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Max had never planned on having children. In fact, it was so far out of his realm he had never even considered the possibility. His sister has kids which means he has nieces and nephews, which was good enough for him. He didn’t feel like he would be a good father, he didn’t need to subject any child to the issues that his less-than-delightful father had given to him. Then, he had a stupid one night stand. He knew it was a bad idea when it happened and soon after, he realized he was probably gay. Then, he found out the girl was pregnant. Her name was Lucille and she was great, really. Until they got told their son wasn’t responding to noise, that they needed to run some tests. She blanched at that and if she hadn’t been on medication and in a hospital bed, Max is certain she would’ve bolted out of the door at that moment. When the doctors confirmed that the boy, August, was indeed fully deaf, she turned to Max and said that they needed to put him up for adoption.
Max looked at the crying baby in the bassinet, his eyes just barely opened and matching the blue of Max’s own eyes. Before he thought anything else of it, he said “I’ll take care of him,” which made him a sixteen year old single father to a small deaf boy. He was not prepared for this, not in any way. But, there was no way he was going to feed this boy to the wolves, let him get stuck in the foster care system. No fucking way. He took August home a few days later and with a lot of help from his sister and his mother, he became a real father.
“I’m really hungry,” August signs as he sits across the table from Max. They’re at Marcello’s, their favorite restaurant to eat at. It’s a local Italian place where Max and August go to minimum once a week. The waiters and waitresses know their names, they know August is deaf, and they’ve memorized their orders. The place is traditional, with jazz music playing from the speakers, low lit, old photographs of the family who own the place in front of the restaurant hanging on the walls. The bartenders also make a mean old fashioned, Max had discovered.
Sometimes, when it’s busy, the wait staff doesn’t even come to take their order, they just send their orders to the kitchen when they walk through the door. Their favorite waitress is Anna who had taken the liberty to learn a few basic signs to talk with August. Max still does a lot of interpreting, but she is able to greet August on her own and respond to some of his questions. Max always tips her exceptionally well.
“Me too,” Max signs in return. “Do you want to get the dinner portion instead of the lunch portion this time?”
August nods his head excitedly, “I’m twelve now, I should be eating bigger plates anyways.”
Max chuckles. “Yeah, you’re a big boy now, huh?” Max feels a little emotional about it. It feels like just yesterday the boy was signing his first word and now he’s twelve years old. He kind of wants to cry about it, but he’ll do that later, when August can’t see him.
“Yeah. You’re getting old, dad.” Max rolls his eyes and throws a balled up straw wrapper at August, causing the boy to laugh wildly. Max watches, smiling, as the boy's face turns red from the effort of his laughter. During August’s fit of laughter, a man Max has never seen approaches the table. Max is fairly certain he’s met the entirety of the wait staff at this point, so he’s a little shocked at the unfamiliar presence.
Once the man gets to the table, Max can’t help but stare. The man, dressed in all black, has beautiful green eyes, a sea of cadmium that Max can’t seem to tear his eyes away from. He has tan skin, black facial hair to match the curly black mop on top of his head. His lips are plump, pink. It almost looks like he’s wearing lip gloss and Max has to shake that thought out of his head.
“Hi! I’m Charles, I’ll be your waiter tonight! I normally work in the kitchen, so this part of the restaurant isn’t my regular haunt. I apologize for the wait!” The man greets politely, flashing his straight, pearly white teeth.
“I’m Max,” he says, dumbly. Why on earth would he introduce himself back? He sees one pretty boy and he loses all brain function. I need to get a grip, he thinks.
Charles lets out a chuckle. “Well, nice to meet you, Max.” He turns to August, “and who are you?” August stares back at him. He can read lips pretty well, but August is nothing if not Max’s son, which means he typically refuses to respond to someone who tries to speak to him instead of signing. He’d done speech therapy, but Max had always been adamant that August shouldn’t feel pressured to speak if he didn't want to, and he typically didn’t. So, when someone spoke to August, more often than not he just stared at them with a blank look on his face. Max loves it about him. The world doesn’t give enough grace to people with disabilities, and he never wants August to stop forcing people to be more patient, more graceful.
“He’s deaf.” Max explains before beginning to interpret what Charles had said to August.
“Oh, wait,” Charles interjects before turning back toward August, tucking his notepad in between his arm and his side and, in perfect sign, asking “my name is Charles, what’s your name?” Max just barely keeps his jaw from dropping. August’s face lights up as he spells out his name and then shows Charles his name sign, the one that he and Max had come up with together. Charles smiles and does the sign back, August nodding his approval. Charles then shows him his own name sign.
“Yours is so cool.” August replies. Max watches the interaction in awe of the ease that is automatically between the two. August has a big personality and so many things to say, it’s not often that he gets to express those things to anyone besides Max, Daniel, and his tutors.
Charles signs, “thank you, yours is even more cool,” before he turns to Max and speaks while continuing to sign what he’s saying. “My brother is deaf, so I started learning sign language when he did. He came up with my name sign.”
Max nods in understanding as August stares at Charles like he put the stars in the sky. That explains the perfect sign language, his confidence with it, the way he still signs as he’s speaking to Max to assure that August isn’t left out of the conversation. God. Smart, kind, thoughtful, and pretty. Max met him barely three minutes ago and he might already be completely fucked.
“How old is your brother?” Max asks.
“He’s twenty three! Went deaf when he was, God, like nine? I think. It’s all kind of a blur.”
Max hums but before he can reply, Charles turns to August, asking him what he wants to eat. August signs his reply, emphasizing that he wants the big order, not the kids’ size. Charles laughs as he writes it down. When he turns to Max and Max parrots his order, Charles’ face lights up in recognition.
“Oh, it’s you two who are in here all the time! I’ve gotten so used to seeing this ticket on my line, I barely even have to think about making these meals anymore.”
Max smiles sheepishly, “we are big fans of the place. We’ve been coming here since we moved here.” August nods along with a big, toothy grin. “You’re the chef?” Max asks.
“Yeah, one of them! Next time I get this ticket, I’ll make it extra special for you guys.” Charles winks at Max before he gives August a fist bump and walks away. Max watches him walk away, gobsmacked. Did he imagine that or did Charles just wink at him? He had to have imagined that. Then, he realizes that Charles is a chef. Not a waiter. What if he never sees Charles after this?
He swallows before he turns back to August who is giggling at him. “What?” Max signs, squinting his eyes playfully at his son.
“What did you think of Charles?” August signs.
The thing about August is this: his deafness had removed him from a lot of regular interactions with kids his age. Sign language isn’t a common language, especially not for small children, and because of this, he spent most of his time hanging out with Max. Max had never been the kind of person to hide things from August – obviously with some exceptions – but he tried to be as honest as possible with him at all times. So, he knows Max is gay and painfully single. August also pays way too much attention to his surroundings, which, of course, usually includes Max. August probably knows Max better than Max knows himself, at this point.
Max signs, “he seemed nice.”
“You totally think he’s cute.” August immediately signs back. This kid also has quite the attitude, but Max isn’t sure that he can be mad about it because it’s most definitely a trait that August got from him. It’s really funny, honestly, just not when it’s being used to torture Max.
Max scrunches his nose up in disagreement. He does not think Charles is cute, he thinks that Charles is extremely hot. Which is an entirely different thing, he convinces himself. August raises his eyebrows at Max, tilting his head knowingly. Max sighs, knowing August isn’t going to let him off easily for this one.
He begins to sign, “he’s cute, sure. I don’t even know anything about him, August.”
“You could.” August signs.
“Are you just trying to get me out of the house so you can watch more NCIS?” Max hates NCIS. Though, he will say, Jethro Gibbs has a face he definitely doesn’t mind seeing.
“Maybe.”
Max rolls his eyes, playfully. More fond than anything, really. Max changes the topic, skillfully, asking the boy if he wants to watch an episode of Pretty Little Liars when they get home. For better or for worse, Max and August are both absolute suckers for a shitty American teen drama. August launches into a passionate rant about Mona Vanderwaal and the A reveal they had just watched. Max has no idea how to tell him it’s only going to get worse from there, so he doesn’t.
They talk about Pretty Little Liars for a while and before they know it, Charles reappears at the table. He has a smile on his face and Max sees his dimples. He kind of wants to crawl inside of them. Max smiles in return as Charles slides his plate in front of him, doing the same with August. Once his hands are free again, he signs “is there anything else I can do for you guys right now?”
As soon as August signs the first two words of his sentence Max knows this is going to be a disaster. He signs, “My dad thinks you’re cute.” Max’s jaw drops. There’s no fucking way he just did that.
Charles grins and glances over at Max before he signs back, “oh yeah? Well, you can tell him I think he is pretty cute, too.” August looks over at Max, a familiar grin painted on his face, troublesome and scheming.
Before he can start to sign again, Max interjects. “He– I don’t–” he stutters, his signing matching his stutters, unable to think of something to say. What the fuck is he supposed to say? Charles had called him cute, too. He can’t deny thinking Charles is cute, but Charles is also at work. Max doesn’t want to be that guy, harassing some guy who's just trying to do his job.
“What? You don’t think I am cute?” Charles asks, a teasing lilt on his face.
“It’s not that! I just– I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.” Max replies. He can feel his face heating up, knowing he’s probably just as red as the right side of the giant Italian flag hanging on the wall. Charles looks overjoyed, his entire face taken up by his smile, matching the overjoyed look on August’s face.
“I’m far from it,” Charles assures. He takes his notepad out of his pocket, scribbling something down before he hands it to Max. “I have other tables to take care of, but… you should use that sometime.” He gestures toward the paper in Max’s hands. Max looks down at it and finds a phone number scrawled in messy handwriting. His face becomes impossibly more red as he takes it in. He looks back up at Charles, wetting his lips before he nods an okay. Charles smiles again before he gives August a fist bump, the two definitely feeling quite proud of themselves.
When Charles is gone, Max signs, playfully, “you are so grounded.”
August’s mouth drops open. “I just got you a boyfriend,” he signs eagerly in response. Max ignores him in favor of taking a huge bite of his lasagne.
Two days later, Max is at work, talking to his coworker Daniel. Daniel had become one of his best friends since moving to Monaco – well, more like his only friend. They’re sitting in their shared office, Daniel relaying a story about his weekend to Max. Something about a club, a girl who offered to buy Daniel a drink, a dude he went home with. They live two entirely different lives. That’s one of the perks of being a teenage father, Max thinks. Anytime Daniel wants him to go out and Max doesn’t want to go – which is every time Daniel wants him to go out – he has the perfect excuse of August being at home.
“So, how was your weekend Maxy boy?” Daniel asks, finishing his story about his own weekend.
“Ah, you know. The usual. Marcello’s and Pretty Little Liars with August. I played some FIFA, we watched the grand prix on Sunday.”
“God, you’re so fucking boring. Why do you never have anything interesting to tell me?” Daniel laments, “I mean, I entertain you for hours–”
“Entertain is a very strong term,” Max interjects.
“-and I get nothing in return! You know I love August like he’s my own son, but I need you to have an interesting story for me. I’m wilting away over here.” Daniel ignores Max’s remark because of course he does.
“A guy gave me his phone number.” Max says, hesitantly. He hadn’t texted Charles and he knows telling Daniel means he’s gonna have to explain why, which he doesn’t want to do. However, Daniel is nothing if not persistent and if Max doesn’t tell him something he’s never going to hear the end of it.
“Now, this is what I’m talking about, Maxy! When is the date? What does he look like? How old is he? Can I babysit August?”
“There’s not gonna be a date.” Max replies, ready for the outburst of objections from Daniel.
“What? What?! Why not? Are you- what? Are you yanking my chain?”
“Did you just ask if I’m yanking your fucking chain?” Max’s face scrunches up.
“Don’t change the fucking subject, Verstappen. Tell papa everything.”
“You are not my papa.” Max objects to which Daniel squints his eyes menacingly. Max sighs, “I have a kid, Daniel, in case you forgot. I don’t need to bring someone into this right now. I need to wait until August is older.”
“First of all, dickhead,” Daniel starts. “I obviously did not forget about August seeing as I just offered to babysit him. Second of all, August is twelve and you haven’t been on a date since he was born. Does the guy know you have a kid? What’s his name?”
“His name is Charles. And, yes, he met August. He works at Marcello’s, that’s where he gave me his number.”
“Oh, okay. I see.” Daniel puts down the pencil he’d been fiddling with, turning his chair to be entirely facing Max. “So, this isn’t actually about August, this is about you.”
“Well, no.” Max replies.
“Well, yes. You’re still doing your mopey, I-don’t-deserve-happiness shtick huh?”
Max sighs, “that’s not what this is about.”
“Seems like that’s what it’s about to me.” Daniel observes, unhelpfully.
The thing is this: Max doesn’t really think that he doesn’t deserve happiness or anything like that. It’s more so that all Max knows is being left, and left, and left. His father, his friends, August’s mom. When things get hard, people leave. Nobody ever stays and Max has been taught that time and time again. He doesn’t want August to learn that the hard way at such a young age like Max had. He doesn’t need to bring a partner into August’s life just for them to break up and August starts wondering where they went, why they left, why he wasn’t good enough. Max had been through it, and there’s no way he’s going to do the same to August.
No matter how much his mom tells him that his dad leaving wasn’t his fault, he never believes it and he never believed it as a kid, either.
“What if he leaves, Daniel? August already loves him after five minutes of meeting him. Hell, he’s the one who told Charles that I thought he was cute. What if I bring him into August’s life and then we break up and August is a victim of the fall out? I can’t do that to him, I can’t.”
“Wait, August spoke to him? Like, out loud?” Daniel asks to clarify.
“No. Charles knows sign language.” Max explains. Daniel’s eyes get impossibly wide as he makes ridiculous hand motions to express his disbelief. Max purses his lips as he waits patiently for Daniel to finish overreacting.
“Max Verstappen. This man was sent to you by God-”
“I don’t believe in God.” Max interjects.
Daniel completely ignores him, which has become commonplace. “-and you’re gonna fumble him! You do know this, right? Like, I barely believe in fate, but this is too perfect. You have to text him or I’ll go to Marcello’s and give him your address.”
The unfortunate thing is that Max knows he’s telling the truth. Daniel is insane and he actually will go to the restaurant and he will embarrass himself and he will embarrass Max. Hell, he’ll probably embarrass Charles.
“But,” Daniel continues, on a more serious note, “if he knows you’re a dad and he knows sign language and all of these things, he probably understood what he was doing when he gave you his phone number. Just be honest with him, Maxy. Tell him you’re going to need some time before you want him to be August’s step-dad or whatever the fuck. Communicate. You know, like an adult.”
Max grimaces, the thought of having to tell someone he just barely met about his anxieties regarding his son is not an entirely pleasant one. He barely does the feelings thing with his family, people he’s known his entire life, let alone a waiter-slash-chef he met only two days ago.
“Dude, I think bringing up our potential break up on the first date is a sure fire way to fuck things up before they even start.”
“Well, don’t bring up a potential break up, dumbass. Just tell him that, for the time being, you want to keep your romance separate from August. You don’t have to hide it from August, obviously.” Daniel explains, “But you also don’t need to have dates where you both take him to the amusement park or some shit. Just get to know Charles and once you feel comfortable, you can integrate him more into August’s life, too.”
Max hates it so much when Daniel is sensible. He lets out a groan and anxiously starts to pull at his lip, squeezing the flesh between his pointer finger and thumb. “Okay. Fuck, okay. Fine. I’ll text him.”
Daniel claps once, twice, loudly, and lets out a woop. Max is one hundred percent sure his coworkers hate them. “Atta boy, Maxy.” Max snorts and rolls his eyes, turning back to his computer to actually do his job, effectively ending the conversation.
Max is at home, alone, leaning against his kitchen counter with a red bull in hand, waiting for August to be done at his after-school tutoring session so he can go pick him up. He has his phone open, on the messages app, Charles’ number typed into the contacts bar. He’s typed and deleted at least eight different messages at this point. He’s rubbing his face with his hand, sighing. He’s generally disgruntled. As Daniel had so kindly reminded Max earlier today, he hasn’t done the whole dating thing in more than twelve years. He has no clue what the standards are, what’s expected of him, anything.
He spends twenty more minutes agonizing over the text. He has to leave to go to pick up August in ten minutes and he still hasn’t typed a message he likes. He spends three more minutes typing and deleting before he finally gets something he deems to be to his standards. Hi Charles, this is Max from Marcello’s. I was wondering if you wanted to grab a coffee, maybe? My treat! Do people even still go on coffee dates? Is it all bars and one night stands now, like every story he’d heard from Daniel?
God, he thinks. Maybe August is right. I am getting old.
He anxiously stares at his phone for the remaining minutes until he has to grab his keys and head out to his car. He turns his ringer on like normal (read: not normal) while he’s driving. The drive is quick, August’s school only a few minutes away from their home. He pulls into the parking lot, hopping out of the car quickly to wait for August to come walking out of the school building. He, nearly immediately, sees August skipping out of the doors with his toothy grin, his tee shirt with a new stain on the collar.
This is always one of the best parts of Max’s day: August running out from the confines of his school, eager to get to Max, eager to tell Max about his day and the things he had learned. He was scared that as August got older, he would become more teenager-ish and moody and start to hate Max. This, so far, had not been the case and Max is so grateful he has a son like August.
“Dad!” August signs when he reaches Max. “Guess what?!”
“What, buddy?” Max signs in return, his smile matching the one on August’s own face.
“I made a new friend! And she said she likes my shirt! And her favorite driver is Lewis, too!” August slows down to spell Lewis’ name out, but Max already knows exactly what he’s saying.
“That’s awesome, buddy! What’s her name? Does she know sign?” Max replies, taking August’s backpack and opening the car door for him. He sets the bag on the floor as August climbs inside the vehicle.
“Her name is Alexa! She knows sign language because her mom is a speech therapist!” August exclaims, his hands moving quicker than Max had seen in a minute.
“She sounds super cool!” Max signs, “Is she in your class?”
“She’s in Mrs. Montre’s class!” Mrs. Montre is the other teacher for August’s year at his school, which explains why he hadn’t met the girl until now.
“Oh, I see! Maybe sometime she can come over for a play date or you can go over there.”
“It’s not a play date, dad. I’m twelve now! We would just hang out.” Max chuckles, signing a quick sorry before he shuts the door and rounds the car to climb in the driver's seat. When he climbs in, August has taken it upon himself to pick up Max’s phone. Max motions for him to give it back but August ignores him, reading something on the screen.
“What is it?” Max signs. August looks up at him with glee.
“Charles texted you!” He drops the phone to sign this and Max takes the opportunity to snatch it out of his lap. He looks down at the screen and, sure enough, there’s a text waiting for him. It reads, Hi Max! Absolutely, yes. I’m off this weekend? Give me a time and a place and I’ll make it work. Max, despite himself, feels his cheeks flush.
He’d half expected a rejection, Charles to tell him he didn’t really want to do anything, he’d just given the number for August’s sake. Not give me a time and a place. He lets himself smile, self-indulgent for one moment. Then, he places his phone in the cupholder and starts driving.
Max spends the next four days dodging questions from both Daniel and August. Questions about Charles, if they were texting, when they were meeting up, what they were going to do. He told August that they were going for coffee. He told Daniel to fuck off. Friday afternoon rolls around and Max is at home getting ready to head to the coffee shop him and Charles had planned on. Max has Friday afternoons off and August is at tutoring until four pm, so he has plenty of time to meet Charles.
He puts on a pair of blue jeans and a black polo. He looks at himself in the mirror and sighs. What the hell is he supposed to wear for a date with the most gorgeous man in all of Monaco?
He changes into a white polo with black jeans. This one looks a little bit better. He doesn’t have many clothes apart from work and home clothes. Nothing for dates, nothing for going out. He really hopes that Charles isn’t underwhelmed by his outfit. He reminds himself that they’re going to a coffee shop at one in the afternoon, not nobu or a club or something ridiculous like that.
After he fixes his hair, he checks the mirror again and he feels better. His outfit is appropriate for a simple date, something fairly casual. He stuffs his keys and his phone in his pocket as he heads out the door.
Arriving at the coffee shop, he finds a table in the corner. It’s got a small lamp on the end and it’s a bit closed off from the rest of the cafe, allowing them some privacy. The cafe is open, well lit. There is art from local artists strung along the walls, photos of some of the staff in neat lines with names written underneath. The entire building smells like coffee. He sits, anxiously tapping his foot against the floor, waiting for the Monegasque man to walk in. At one pm on the dot, he hears the chime of the door opening. His head flies up and he spots Charles standing in the doorway scanning the room. Max stands to greet him but he can’t even get words out when he finally gets a good look at the man.
Charles is wearing slightly baggy blue jeans, tight around his waist, accentuating his ass. Max has to try not to stare. He’s wearing a tight pink tee shirt, his shoulders pulling at the fabric, his tanned, toned arms on display. He’d trimmed his facial hair, the long black wisps of hair now more stubble than anything else. In the bright afternoon light, his green eyes are even more beautiful than they were in low-lit Marcello’s.
Max is completely enamored.
“You- wow. Hi, Charles. You look… really good.” Max stutters, his face flushing.
Charles’ face goes red to match. “I- This is pretty basic, non?” He asks, gesturing at his outfit. “You look better than I do.”
Max huffs out a laugh. “You’re insane if you think that’s true.”
“I’m not insane, I just have taste. Look at you. Your polo top, your stubble, your pretty blue eyes. You’re a dream.” Charles says, looking Max up and down appreciatively before landing back on his eyes. Max stares at the man in front of him, unsure of what to say. It’s been a long time since someone had complimented Max like this and really meant it, but Charles is looking at him like he wouldn’t mind taking him home right now. Max wishes he could say it didn’t ease a lot of the anxieties he’d been having the past few days about getting back in the dating scene, but that would make him a liar.
He can’t help the smile that spreads across his face. “I- wow, thank you. But seriously, if this is what basic looks like on you, I’d hate to see what you look like done up.” Max responds, unsure of how to handle Charles’ compliment, hoping that he’ll let him get away with avoiding it.
“No, you wouldn’t.” Charles responds with a wink. For as much as Charles apparently winks, he’s not very good at it. Max goes even more red at that, choosing to ignore it in favor of pulling the chair out for Charles to sit down. Charles smiles at him as he sits down, thanking him.
“So, what do you want to drink?” Max asks. Charles rattles off his order of a medium iced mocha with almond milk and Max immediately commits it to memory. He retrieves drinks for both of them, glancing over at Charles as he stands at the counter. He finds Charles’ eyes steadily on him. God, they have barely even talked and Max is already blushing like a school girl.
Once the barista hands him both of their drinks, he returns to the table, dutifully setting Charles’ drink down in front of him before he takes his own seat.
“So, Max. How have you been? I’ve been waiting for your ticket at ‘Cello’s.” Charles asks, his eyes staying on Max attentively.
“Oh, yeah, we’ve been pretty busy this week. August with tutoring, me with work. I’ve been craving lasagne like a madman, though.” Max replies. Charles laughs softly at Max’s last comment and Max finds that he wants to hear that laugh again and again and again.
“Oh yeah? Lucky for you, I happen to know when the best chef in town is gonna be working.”
“The best chef in town? And who would that be?” Max asks, playfully, testing the waters. Max has a pretty dry sense of humor and not everybody gets it or finds him funny.
Charles gasps softly, playful. He can see the mischief in Charles’ eyes. “I’ve been told that I’m like a Monégasque Anthony Bourdain, I’ll have you know.” Max can’t help the belly laugh he lets out.
“Oh, is that right?”
“Yes! There’s obviously a reason you keep coming back.” Charles says, taking a sip of his mocha.
“Oh, that’s all August.” Max jokes, waving a hand. “He’s a big fan of your work.”
“I knew he was my favorite for a reason. The kid is just too damn cool. He has good taste, too.”
“Hey, I’m the one on a date with you, I’d say I have pretty good taste too.”
“Oh, is that what this is?” Charles raises an eyebrow, a warm smile on his face. “A date?”
Max’s eyes widened. “I mean- yes? I- that’s what I.. that’s what I thought.” He ends, his sentence trailing off. Did he entirely misread this situation?
“Good.” Charles replies, “I was hoping that’s what it was, but I didn’t wanna get my hopes up since you didn’t call it a date in the text.”
“Oh. Yeah, I haven’t really… dated in a while. Kinda rusty from the whole thing.” Max explains, awkwardly, gesturing vaguely. He doesn’t know how to say it without opening up an entire can of worms.
Charles hums. “Because of August?”
Max nods in the affirmative. “Yeah, just, you know. I’m busy, he’s got school. I don’t want to be leaving him with babysitters or bringing new people over to our house all the time or whatever.” He hadn’t really expected this part of the conversation to come up right at the beginning of their outing, but he supposes this way if Charles isn’t okay with it, Max won’t get his hopes up.
“That makes sense. I imagine it could be kind of jarring for a kid, non? New people in and out all the time or his dad always leaving him with someone random.” Max’s heart squeezes. Charles gets it? Just like that? He doesn’t have to over explain and give a million reasons as to why he doesn’t do this often? Or, ever, really. Max hadn’t expected this to be so easy, for Charles to be so understanding.
“Yeah, exactly. Wow, yeah. You have a kid or something?” Max asks, a little sarcastically but he also wouldn’t be super surprised if the man said yes.
“No. Just… I don’t know. It makes sense. If my mom had started dating after my papa died... Seeing her go out with people I didn’t know, always being left alone or taking care of my brother. I would not have liked it.” Charles shrugs, casual.
“Yeah… I’m sorry to hear about your papa.” Max says. He understood the feeling of losing a parent, even if it was in a completely different way than Charles had lost his own.
“Thank you,” Charles smiles gratefully. “Where is August today anyway? Out stirring up trouble, I’m sure.”
Max laughs at the joke, appreciating the easy switch in topic. He tells Charles about August’s school, the tutors he works with. He tells Charles about the accommodations, the interpreter that stays with him. Charles listens attentively, throwing in his own comments here and there about his brother's experience. Max learns that his brother’s name is Arthur and that he’d lost his hearing from a bad case of meningitis.
Max also learns that Charles’ favorite thing to do besides cook is swim, boat, jetski, anything that has to do with water. He commits that to memory for future date ideas. He learns that Charles has worked at Marcello’s since he was sixteen, starting as a waiter and eventually working his way up to being a chef, which means he’s been there for as long as August has been alive. He learns that Charles loves formula one and his favorite driver on the grid is Checo. Max tells him he will not be the one responsible for telling August this because he doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of the lecture that Charles will get about Lewis Hamilton and everything he’s done for the sport of formula one.
They end up staying at the cafe talking, laughing, swapping stories and gliding through conversation topics until Max has to head to pick August up from school. They walk out of the doors together, still deep in conversation. When they reach the parking lot, they stop and turn to look at each other.
“I had a lot of fun, Charles. Seriously, you’re amazing. I’d love to do this again sometime, if that’s something you’d be into…” Max trails off, tapping his fingers anxiously against his thigh.
Charles, slowly, lifts his hand up and places it on Max’s jaw. Max shivers at the touch, the warmth of Charles’ palm against his skin. He leans in a little bit, whispering “is this okay?” Max swallows, wets his lips with a swipe of his tongue, and nods.
Charles leans in, their lips connecting softly. Charles’ lips taste like mocha and mint. They’re soft, plump, smooth and deft against Max’s own lips. After a few moments, Charles pulls away. Max can feel the Monegasque’s breath fanning over his own face.
Max’s body feels like it’s on fire.
“Let me plan the next date, yeah? Tell me when you can get a babysitter or just when you’re free. I’ll work around it.”
Max nods, dazed. Charles laughs, soft, sweet, the sound like music to Max’s ears. Charles presses another soft kiss to Max’s lips. “Come see me at ‘cello’s sometime soon. Bring August, if you like.”
“I will. We will.” Max whispers, unwilling to speak any louder for fear that he’ll ruin the moment.
Charles smiles and nods. “I’ll text you.”
“I’ll respond.”
Charles lets out a loud laugh as he turns to walk away. “Thank you for the coffee, Max.”
“Anytime.” Max says. And he means it. Max watches Charles walk away until he loses sight of him.
Max is genuinely afraid of Daniel Ricciardo. He walks into their office on Monday, greeted by Daniel’s giant, toothy, up-to-no-good smile.
“Good morning, Daniel.” Max greets.
“It will be a good morning once you tell me how your date went.” Really, Max should have known this was coming. He sighs, sitting all of his stuff on his own desk before he turns around to look at Daniel.
“What if I told you it was horrible and awful?”
“I wouldn’t believe you for even half a second.” Daniel replies, innocently.
Max groans, “it was good, Daniel. Really good.”
“Did you guys fuck?”
Max looks at Daniel in disbelief, “do you listen to yourself when you speak?”
“Nope,” Daniel says, popping the P. “That’s your job.”
Max lets out another sigh. “No, we did not fuck. We went to a cafe and we talked for hours. It was so nice to have a conversation with an adult.”
“You have conversations with me all the time.” Daniel says, his face scrunched up.
Max laughs, “you are far from what I would call an adult, mate. Physical age doesn’t mean anything when, mentally, you’re still a thirteen year old boy.” Daniel throws a pencil at Max – this has become a frequent occurrence – to which Max just presses his lips together and raises his eyebrows as if to say see what I mean. Daniel has the decency to look a little ashamed when he has to stand up and retrieve the pencil from the floor.
“Anyways,” Daniel continues, “did you tell him about the stuff we talked about? About August?”
“Yes, he was actually really understanding.” As he explains the conversation they had, Max feels the blush rising to his face just thinking about Charles. They’d texted over the weekend, but Max feels greedy about him already. He wants to see him. He wants to hear his accent, the melting together of French and Italian that makes his voice so distracting to listen to. He wants to hear what he has to say, he wants to see him smile, he wants to watch him sign.
Maybe Max had been lonelier than he thought if this was how he felt after one date.
“That’s awesome, Maxy. Will you be weirded out if I say I went to the Marcello’s facebook page and found photos of him?” Daniel asks.
“Yes.”
“Right,” Daniel nods, “I definitely didn’t do that, so that’s okay.”
“He kissed me.” Max says, choosing to ignore that Daniel most definitely did go to the facebook page and find photos of Charles. Daniel’s jaw drops as he lets out a rather childish shriek.
“Oh my God. No way. My son, you’re growing up so quickly.”
“I’m twenty eight years old and I’m also not your son.” Max says. Daniel ignores him.
“How was it? The kiss, I mean.”
Max blushes. “It was… really good. Like, it was short and sweet, no tongue or anything. But it was perfect.”
Daniel smiles wide, “That’s awesome, mate. Are you guys going to go out again?”
“Yeah, we’re thinking of going out next Saturday as long as you’re good to babysit?” Daniel is typically the only person who babysits August. Over the years of their friendship, he had learned quite a bit of sign language and anything he didn’t know how to say, he just spelled out. August loves Daniel. Max is pretty certain that it’s because Daniel’s mental age is about the same as August’s.
“Of course I’m good to babysit August. I need to argue with him about Abu Dhabi last weekend. What are you guys doing?”
“I don’t know, actually. He said it’s a surprise.” Max has literally no idea what Charles could possibly be planning.
“Oh, baby, you’re getting fucked.”
Max cannot believe they haven’t gotten fired yet. Or that he hasn’t killed Daniel.
“This conversation is over.” Max says, turning back to his desk and logging into his computer. He hates the way he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks at the thought.
Max and August are at Marcello’s on Thursday night. Anna had taken their orders and sent them back to the kitchen already, which means that if Charles is working, he definitely knows that they are here. Max’s fingers are tapping against the table anxiously whenever he’s not signing back to August.
“...and the ending was just so stupid!” August is signing about the book their teacher had them finish reading in class today. They had been reading it for over a month now and even Max was starting to hate this god awful book. There was little to no plot, the characters were uninteresting, and Max is unsure of how the teacher expected a bunch of twelve year olds to find it entertaining.
“Yeah, it sounds awful.” Max sympathizes. “What is the next book you guys are moving onto?”
“Something… ugh what is it called…” August’s hands flail around helplessly as he tries to remember the title of the book. “Oh! Yes! Le tour du monde 80 jours I think. Alexa says it’s better than the last one we read.” August shrugs, noncommittal. Alexa had become a common name to hear from August, the two’s friendship becoming stronger and stronger. August’s face practically lit up every time that the girl got brought up and Max was just so glad that the boy finally had someone his age who he could speak with to his heart's content. Max is supposed to meet her mother soon so they could arrange a time for August and Alexa to hang out.
Daniel told Max to figure out if she’s single and into bisexual men. Max told him he was going to pray that night that he and Daniel would get promotions and move into separate offices. Secretly, and he will never admit this to anyone but especially not Daniel, Max wouldn’t know what to do with himself without the older man.
August is explaining their next unit in math class when, out of the corner of his eye, Max sees Charles walking toward their table with two plates in hand. He’s in the same all-black outfit that he had been in when Max met him but this time he has a red bandana tied around his head, keeping his hair back. It’s ridiculously sexy.
When Charles arrives at the table, he sets both meals down on the counter before he begins to sign and speak. “How is it going, you two? August, I like your shirt!” August glances down at the shirt he’s wearing – formula one merchandise because of course it is – before he looks back up to Charles with a big smile on his face.
“You watch formula one?”
“I sure do.” Charles confirms.
“Who is your favorite driver?” August asks, a stern look on his face. Charles glances over at Max, raising his eyebrows quickly in a teasing manner.
“Checo.” Charles spells out the name and Max watches as August’s eyes get wider with every letter. August lets out a groan as he puts his head down on the table, narrowly avoiding his plate of pasta. Charles is giggling as he waits for August to sit back up. Once August’s eyes are back on him, Charles signs, “what? Are you not a fan?”
“Checo is fine I guess, but Lewis is so much cooler. He’s completely altered formula one as a sport! And…” Max has this argument memorized at this point, having watched it happen between the boy and Daniel at least one hundred times. Max chooses to keep his eyes on Charles as he nods along to each reasoning that August is giving for why Lewis is the best formula one driver. His hand is softly gripping the table, a sparkle in his eye. Now that he’s looking closer, Max can see the now drying sweat on his skin, the dirtiness of the bandana he’s wearing. Even like this, in the middle of a shift and grease covered, Charles is gorgeous.
“Checo hasn’t even won a WDC yet!” August signs.
“He’s on the way to his first one this year!” Charles defends.
“Oh, yeah, I’m sure. I’ll believe it when I see it.” August replies before he grabs his fork and takes a bite out of his carbonara.
“If you keep being mean about Checo, I’m taking the pasta away.” Charles says, teasingly, as August chews his food; Max chuckles at this. Once again, he’s struck by how easily the two of them talk, how easy their banter is. Maybe Charles is just the kind of person who is easy to talk to – seeing as both Max and August had taken to him naturally. Max has a thought about what Daniel said about fate, but he pushes it to the back of his mind before he can think too much about it.
“You’re really evil,” August signs. He turns to Max, “Dad, I don’t like him anymore. No more dates, I regret everything.”
“You better be careful, August. Next time we come he might poison your food or something.” Max jokes.
“One date and you’re already taking his side. I see how it is, dad.” August signs in the most sarcastic way possible. August’s ability to be sarcastic in sign language is well perfected.
“I love Checo, but I’m not going to prison over him.” Charles signs.
“I would go to prison for Lewis.” August replies, smug. Charles rolls his eyes fondly. He looks over at Max, their eyes meeting. Max immediately feels once again enthralled by the Monegasque man in front of him.
“How are you?” Charles asks, his voice coming out breathy. He speaks, but does not sign, when he says: “you look absolutely gorgeous.”
August is too preoccupied with his carbonara to even notice.
Max looks down at the outfit he’s wearing; a yellow tee shirt and black jeans, a watch on his wrist. He knows he’s not wearing anything special but Charles looks at him like he’s dressed to the nines, like he’s something to be admired. Max feels the need to squirm under his gaze.
Max clears his throat, “Wow, thank you. I’m good, a lot better now that I’ve got lasagne made by Monaco’s very own Anthony Bourdain.” Max says, recalling the joke Charles had made on their date. Charles is clearly delighted by this, his smile getting impossibly wider. Max wants to kiss it off him.
“Yeah? I told you that I’m the best chef in town.” Charles teases.
Max doesn’t sign when he says: “definitely the most attractive chef in town.” Max takes a lot of pride in the way Charles seems caught off guard by this comment. Max, despite going years without flirting with anybody, still has some game.
“Is that true? How many chefs in town have you met?” Charles asks, a cheeky smile on his face, recovering quickly from his moment of indecisiveness.
“Oh, practically all of them at this point. They’re calling it the tour de Monaco.” Max jokes.
“And who are they?”
“Everybody. Haven’t you heard? Everyone’s talking about it.”
“No, I haven’t heard.” Charles puts a fake distraught look on his face.
Max teases, “you should read a newspaper sometime, Charles.”
“Maybe you could read one to me,” Charles flirts.
Before Max can respond, someone calls Charles’ name from the kitchen. Max tries to hide the disappointment on his face but he’s fairly certain he’s not doing a great job. He’s always been the kind of guy that wore his heart on his sleeve.
“Duty calls,” Charles says, after making an aborted hand gesture towards the kitchen. “Enjoy your food, yeah? I’ll see you Saturday.” Max nods as Charles taps on August’s shoulder, lightly, to get his attention. “Does everything taste good?”
August nods, his cheeks stuffed full of carbonara. “Really good, thank you.” Charles’ smiles at him before they knock their knuckles together in a fist bump. The gesture is familiar, the same way they’d done it when Max and August met the first time. Charles turns around to walk away; before he gets too far, he turns to Max and shoots him his signature wink. Max is already so painfully fond of the Monegasque. Even when he’s trying to be sexy, he’s so incredibly dorky. Max finds that extremely charming, for better or for worse.
“You guys are gross.” August signs as he chews, sauce smeared over his lips.
“Says the boy with sauce on his face.” He signs before he takes a bite of his lasagne, laughing childishly as August scrambles to wipe the sauce.
Max is sufficiently stressed out. He’d asked Charles how he should dress for their outing – he still has no idea what Charles has planned – and the man replied “warm ;)” which is proving to be no help at all. It’s November in Monaco, which means the weather is getting colder, but it’s not that cold. What if he dresses too warm and then he’s hot and miserable and itchy? What if he doesn’t dress warm enough and then whatever Charles has planned isn’t viable anymore because Max is cold and whiny?
“Maxy, quit stressing so much, you’re gonna give me an ulcer.” Daniel says from the couch where he’s sat with August. Daniel had taken it upon himself to come over early to “help” Max. Which, when it comes to Daniel, help really means he’s going to be as annoying as humanly possible.
“I’m stressed out, Daniel! What the fuck am I supposed to wear?” Max exclaims, his signing big and broad with the movements of his arms flying everywhere. He’s in the third outfit he’s tried on and Charles is going to be here to pick him up in twenty minutes.
“Good god.” Daniel says, pushing himself off the couch with a groan. He walks past Max into his bedroom and starts rifling around. Max looks at August, sitting patiently on the couch, his legs curled up underneath him as he drowns in Max’s hoodie that he’d stolen. Max sits down next to him, wrapping an arm around the boy in a loose hug.
“I love you,” he signs to his son. August smiles and signs it back, looking up at Max with a fond look in his eyes. “Are you okay?” Max signs.
“Yeah, dad. I’m excited to hang out with Daniel and I’m glad you’re going to hang out with Charles. He’s a good cook.” Max snorts a laugh at this.
“He is a good cook, isn’t he?”
“Yeah. We should go to Marcello’s again tomorrow.” Max feels overwhelmingly fond of his son, using this moment to try and worm his way into eating carbonara again. Max would probably take August to Marcello’s everyday for the rest of his life if it meant that he would always smile at him like this and sit on the couch with him.
“Max! Get your ass in here!” Daniel yells from the bedroom and Max quickly squeezes August’s shoulders, signing to him that Daniel called for him and he’ll be right back. He pushes himself up from the couch and walks into his bedroom where Daniel is standing with an armful of clothes. “Put these on,” he shoves the clothes into Max’s arms. Max takes them with a huff, obediently going to his ensuite bathroom and changing.
When he looks in the mirror, Max is impressed. He actually looks good. The sweater Daniel had chosen is cable knit and white, still thin and breathable but enough to keep Max warm. Daniel had given him plain blue jeans, a pair he hadn’t seen in a long time. They hug him around the thighs perfectly. Daniel also had included jewelry, a gold necklace that Max didn’t even know he owned. It compliments his signature golden watch quite well.
Max doesn’t think he’s the most attractive man on the planet by any means but he feels confident and good in this outfit.
He sheepishly walks into the bedroom where Daniel is sitting on the bed waiting. When he looks up from his phone screen, he gasps. “Holy shit. I did a wonderful job with you. Wait, I should do this professionally. You look fantastic, Maxy.”
“You really think?” he asks, shyly. Daniel’s opinion, especially about these sorts of things, is really important to Max.
“Yes, Max. I’m dead serious. He’s gonna fall to his knees and beg to suck your dick tonight, dude.” Daniel says, a comforting hand lifting to squeeze Max’s shoulder. This is disconcerting because the last comment makes Max feel anything but comfortable, but the hand on his shoulder is familiar and warm.
Daniel follows Max into the living room where August is sitting, his eyes on the television as it plays recent formula one highlights. Max grabs his phone, seeing a text from Charles telling him he’ll be there in a few moments. He looks over at August who is looking at him with a soft smile. “You look nice, dad.”
Max smiles gratefully, leaning down to wrap August up in another hug. It’s not often that Max leaves him with a babysitter and he still gets extremely anxious every time he does it – even though he trusts Daniel, it’s still anxiety inducing. “Don’t let Daniel convince you to do anything stupid, okay?” Max signs when he pulls away. Daniel objects loudly and gives Max the finger.
Not really sign language, but August understands the meaning all the same.
“I’ll keep an eye on him.” August replies smugly. The doorbell rings, the lights in the house flashing with it to inform August that someone is here. One of the many accessibility related technologies that Max had gotten installed at the house. August’s face lights up as he pushes himself off the couch to run towards the door, Max trailing behind him slowly so as to not appear overeager. Daniel is standing against the wall, one leg propped up. August swings the door open to reveal Charles.
Charles looks… well. Charles looks absolutely stunning. His facial hair has grown out a bit, which Max loves. He’s got on a red sweater and baggy denim jeans with heart cut outs on the legs, revealing parts of his thighs and calves. His hands are adorned in rings, all of them silver, all of them chunky. His lips are plump and pink and Max is certain this time that he actually does have lip gloss on. His hair is messy in a way that makes the Dutchman want to mess it up even more.
“Hi, Charles!” August signs. Charles, who had been staring at Max, rips his eyes away to focus on August.
“Hey, bud. How are you doing?”
“I’m good! I’m going to rewatch the Abu Dhabi grand prix with uncle Daniel. He wants to argue with me because his favorite driver is Sebastian Vettel. Ugh.”
Charles laughs, “yeah? That sounds like fun, are you guys going to order dinner?”
“Uncle Daniel is going to cook. Don’t tell him I said this, but he’s not as good of a cook as you.” August says, glancing behind him at Daniel to assure that the man isn’t seeing him sign.
Charles doesn’t speak when he signs, “your secret is safe with me.”
“What are you taking my dad to do?” August asks.
“Ah, I can’t tell you that because we’ve got a spy watching us.” Charles says playfully, glancing up at Max who is standing behind August.
August turns around, “ Dad, close your eyes.” Max does. He waits until August tugs on his sleeve to open them and August looks utterly delighted.
Now Max is kind of scared.
Max squats down to be at eye level with him. “Alright, August. We’ve got to get going, but you behave and have fun with uncle Daniel, okay?” August nods, wrapping his arms around Max tightly. He holds on for a while and Max lets him. As scared as Max gets to leave August with a babysitter, August probably hates it more than he does. Eventually, August lets go and Max stands up, ruffling August’s hair fondly.
Max turns to Daniel who’s watching the interaction from the back of the living room. “We’re going to get out of here. If it gets late, you can sleep in the guest room, of course. There’s extra tooth brushes in the ensuite and you’re free to use anything you need, yeah? Thank you, again.”
Daniel nods, “you know it’s no problem at all, Maxy. Have fun tonight, okay? Charles, you better bring my boy home safely.” His voice shifts at the end, trying to sound scary and failing massively.
Charles, to his credit, doesn’t laugh. “Of course. He’ll be home before midnight.” Daniel nods.
Charles gives August a fist bump, tells him goodbye, and then they’re out the door.
Once they’re outside, Max stops Charles with a hand on the shoulder. “You look breathtaking, you know that?”
“Thank you, Max.” Charles says, his hand coming to lay over where Max’s hand is resting on his shoulder. “You do too. You look just… wow. I don’t think I have the vocabulary to do you justice. It took world class levels of self-restraint for me to keep from kissing you in front of August and Daniel.” Max doesn’t even think about it before he surges forward to place a kiss on Charles’ lips. Charles is quick to catch up, his lips moving in sync with Max’s. This time, Charles’ lips taste like mint and cherry, and they’re a little sticky. Definitely lip gloss. Max finds he really enjoys the feeling. He can feel Charles’ facial hair scratching against his skin, too.
Once they pull apart, Charles gives the Dutchman no time to breathe as he takes Max’s hand in his and pulls him towards his car, still buzzing from the kiss. He opens the door for Max, allowing him to slide in the seat before he closes the door and jogs around the other side. Max giggles as he watches Charles hurry to get into the car.
Once Charles is seated and the car is running, Max asks, “are you going to tell me what we are doing now?”
“Absolutely not.” Charles giggles lightly at the unimpressed face Max is making. “I already gave away my secrets to August who is probably going to tell Daniel. You will find out soon enough.” Max groans as he throws his head back against the car seat headrest, rather childishly. He’s been spending far too much time with Daniel and August. Charles grabs his hand where it’s lying loosely over his lap, running a thumb over it. “I promise, it will be fun. And if it is not, you can make fun of me about it forever.”
Max takes in a little breath at the word forever. Simple, unassuming, but with implications. Implications that Charles wants to keep doing this, that Charles wants to be with Max for longer than a couple dates. Molten rises in his stomach as he thinks about this, about the man he’s only known for two weeks. The rough slide of Charles’ hand on his own, the sureness of it. It feels like a promise, it feels like Charles thinks Max is special.
Max swallows as he says, “I’ll hold you to that.” Charles laughs with glee as he turns to pull out onto the street from where he was parked in front of Max’s house.
Charles’ hand stays on top of his for the entire drive.
The drive to their date destination is filled with idle chatting. Max talks about work, the recent project that he and Daniel have been working on, their hopes for a promotion. Charles talks about Marcello’s. Max learns that Charles is good family friends with the owners of the restaurant which is how he got the job there in the first place. Max talks about the book August was reading in class – the one he hated – and Charles tells Max he’d also had to read that book at twelve years old and he’d also hated it.
Max finds himself getting distracted by the weight of Charles’ hand on his and by the time they arrive, he almost forgot he didn’t know where they were going.
“We’re here,” Charles announces, looking over at Max for a reaction.
It’s a fucking ice skating rink. Max had mentioned in passing on their last date that he’d never been ice skating before.
“I- you- what?” Max stutters, in disbelief. Secretly, Max is a romantic. When he watches those stupid Christmas movies where they go on a romantic date at the ice skating rink, Max had always yearned for that type of thing. Holding hands with someone while skating around the rink, bundled up in winter clothes, red cheeks, sharing laughter and warm drinks. Max wants and wants and wants.
It seems he didn’t even have to ask for it for Charles to give it.
“Is this okay?” Charles squeezes Max’s hand, lightly. “When we talked about it at the cafe, it seemed like you kind of wanted to try it. I called the rink, they said that it’s normally pretty dead around so you don’t have to worry about other people. If that’s something that matters.”
“No.” Max shakes his head, his nose scrunching up. “Or- I mean, yes. It’s more than perfect, Charles. I really want to try it. With you.”
Charles smiles, his dimples looking impossibly deep. “You do that a lot, you know?”
“Hm? What?”
“Scrunch your nose,” Charles scrunches his nose as an example. Max blushes at the observation, realizing just how closely Charles has been paying attention to him. Instead of responding, he leans forward and gives into his urge to press a kiss on one of Charles’ dimples. Charles lets him. Then, he shifts his head so Max’s lips slide over his. He presses a kiss there, another one. Max lets him. It’s easy, simple.
Charles pulls away, just barely, his lips still brushing against Max’s as he speaks. “Shall we?”
“Yeah, let’s go.” Max says, excitement edging into his voice. Charles pulls his hand away from Max’s and Max mourns the loss of contact. He opens the door and slides out of the car, jogging around to the other side to open Max’s door for him. He offers Max his hand, helping him stand up, even though Max definitely doesn’t need it. The romance of the gesture is enough to have Max’s heart pounding in his chest.
Before they can start to walk, Charles opens the back door of his car and reaches in to grab a couple pairs of gloves. “I didn’t want to tell you to bring any because I didn’t want to give it away, so I just brought you some of mine. I hope that’s okay?” Charles says, his voice unsure.
“Of course, thank you, Charles.” Max accepts the gloves from Charles gratefully. As they start to walk to the rink, their hands are brushing together at their sides. After a few moments, Max links his fingers with Charles’ and blushes as he does so. Charles immediately starts to trace random shapes on the back of Max’s palms.
“Have you ever ice skated before?” Max asks, looking over at the Monegasque. His cheeks are red, probably from the wind, and he’s got a soft smile on his face.
“Yes! My papa used to take me and my brothers when we were young.” Charles explains, shifting their direction to head toward the booth where you pick up your skates from.
“You might have to help me,” Max admits, sheepishly.
“I’m more than willing,” Charles replies.
The worker at the booth asks for their shoe sizes which they both give and then they’re off to put them on. Max and Charles both put theirs on and then Charles squats down to tie Max’s for him. Max stares down at the man in front of him, working on the laces. He looks so pretty. Max can’t believe he’s here, with him. He wonders if he’s real, if this is all a figment of his imagination. There’s no way someone can be this perfect. He pats Max’s thigh softly, offering his hand when Max stands up.
“Oh,” Max says once he’s standing, “this is pretty easy, to be honest.”
Charles chuckles, “yeah, that’s how they fool you. It’s a lot harder on the ice.”
Max is self aware of it this time when he scrunches his nose. “I don’t like that.”
“Come on, cheri.” Max barely has time to process the pet name because Charles begins to walk towards the ice. Max stumbles along behind him, albeit a bit clumsily. When Charles walks onto the ice, Max stands at the edge hesitantly. He glances around; there’s a few couples skating and one family. It’s not too busy, but Max still feels a little embarrassed.
“I’ve got you,” Charles promises when he notices Max’s hesitation, tightening his grip on Max’s hand. Max takes a small step, putting his right foot on the ice. He can feel how slick it is and suddenly he’s really thankful that Charles had brought them gloves because he’s certain he’s going to fall. He brings his left foot out to join, officially off of the solid, dry ground.
“Oh, this is–” Max starts to say before he feels his feet start sliding around. He gasps, grabbing for Charles’ other hand as well. Charles laughs softly as he holds onto Max, dropping one of his hands and putting it on Max’s waist. Once he’s stabilized, he pouts. “Why is this hard?”
“You’ll get the hang of it, let me show you. Watch how I move my feet.” Charles assures, moving slowly, gliding across the ice. Max watches intently, mimicking the motions with his own feet. He stumbles a little bit and Charles keeps a tight grip on him, making sure he doesn’t fall. His strong arm is wrapped around Max’s waist and he finds it hard to think when he can feel Charles against him.
He takes a deep breath as he begins to move his feet more confidently, pulling Charles along with him slowly. They’re moving at a snail's pace, but Max is starting to get the hang of it. He’s still wobbly, definitely not as confident as Charles, but he’s comfortable enough that he probably doesn’t need Charles’ arm to stabilize him anymore.
He doesn’t mention this.
They skate around for a while, eventually speeding up to an average pace. There’s something soft in it, the comfortable silence between the two, the soft grips they have on each other, the indiscernible music playing from the shitty speakers. There are people around and yet it feels like they’re in their own little world.
“You’re doing really well, Max. Are you having fun?” Charles asks after a couple laps.
“Yeah! It’s kind of scary though.” Max admits.
“Yeah, definitely at first.” Charles nods.
“It’s nice to have you here, though. You make me feel comfortable.” Max says, nudging at Charles’ shoulder.
“Oh really? I was going for uncomfortable.” Charles says, a grin tugging at his face. He bites his lip to keep it away.
“Shut up,” Max laughs, skating ahead of Charles a little bit. Charles catches up to him easily, grabbing Max’s hand and turning him around. He puts his hand on Max’s waist.
“Is this okay?” he asks. Max nods, huffing a breath. Charles pulls him in, connecting their lips. Max whines into it a little bit, speeding it up, forgetting about their surroundings. Max wants to do this forever, anywhere he can.
Before Max can open his mouth, let Charles in, Charles pulls away ever so slightly. “If we keep going, I’m not going to be able to stop, and we’re in a family friendly area.” Max’s cheeks go red as he remembers where they are, glancing around at the people skating. He backs up a touch, just barely. Charles giggles and tucks his head into Max’s chest.
Max can’t believe he’s stayed standing for this long.
They stay like that for a moment. Charles’ head in Max’s chest, their hands connected. Max wonders if Charles can feel his heart pounding in his chest.
“Do you want to get something to drink? They have hot chocolate and tea, I think.” Charles asks, his voice muffled into Max’s sweater.
Max hums, “yeah, let’s get a drink.”
They stay at the ice rink for another hour. Max’s ice skating skills improve marginally and he manages to not fall once, with a lot of help from Charles. He’s pretty sure the man’s arm hasn’t left his waist the entire time they’ve been here. Not that Max minds.
When they return their skates and start to walk for the car, Max realizes how grateful he is to be back on solid ground but how much he misses being on the ice with Charles.
“Can we do that again? Maybe around Christmas time? We could bring August…” Max suggests.
“I’d love to go with you anytime. Of course August is always welcome, whenever you’re comfortable with that.” Charles’s voice is soft when he says it.
Max hums in response. He, surprisingly, already feels pretty comfortable with the idea of doing something together with the both of them. He hadn’t expected things with Charles to feel this good this quickly. He hadn’t expected to be so enamored with the man, to crave him this much already. He gets the feeling that Charles wants to be gentle with his heart and that he will be. Plus, he’s done a pretty poor job keeping August from Charles and vice versa.
They reach the car and Charles, once again, opens the door for Max. When Charles gets in the car, Max asks, “why do you keep doing that?”
“Doing what?” Charles asks, turning the key in the ignition.
“Opening my door for me,” Max clarifies.
“It’s romantic, non?” Charles asks, his face flushing. “Is it not? Do you not like it?”
“I don’t mind, it's just…” Max gestures vaguely, unsure of how to put his feelings into words.
“You deserve romance, Max. You know that, right? I like you a lot already and I want you to know that. The best way I know how to show that is through my actions.”
Max’s mouth opens into an ‘O’ as he tries to think of something to say. He supposes he hadn’t really expected to be romanced, he’d expected to be the one doing the romancing. But Charles treats Max like a prince, with ease, like it’s second nature. It makes Max feel gooey inside in a way he’s never really experienced before.
“That’s- wow.” Max says for lack of better words.
Charles grabs Max’s face, making him look him in the eyes. “Let me, okay? Let me romance you, let me do these things for you. I want to.” Max stares at his eyes, the seas of green. He can tell how serious he is, how determined he is to do this.
“Okay,” Max agrees. “Okay.”
Charles leans in for a kiss. Their lips connect and Max opens his mouth slightly, and Charles immediately responds by sliding his tongue into the Dutchman’s mouth. It’s an uncomfortable position, leaning over the center console, but Max can’t find it in him to care when Charles’ tongue is exploring his mouth. Max forces his tongue into Charles’ mouth, their tongues fighting, but Charles eventually lets Max win. He traces Charles’ perfect teeth, feeling the ridges with his tongue. He lets himself savor the taste of Charles’ mouth. It’s so Charles. Sweet, perfect.
When Charles pulls away for a breath, Max bites at the Monegasque’s lip with a whine. Charles immediately pulls him back in with his grip on the back of Max’s head, their lips smashing together even harder this time. Max feels desperate, hungry for it. “You’re so fucking–” he says into the kiss. Max groans a little bit.
Max can feel his dick getting hard in his jeans. “We have to- I- Charles.” He says, pulling away.
“Is everything okay?” Charles asks, his breathing hard, his chest rising and falling. He pulls his hand away from the back of Max’s head.
“Yeah! Yes, yes, everything is okay. I’m just…” he looks pointedly at his crotch area, hoping Charles gets the message.
“Oh! Oh. That’s…” Charles says, his voice deep. “Can I be honest?”
“Yeah, of course. Always.”
“That’s really hot.” Charles admits, staring at Max. Max can feel his cheeks burning.
“Really?” He asks, a little embarrassed of his situation.
“Really.”
Max bites his lip to keep from smiling. Charles reaches up to run a finger over the Dutchman’s lip.
“Don’t do that or I’ll cum in my jeans.” Max warns. Charles snorts at this, pulling his hand away from Max’s mouth.
“Let’s go to dinner then, yeah?”
“Yeah.” Max agrees, grabbing Charles' non-driving hand and holding it between both of his. Charles looks at him fond before he turns to start driving.
When Charles drops Max off at home, he walks him to the door. Max hadn’t expected him to, but he supposes maybe he should have. There’s something tender in the cool nighttime air. Dinner had been lovely, a Greek place that Charles goes to with his brothers a lot. They’d eaten and shared their food, each trying everything the other ordered. Max had a little bit of wine, Charles refrained since he’s the driver. Max feels a little drunk from the wine, from the night, from the taste of Charles’ lips.
On the front door step, Charles asks, “do you want to go out again soon?”
“Yes. Please. I had a lot of fun today and you’re just… you’re so lovely, Charles.”
“You make it easy, cheri.” Charles whispers.
“I like it when you call me that.” Max admits, his voice matching the volume of Charles’ whisper. Something about speaking loudly feels like it will break the moment.
“Mon cheri.” Charles says, leaning in and placing a soft kiss on Max’s lips. It’s lovely and if Max didn’t have a kid and a Daniel inside his home right now, he’d invite Charles in. He pulls away from the kiss reluctantly, mourning the loss of Charles’ lips against his immediately.
“I’ll come see you at Marcello’s, okay? And I’ll see if Daniel can babysit again next weekend.” Max says a little breathlessly.
“Please.” Charles says, desperately. It makes Max happy to know he’s not the only one who feels this starving for the other already. Max grabs Charles by the jaw, placing another short kiss on his lips, then one on his dimples.
“Thank you for everything tonight.” Max whispers.
“It’s the least I could do.”
Max’s lips curve into a smile. “Goodnight.”
Charles’ smile matches Max’s. “Goodnight.”
He unlocks his door and steps inside, watching from the doorstep as Charles returns to his car. When Charles pulls away with a wave, he shuts the door and turns to look at the state of the living room. Daniel and August are both asleep on the couch, an old formula one interview playing on the television. He smiles at the sight of them, covers them up with a blanket, and retires to bed.
He changes into a tee shirt and basketball shorts, falling asleep with thoughts of Charles. Charles, Charles, Charles.
Max spends the next two months dividing his time between Charles, August, Daniel, and his job. August and Max, of course, still take their trips to Marcello’s. August and Charles have grown increasingly close over their conversations at the restaurant and this means that Max has grown even more fond of Charles than he already was.
Max is a sucker for men who are good with kids, especially when the kid is his own.
Max and Charles had been going on dates at least once a week, sometimes more if their schedules allow for it. Sometimes it’s something simple — coffee, sitting in the park, grabbing a meal. There had been some more extravagant dates — museums, concerts. Max thinks his heart is in the palm of Charles’ hand and he likes to think that he has Charles’ heart, too.
They hadn’t discussed as much, but sue Max for having high hopes.
And then, today. Max and Charles are supposed to be going on a date to some traveling art museum, something Max had seen an advertisement for at work. The two of them had been texting about it all week, discussing it at Marcello’s, everything. Until Max fell sick the night before. He had prayed to a God he didn’t believe in that he’d feel better in the morning, to no avail. He woke up feeling worse if that was even possible.
He’s sitting on the couch with August when the phone call comes through. He picks it up, his voice scratchy and sickly when he says, “hello?”
“Max! Hi cheri, how are you feeling?” Charles’ voice is full of sympathy, Max can practically feel it melting through the phone. His heart softens.
“Not good,” he pouts, the words coming out whinier than he would have hoped.
“Oh no, baby, I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”
Before Max can think any better of it, he says, “I just miss you. I was so excited to see you.”
“I miss you too, cheri. Trust me. Is that- do you want me to…” His voice sounds unsure, something Max isn’t used to hearing in the Monegasque’s voice.
“Can you come over?” He whines, “please. I don’t want to be needy but… And August would love it. He’s been begging me to have you over.”
“I’ll be over there in thirty.”
“Are you sure?” Max hesitates.
“Max. Listen to me. I want to be there, I just didn’t want to invite myself.”
Max nods, letting himself soak in Charles’ words. Charles wants to be with him, wants to be at his house even when he’s sick.
“Okay, Charlie. I’ll see you soon. Doors unlocked.”
“Alright, cheri. I’ll be there.” Charles hangs up the phone.
Max looks over at August and signs “Charles is coming over.”
August is elated, jumping up out of his spot immediately. “Really?” Max nods in confirmation. August runs to his bedroom to do god knows what. Probably get all of his Lewis Hamilton merchandise to try and convince August to start repping him.
Max watches Gilmore Girls by himself on the couch, cuddled up with a blanket and a cup of tea. The American way of life really astounds him. How do they have time to do all of these things before Rory even goes to school?
He gets so lost in the show that he barely even hears when the door opens and Charles walks in. Instead, he hears the sound of bags being set on his counter. He makes the effort to sit up, turning around to find Charles emptying out grocery bags.
“Schatje, what is that?” Max asks, his voice cracking from the effort it’s taking him to speak through his sore throat.
“Oh, cheri. You look so pitiful. How are you feeling? Do you have tea? Do you need more?” Charles leaves the kitchen, coming over to check on Max. He’s feeling Max’s forehead, tucking the blanket in, checking the temperature of his tea to be sure it’s warm enough. He’s doting on Max and Max finds himself enjoying it, letting him do it. It’s been so long since someone cared for him when he was sick.
“I feel horrible, but I’m better now that you’re here.” Max says, truthfully. Charles’ presence is like a healing power in and of itself. “What’s in the bags, though?”
“Ah, my mom has a really good soup recipe that she used to make when me and my brothers got sick. Is it okay if I use your kitchen to cook?”
Max stares at him, astounded. Charles’ heart is so full of love and care, Max almost can’t believe it. He’s getting a little choked up over it. “Yeah, that’s- that’s completely okay. You’re amazing. You’re just wow.” Max’s brain must be a little foggy from the sickness because he can’t think of any other way to articulate the way he’s feeling at this particular moment.
Charles seemingly doesn’t mind because he giggles and places a kiss on Max’s eyelids, something he does a lot. He ruffles Max’s bed messy hair too, like Max is a cat or something. Maybe he is because he nuzzles into the touch like one.
“You think August would want to help me out? I could use a sous chef.” Charles says, his hand still running through the strands of Max’s blond hair.
“Oh, for sure. He’s in his room. Second on the left.” Max points towards the hallway. Charles stands up and heads that way.
Max focuses back on Gilmore Girls and August and Charles come back through the living room toward the kitchen ten minutes later. They’re signing emphatically about something but Max doesn’t bother to try and watch, too enthralled with the current situation Lorelai has gotten herself into. He’s just happy that he has such a wonderful person like Charles who he can trust with August, who August loves.
They haven’t exactly broached the what are we conversation yet, but Max thinks they’re both on the same page. He’s letting Charles into his home for the first time and he hopes that’s enough of a statement about where he stands on their relationship. At least for now, until Max is no longer sick, when he can officially ask Charles to be his boyfriend.
Max can hear the chopping of something, the simmering of something in a pot, giggles from Charles and August. He thinks he could get used to listening to this everyday.
He gets through two entire episodes of the show before August comes out to the living room. “Dad. Charles told me to ask for your mug so he can pour you more tea.” Max hands over the empty mug, signing a quick thank you. August returns moments later, the steam from the tea rolling off in thick clouds. Max takes a grateful sip, giving August a thumbs up. August smiles and runs back off to the kitchen.
He gets through another episode before Charles and August both come to the living room together holding bowls. August climbs onto the chair, setting his bowl on the side table as he does so. As soon as he’s sat down, he digs in.
Charles sits next to Max on the couch, setting his own bowl on the table and handing Max’s to him. “It’s a Monegasque vegetable soup. Mom says it heals the soul as well as the sickness.” Charles says, sheepishly.
Max takes a bite. The flavors sit nicely on his tongue, nothing too strong. Warm, hearty. It’s a little thick and Max finds that it feels nice going down his throat.
“If I wasn’t sick right now, I would kiss you. This is so good, Charlie. I feel better already.” Max says once he’s swallowed. Charles blushes. Max has discovered that compliments about Charles’ cooking always get him a better reaction than compliments about anything else. It’s one of his favorite idiosyncrasies of Charles.
“Thank you, cheri. You deserve to eat something nice right now, non?” Before Max can respond, Charles turns to August. He signs, “Is it good?” August nods viciously, remnants of the soup around his mouth. Charles looks at him with a sparkle in his eye, the kind that lets Max know that Charles loves the boy too.
"You're the best cook I’ve ever met, Charles.” August compliments. Charles’ mouth widens into an ‘O’ and Max thinks he might cry.
“Thank you,” he signs, “I’ll teach you everything I know, if you want.”
August gasps. “Really? That would be so fun. Does that mean you’ll come over more often after this?”
“That’s up to your dad, but I would love to.” Charles signs.
Max interjects, “of course you can come over more.”
“It’s settled, then.” Charles signs, a warm smile on his face. August’s big toothy grin matches the toothy grin on Max’s face.
Charles scoots closer to Max, pressing their bodies together slightly, grabbing his bowl of soup. They eat in relative silence apart from their commentary on the show and Max’s explanatory interjections. Once Charles finishes his food, he puts his hand on Max’s lap for Max to fiddle with. Max puts his empty bowl on the side table, using his now free hands to draw nonsensical patterns on Charles’ hand.
This feels like home. Charles, Max, August, all together on the couch in a warm house.
At some point, Max falls asleep, lulled there by the comforting presence of Charles next to him. When he wakes up, he hears the sound of the sink running and the clattering of dishes. He pushes himself up, turning to see August and Charles stationed at the sink washing the dishes.
Instead of alerting them of his presence, he chooses to sit in silence, watching them. They work in tandem, Charles washing while August dries. Every few minutes one of them will sign something that Max can’t really understand from here. He delights in the sound of their shared giggles when one of them signs something apparently funny.
They finish the dishes and that’s when they notice that he’s woken up. Charles rushes to his side, “are you okay? Are you feeling better? Was your nap nice?”
Max nods with a hum, his eyes still crusted over from sleep. Charles tilts his head with a smile. “Do you want to go to bed?”
“Yeah. Will you stay, Charlie?”
“Of course. You go to bed, I’ll make sure August gets to bed, too.” Max smiles at him gratefully, gathering his blanket with a sniffle as he heads to his bedroom. He hears the shuffling of feet and the sound of water running, presumably August brushing his teeth. He lets himself sink into the bed, his comforter warm. Charles must have run it through the dryer.
He hears the tell-tale click of August’s door and then sees Charles in the doorway. Max pulls the cover up a little bit to invite Charles in the bed with him. Charles chuckles, shedding his basketball shorts before he climbs in next to the sick man.
“Charlie,” Max says.
“Yeah, mon cheri?”
“I think I love you.” Max says. He didn’t even know that was what he was going to say before it came tumbling out of his mouth, but it’s what he feels. He feels so overwhelmingly in love with Charles he almost can’t bear it.
Charles’ strong arm wraps around his waist, his head tucking into Max’s neck. “I think I love you, too.”
They fall asleep like that. Together, comfortable, in love.
The next morning they wake up to August climbing in bed with them and they make space in the middle for him. He signs, “you guys are boyfriends, right?”
Max blushes. He looks at Charles who is looking over at him already, giving him the choice to answer. Max appreciates it. He says, without signing, “are we?”
Charles says, “that’s what I want, if you want it too.”
Max signs, “yeah. We are.” Charles’ lazy morning smile is on display, his morning voice raspy. Max thinks he couldn’t possibly be more in love.
Bonus.
When Max goes back into the office on Monday, he’s greeted by Daniel. “Why on earth did I have to hear from August that you and Charles are officially dating? What am I, roadkill?”
Max snorts. “You’re far from roadkill, Daniel. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you yet, it happened very quickly. Did August text you?”
“Yes! Because he knows how to use his phone, unlike somebody!”
“Well, I’m sorry, I was a little preoccupied.”
Daniel’s eyebrows practically shoot off of his forehead. “Did you get fucked, Max Verstappen?”
Max presses his lips together. “Jesus Daniel, no. I was sick! Charles stayed over for the weekend to take care of me. He’s a very good boyfriend.”
Daniel groans. “You’re no fun.”
“Remember that time I had you babysit so Charles and I could go to the aquarium?” Max asks, straightening up the sticky notes on his desk.
“Yeah…” Daniel says, suspiciously.
“That is when I got fucked.”
“You- what? You’re a traitor, Max, how could you not tell me?!” He ignores Daniel’s loud overreaction in favor of logging into his computer and responding to some boring emails with a big smile on his face.
A text comes through from Charles. Have a good day at work, mon cheri. I left something in your fridge for you :)
His smile doesn’t leave his face for the rest of the day.