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The problem with dating someone who finds genuine joy in watching possessed dolls crawl across the floor is that Charles does not share that joy.
The first time Max put on a horror movie at his apartment, Charles lasted twelve minutes before he buried his face in Max's shoulder. Max paused the film and wrapped an arm around him.
"We can watch something else."
"No, you want to watch this."
"Charles, you are shaking."
"Keep watching. I will just stay here."
Max kept watching. Charles stayed pressed against his shoulder, eyes squeezed shut, listening to Max's steady heartbeat instead of the screaming on screen. By the time the credits rolled, Charles had fallen asleep. Max carried him to bed and let him steal all the blankets.
That became their routine. Every Friday, Max would pick a horror movie, and Charles would pretend he was going to be brave this time, and within fifteen minutes he would be clinging to Max like a koala. Max never complained. Sometimes Charles caught him smiling during the scary parts, not at the movie but at the way Charles kept flinching and pressing closer.
"You enjoy my suffering," Charles accused him once.
"I enjoy you needing me," Max said, so simply and honestly that Charles had to kiss him to hide how red his face got.
---
Max's scent was the first thing Charles had noticed about him, back when they were still rivals pretending they did not stare at each other in the paddock. Most Alphas smelled overwhelming, like they were trying too hard. Max smelled like rain on warm pavement and something woody underneath, cedar maybe. It was steady. It did not demand attention. It just existed, and Charles found himself gravitating toward it without meaning to.
Now that scent was woven through everything Charles owned. Max's hoodies in Charles's closet. Max's pillow on Charles's bed. The blanket on the couch that Max always used, which Charles may have stolen for his nest more times than he would admit.
His nest. That was the other thing.
Charles had never been particularly domestic before Max. But somewhere between the horror movies and the way Max always made sure there was cold sparkling water in his fridge for Charles, Charles started nesting. Properly. With intent.
It happened gradually. First it was just Max's hoodie on his bed. Then Max's hoodie plus the blanket Max always used plus one of Max's shirts. Then Charles found himself arranging them in a specific way, a careful circle of soft fabrics that smelled like cedar and rain, and he realized what he was doing and sat on his bedroom floor feeling completely exposed.
Max found the nest two weeks later. Charles had forgotten to dismantle it before Max came over.
He stood in the doorway of Charles's bedroom, silent.
"I can explain," Charles said.
Max walked over to the bed. Looked at the circle of fabrics, the careful arrangement, the clear shape of it. Then he looked at Charles.
"Is this why my favorite hoodie keeps disappearing?"
"I hate you."
"It is a very good nest." Max said it like he was commenting on the weather. Casual. Matter-of-fact. "The structure is impressive."
"Please stop talking."
"Do you want my shirt too? This one." Max pulled at the collar of the t-shirt he was wearing. "It smells like me. I wore it to training today."
Charles wanted to die. He also wanted the shirt.
"Yes," he said, very quietly.
Max pulled the shirt off and handed it over. Then he leaned down and kissed the top of Charles's head. "You do not have to hide it. I am your Alpha. I want you to have things that smell like me."
"You are so annoying about this."
"I am supportive."
"You are annoying."
Max smiled and pulled Charles against his bare chest, and Charles pressed his nose to Max's skin and breathed in cedar and rain and home.
---
Monday morning, Max left for Milton Keynes.
Three days of meetings at the factory, simulator work, debriefs. Nothing unusual. Charles had his own schedule at Maranello, but his trip was next week, so he was staying in Monaco with Leo.
"You will be fine," Max said at the door, duffel bag over his shoulder.
"I am always fine."
"Last week you screamed at a shadow."
"It looked like a person."
"It was a coat rack, Charles."
"Go to your plane."
Max kissed him, long enough that Charles almost asked him to stay. Then he was gone, and the apartment felt too quiet.
Charles spent the day doing normal things. He walked Leo. He answered emails. He made pasta for dinner and ate it on the couch, Leo curled at his feet.
The evening stretched out, empty. Max would not be back until Thursday.
Charles looked at the television.
He looked at Max's Netflix account, still logged in. The "Continue Watching" row had a horror movie paused at the thirty-seven-minute mark, something Max had started last week but had not finished because Charles had a nightmare two nights later and Max did not want to make it worse.
Charles had never watched a horror movie alone. He was twenty-seven years old. It was ridiculous.
He pressed play.
---
The first twenty minutes were fine. A family moving into an old house, creaky doors, the usual.
Then the ghost appeared.
It was a man. Tall. Blond hair. Blue eyes.
Charles's stomach dropped.
The ghost did not look exactly like Max. The face was wrong, the features too sharp, the expression too vacant. But the coloring was the same. The build was similar. And the ghost kept appearing in doorways, silent, watching, with those pale blue eyes that reflected the light wrong.
Charles lasted until the forty-six-minute mark.
The ghost materialized behind the main character, close enough to touch, and the camera lingered on its face, and all Charles could see was Max. Max standing in the dark. Max watching with empty eyes. Max as something cold and dead and wrong.
His hands were shaking so badly he dropped the remote.
The movie kept playing. The ghost kept moving. Charles scrambled for the remote, hit pause, and the screen froze on the ghost's face, those blue eyes staring directly into the camera.
Charles made a sound he would deny making for the rest of his life.
He grabbed his phone. The contact photo was Max making a stupid face at the camera, tongue slightly out, eyes crossed. Charles hit call before he could think about time zones or pride.
Max picked up on the second ring.
"Charles? It is late. Are you okay?"
"I watched a movie."
Silence.
"Without me?"
"That is what you are focusing on?"
"You hate horror movies. You watched one alone?"
"The ghost looked like you."
Longer silence.
"What?"
"The ghost. Blond hair, blue eyes. It looks like you. I turned it off but I cannot stop seeing it." Charles's voice cracked. "It was watching the person and it looked like you were watching me and I know it is stupid but I cannot—"
"Charles."
"I want you to come home."
The words hung in the air, too honest. Charles squeezed his eyes shut. Leo, sensing distress, jumped onto the couch and pressed his warm body against Charles's thigh.
"I know you cannot," Charles said, quieter. "The meetings. I know. I just."
"I can hear you shaking."
"I am not shaking."
"You are lying."
Charles was definitely shaking.
"Tell me about the ghost," Max said. His voice had shifted into something gentler, the tone he used when Charles was spiraling and needed grounding.
"He is tall. Pale. Very creepy. He does not blink enough."
"So nothing like me."
"It has your eyes."
"My eyes are not creepy."
"They are when they are attached to a dead person."
Max laughed. The sound came through the phone warm and familiar, and Charles felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders.
"I will make you a deal," Max said. "I finish my meetings tomorrow, I catch the evening flight instead of Thursday morning. I will be home by tomorrow night."
"Max, you do not have to—"
"I want to. The meetings are boring anyway. Christian spent forty minutes today talking about floor upgrades. I almost fell asleep three times."
"You are exaggerating."
"I am not. Ask Checo."
Charles pulled his knees up to his chest. Leo shifted to accommodate, resting his head on Charles's ankle. "So you will come home early."
"I will come home early. And I will watch the rest of that movie with you."
"Absolutely not."
"I will hold your hand the whole time."
"You will laugh at me."
"I will laugh at you," Max agreed. "But I will also hold your hand."
Charles wanted to be annoyed. Instead he felt relief spreading through his chest, warm and liquid. Max was coming home. Max would be here, in this apartment, his scent settling back into the couch cushions and the blanket Charles had wrapped around himself.
"Max."
"Yes?"
"I really miss you."
"I miss you too." No hesitation. Max always said things like that without hesitation, like it was the most obvious truth in the world. "Go to my side of the bed. The pillowcase still smells like me. I did not wash it before I left."
"You did that on purpose."
"Maybe."
Charles was already walking to the bedroom, phone pressed to his ear. "That is very manipulative."
"Did it work?"
Charles climbed onto the bed and pressed his face into Max's pillow. Cedar and rain. The tightness in his chest loosened another degree.
"Yes," he admitted.
"Good. Now stay on the phone with me. I want to make sure you fall asleep."
"You have meetings tomorrow."
"They can wait. You cannot."
Charles curled onto his side, Max's pillow hugged to his chest, the phone on speaker next to his head. Leo settled at the foot of the bed with a disgruntled sigh, like he was personally offended by the late-night phone call.
"Tell me something boring," Charles said.
"What kind of boring?"
"Factory boring. Car boring."
Max started talking about downforce levels and correlation issues between the simulator and the track, and Charles let the words wash over him without processing any of them. The sound was what mattered. Max's voice, steady and warm, filling the silence that had felt so oppressive an hour ago.
He fell asleep somewhere between a discussion of tire degradation and Max's opinion on the new catering at the factory.
---
The next evening, Charles was waiting at the Monaco apartment.
He had spent the day doing what he refused to call nesting but was absolutely nesting. Max's hoodie was arranged on the couch. The blanket Max liked was folded over the armchair. Charles had ordered Max's favorite takeout and put cold sparkling water in the fridge, even though Charles himself did not drink sparkling water.
Leo watched the preparations with the vague interest of a dog who had seen this ritual before.
When the key turned in the lock, Charles was already at the door.
Max stepped inside, duffel bag dropping to the floor, and Charles grabbed the front of his jacket and pulled him down into a kiss.
"Hello to you too," Max murmured against his mouth.
"You smell like airplane."
"That is very romantic."
Charles pulled back just enough to look at him. Tired eyes, stubble coming in, hair slightly flat from the flight. Alive. Warm. Not a ghost.
Max must have seen something in his expression because his teasing faded. He cupped Charles's face with both hands, thumbs brushing his cheekbones.
"I am here. Not a ghost. Touch me."
Charles pressed his palm flat against Max's chest, feeling his heartbeat. Solid and steady.
"Okay," Charles said. "You are real."
"I told you I would come back."
"I know."
"Did you sleep at all after the phone call?"
"A little." Charles did not mention that he had woken up three times and shoved his face into Max's pillow each time until the cedar scent calmed him down.
Max looked past him into the apartment and his expression shifted into something soft. "You nested."
"I did not nest."
"Charles. Half my wardrobe is on the couch."
"The laundry needed folding."
"You folded it into a circular shape with clear structural intention."
"I hate you."
Max kissed his forehead. "You are the worst liar I have ever met. Show me the nest."
"It is not a—"
"You brought the blanket from the bedroom. The one that is specifically for nests. I can see it from here."
Charles gave up. He took Max's hand and led him to the couch, where approximately six items of Max's clothing had been arranged with a level of precision that even Charles had to admit looked intentional. The blanket from the bed was in the center, surrounded by hoodies and t-shirts in a careful oval. It was, by any definition, a nest.
Max looked at it. Then he looked at Charles.
"This is beautiful."
"It is embarrassing."
"It is not." Max stepped into the circle of fabric and sat down, pulling Charles down with him. Immediately the cedar scent intensified, surrounded by soft cotton and wool, and Charles felt something deep in his Omega instincts settle into quiet contentment.
"Tell me about the ghost," Max said.
"I do not want to think about the ghost."
"I want to know. So I can make it better."
Charles tucked himself against Max's side, fitting into the space that seemed designed for his body. "He did not act like you. He was just. There. Watching. And I kept thinking what if something happened to you and you were just gone and all I had left was—"
Max tightened his arm around him. "I am not going anywhere."
"You do not know that. We drive very fast cars for a living."
"Charles."
"I know it is irrational."
"It is not irrational." Max's voice was quiet but firm. "It is fear. Fear does not have to be rational. You just need to tell me when you are scared so I can help."
Charles closed his eyes. "I am scared most of the time. Not of racing. Of everything else. Of losing things."
"Like what?"
"Like you. Like this." Charles gestured vaguely at the nest, at the apartment, at the life they had built together piece by piece over the past year. "I have never had something that felt this permanent before. And I keep waiting for it to disappear."
Max was quiet for a moment.
Then he shifted, turning so he could look Charles in the eyes. "Do you want to know why I like horror movies?"
"Because you are insane?"
"Because I like watching terrible things happen knowing that I am safe." Max's thumb traced slow circles on Charles's shoulder. "The fear is real, but the safety is also real. The monster is on the screen, and I am on the couch, and nothing can actually hurt me."
"That is very philosophical for you."
"I have been thinking about it. Why I like them and you do not." Max's hand moved up to the back of Charles's neck, fingers pressing gently into the skin there. "You do not like them because the fear does not stop when the movie ends. It stays with you. You carry it around."
Charles nodded. His throat felt tight.
"But you call me," Max said. "When it gets bad, you call me. And I come home. That is the safety, Charles. Not the absence of fear. The presence of someone who comes when you call."
Charles pressed his face into Max's neck, right against the scent gland, breathing in cedar and rain and warmth. He felt Max's hand steady on his nape, grounding him.
"Tomorrow," Max said, "we are going to finish that movie."
"Max."
"I will hold your hand. If the ghost is still too much like me, I will make stupid faces during the scary parts so you cannot take it seriously."
"You will ruin the movie."
"I do not care about the movie. I care about you not being afraid of my face."
Charles laughed, the sound muffled against Max's skin. "Your face is very stupid."
"My face is handsome. You have told me this many times."
"I was lying."
"Another lie. You are on a roll tonight."
Max's scent was settling into the fabric around them, mixing with the existing traces until the nest smelled like them both together. Charles felt the last of the tension drain from his body.
"Thank you for coming home early," he said.
"I will always come home early."
"You cannot promise that. You have a job."
"I can promise that I will try." Max pressed a kiss to Charles's temple. "And I can promise that when I cannot come home, I will stay on the phone with you until you fall asleep. Even if Christian is texting me angry emojis about missing a meeting."
"Did he actually?"
"Fourteen emojis. Very unprofessional."
Charles smiled against Max's neck. "You should have told him your Omega needed you."
"He already knows. Everyone knows. Checo asked me last month if I was going to mate you and I said yes, I am, and he said good because you make me less intense."
Charles's heart stopped. "You told Checo you are going to mate me?"
"I told Checo I want to mate you. I have not asked you yet. That would be a very bad way to propose."
"Max."
"I am not proposing right now. Do not panic." Max pulled back to look at him, and his expression was open and steady, the way it always was when he was being completely sincere. "But I am going to. Eventually. When you are ready. So you should know that is where this is going."
Charles stared at him.
"Too much?" Max asked.
Charles grabbed the front of Max's shirt and kissed him. Hard. Max made a surprised sound against his mouth and then his hands were in Charles's hair and they were sinking back into the nest and Max was laughing softly between kisses.
"I will take that as not too much," Max said.
"Do not mate me in a nest made of laundry."
"This is a very high-quality nest. I am offended on its behalf."
"It is laundry, Max."
"It is love." Max kissed the tip of his nose. "Love and laundry. That is basically what a relationship is."
Charles could not argue with that. He settled against Max's chest, listening to his heartbeat, feeling the warmth of him through the thin fabric of his shirt. The nest surrounded them, soft and safe and smelling like home.
"Tomorrow," Charles said, "we finish the movie."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. But you have to hold my hand."
"I was already planning to."
"And if I get scared—"
"I will pause it and kiss you until you forget what we were watching."
"That might take a long time."
"I am counting on it," Max said, and Charles could hear the smile in his voice.
Outside the window, Monaco glittered in the darkness, all lights and sea and the distant sound of waves. Inside the apartment, Leo snored gently from his bed in the corner, and Max's chest rose and fell under Charles's cheek, and the ghost with blue eyes was just pixels on a paused screen, harmless and far away.
Charles pressed his nose to Max's scent gland and let the cedar wash over him, and thought that maybe horror movies were not so bad after all, as long as this was what waited on the other side.
"I am glad the ghost looked like me," Max said quietly.
Charles lifted his head. "Why?"
"Because it made you call me. And now I am home a day early, in a nest that smells like both of us, with you."
"That is a very selfish reason."
"I am a very selfish person."
"You are not." Charles traced the line of Max's jaw with his fingertip. "You flew across Europe because I got scared of a movie."
"That is not selfishness. That is knowing what matters." Max caught his hand and pressed a kiss to his palm. "You matter. You matter more than meetings. You matter more than floor upgrades. You matter more than anything."
Charles felt his face heat. "You cannot just say things like that."
"I can. I just did. And I will keep saying them until you believe me."
Charles buried his face in Max's chest again to hide his expression. Max's laugh rumbled through his ribcage, and his arms tightened around Charles, and the nest held them both in its careful circle of fabric and scent.
"One thing," Max said.
"What?"
"Next time you want to watch a horror movie alone, maybe check the cast photos first. Make sure no one looks like me."
"Next time I am watching a cooking show and nothing else."
"That is probably wise."
"I am never watching anything scarier than pasta tutorials ever again."
Max kissed the top of his head. "Deal," he said, and held on.