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Charles woke to two things at once, the sound of giggles — small, high-pitched, almost breathless — and the unmistakable absence of the warm body that was usually curled against his side.
He blinked himself awake, momentarily disoriented as his eyes struggled to adjust to the pale grey light that filtered through the curtains. The fragments of memories slowly fell into place. Switzerland. The chalet. And the snowstorm that had swept in so suddenly, foiling their plans to get back home in time for the holidays. No planes, no roads, barely any phone signal. Not only stranded but cut off in the silence of the snow.
Charles propped himself on one elbow, looking at the empty space beside him. The sheets were cold, evidence that Max had not made it to bed.
The last thing he remembered was Max sitting on the couch the previous night, portable sim-racing in front of him, promising he’d be there “in a minute.” Charles had been half asleep at that point.
Another burst of giggles drifted through the quiet chalet, followed by soft, excited claps.
Charles swung his legs over the side of the mattress and stood, the wooden floor cool beneath his feet as he padded toward the living room. The chalet was quiet otherwise — no wind howling through cracks, just the muffled stillness that came with heavy snowfall.
The moment he entered the living room, his eyes darted momentarily at the sim-racing left abandoned on the coffee table, screen displaying a wrecked car, controller laying alone.
The giggles erupted again, lighter this time and definitely playful. Charles traced towards the Christmas tree standing in the corner with its soft glow.
He slowed his pace as he drew near, his heart reacting almost subconsciously to a sensation in his chest before he even knew why.
Max was sitting on the floor, right in front of the tree, a wrapped present nestled between his spread legs. The bow that had once been carefully tied on top was now clutched triumphantly in his hands, slightly crushed. His shoulders were hunched forward in concentration, his posture small and unguarded.
That was when it clicked. Max had regressed. Charles stopped a few steps away, his expression softening immediately as a quiet smile tugged at his lips.
“Maxie?”
Max startled, a small gasp escaping him. His head snapped up, blue eyes going wide as they locked onto Charles. The look on his face was pure, unmistakable guilt — the expression of someone who knew they’d been caught doing something they absolutely weren’t supposed to be doing.
Charles crossed his arms loosely over his chest, one brow lifting. “What are you doing?” he asked, tone light but curious.
Max glanced down at the present, then back up at Charles. His eyes sparkled — bright, mischievous, undeniably pleased with himself.
“Gift!” he announced proudly.
Charles raised both eyebrows now, fighting the laugh that threatened to spill out. “You’re opening a gift?” he asked.
Max nodded enthusiastically. “Ja,” he said sweetly, clutching the bow a little tighter as if daring Charles to stop him. (Yes,)
Charles shook his head softly. “No, no,” he murmured, already moving closer. “You can’t open the gifts.”
He crouched in front of Max, careful and slow, and gently took the crushed bow from his hands. Max resisted for half a second before letting go, his fingers lingering as Charles placed the bow back on top of the present and nudged it safely under the tree.
“This is for Christmas,” Charles said calmly, his voice low and reassuring.
Max’s bottom lip pushed out immediately. It trembled, his brows knitting together as he looked up at Charles with watery eyes.
“Charlie…” he whined, the word stretched and wobbly, like it hurt to say.
Charles hummed softly in response and he slipped his arms around Max and lifted him with practiced ease. Max reacted instantly — his legs wrapped around Charles’ waist, his arms curling tight around his shoulders as if that was exactly where he belonged.
“You can’t open gifts before Christmas,” Charles said gently as he stood. “If you do, you might find coal inside.”
“No, Charlie!” Max protested, his voice thin and upset. He buried his face into Charles’ shoulder, hiding there like the thought alone was unbearable.
“If you don’t want coal,” Charles continued evenly, rubbing slow circles into Max’s back, “then you have to wait two more days.”
“Don’t want to,” Max muttered, a small wounded sound escaping him — soft, broken, like Charles had just told him the worst news imaginable.
Charles sighed quietly, not frustrated, just understanding.
When Max regressed, he was usually sweet and compliant, eager to please, listening carefully to every word. But when he was tired — when the world felt too big and his emotions overflowed — he pushed back just a little. A pout here, a whine there. Never truly defiant, just overwhelmed.
Charles adjusted his grip and kissed the side of Max’s head. “Hey,” he murmured. “How about this?” He turned away from the tree and headed toward the kitchen. “Why don’t I make your milk, hmm? And then we go back to bed. Tomorrow we can make cookies for Santa… and the next morning, we open gifts.”
Max sniffled. His arms tightened around Charles’ neck, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. After a moment, he nodded against Charles’ shoulder, slow and reluctant.
“Oké,” he whispered. (Okay,)
Charles smiled to himself. “There we go,” he said softly. “Such a good boy.”
He pressed a gentle kiss into Max’s hair before reaching for one of the spill-proof bottles. His movements were unhurried, careful, as if every second mattered.
As he prepared the bottle, he glanced down at Max. “Can you tell me how old you are, Maxie?”
Max tilted his head back slightly, still pouting. His lashes fluttered as he thought about it, blue eyes drifting down to the floor before lifting back to Charles.
“Four,” he said quietly.
Charles’ expression softened even more. “Wow,” he murmured, pouring the powder formula into the bottle. “Four years old.” He smiled at Max, proud and affectionate. “Such a big, beautiful boy.”
Max clearly tried hard not to smile, but it slipped out anyway. He covered his mouth with both hands as he hunched his shoulders and leaned forward into Charles’ shoulder once more as though he'd been discovered smiling.
Charles chuckled quietly. He instinctively adjusted his hold, moving Max so that he was cradled in one arm, secure against his chest. With his other arm, he carefully filled the bottle with warm water from the thermo, noticing the steam rising as it combined. Every action was deliberate and slow, considered of the warm body in his arms.
When the formula was ready, he screwed on the lid and gave it a gentle shake. Then he turned and padded back towards the bedroom with Max still snug in his grasp.
He placed the bottle on the nightstand before putting Max on the bed. Then Charles sat in front of Max, pulling down his pants before lifting the T-shirt over his head.
As soon as the shirt came off, Max’s pout returned in full force. “No PJs,” Max declared, arms crossing stubbornly over his chest.
Charles raised a brow, amused but patient. “But it’s cold, baby,” he said softly, rubbing warmth back into Max’s arms with his hands.
Max shook his head, pout growing bigger, chin jutting out in protest.
Charles tilted his head, pretending to think. “Not even a hoodie?” he asked gently. “You can use mine.”
That caught Max’s attention. Max looked down at his hands, fiddling with his fingers, clearly thinking very hard about it. Charles knew that look well — the stubborn pause, the moment where Max didn’t want to agree just yet, even though he wanted to.
Grinning to himself, Charles reached for the hoodie he’d worn earlier, draped over the chair nearby. He held it up invitingly. “Please, Maxie,” he coaxed, voice warm and persuasive. “Look how comfy it is.”
Max glanced up at him, hesitated… then nodded.
Charles’ smile widened instantly. “Good boy,” he praised, quick and bright, before Max could change his mind. He slipped the hoodie gently over Max’s head, guiding his arms through the sleeves and tugging it down until it swallowed him just a little.
And before Max could object any further, Charles reached for the spill-proof bottle and carefully handed it to Max.
Max hummed happily and began drinking, his eyes already drifting closed from the warmth. Charles sat beside him and reached out to run his fingers through Max’s hair, slow and soothing. He didn't speak, simply watched until Max finished the last few swallows. As Max lowered the bottle, Charles picked it and put it aside.
“All done,” he murmured. Then, gently, “Let’s go to the bathroom, okay?”
Max didn’t answer with words. Instead, he lifted his arms toward Charles, hands opening and closing in unmistakable grabby hands.
Charles smiled, picked him up in one smooth motion, and headed to the bathroom. He opened the door to the en-suite bathroom, warmth spilled gently around them. Charles carefully placed Max on the toilet and stood nearby, his hand resting at Max’s back.
Max's legs kicked absently as he peed, heels tapped out a gentle patter against the porcelain, already drifting. Charles moved silently around the bathroom — muscle memory guiding him. He took Max's toothbrush and applied a line of toothpaste to it and then filled a glass with water and put it to an easy-reaching distance.
“I’m done,” Max said softly after a moment.
“Good job,” Charles responded softly.
He handed Max a small bit of the toilet paper, waiting patiently as he cleaned himself before watching as he disposed of the paper in the trash. Charles assisted him in rising to his feet, holding him with two hands.
“Hands next,” he murmured.
Charles squirted some soap into Max’s hands. Max began to rub his hands together, and some of the water splashed onto the counter and the front of his hoodie. When he finished, Charles rinsed his hands clean and reached for the toothbrush.
Max hesitated, eyes drifting down to the sink, shoulders drooping slightly.
Charles grinned softly. “Teeth,” he reminded him. “You need to clean them, or they’re all going to fall out.” Max’s head snapped up. “And if you don’t have teeth,” Charles continued seriously, “you won’t be able to eat candy.”
Max’s eyes widened in alarm. He immediately grabbed the toothbrush and brought it to his mouth, brushing slowly and carefully. His movements were uncoordinated, blinking long and heavy between strokes — sleep already pulling him under.
When he finished, Charles handed him the glass. “Rinse,” he said quietly.
Max did as told, then leaned forward as Charles gently dried his mouth with a towel, careful and unhurried.
“There,” Charles murmured fondly. “Such a beautiful mouth. And such nice teeth.”
Max giggled at that, lifting his arms straight up — silent, unmistakable request.
Charles chuckled and scooped him up without a word, tucking Max securely against his chest as he carried him back into the bedroom.
He laid Max down gently, pulling the duvet up around him and tucking it under his chin. Then Charles climbed in beside him.
Max immediately curled closer, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of Charles’ shirt, his head finding its familiar place against Charles’ shoulder.
“Good night,” Charles whispered, pressing a soft kiss into Max’s hair.
“Nighty,” Max murmured, a yawn slipping free. “Love you, Charlie.”
Charles tightened his arms around him, protective and warm. “I love you more, my precious boy,” he said softly, holding Max as he drifted to sleep.
* ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ❅˚･ﾟ
Charles experienced déjà vu at the giggles and absence of the warmth against him. He opened his eyes with a slow motion, not needing to see what he would find.
True to expectations, Max was sitting cross-legged on the floor, engrossed in play with Leo sprawled in front of him. Max was rolling a toy towards the puppy, laughing brightly at each of Leo’s clumsy pounces.
Charles shifted himself up onto one elbow and watched them for a moment. He raised an eyebrow. Max usually didn’t remain little for long. It often happened due to exhaustion or stress, and after a good night’s sleep, he would return to himself. Not today, it seemed.
“Good morning, Maxie,” Charles said gently.
Max blinked up at him, tilting his head to the side. A small, sleepy smile tugged at his lips. “Morning,” he replied softly. Right on cue, Max’s stomach let out a quiet but unmistakable growl. Max froze. His eyes widened. “Oopsie,” he said, hand drifting instinctively to his tummy.
Charles couldn’t help but smile. “Hungry?” he asked warmly. “Want some breakfast?”
Max nodded immediately, then lifted his arms toward Charles, fingers opening and closing in grabby hands. “Yesh!”
Charles stretched, swung his legs over the side of the bed, and crossed the room. He scooped Max up easily, settling him against his chest. Behind them, Leo let out an indignant bark, clearly unhappy about losing his playmate.
Max burst into giggles at the sound. “Leo!” he squealed, laughter spilling freely.
Charles huffed softly, rolling his eyes at Leo’s tantrums as he carried Max toward the kitchen. He set Max carefully on the counter, keeping one hand at his waist to steady him. “How about some cereal for breakfast?” Charles asked.
Max hummed thoughtfully, then nodded. “Ja.” (Yes.)
“Perfect,” Charles said.
“Kus, Charlie,” Max requested, lips pushing forward into an exaggerated pout. (Kiss,)
Charles grinned. He cupped Max’s face gently and pressed a kiss to his forehead, then his nose, then his cheek — lingering just long enough for Max to lean into each one. Max giggled and leaned forward to plant a soft kiss on Charles’ cheek in return.
Charles smiled, warm and full, and placed one last kiss into Max’s hair before turning back to the kitchen.
* ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ❅˚･ﾟ
After a bowl of cereal for Max and a strong cup of black coffee for himself, they latched themselves up in layers before venturing outside as requested by an enthusiastic Max. Hats, scarves, and gloves… Max protested every extra piece but allowed them with dramatic sighs.
They were out longer than they had intended. They constructed a snowman that leaned perceptibly to one side, with a head that was ridiculously out of proportion to its body and made snow angels in irregular patches of snow. Max's giggles rang out across this snowy terrain, ringing out brightly and openly in the cold mountain air. His pouts occasionally made a brief and intense appearance whenever things didn’t quite go his way.
Like when his snow angel was "wrong" because his hat was in the way. Or when Leo swiped the carrot that was meant to be the snowman’s nose and sprinted off with it. Max was personally offended by that.
By the time they made it back into the chalet, stamping snow out of their boots and stripping out of layers, Max’s cheeks were pink with cold and his nose was a little red. He looked warm and wind-kissed and too beautiful.
“Chocolate, Charlie,” Max asked softly, standing close, hands clasped together.
Charles felt himself weaken immediately. He wanted to say yes — wanted to give Max anything he asked for — but he knew better.
“Not right now,” Charles said gently. “We need to take a nap.”
“No!” Max protested instantly, his lower lip wobbling, eyes already filling with tears.
Charles steeped closer in front of him and cupped his face, thumbs brushing beneath his eyes. “I’m tired,” he said softly. “And I think you need a nap too. Just a little one. Please.”
Max sniffled and lunged forward, burying himself into Charles’ arms. Charles lifted him easily, holding him close. “Don’t wanna,” Max whispered, voice trembling.
Charles carried him to the sofa and sat down, settling Max securely in his lap. He rocked slightly, slow, and steady. “Just a little nap,” Charles murmured, kissing Max’s hair. “When you wake up, we’ll have lunch. And then we can bake cookies for Santa.” He paused, letting the words sink in. “And tomorrow,” he added softly, “you can open your gifts.”
Max tilted his head back, eyes red-rimmed, a stubborn pout still clinging to his lips. He sniffled once more… then collapsed back into Charles’ arms, clinging tight.
“There you go,” Charles whispered fondly. “Such a good boy.”
He shifted them gently until he was stretched out on the sofa, Max sprawled on top of him, warm and safe. Charles wrapped both arms around him, holding him close.
“The prettiest boy,” Charles murmured, barely louder than a breath.
Max snuggled closer, relaxing fully his breathing slowing. Charles slid one of his hands up and down Max’s back in long, comforting strokes.
A few minutes passed before Max finally drifted off to sleep. Charles lay completely immobile beneath him, holding his breath scared that the slightest movement disrupt this fragile calm that enveloped them. He knew it was selfish — the thought crept in quietly, guiltily — but he couldn’t deny it. He wanted to keep him like this.
This is the longest Max had ever remained little, and he was so soft this way. So open. So, innocent. Charles pressed a gentle kiss into Max hair, and he inhaled the warm smell of Max’s shampoo.
Max rarely regressed. And he made Charles promise that when he did, that he would bring him back as soon as possible.
Charles would never betray his trust after what they have gone through. So, he always did what Max asked. He comforted him, soothed him, and put him to sleep so he could wake up himself again, whole, and present and in control.
Even now, Charles reminded himself of this promise. Thoughts crept into his mind of what life had been like before he had known.
Back then, their relationship had seemed— at least to Charles— fragile and nebulous. A fling, possibly. They had gone out to dinner, laughed and made love. And then, every time, Max had left. He had never stayed overnight.
There was always a reason. Things to do. A place to be. Restlessness. Being a poor sleeper.
Charles had convinced himself, with great pain, that Max must be dating someone else. The mere thought had emptied him out, he’d been in love with Max before the relationship had even actually started.
But one night, finally, Charles came to Max’s apartment. Max had tried to blow him off, trick him into going away. But Charles hadn't.
Charles told Max that if there was another person, they could discuss it. They could have an open relationship if that was what Max wanted. But Max assured Charles that there was no one else, he simply didn’t like sleeping with another person. Charles opted to remain on the sofa that night. And that was when everything changed.
He woke up to soft giggles and the sound of movement. Padding footsteps. When he peeked, he saw Max sitting on the floor with his cats, a small stuffed bear clutched in his hands, laughing quietly as if the world was suddenly simple again.
Max, little.
Max fell asleep not long after, curled up tightly and exhausted. And when he awoke later, Charles told him what he’d seen.
Max had cried—truly cried—like his heart was breaking. He’d been terrified that Charles would leave, that he wouldn’t want the responsibility, that this would be the thing that ended them.
Charles had sworn he never would. Only then had Max confessed the rest. He told Charles he didn’t like being little. That he hated the blank spaces, the not-knowing. That waking up without memory made him feel unsafe — not because he didn’t trust Charles, but because he hated losing control of himself.
Now, Charles held Max in a strong embrace, instinctive, as if he could protect him from the whole world. He kissed Max’s hair once more, slow and tender.
Max woke up after about half an hour. He was still small.
Charles recognized it easily — the way Max blinked slowly, the softness still clinging to his movements, the unfocused way his gaze drifted before settling. Usually, a nap was enough. Sleep brought him back every time. But not now.
For lunch, he prepared small pieces of chicken and steamed vegetables, cutting everything into manageable bites. He sat close, offering gentle encouragement every time Max picked up a piece of broccoli or carrot.
“That’s it,” Charles murmured. “Good job.”
Each bit of praise made Max giggle and duck his head shyly, cheeks flushing pink.
Then, after lunch, they headed back to the kitchen to make sugar cookies for Santa. Max got himself smothered in flour, from sleeves to cheeks to the end of his nose, but he laughed with glee each time Charles tried to keep things under control.
They took a break with hot cocoa loaded high with marshmallows, sitting side by side while Polar Express played softly in the background. Max leaned against Charles the entire time.
When the movie ended, they returned to the kitchen counter. The cookies were baked, cooled, and awaiting decoration, with the frosting and sprinkles set out in small bowls.
“I want mine red,” Max announced seriously.
He grabbed the frosting without hesitation and smeared it messily across a cookie, covering far more surface than necessary.
Charles grinned. “Mine’s going to be green,” he said, carefully spreading his frosting with a spoon.
“Sparkles!” Max declared.
“You mean sprinkles?” Charles corrected gently, chuckling.
“Yesh,” Max replied confidently.
He grabbed a small handful of sprinkles and dumped them onto his cookie, then added even more frosting on top, completely unconcerned with balance or restraint.
Charles watched fondly. “That cookie looks delicious,” he said. “Can I have a bite?”
Max shook his head immediately, frosting-covered hands lifted in protest. “No, Charlie,” he said firmly, pointing at the cookie. “Santa.”
“Ohhh,” Charles said, playing along. “Okay then.” He paused. “Can you make one for me?”
Max looked down at the tray of cookies, clearly considering it. He pouted for a second… then nodded.
“Kus,” he requested, lips pushing forward.
Charles leaned in with a smile and let Max kiss his cheek, then returned the gesture, pressing a soft kiss to Max’s frosting-smudged cheek.
“Thank you so much,” Charles said warmly. “It’s going to be the best cookie.”
Max giggled, cheeks pink, hands flying up to cover his mouth — only to smear frosting across his face in the process.
Max grabbed another cookie and went to work again, this time piling on far too much white frosting before showering it with sprinkles, completely absorbed in the task.
* ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ❅˚･ﾟ
When they finished decorating all the cookies, they ate one each in the kitchen. They weren’t the best cookies—a little bit too sweet and a little bit uneven—but Max didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he happily added even more frosting on top before taking each bite, humming contentedly as he chewed.
Then Charles led him back to the bathroom, where Max took a lengthy bath with a rubber duck, splashing water from time to time and mumbling softly. Once he was clean and sleepy again, Charles dried him off, dressed him carefully, and slipped him into soft pajamas. He put Max into bed with Leo nestled comfortably at his side and left the TV playing a movie before he took a shower.
Max was humming softly at the television when Charles got back, showered, and dressed.
Max cheeks were flushed from the warm bath, his hair dripping as he ate mashed potatoes for dinner—just as he’d requested. Charles sat next to him, watching closely, making sure he took small bites.
“Grinch,” Max said suddenly, pointing at the screen.
“Yes,” Charles replied with a smile. “The Grinch.”
He took the plate once Max was finished and gently wiped his mouth with a napkin, careful and unhurried, before setting everything aside on the nightstand.
Then Charles opened the cabinet near the bed and reached inside. He pulled out a small wrapped gift and placed it carefully on the duvet in front of Max.
Max froze. His eyes widened immediately, and he shook his head. “No,” he said quickly. “Coal, Charlie.”
Charles chuckled softly. “No, baby. This one’s from Charlie,” he explained. “Not Santa. It won’t turn into coal.”
Max pouted, peeking up at Charles through long lashes. “Promise?” he asked quietly.
“Promise,” Charles said without hesitation, leaning down to kiss Max’s hair.
Max nodded, then reached for the wrapping paper. He hesitated again, tilting his head to look up at Charles, searching his face.
“Open it,” Charles said gently. “It’s okay. We’ll open Santa’s gifts tomorrow.”
Max nodded and slowly unwrapped the gift. Inside was a small toy car, wrapped a little unevenly — clearly done in a hurry earlier while Max had been distracted by The Polar Express.
Max gasped. “Car!” he squealed, voice high and delighted.
Charles laughed softly. “Yes. A car.”
“Blue,” Max said reverently, holding it up.
“Yes,” Charles agreed. “Because it’s our favorite color.”
Max nodded seriously and immediately began rolling the car across the duvet, making soft vroom sounds with his mouth.
Charles watched him with a warm smile, his heart full.
* ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* * ❅˚･ﾟ☼*･ﾟ* ❅˚･ﾟ
They went to sleep as soon as the movie finished… or at least Max did.
Charles was wide awake long after, gazing up at the dark ceiling as the presence of Max pressed snugly against the side of his body was both comforting and horrifying in its own right. There was a knot in his stomach feeling that Charles just couldn’t shake.
He loved little Max. It was all giggles and pouts and sweet words whispered as secrets. Grabby hands and sleepy smiles and tiny kisses.
The thing that terrified him most about this, was that Max had never stayed little for so long.
Swallowing hard, Charles lightly ran his thumb over Max’s back in slow patterns, trying to center himself even as his mind reeled. What if Max was mad when he woke? What if he blamed Charles for not doing enough to bring him back? What if all this bliss turned into terror?
Charles grabbed his cell phone from his pocket, trying not to move much. The screen showed him its gentle glow in the dark as he frantically searched.
Regression lasting longer than normal. Long regression under stress. The answers were generic. Unsatisfying. It all led back to the same place… give it time. That prolonged regression could happen after stress. That the mind sometimes held on longer when it needed safety.
None of it lessened the fear. Charles let out a trembling breath, putting the phone down. He was afraid to a point he rarely was before now.
He didn’t remember falling asleep. The last thing he remembered is Max moving in closer, warm, and soft, and Charles planting a lingering kiss in his hair, a promise that he had made a thousand times before — that he would do right by him.
The next thing he felt was lips against his cheek. Soft. Light. Repeated.
Charles hummed instinctively, smiling in his sleep — until one of the kisses landed a little too close to the corner of his mouth. His eyes snapped open at the reminder of the day before.
Max was half on top of him, propped on one elbow, smiling down at him — awake, bright-eyed, unmistakably present.
Charles’ heart stuttered. “How old are you?” he asked immediately, voice gentle but urgent.
Max blinked, surprise flickering across his face. “Did I…?”
“Yes,” Charles said, exhaling in relief even as a new tension settled in his chest. Max was back but now came the part he’d been dreading.
Max’s brows furrowed.
Charles took a deep, steadying breath and slowly sat up, carefully bringing Max with him, guiding him into a seated position beside him, keeping one arm firm around his waist, grounding them both.
Max blinked, clearly trying to orient himself. His lips parted, a question already forming — but before any words could spill from that familiar, beautiful mouth, Charles cupped his face with both hands.
“I’m sorry,” Charles said immediately, the words tumbling out fast and breathless. “I woke up and you were four, trying to open the gifts. I swear I tried to help you come back. I put you to sleep, but you woke up still little. I made you breakfast, then took you outside to play in the snow to tire you out, and when you woke from your nap you were still four again. I didn’t push you to sleep after that — I waited until night. I tried to do everything right.” His voice shook despite himself.
Max blinked a few times, absorbing it all. “I… I spent one whole day like that?” he asked softly.
Charles’ heart dropped. “Yes,” he admitted. “But I swear, I—”
He didn’t get to finish. Max leaned in and kissed him. It was soft and brief, lips plush and warm, grounding Charles instantly. He’d missed them more than he’d realized.
When Max pulled back, he smiled — small and sincere. “Thank you for taking care of me,” he said quietly. Then he bit his lip, hesitation flickering across his face. “Did I… cause too much trouble?”
Charles exhaled, tension finally loosening from his chest. “No,” he said gently, completely earnest. “Never.” He brushed his thumb along Max’s cheek. “You were beautiful. And good. Just like always.”
Max groaned softly and let himself fall forward into Charles’ arms, burying his face against his chest.
Charles chuckled quietly and wrapped both arms around him, holding him close as he pressed a kiss into Max’s hair. “I love you,” he whispered.
“I love you too,” Max murmured back, snuggling closer.
Charles hummed softly and reached one hand past the nightstand, opening the small cabinet beside the bed. From inside, he pulled out a slim box he’d hidden there carefully, waiting.
“Merry Christmas, chéri,” Charles said, offering it to Max.
Max shifted slightly out of his arms, blinking at him in surprise. “But… the gift I got you is under the tree,” he said. “Don’t you want to wait until after breakfast?”
Charles shook his head with a small, determined smile. “No. Open this one now. Mine can wait.”
Max huffed, already smiling despite himself, and took the box. He opened it slowly — then froze. He blinked once. Then again.
“Is this…?” he started, disbelief creeping into his voice.
Charles smiled, fond and entirely too pleased with himself. “I knew you were going to buy it for yourself. They told me at the factory you’d ordered it — a blue 488 Pista. So, I got ahead of you and paid for it.”
Max looked up at him, stunned. “You—”
“With my employee discount,” Charles added innocently.
Max burst out laughing, shaking his head as he launched himself into Charles’ arms. He kissed him — slow and deep, sweet, and overwhelming, the kind of kiss that made Charles’ chest ache in the best way.
“You’re insane,” Max murmured against his lips. “And they don’t give you employee discounts.”
Charles just smiled, cupping Max’s face and pressing a soft kiss to his nose. “It was the Santa discount,” he said solemnly. “Just introduced.”
“Liar,” Max said, giggling as he shook his head. He leaned in, forehead resting against Charles’. “Thank you,” he whispered.
Charles smiled back, open, and unguarded. “I love you so much.”
Max’s eyes crinkled at the corners as he smiled. “I love you more,” he replied, then pushed his lips out exaggeratedly. “Kus?” (Kiss?)
Charles grinned, his voice instinctively softening as he leaned closer. “Of course, my beautiful boy—”
Max immediately put a finger over Charles’ lips, scrunching his nose. “Don’t talk to me in that tone,” he warned.
Charles laughed, gently catching Max’s finger and pulling him closer instead. He kissed him — slow but brief, just enough to make Max hum softly.
When the kiss broke, Max looked at him through his lashes. “Thank you,” he whispered. “For the gift… and for taking care of me.”
Charles wrapped him in a hug, holding him close. “It was my pleasure,” he whispered back.