Chapter Text
Charles Leclerc rubbed his eyes for what felt like the hundredth time, blinking away the blur of tiny text on his laptop screen. His fingers hovered over the keyboard, poised to type, but his brain was foggy, unable to conjure up the right words. The blinking cursor seemed to mock him, its rhythmic pulse a reminder of the approaching deadline. The exam was just two days away, and he was nowhere near prepared.
A soft coo broke through his thoughts, followed by the sound of baby Oscar’s tiny fists hitting the side of his highchair tray. Charles turned to see his son, his dark eyes wide and curious as he played with the small toy car Max had bought him last week.
“Hey, buddy,” Charles said softly, smiling despite the weight of exhaustion that had settled deep in his bones. He reached over and ran a hand through Oscar’s soft hair. The baby giggled, his chubby hands reaching up to grab at Charles’s fingers. “You’re having a better day than me, huh?”
Oscar’s giggles were the only bright spot in Charles’s day. His tiny son had been a miracle, one that had completely turned Charles’s life upside down. He had always imagined that university would be stressful—but juggling fatherhood, exams, and late-night feedings had taken the stress to an entirely new level.
Charles sighed, leaning back in his chair. He glanced at the stack of textbooks on his desk, feeling the anxiety coil tighter in his chest. His phone buzzed beside his notes, and he quickly picked it up, his heart skipping a beat when he saw Max’s name pop up on the screen.
Max:
Hey, how’s it going? You surviving?
Charles smiled faintly and typed back, fingers moving fast.
Charles:
Barely. I think my brain’s fried. And Oscar’s been fussy all morning. I don’t know how I’m gonna manage studying and looking after him today.
The message sent, and Charles’s eyes drifted back to Oscar, who had somehow managed to get mashed banana all over his onesie. Great. Another thing to clean up before he could even think about getting back to his notes. He ran a hand through his hair, feeling the familiar wave of frustration bubble up. It wasn’t that he resented Oscar—never, not for a second—but the exhaustion was wearing him down.
His phone buzzed again, and Charles quickly opened the message.
Max:
I’ll come over. You’ve got exams, I can take him for the day. Don’t worry, we’ll be fine.
Charles stared at the message, relief flooding his chest, but at the same time, a gnawing sense of doubt crept in. Max had been helping out more and more over the last few months, ever since the two of them had started hanging out regularly. Max had become someone Charles could rely on—more than he ever expected. But there was still that small voice in the back of his mind, the one that whispered that Max didn’t really owe him anything. What if one day Max decided Oscar was too much?
Charles:
Are you sure? You’ve got your own stuff to do.
Max:
Yeah, I’m sure. I’ve got this.
Charles hesitated, staring at the phone for a long moment. He hated asking Max for help, even though he knew Max was more than willing. But his brain was too scrambled, and Oscar was starting to squirm in his highchair again, making small sounds of complaint.
Charles:
Okay. Thank you. Seriously, I owe you.
Max:
Don’t worry about it. Be there in 20.
________________________________________
Twenty minutes later, Max was at the door, his usual grin in place as he stepped inside Charles’s cramped student accommodation. Oscar, as soon as he spotted Max, let out a delighted squeal, his tiny arms reaching out toward him.
“Hey, little man!” Max greeted, bending down to scoop Oscar up into his arms. The baby immediately snuggled against Max’s chest, babbling excitedly. Max chuckled and glanced over at Charles, who looked both relieved and embarrassed.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Charles said, running a hand through his already messy hair. “I didn’t know what I was going to do. The daycare’s full, and I have no idea how I’m going to pass this exam.”
“Don’t stress about it,” Max replied, bouncing Oscar gently as the baby started tugging on the collar of his hoodie. “I’ve got Oscar covered. You just focus on studying. We’ll survive, right, Oscar?”
Oscar let out a small gurgle, which Max took as agreement.
Charles watched them for a moment, his chest tightening with something that felt suspiciously like warmth. Max was good with Oscar—better than Charles ever could have imagined. It wasn’t just that Max was willing to help out; he was genuinely great at it. The way he handled Oscar, so effortlessly, as if he’d been doing this for years, never failed to surprise Charles.
“Are you sure it’s not too much?” Charles asked again, still reluctant to completely let go of the responsibility.
Max gave him a reassuring smile. “Charles, we’ve got this. Oscar and I are practically best friends by now. You don’t have to worry.”
Charles laughed, though it was tinged with a bit of nervousness. “Right. Best friends.”
Max caught the edge in his voice, his smile softening. He stepped closer, his free hand resting on Charles’s shoulder. “Seriously. Go study. I’ll take him out for a bit, maybe bring him to my class. I’ll keep him entertained.”
Charles let out a deep breath, feeling some of the tension leave his body. “Okay. Thanks, Max.”
With that, Max turned toward the door, Oscar still content in his arms. Before leaving, Max looked back at Charles with a wink. “You’ll owe me a coffee after this.”
Charles smiled despite himself. “Deal.”