued a no-flight emergency.” He raked a hand through his blond hair, his expression faltering somewhere between sadness and resignation.
“I thought about going by car, but Jérôme here”, he gestured to the poor man behind the counter, “was telling me that the garage door is apparently buried under a wall of snow and won’t open.”
“Oh god.”
Max huffed. “Not that I believe him!” he continued, side-eyeing the doorman. “He keeps saying things like ‘it’s too dangerous anyway’ and ‘nobody can drive in these conditions’”. Max underlined the mockery with aggressive air quotes. “Can you believe this guy?”
“I mean…” Charles moved his hand to point at the glass doors behind him, where snow was whipping sideways, thick enough to hide the street. “I tried going out on foot. Didn’t work out as I hoped.”
“You walked into that?” Max’s eyebrow shot up.
“I was just trying to go to my maman’s, it’s not that far!” Charles declared, as if this were an explanation rather than proof he’d lost his mind.
“On foot?”
“Yes,” Charles said, nonchalant. “Why not?”
Max blinked. Now it was his turn to point at the complete apocalypse outside.
“Because you’ll die?”
Charles shrugged.
“Charles,” Max deadpanned.
Charles looked down at his hands, raising his shoulders defensively. “Well, I thought… maybe… if I follow the main road, and take the stairs by the big fountain, and go around the…”
“I can’t believe you were going to walk across Monte Carlo. In a blizzard,” Max said, staring at him like he was insane.
Leo whined, which Max translated as: I also think this man is stupid, but I am too small to stop him.
”Don’t look at me like that! I didn’t think it would be that bad,” Charles whined, picking at his cuticles. “I thought I could handle a little snow.”
Max snorted. “No you can’t. Obviously.” He gestured to Charles’s drenched coat and Puma shoes, neither remotely weather-appropriate. “You can’t even handle a little rain,” he added chuckling, “Everyone knows you’re water-sensitive.”
“Hey! That’s not true!” Charles gasped, putting a hand on his chest in mock-offense. “I go hiking through the Alps every winter! I can handle a little snow!” His voice pitched up, his pout immediate.
“Okay, sure, sure,” Max said, raising his hands in surrender but still giggling. “But not during a storm,” he amended, softening.
Leo barked once, clearly agreeing.
Charles scowled at his dog. “Traitor.”
The doorman cleared his throat. “Gentlemen, sorry to interrupt this… whatever this is, but as I told Mr. Verstappen, no one is permitted to leave the building until the roads are cleared. This storm is extremely dangerous, and there is a complete Principality shutdown.”
Charles drew a deep breath. “So we’re stuck here?”
“Until they clear the weather alert, Monsieur Leclerc”, the doorman confirmed with a nod.
Charles made a strangled noise. Max ran a frustrated hand through his hair.
Two grown men, one holding a suitcase, the other a small dog, both abandoned by fate on Christmas Eve.
“Well,” Max said eventually, defeated, “this sucks.”
Charles let out a helpless, slightly hysterical laugh. “Yes. Yes, it does.”
A moment of silence settled.
They were both stubborn enough not to be the first to give up on their ruined plans…but reality was reality.
Charles cleared his throat. “So, um… what will you do? Go back upstairs? Unpack?”
Max gestured vaguely upwards. “Probably stare at the wall. Maybe argue with the cats, curse at the snow.”
Charles snorted before he could stop himself.
Max shot him an half-smile, small and maybe a little shy. Then, casual but not casual at all:
“You could… come upstairs. If you want.” He spoke quickly, scratching the back of his neck, “Just until the storm calms and we’re free to leave this place, you know? We could play FIFA or something. I think I have some gin leftover?”
“You want to play FIFA with me?” Charles asked, unsure if he was teasing or genuinely surprised.
“Why not?” Max shrugged, though a smile tugged at his lips.
Charles looked down at Leo.
Leo stared back with the exhausted patience of someone fully resigned to human foolishness.
Charles looked up again. Max was watching him with what looked suspiciously like nervousness.
He felt himself smiling. “That sounds… nice.”
Max’s eyes flickered with something like relief. “Cool,” he said, as if he hadn’t spent the last thirty seconds thinking Charles might say no and leave him alone in the lobby like a sulking golden retriever.
“Leo also accepts your offer.”
Max smiled widely now, the corner of his eyes crinkling, “As long as he doesn’t mess with my pets. The sitter was supposed to pick them up later but I guess they’re staying in as well”, he shrugged, his smile clearly showing he was glad he got to be with his pets at least.
“Oh and Sassy, she doesn’t really like strangers, she might be a little, well… sassy.”
“Oh I’m sure she will love Leo! He’s such a good boy, aren’t you mon amour?” Charles cooed in a baby voice to the dog.
Max rolled his eyes fondly and grabbed his suitcase.
Charles fell into step beside him as they walked toward the elevator.
The ride up was quiet, except for the tiny dog trying to climb out of Charles’s arms to launch himself at Max every few seconds.
“Well, at least we know he likes you,” Charles said, grinning at the Dutch driver.
Charles’s curls were slowly defrosting and sticking to his forehead. Max’s gaze kept drifting to Charles’s rosy face, as he tried to focus on the floor numbers even though they weren’t changing nearly fast enough. Why did he have to buy a penthouse of all floors?
The elevator chimed, doors sliding open to the top level. Max gestured down the hall.
“After you.”
Charles put Leo down and stepped out, the little menace trotting at his heel like a miniature bodyguard. Max followed, suddenly very aware of the fact that he was inviting Charles Leclerc into his penthouse on Christmas Eve.
He shook his head, unlocked the door, pushed it open, and flicked on the lights.
Sassy sat in the doorway like a cheeky, judgmental queen. Donut lurked just behind her, wide-eyed, as if Charles carried a ticking bomb instead of a ten-pound dachshund.
“Play it cool,” Max muttered to the cats. Sassy stared back at him, unimpressed. As if.
Charles stepped inside with a warm smile. “Bonjour, beaux chatons!”
Donut moved closer to Leo, inspecting him with a curious gaze. Jimmy followed immediately, circling around the dog with a suspicious air. Sassy didn’t even deign to flick her tail.
Max sighed. “Yeah, okay, could have been worse.”
Charles laughed, genuine and unfazed. “They’ll be friends before the night is over, I’m telling you. We started way worse than that, non?” he said, almost too softly, looking right into Max’s eyes.
And Max felt it, right there, between his ribs, a stupid flutter he tried to pretend wasn’t real.
He dropped his backpack abruptly, desperate to get his heart back under control. “Right. So. Uh. Maybe we should…”
Suddenly a small black blur shot out from the hallway, Nino, running to protect his cat-siblings against the intruder. He skidded to a stop in front of Leo, baring his tiny teeth at the enemy.
Leo just looked at him dumbly for a second, tilting his head, before moving closer to sniff the black dog. Ten seconds later they were wrestling on the floor, all the cats joining in.
Max breathed a sigh of relief and, for the first time since the lobby, allowed himself to relax.
Big mistake.
When his eyes moved back to Charles, the Monegasque’s gaze was scrutinizing every inch of the penthouse.
Everything in Max’s apartment was modern, clean, organized.
And absolutely, unmistakably not decorated for Christmas.
Not a tree, not a wreath, not even a little festive candle in sight.
“Max… where is your Christmas?”
Max frowned. “My what?”
“Your Christmas! You know… decorations? A tree? String lights? For god’s sake, Max, not even a tiny nutcracker? Or, I don’t know, a stupid Kinder chocolate advent calendar?”
“Hey! Kinder chocolates are not stupid! I like Kinder chocolates!” Max protested.
“Max Emilian,” Charles gasped dramatically. “It is December twenty-fourth. You disappoint me”, he added shaking his head, scandalized.
Max had no idea why Charles said his full name, but God help him, it did things to him. He raised his arms in defeat. “In my defense, I wasn’t planning to be here on Christmas! I didn’t bother!”
Charles suddenly moved with purpose, shoulders squared, eyes blazing with holy mission.
“Stay here.”
“Charles, what…”
“Don’t move! I’m coming back.”
And before Max could react, Charles was gone, leaving him standing in the middle of his undecorated penthouse, surrounded by three curious cats and two overexcited dachshunds, all staring at him like he needed to explain why Charles Leclerc had just sprinted out of his apartment on Christmas Eve.
Charles returned five minutes later with a cardboard box so big he could barely see over it.
Max stared from the living room as Charles kicked the door closed behind him, breathless.
“I brought Christmaaaas!” Charles sing-songed as he plopped the box on the coffee table triumphantly.
Max had seen Charles look excited before, usually involving overtakes, improbable pole laps, or very expensive italian food, but whatever was happening right now in the middle of his house was… new.
Charles kneeled on the floor, half his body practically inside the giant box as he started digging out a small Christmas tree, three strings of fairy lights, and a multitude of mismatched ornaments.
“Did you rob a Christmas market?”
“I am saving Christmas!” Charles corrected, index finger pointed upward for emphasis.
He stood up and stopped in the middle of the room, scanning the space like a mission commander assessing a hopeless battlefield.
“We cannot spend Christmas Eve in a place that looks like a very fancy doctor’s waiting room!”
Max pressed a hand to his heart. “Wow. Hurtful.”
“But true,” Charles sang back cheerfully.
Max rubbed his forehead. “Charles, we’re snowed in. I suggested FIFA and alcohol. Not a full holiday intervention.”
“Yes,” Charles said, bright as ever, “and now we are elevating.”
Max took a slow breath.
He could say no, could insist they leave his apartment exactly as it was: undecorated, quiet, comfortably clean and organized.
But Charles was already lying over the living room carpet again, humming under his breath, unpacking more ornaments that absolutely did not match: vintage glass baubles, cheap plastic snowflakes, a crocheted Ferrari, something that looked like a handmade angel, and something that looked like a mistake.
And he looked happy.
Despite his holiday plans collapsing, despite being stuck inside with Max of all people, he looked… genuinely happy.
Max’s resistance lasted about four seconds.
“Fine,” he sighed. “But let’s try not break anything…”
“I won’t!”
“Or put glitter on the cats…”
“I won’t!”
“Or start singing Mariah Carey…”
“No promises,” Charles said with a wicked grin.
And Max was doomed. Completely, utterly doomed.
They set up the tiny pine tree near Max’s huge windows, Monaco’s snowstorm glowing white behind it.
Charles put on cheesy Christmas music while Max complained. Loudly.
Charles ignored him and kept singing Jingle Bell Rocks off tune.
The decorations were… well, eclectic?
A glittery star shaped like a Ferrari logo, a wooden ornament with googly eyes, a paper snowflake Charles admitted he’d made at age eight and one ornament that was suspiciously shaped like a wheel nut.
Max held up a badly painted reindeer. “Did you also make this as a kid?”
“Nope”, Charles said, “I made it last year for a Ferrari Christmas media event. Do not judge me.”
Max hung it front and center.
A few minutes later, Charles reached for a string of lights, got himself tangled immediately, and stood helplessly in the middle of Max’s living room like a festive hostage.
“Do not say anything,” he warned.
Max bit his lip. Hard.
“I’m not.”
“You are thinking something,” Charles accused, narrowing his eyes.
Well, Max was definitely thinking something. Probably something very different from what Charles imagined. Definitely something not appropriate.
He cleared his throat, cheeks warming in a deep red blush. “Yes, right,” Max recovered, “I’m thinking this is the funniest thing I’ve ever seen.”
Sure, Max.
Charles stomped his foot. “Max!”
“Okay, okay,” Max said, finally stepping forward. “Hold still.”
He gently untangled the lights from Charles’s arms, shoulders, curls. Charles looked up at him as Max worked, green eyes gleaming in a way Max hadn’t noticed at first.
When Max finished, Charles murmured, “Merci,” their faces still entirely too close.
Max swallowed. “Yeah. Sure.”
They didn’t move, like they were stuck inside the moment.
Max’s eyes flicked to Charles’s lips.
🎶 I don’t want a lot for Christmas / there is just one thing I neeeeed 🎶
Charles’s phone rang. And they broke apart like they’d been burned.
“Right. Yes. I should take this,” Charles muttered, cheeks going pink.
“Hello?” he answered as he moved to the side of the room, completely unaware of Max’s gaze fixed on his back.
“Charles, where the hell are you? We were worried sick! Your brother has been calling you for an hour!” his mother scolded in rapid-fire French.
“Oh. OH! I’m sorry, maman, I forgot to call you.”
“CHARLES.”
“Sorry, sorry! I think I muted Arthur after he started rambling about the raclette and forgot to turn it back on…” he said, touching his nose.
“Charles, where are you? Are you home? Are you safe?”
“Oh, yes, yes! I got back home… too much snow. Leo was barking like crazy and I couldn’t see a thing… and then I ran into Max fighting with the doorman and…”
“Max?”
“Oui.” He turned to look at the Dutchman, now half sprawled on the floor, playing with one of the cats. He smiled softly at the scene.
”Oh.” Pascale simply said.
“Yeah, he was supposed to fly to Belgium but his flight got canceled because of the storm.”
Charles heard his mother take a soft breath.
“So, we’re both stuck in the building, and he invited me to his place to play a little FIFA.”
“Alright.” Maman giggled. Giggled.
“Maman!” He warned.
“Sorry, mon chou,” she chuckled openly now, “but you have to admit… I can’t wait to tell your brothers that.”
“Maman!” he squeaked.
Max turned his head toward him at the high-pitched sound. Charles flushed, mouthing sorry.
Max smiled back at him, then turned to the chaos surrounding him, lying on the carpet, back propped against the couch, one Bengal dozing on his shoulder while Nino and Leo fought over who got to lick his face more. Max threw his head back to try to escape them, but a genuine, warm laugh burst out of him.
“Oh come on, you two menaces. Donut! Stop circling… oh god, help me!”
His eyes were full of laughter, and Charles couldn’t help being mesmerized by the sight.
He almost never saw Max like this, carefree, boyish, soft.
It tugged at something in his chest he wasn’t sure he wanted to acknowledge.
His gaze dropped to Max’s smile, wide, genuine, the little mole on his upper lip barely visible from the distance.
Suddenly Charles wished he was standing much closer, wished he could rewind a few minutes back when they’d been close enough for their breaths to mingle, close enough that…
“Charles? Charles? You still there?”
“What? Oh… sorry, sorry, Maman. I got distracted for a second.” He tried to deflect, “Leo is… acting up.”
“Oui, bien sûr, Leo,” she said, clearly amused. “Say hi to Max for me.”
“Bye, maman. I’ll call you later.”
“Bye, mon chou. Have a good evening. Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas.”
They finished decorating in comfortable silence, except for the dogs’ occasional commentary barks and Jimmy throwing himself against the little pine tree twice.
“Alright,” Max said, dusting off his hands like he’d just completed a heroic task. “I think we earned ourselves a little drink… Beer? Wine? I also have… uh…” He opened the fridge and grimaced. “…two bottles of gin and apparently way too many protein shakes?”
Charles appeared beside him, peeking dramatically over his shoulder. “Mon dieu,” he whispered. “It looks like someone robbed you.”
“Okay, calm down,” Max said, shoving a container aside. “I didn’t know I’d be spending Christmas trapped in here. I grocery-shopped like a normal single person.”
Charles deadpanned. “You are a millionaire with a penthouse.”
“Yes, and?”
“And all you have except for alcohol and shakes are two yogurts, pets food, an almost-expired slice of cheese, and five cans of Red Bull.”
“Six,” Max corrected, spotting one in the back.
Charles just shook his head, smiling despite himself. “We can figure something out later. For now… FIFA?”
Max grinned. “Now you’re talking.”
They settled on the couch, controllers in hand, beers on the coffee table, Leo snoring at Charles’s feet while Sassy watched from the armchair like a suspicious aunt.
Thirty minutes later, Charles was sincerely considering walking back in the middle of the snowstorm or throwing himself off the balcony to stop the carnage.
“How are you doing this?” Charles demanded, leaning forward aggressively.
“I told you, Charlie,” Max beamed, cheeks pink from laughing. “I don’t play to lose!”
“That’s not fair!”
“Oh, really? Now it’s unfair?” Max chuckled.
Charles smacked his arm. “Don’t start with the ‘inchident’ jokes, I beg you.”
Max only laughed harder.
Charles groaned as Max scored again, and did a triumphant little victory dance on the couch, something so smug and delighted that it made a warm, painful twist unfurl in Charles’s stomach.
“Okay, I’m done. This is humiliating.”
Max slumped sideways on the couch until their shoulders bumped, nudging him playfully. “Don’t be a sore loser,” he teased.
“Me? Sore loser?” Charles gasped, hand to heart. “Never.”
Max just giggled, wiping a tear from his left eye. “Come on, we need to find something to eat, I am starving.”
They ended up raiding both their fridges and pantries.
To their mutual surprise, Max’s cupboards contained more than expected: all kinds of pasta, tomato sauce, different flours, spices and condiments.
Charles’s on the other hand…
“I thought your fridge would be better, Mr. Judgmental Hypocrite,” Max said, raising his eyebrows at the chaotic display in Charles’s fridge.
“It’s not that bad!”
“Charles, 90% of these Tupperwares are labeled ‘Leo’s pappa’”.
“There is also a black truffle in the corner.”
“Of course there is.”
“Hey at least I have some vegetables!” Charles rebuffed.
Max rebutted quickly, “Not that again! I was supposed to leave for Belgium! Of course my fridge is empty! What’s your excuse?”
“Maman’s a better cook?
Max shook his head in disbelief, “Alright, I have some ideas. Let’s go back upstairs before the zoo explodes in our absence.”
Together, somehow, they managed to assemble a Christmas’s Eve dinner menu: caviar bruschetta as an appetizer, lasagna as the first dish, and kebab (yes, kebab meat resurrected from a deep corner of Max’s freezer).
“You said you knew how to make besciamella, Charles.”
“Well, I might have to make a brief call to Maranello…”
“Oh god, you’re gonna poison me, aren’t you?” Max groaned.
Cooking turned into bumping shoulders, bickering over seasoning, wine-fueled laughter with the pets begging underfoot, and one moment where Charles nearly burned himself on the oven. Max grabbed his wrist on instinct, thumb brushing over his pulse, chest pressed against Charles’ back.
Charles didn’t move for a moment. Neither did Max.
But then one of the dogs sneezed and Max cleared his throat and stepped back while Charles smiled into his shoulder, shy and a little breathless.
Dinner was chaotic and warm and tasted like comfort.
They sat at the big living room table, fully set as per Charles demand (“It needs to be Christmas-y, Max!”), the cats weaving around their chairs, Leo stationed loyally at Charles’s side begging for scraps of food.
The lasagna was lopsided, one corner slightly burnt, and the kebab looked like it had lived a past life, but they both kept reaching for more. The bruschetta had been devoured embarrassingly fast.
Charles wiped a smear of sauce from the side of his mouth with his thumb. “Well, this isn’t half bad, I must say. It’s not Maman’s cooking, but we did a good job, non?”
Max smiled over the rim of his wine glass. “I have always wanted to eat kebab on Christmas Eve,” he snorted.
They even managed dessert: a champagne coupe filled with Lec vanilla ice cream and topped with dry stroopwafel crumbs pulled from the depths of Max’s cupboard.
Charles took a slow spoonful, eyes crinkling. “This is nice.”
“It is. Very nice.” Max replied, his gaze lingering on Charles’ face.
Max had just taken his last spoon of gelato when his phone buzzed on the counter, screen lighting up with Victoria.
“Oh, shit, my sister,” he muttered, wiping his mouth quickly before answering.
“MAXI!” Victoria’s voice burst through the speaker immediately, followed by a chaotic shuffle and what sounded like someone dropping the phone.
Max winced. “Hi! Hello… careful, don’t!”
“Oomaaaax!” Luca shouted, face suddenly filling the frame, nose almost pressed to the camera.
“LUCA,” Max laughed. “Back up, I can see your entire brain.”
A tiny blond head popped into view next, Lio, grinning with a missing front tooth. “We wanna say Merry Christmas! Where are the cats? Show us the cats!”
Before Max could turn the camera, baby Hailey started screeching happily, waving a stuffed penguin.
“Hailey also wants to say something,” Victoria said, trying to steady the phone. “Although I’m not sure what.”
“AH!!” Hailey yelled, proud of herself.
Max softened instantly. “Yeah, that’s very good. Very festive.”
The kids kept yelling greetings at increasing volume, demanding to see Jimmy and Sassy, then Donut, then Nino, then Max’s hair “because it looks funny.”
Max turned the camera around to show the pets: Donut perked up at the sound of small voices, Sassy blinked in deep confusion, Nino wagged his tail like he’d been waiting for the moment his whole life.
“MERRY CHRISTMAS, PUPPIES!” Luca screamed.
Sassy fled the scene.
Max chuckled, turning the camera back to himself. “Okay, calm down, you’re scaring the cats.”
Victoria finally managed to wrangle the boys to her sides, slightly out of breath. “Alright, alright, boys, say goodnight to Uncle Max.”
“GOODNIGHT!”
“BYE UNCLE MAX!”
“BYE PUPPIES!”
“WA!” said Hailey.
Max melted. “Bye, guys. Love you.”
Just when he thought the chaos had ended, Victoria leaned closer to the camera. Her eyes narrowed suspiciously.
“Maxi…”
“…yeah?”
“Are you…” she tilted her head, zooming in dramatically “on a date?”
Max froze.
“What? No! I… I mean, not… not a date! I just… well, there was snow, and then… Charles… and the doorman… my car… his dog… ” He could feel the blush rise so fast it nearly burned his ears off.
Because oh god, the candles, the soft lighting, the empty wine glasses, the half-eaten dessert, the tiny decorated pine tree glowing behind him…
Victoria lifted one eyebrow. “Max.”
“It’s not… It’s just… We got stuck in the storm,” he tried again. “And then Christmas stuff happened? I mean… not Christmas stuff, but, like, okay, some Christmas stuff, but… NOT LIKE, like… romantic stuff…”
He absolutely, undeniably, sounded like a man describing a date.
He was dying. Actually dying.
“Maxi,” Victoria said gently, smiling in a way that was entirely not helping. “You’re blushing.”
Before Max could bury himself inside a human sized Red Bull can and never emerge again, Charles peeked over from the kitchen door, curious, hair a little messy, wearing that soft smile that always made Max’s thoughts short-circuit.
“Is that your sister?” he asked, leaning into frame.
Victoria lit up. “Charles! Hello!”
Charles lifted a hand shyly. “Bonsoir Victoria! Merry Christmas.”
“And Merry Christmas to you!” she chirped. “You two look like you’re having a lovely evening.”
Max nearly choked.
Charles blinked, flushing bright red as realization dawned. “Oh! Oh no, it’s… it is not… well, it is lovely, but not… like…”
He shot Max a helpless glance, cheeks glowing.
Max stared right back, equally pink, equally doomed, but unable to stop the small smile stretching at the corner of his mouth.
Victoria raised her hand. “Say no more. I understand perfectly.”
They absolutely did not understand what she meant. But also… they kind of did.
“Alright,” she said cheerfully. “It’s the kids bedtime now, so I’ll let you two get back to your evening.”
Max sputtered. “Victoria!”
“Bye Maxi. Bye Charles.”
“Bonne nuit!” Charles managed, still blushing.
The call ended.
Silence fell.
They stared at the phone screen and then at each other.
Charles laughed first, quietly, softly, his eyes warm.
Max couldn’t help joining him.
And something in the room shifted, gentle and inevitable.
“Movie?” Charles asked.
“Yes,” Max said moving to the couch.
“But it has to be a Christmas movie!” Charles added gesturing with a pointed finger.
“Oh god, not again with the Christmas-y things!” Max complained in a playful tone.
“Maaaax”, Charles whined back, sitting beside him and pouting a little while looking at him with his big green eyes.
God, Max could have died.
“Okay okay, stop with the Bambi look, we’ll watch a Christmas movie!”, he said rolling his eyes.
“Yes!!!”
“What about Die Hard?”
“No.”
“It is, technically, a Christmas movie!”
“It is a movie that takes place during Christmas,” Charles said. “That is different.”
“It has Christmas music.”
“It has Bruce Willis falling off buildings!”
“That’s festive,” Max argued.
“NO.”
They glared at each other. Sassy watched them like she was judging a tennis match.
“Fine,” Max sighed. “What’s your choice?”
Charles brightened and picked Love Actually.
“Oh god,” Max muttered. “Please no.”
Charles beamed, “Come on, it’s a classic!”
Ten minutes in, Max said, “This is terrible.”
Charles leaned into him, smug. “It’s funny!”
“But everything is all so… British, ew...”
Charles actually giggled.
Max opened his mouth to argue again, but Charles shifted closer, tugging the blanket over both of them and Max forgot how words worked.
Somewhere between secondhand embarrassment from the movie and the warmth from the wine, their bodies found each other naturally.
Charles leaned his head on Max’s shoulder.
Max rested his cheek on Charles’ hair.
Their legs brushed, their breaths synced.
Neither commented on it.
Leo curled up on Charles’ lap, trapping them even closer.
The storm outside raged on, but the living room was warm, golden, quiet.
Halfway through the movie, Charles’ voice went soft.
“I… thought I’d be alone tonight.”
“You’re not,” Max said gently.
Charles’s fingers curled slightly into Max’s sleeve.
“And you thought you’d be in Belgium,” Charles murmured. “With your sister.”
Max hummed. “This is… fine too.”
Charles smiled into Max’s shoulder. “Oui.”
Max turned his head just a little.
Charles looked up at him.
Their faces were close, close enough that Max could see the flecks of green in Charles’ eyes, close enough that Charles could see the pink on Max’s cheeks.
The movie continued on, unnoticed.
Charles whispered, “Max?”
“Yeah?”
“I think I… ”
He didn’t finish the sentence, he didn’t need to.
Max leaned in first.
It was a soft kiss, warm and hesitant, as if both were afraid to break the moment. Charles kissed back immediately, hand sliding to Max’s jaw, thumb brushing his cheek.
Max’s fingers tangled in Charles’ curls, pulling him closer.
Charles made a small sound, surprised, happy, and Max smiled into the kiss.
When they finally pulled apart, breath warm and shared, Charles whispered:
“Better than maman's raclette.”
Max huffed a laugh. “Don’t let your brother hear you say that.”
Charles snuggled closer, practically melting into him.
The storm kept howling outside.
Inside, Max tightened his arm around Charles, blanket slipping a little as they settled fully against each other.
They didn’t start the second movie.
They didn’t finish the first.
They fell asleep like that, tangled up on the couch, warm and safe and exactly where they were meant to be on Christmas Eve.
Together.
The end