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They came in side by side, close enough that Max had to slow his steps when Charles did, the way he always did without thinking. The air smelled faintly of something new, something neutral, and Charles immediately put his jacket on one of the high chairs around the kitchen island without any care in the world.
“Don’t leave it like that,” Max said, fighting the urge to put the jacket properly the way he was taught when he was younger.
Charles glanced down at the jacket, then back up at him, unimpressed. “I’ll put it correctly after.”
“You always say that.”
“And I always do,” he replied, lying and already walking away.
Max huffed, but there was no heat in it. He set his jacket down - properly, smoothing it out of habit, then reached for a surface nearby. He could feel how solid it was beneath his palm. He leaned into it, testing his weight, like he was settling in after a long day rather than arriving somewhere new.
Charles drifted around the space, letting his fingers trail along edges, opening a cabinet before closing it again. The soft sound made him hum in approval. “This feels… nice,” he said.
Max raised an eyebrow. “That’s very scientific of you.”
Charles ignored him and hoisted himself up, sitting on the island with a small grunt and letting his legs dangle in the void. He braced his hands on either side of him, testing the steadiness without looking like he was testing anything at all.
“Hey,” Max said, pointing. “You’re not supposed to-”
“I’m sitting,” he interrupted. “Not doing parkour.”
Max rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t be mad, not when Charles was looking at him so innocently, smiling, and leaning back on his hands.
“You worry too much,” Charles had said, which isn’t untrue, but it’s better to be safe than sorry.
Max stepped closer, stopping between his knees, and resting his hip against the island. It didn’t budge. He pressed a little harder, subtly, but still nothing.
“Someone has to,” he said. “You’d forget your head if it weren’t-”
“Attached to my neck?” Charles offered sweetly.
“-right there,” Max finished, unfazed.
“You love it.” Charles laughed with a soft sound that echoed just enough to make the space feel alive.
“I tolerate it,” he corrected, letting his eyes flick briefly to the drawers underneath the surface, then to the broad surface beneath Charles.
The truth was, he loved it. From his point of view, Charles’ distractions had never been a flaw. Charles moved through the world with his attention split between three thoughts at once, and if left entirely to his own devices, he would absolutely forget essential things.
Max remembered when Charles had once walked out without his phone, only to come back ten minutes later, convinced it had been stolen. Another time, he’d put the kettle in the fridge and the milk in a cupboard, then stared at both with genuine confusion, wondering how it was even possible. Charles lost keys, forgot appointments, missed turns he’d taken a hundred times before.
And yet, somehow, he always remembered the things that mattered. Birthdays, small promises, the exact way Max liked his eggs in the morning. Max liked that about him. He loved being the one who noticed, who caught the details before they slipped outside of Charles’ train of thought.
It made Max feel useful in a way he couldn’t explain. So when he watched Charles now, perched and entirely at ease on the kitchen island, Max didn’t feel irritation, he just felt the familiar warmth of knowing that, whatever Charles forgot, he would always be right there to remember for both of them.
Not to mention that the countertops were at the perfect height in case Max wanted to try something there and then. For example, he could raise his arm and place his hand on Charles' cheek, stroking the stubble of his four-day beard because Charles had been too tired last night to bother shaving.
No, really, it would be so easy for Max to kiss Charles and-
“You’re thinking again.” Charles watched him, catching the look in Max’s eyes.
“That’s allowed.”
“Dangerous, though.”
Max distracted himself by tapping the edge near Charles’ thigh. Still nothing on the surface. Very solid, he constated. He tapped again, harder. Nothing moved.
“What are you doing?” Charles tilted his head.
“Nothing,” Max said, too quickly.
Charmes narrowed her eyes, suspicious now, but amused. “You’re absolutely doing something.”
Max straightened, schooling his face into something neutral because he couldn’t, under any circumstance, have a boner right now. “Just imagining,” he said.
“Imagining what?”
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he glanced around once more to watch the space, the kitchen, the island, the way Charles sat there as if he belonged there already. Then his mouth twitched, barely.
And this time, when he spoke, he chose his words carefully, just stinging enough to start something. Max sighed loudly, theatrically enough so Charles would understand, then he and he shook his head. “You know,” he said, “this is exactly the problem.”
Charles straightened a little on the counter, understanding immediately what Max wanted. “I’m sorry, what problem?”
“This.” Max gestured vaguely at him, at the space, at the way he was sitting on furniture like he owned the place. “You come in, you drop everything wherever you want, you climb onto things that are clearly not meant for sitting-”
“It’s clearly fine,” Charles cut in, bouncing once, deliberately. The surface didn’t even creak. “See?”
“That’s not the point.”
“Oh, here we go,” Charles crossed his arms. “Then what is the point, Max?”
Max jumped to sit on the island, right next to Charles, before folding his own arms, putting enough weight into it to make it interesting. Still solid.
“The point,” he said calmly, “is that one day something is going to break, and you’ll look at me like it’s my fault.”
“You break things just by looking at them wrong.” Charles laughed, incredulous.
“That is objectively untrue.”
Charles slid off the counter and landed lightly, standing too far away from him now. “You cracked a mug last week.”
“It was already cracked.”
“You slammed it on the counter after washing it.”
“I didn’t slam it.”
“Baby,” Charles started before going back on the floor, “There's a huge mark on my counter since you put the cup there, and it's extremely ugly.”
Max couldn’t deny this accusation, but, at the same time, Charles' counter was made of such flimsy material that anything could have damaged it, even a pen placed on it by a child.
Max scoffed, got down on the floor to shove Charles lightly against the opposite drawer to test his balance. Charles stumbled half a step back, braced instinctively against the counter, but nothing shifted, and the drawers didn’t look like they hurt him.
“Unbelievable,” he muttered. “You’re acting like I’m some kind of menace.”
“Yes, you are a menace, and I need to look at everything,” Max said immediately. “You lean on everything, you trip on everything, you sit on everything, you pull things too hard-”
“Oh, like this?” Charles turned and yanked a drawer open, quickly and aggressively, then shoved it closed with a solid gesture. The mechanism absorbed it without complaint.
Max blinked once.
Charles smiled. “Huh.”
He did it again. Harder.
“Charles-”
“What?” He turned back to him, green eyes fixated on Max. “I’m just using it.”
Max stepped forward and closed the distance. “You don’t have to use everything like it personally offended you,” he reminded Charles. Just in case. You could never be too careful with Charles.
“And you don’t have to act like the world is going to collapse if I touch it.”
Chares pushed past him, bumping his shoulder to make Max’s hips bounce against the edge of the counter, just as Max had done a few minutes earlier. Indeed, it did not hurt. It was good to know. Charles opened another drawer, then another, like he was picking a fight with the space itself. The sounds stayed smooth, there was no rattling from the material, no protest against Charles’ force.
Max watched closely, then reached past him, opening the tall door of the fridge beside him with deliberate force. A breath of cold air spilled out, as well as a weird smell. Max made a weird face when it hit his face.
“Really?” Charles asked. “You’re doing that now?”
“You started it.”
“I absolutely did not.”
Charles slammed it shut.
Max immediately opened it again.
Charles slammed it shut much harder this time.
They stared at each other. For a second, there was thick silence, almost convincing. Then Charles’s mouth twitched. Max caught it.
“It’s still standing,” Charles murmured while Max inspected the side of the door. Just to make sure there wasn’t a microcrack that appeared suddenly.
Max was still watching the door and its surroundings when Charles turned away. He turned around the island, passed behind the chairs, letting his fingers brush the edge of the various counters before he stopped in front of the stovetop.
“Okay,” he said, crouching slightly to bring his face level with the controls. “But this… this is important.”
Max followed, letting his curiosity overtake the performance. “Important how?”
Charles ran his fingers over one of the glassy knobs, tapping on it lightly, testing the force required before it turned on. Nothing warmed beneath his palm. He tried again, a bit harder this time, and hovered his hand just above the surface, imagining the heat it might produce, as if he were nudging it by accident.
Not that it happened often.
Well, it did, and despite Charles’ explanation, Max had no idea how it happened. The only thing he knew was that, two years ago, Charles’ neighbours had to call the fire department because of a strong smell of gas, which is the reason why they were looking at an electric stovetop.
Max leaned against the island, watching him with a half-smile. “Careful,” he said, voice teasing. “You might set off something catastrophic.”
“I’m testing it.” Charles shot him a mocking glare. “Imagine,” he said, “one of us is angry. Or distracted. Or dramatically storming off.” He put his other palm on top of the control this time, harder. Still nothing. “I don’t want you to burn down the place.”
“Sure,” Max replied, raising an eyebrow. “Because that would be my fault entirely.”
“Maybe it would,” Charles laughed, nudging him lightly, “But you’d be here to save the day, right?” Charles added with irony.
Max’s smile widened. “Of course. Someone has to.”
Charles shot him a look but smiled despite himself. Standing now, he leaned in closer, inspecting the surface that remained unbothered by all his attempts to provoke it.
“Good,” he murmured, “It behaves.”
Max reached around him, resting one hand on the counter beside Charles’ hip, and let the other hover briefly over the controls before withdrawing. “You're the type who would find a way to accidentally turn it on when distracted by a notification during your favorite song while cooking.”
“Rude,” Charles said, turning around to face Max. “And untrue.”
They stood there for a moment, fully knowing that it could happen, but Max didn’t say anything. Not when Charles turned around to face him, not when Charles tilted his head to look him right in the eyes, not when Charles pressed against him, not when Charles was-
“Oh.”
-distracted.
Max followed his gaze. Behind him, one of the cabinets was still open, and Max could see what had caught his fiancé’s attention. His eyes lifted slowly, tracing the line of the cabinet door up toward the upper plank, high enough that Charles would have to stretch on his toes to put something on it.
Charles nudged Max lightly and walked towards it and let his fingers hover inches below the shelf, tapping lightly as if testing whether it would give way under his weight or under the weight of some imaginary disaster he seemed to anticipate.
“Too high?” Max asked with a teasing tone in his voice, though he stayed quiet enough to let Charles explore.
Charles shook her head, a small grin tugging at his lips. “Not too high. I could get it… if I needed to.” He stretched further on his legs, enough to let his palm graze the edge, and then dropped his hands, turning back again toward Max with a mock flourish, as if he’d just completed something impossible.
Max chuckled softly, stepping closer. “And if you didn’t…?”
“Then you’d get it,” Charles shrugged playfully. “Or I could climb on a chair to reach this place because someone left something important up there.”
“Someone like you?” Max teased, leaning against the island and letting his eyes flick to the drawers below him. Then he glanced back at the high plank. Max would definitely be able to lower it when he installs it. “You’d forget it’s there entirely if I didn’t remind you, wouldn’t you?”
“Maybe. But that’s why I have you, isn’t it?” Charles laughed again, producing a melodic sound that made Max’s chest tighten just enough.
Max smiled, and the slight tension in his body eased completely. “So,” he said lightly, “still pretending we hate each other?”
Charles dropped his arms and leaned into Max’s chest for a fraction of a second, letting the laughter settle. Then he stepped back to scan the island and the counters. After a few seconds, Max could see a mischievous curl forming at the edge of Charles’ smile. “Give it a minute,” he said, “I found something else to fight about.”
“Oh, really?” Max raised an eyebrow, curious to see what else they could test.
Charles nodded, already moving toward the corner where the dishwasher sat. He let his fingers brush against the handle for a few seconds, as if the situation were extremely serious. “For instance…” he said, before opening the door. “The dishwasher could have been loaded so much better.”
“What?” Max slowly walked towards Charles. “We should’ve overfilled it like you did last time?”
As soon as he saw the look on Charles’ face, Max knew where this was going. He liked where it was going. This look means angry sex, and Max just wanted to take Charles in his arms before bending him over-
Charles slammed the dishwasher shut. The metallic noise echoed across the space, but there was no indication of something broken.
“I told you we should’ve loaded it differently! The pans are all dirty,” Charles yelled, even though this sentence just proved that he had no inspiration to continue this fake dispute.
“It’s fine! It’s completely fine! You just don’t know how to-” Max slammed it back open with equal force, testing if it can handle the same charge in the opposite direction.
“Don’t know how to what? Break things?” He shouted, jabbing a finger toward him.
Max grinned, ignoring the jab, and yanked open the drawer where the trash would go, before it closed hard. “See? Nothing happened!”
Charles stomped toward the cupboard doors, yanking one shut so the handle clicked loudly. “Click! Not a scratch! You’re welcome!”
“Don’t thank me yet!” Max roared, closing another cupboard with a practiced shove. “I’m just getting started!”
They moved through the space like a choreographed storm, closing drawers, slamming doors, shoving, testing, yelling, and laughing all at once. The arguments no longer made any sense. Charles yelled something about water when he opened the spice drawer, and Max counterattacked with an argument about cereals while he was checking the capacity of the freezer.
But Max didn’t care.
He didn’t care about how their voices bounced off the walls, how they were punctuated by the reassuring clunks and thunks of furniture that refused to betray them. Charles shoved open a drawer, then slammed it with a dramatic sigh. “I hope you will remember that your safety depends on me!”
“On you?” Max shouted back, lifting his hands theatrically. “Yes, your plan was amazing, but I’m the one doing the hard work here!” He added before slamming knives and forks to verify, again and again, if this counter was made of a much more solid material than the flimsy material in Charles’ apartment.
The clatter continued to bounce off the furniture longer than either of them expected. Max’s hands lingered on the counter, tightening his grip on purpose, while Charles stared at the surface as if daring it to crack under the weight of their performance.
Then silence crept back in slowly, almost sheepishly.
Then, a small voice broke through. “Um… is everything okay here?”
They both froze, glanced around, then back at each other, before ultimately looking at the source of the voice.
A few steps away from them, near the door, stood a worker. Posture polite but cautious, dressed in a yellow short-sleeved polo with dark blue stripes typical of Ikea, a small name badge where Max could read ‘Oscar’ had caught the light on his chest, and a walkie-talkie was clipped neatly at his waist, like he’d learned long ago to be ready for situations exactly like this one.
Charles blinked before pulling himself together and remembering where he was. “Yeah,” he said, calm now, leaning lightly against the island like they hadn’t tortured it for the past thirty minutes. “Everything’s fine.”
“Is it possible to buy this kitchen?” Max asked.
For a brief second, the worker looked from one to the other, then at the perfectly intact space around them. Despite all the chaos they caused, the drawers were all aligned, the doors stayed steady, and the island was miraculously unscarred. Whatever calculation he made, he nodded.
“Yes,” he said simply, professional again. “If you follow me, I’ll show you how we can set that up.”
Charles straightened immediately. All traces of the argument were gone as enthusiasm was settling into his posture. “Great,” he said, already heading after the worker without hesitation.
Halfway to the door, Max noticed Charles’ jacket was put haphazardly over the back of a chair, forgotten in the aftermath of noise and laughter. Charles didn’t look back. Max shook his head fondly, walked over, and picked it up. He slipped his own jacket over his arm, then folded Charles’ over it.
He followed them at an easy pace, letting his eyes linger for just a moment on the space they were leaving behind. He could already see it, mornings leaning against the island, arguments that ended in laughter, quiet evenings filled by the sound of the different drawers that would never betray them, the three highchairs maybe becoming two highchairs and a baby chair.
Max smiled to himself.
The kitchen would look perfect in their new home.