Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Charles stared at the phone in his hands. The screen was too bright, the glow pressing uncomfortably against his eyes. He hadn’t touched it until now, hadn’t even let himself think about it too much. But here it was, open on the phone app, his mother’s number typed in with trembling fingers.

He didn’t know if the number was still hers. Five years was a long time. People moved, changed things. His mother could’ve gotten rid of it, or worse, kept it and given up waiting for his call. His thumb hovered over the green button, wavering.

From the hallway, the muffled sound of footsteps padded past his door. George, probably. Or Max. Charles curled tighter into the nest, pressing the phone against his chest as if that could quiet the pounding in his ribs.

He should call. He shouldn’t.

Somewhere, a door clicked shut, followed by the low murmur of voices. George’s crisp tone, Max’s rougher reply. Domestic. Normal. Charles exhaled, and forced himself to look at the screen again.

The phone screen blurred as memories surfaced. Of his mother's hands kneading dough for pain aux raisins, the way she'd hum off-key while folding laundry. Arthur, small and bright-eyed, tugging his sleeve to show him a beetle. Enzo rolling his eyes but secretly grinning when Charles stole his favorite sweater.

Five years was nothing and everything. Had they kept his room? Had they packed his things into boxes, sealed away like something dead?

Max's' words echoed in his head, saying Your mother holds vigils. Did she light candles still, even now? Did Arthur leave his window cracked at night in case Charles came home like some fairytale ghost? His thumb twitched. The call button taunted him.

Charles pressed the call button before he could think anymore, before he could choke again on the fear lodged in his throat. The ringing pulsed against his ear in sync with his heartbeat. One. Two. Three. His lungs burned. Four. Five. Six. His fingers dug into the phone’s edge. Seven–

“Allô?”

Charles' breath caught in his throat. That voice–so soft and familiar, threaded with the same Monégasque lilt–hit him like a punch to the ribs. His fingers tightened around the phone, knuckles going white. He opened his mouth. Nothing came out.

"Qui est à l'appareil? (Who is this?)" His mother's voice again, sharper now, laced with that particular impatience she'd always reserved for wrong numbers. The mundanity of it shattered something in him. "Allô? Qui est-ce? (Hello? Who is it?)"

His throat closed. Five years of silence, five years of her not knowing if he was dead in a ditch or alive somewhere, and he couldn't even croak out her name. The phone trembled against his ear.

"Qui parle? (Who is speaking?)" she pressed, sharper now. He could picture her frown, the way her fingers would be tightening around the receiver.

Charles squeezed his eyes shut. Hot tears spilled down his cheeks, and he realized distantly that his entire face was wet. Pathetic. He was pathetic. He could survive beatings, could endure hours pinned beneath faceless alphas, but he couldn't say a single fucking thing into a goddamn phone.

The line went dead with a soft click. Charles hadn't really meant to hang up. His fingers had just spasmed against the screen, slippery with sweat, but the silence that followed was worse than his mother's impatient questioning. He dropped the phone like it had burned him, curling inward. His heart ached, and each of his breaths came out jagged and wet.

He'd dreamed of this moment for years, imagined the reunion a thousand different ways. But never like this. Never with him mute and trembling in a stranger's guest room, too broken to even say Maman.

The first sob tore out of him violently, followed by another, until he was gasping around them like a drowning man. He clutched at the blankets, twisting the fabric between his fingers, as if anchoring himself to something solid might stop him from splintering apart.

Somewhere beneath the grief, beneath the shame, was a sharper, more childish hurt. He wanted his mother. Not the ghost of her voice on the phone, but her, with the warm weight of her arms around him, the way she'd hum under her breath while brushing his hair back from his forehead. He wanted to press his face into her shoulder and breathe in the familiar scent of her. The longing was so acute it felt like a physical wound.

The tears eventually slowed, leaving him hollowed out and exhausted. His head throbbed, his throat raw. The late morning sunlight slanting through the curtains felt too bright, too intrusive. He rubbed at his face with the sleeve of Max's stolen hoodie that was tangled in the nest and tried to steady his breathing.

His stomach growled, loud and insistent. The hunger was sudden, almost startling in its normalcy. For a moment, he just stared down at himself, bemused. Then, with shaky limbs, he pushed himself upright. The floor was cold beneath his bare feet, but the sensation grounded him. He hesitated by the door, listening for movement beyond it. The house was quieter than most days, but he could still hear the faint clatter of dishes from the kitchen.

It occurred to him then, that George and the alph-Max, they shouldn't know he had been crying. They've done so much for him, the least he can do is not burden them more, no matter what the alpha says about it not being an issue.

The bathroom tiles were cool under his feet, the mirror fogged at the edges from someone’s earlier shower. Charles leaned over the sink, cupping cold water in his palms and pressing it to his face until his skin felt numb. The redness around his eyes faded to something less obvious, though the puffiness wouldn’t disappear so easily. He patted his face dry with a towel, avoiding his reflection, as he didn’t need to see the wreckage there.

The hallway smelled of garlic and butter, a sharp contrast to the sterile mint of the toothpaste he’d just used. He hesitated outside the kitchen door, fingers flexing at his sides. Max, he corrected himself silently. Not the alpha. Max, who had looked so uncomfortable the last time Charles called him that.

To you, I'm just Max.

Max stood at the stove, spatula in hand, the sleeves of his Henley pushed up to his elbows. A pan sizzled in front of him, spinach wilting into golden eggs. His hair was messier than usual, as if he’d run his hands through it one too many times. “Morning.” he said without turning, like he’d sensed Charles lingering in the doorway.

Charles opened his mouth, but his voice had evaporated. He swallowed, nodding instead, and took a step toward the table.

“George!” Max called, louder. “Food’s ready.”

George was sitting crisscross on the living room floor, his fingers wrapped gently around Kimi's chubby wrists as the boy wobbled on unsteady legs. "There we go!" George murmured, the pride in his voice softening its usual crisp edges. Kimi gurgled, drool shining on his chin as he swayed forward...then promptly faceplanted into George's thigh with a sad plop. Charles watched from the doorway as George laughed, scooping Kimi up against his chest. The baby squealed, tiny fists tangling in George's sweater as he was lifted.

"Morning, love." George said as he passed Charles, shifting Kimi to buckle him into the highchair. "Sleep okay?" The question was casual, but his eyes flicked over Charles' face, lingering a fraction too long on his puffy eyes. Charles tensed, but George just turned away, wiping Kimi's hands with a damp cloth.

"Yeah," Charles lied, rubbing at his wrist. "Slept fine." He hadn’t slept, at least not really. Just the usual cycle of half-dozing between nightmares, jerking awake every time the shadows in the corner of the room shifted.

George’s gaze lingered for a beat too long, but he didn’t press. Instead, he adjusted Kimi’s bib. "Excited for the park later?"

Charles hesitated. The idea of open space, of strangers’ eyes tracking him, made his pulse stutter. But Lance had promised to bring pastries from the bakery near his house, and Yuki and Oscar are bringing their dogs. "A little." he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Max flipped the frittata with a sharp flick of his wrist, the edges golden and crisp. The scent of garlic and butter thickened the air, mingling with the underlying pine-and-rain of his scent. Charles watched the muscles in his forearm flex, the way his thumb pressed into the spatula handle.

"George," Max said abruptly, "pass me the plate."

The frittata landed on Charles' plate with a soft thud, golden edges crisped perfectly, steam still curling from the spinach trapped inside. Sausages followed, then toast buttered just shy of melting.

Kimi banged his palms against the highchair tray, smearing pureed sweet potato into the wood. George wiped the mess with one hand, popping a spoonful into the baby’s mouth with the other before he could protest. “Eat,” George murmured, more to Charles than Kimi. “Before it gets cold.”

Charles swallowed past the lump in his throat and picked up his fork. The first bite was rich. His stomach growled again, louder this time, and Max’s gaze snapped to him. Blue eyes, sharp as cut glass, flickered over Charles’ face–lingering on the shadows beneath his eyes–before darting away.

“Juice?” Max’s voice was gruff, pitcher already tilting toward Charles’ glass without waiting for an answer.

“Merci.”

The juice was too sweet. Charles pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, chasing the fading tartness of oranges, but all he could taste was sugar and the ghost of his mother’s voice. He set the glass down harder than intended, the clink sharp against the quiet hum of the kitchen.

“Did you see the Johnsons’ new fence?” George asked abruptly, tearing a piece of toast with his teeth. Kimi smacked his palms against the highchair tray in agreement, flecks of sweet potato flying.

Max snorted, flipping another frittata onto his own plate. “The one with the ridiculous gargoyles? Looks like something out of a—” He cut himself off, glancing at Kimi as if the baby might pick up on his aborted profanity. “A theme park.”

Charles traced a finger along the condensation on his glass. “They were... angry,” he murmured. The words felt clumsy in his mouth, unpracticed. “Yesterday. On their porch.”

George’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh, you heard that? We thought you were napping.” He leaned in, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “She called him a ‘spineless sea cucumber’ in front of the entire street.”

Max scoffed, stabbing a sausage with unnecessary force. "Spineless sea cucumber was generous, not going to lie." he muttered. "The way he just stood there nodding while she reamed him out...just pathetic." The sausage split under his fork, grease pooling on the plate.

Charles watched the oil spread, mesmerized by the way it caught the light. "He left." he said quietly. "Later. With a suitcase."

George paused, toast halfway to his mouth. "Wait, seriously? When?"

"Midnight." Charles traced a finger through the condensation on his glass again. "The headlights woke me." Lie, but they don't need to know.

"Good fucking riddance." Max said, too harshly, and Kimi startled in his highchair. George shot Max a look, but Max was already reaching over to stroke Kimi's curls in silent apology.

"Speaking of neighbors," George said, voice dropping into that conspiratorial tone Charles had learned meant gossip, "did you see the moving trucks down the block a couple of days ago? Someone bought the Craftsman beside Kimi and Seb's."

Max frowned, confused. "There wasn't a for sale sign, no?" he said. "That house wasn't even on the market."

George shrugged, dabbing Kimi's chin with a napkin. "Foreclosure, maybe? According to Seb the old owners were in deep with that pyramid scheme." He flicked his fingers dismissively. "Anyway, Raikkonen said he saw a couple guys unloading furniture around a while back. I think they got in the last of their stuff in or something."

The conversation lulled for a moment, the only sound Kimi’s enthusiastic smacking of his palms against the highchair tray. Eventually Max sighed. “Should we…” Max hesitated, rubbing at the back of his neck. “I mean, is it weird if we don’t say hello? Since they’re right there?”

George snorted, flicking a crumb off the table. “You’re asking me if we should be socially appropriate? The man who once hid in a shrub to avoid small talk with the mailman?”

“That was one time,” Max muttered, but the tips of his ears pinked. “And he kept asking about my streaming schedule like it was a fucking–” Another glance at Kimi. “Like it was a job interview.”

"Max, the man was trying to flirt with you."

"No he wasn't."

Charles pressed his lips together to stifle the sudden, unexpected urge to laugh. The image of Max, with his broad shoulders and sharp edges crouched behind hydrangeas to dodge small talk was absurd enough to momentarily eclipse the weight in his chest.

George, meanwhile, was rolling his eyes. “Point is, you’re hardly the authority on neighborly etiquette.” He tapped his chin, considering. “Though I did see Raikkonen bringing them a casserole yesterday. So if we don’t at least wave soon, we’ll look like antisocial freaks by comparison.”

"Raikkonen? Bringing a neighbor food? Is the world finally ending?"

"Well, I'm sure Seb convinced him someway."

The conversation drifted into comfortable silence as they finished breakfast, broken only by Kimi’s enthusiastic smacking of his hands against the highchair tray. Max pulled his phone from his pocket, thumb scrolling absently through notifications before pausing.

"Chemical leak in Rotterdam." he muttered, more to himself than anyone. "They're evacuating everyone within a ten block radius."

George snorted. "Seb probably felt a disturbance in the force."

The plates clinked together as George stacked them in the sink, the remnants of breakfast swirling down the drain. Charles watched from the corner of his eye as Max hoisted Kimi onto his hip, the baby's curls bouncing as he giggled at some silly face Max made—something Charles had never seen him do before, not with that unguarded softness. It made something twist in his chest, sharp and foreign.

Charles took the towel George handed him, their fingers brushing briefly. "Seb," he said suddenly, the name clumsy on his tongue. He didn’t look up from the plate he was drying. "He’s... your neighbor?"

George’s hands stilled in the soapy water. "Oh. Right." He flicked suds off his fingers. "Sebastian Vettel. He’s—" A pause, as if deciding how much to say. "He’s pack. Lives three houses down with Kimi—uh, Kimi Senior. Their place is the one with the ivy crawling up the front porch. You’ll see it when we walk past."

Charles nodded, filing the information away. Sebastian Vettel. The name didn’t ring any bells, but then again, neither would his own after five years. He rubbed at a stubborn water spot on the plate, his mind drifting back to the phone call—the way his mother’s voice had sounded exactly the same, like no time had passed at all. Like he could still be the boy who left his shoes by the door and forgot to text when he’d be home late.

Charles shook the memory of his mother’s voice and the phantom ache of home away, glancing toward the living room. Max crouched on the rug, holding Kimi’s tiny hands as the baby wobbled on unsteady legs. The alpha’s expression was unguarded in a way Charles had never seen before, his edges softened into something almost tender. Kimi squealed as Max lifted him high, his curls catching the sunlight filtering through the curtains.

Max wasn’t joining them today, citing something about streaming, though Charles had caught the way George’s lips thinned when Max mentioned it. Not disapproval, exactly.

But, as much he likes the alpha's company, Charles didn’t mind. He missed the others. And he liked dogs. He loves the days they spent out for lunch and to shop, despite his fraying nerves and the sinking feeling in his stomach. He liked the winter sun on his skin, and the food, and the wind in his face.

Kimi shrieked as Max blew a raspberry against his belly, the sound bright and startled. Charles flinched instinctively, his fingers tightening around the plate he was drying. George’s hand settled lightly between his shoulder blades, a fleeting touch.

George’s hand lingered between Charles’ shoulder blades for a moment longer than necessary, warmth seeping through the thin fabric of his shirt. "Why don’t you go get dressed while I finish up here?" His voice was deliberately casual, and Charles was thankful for it.

Charles hesitated, the plate still damp in his hands. He could hear Kimi’s delighted giggles as Max swung him in circles, the alpha’s low laughter threading through the sound like a counterpoint. It mixed with Maman's voice, both from the call and his childhood intertwined.

"Okay." he murmured finally, setting the plate down and going to his– the guestroom, glancing back at the scene behind him.

The nest on the bed was still rumpled from last night’s fitful sleep, the blankets twisted into knots. Charles stood frozen in the doorway for a long moment, staring at the mess like it might unravel him if he touched it.

Charles stared at the closet, now filled with soft and neatly folded clothes, all bought by Max and most still smelling faintly of detergent and the pine-rain scent that clung to everything in this house. His fingers hovered over a baby blue sweater, the fabric so plush it felt like touching a cloud. He pulled it on carefully, the hem stretching over the swell of his belly. The maternity jeans were next, the elastic band giving way to his belly. He hesitated before buttoning them, fingertips brushing the stretch marks spidering across his hips.

The bathroom mirror always showed a stranger these days. His hair had grown wild, nearly brushing his lashes. It was a mess from him running his fingers through it quite often and tossing and turning at night. He wet his hands and tried to tame it, but it sprang back rebelliously. For a fleeting second, he imagined Max’s fingers carding through the strands, blunt nails scraping his scalp. The thought startled him. He dropped his hands.

He really should ask George if he can get a haircut.

His phone lay facedown in the mess of his nest. He picked it up, thumb hovering over the screen. Just in case, he told himself. In case of what, he didn't know.

A knock startled him. George’s voice, muffled through the door: "You decent?"

Still, Charles pocketed the phone. "Coming."

The car door clicked shut behind Charles with a soft thud. George adjusted the rearview mirror to check on Kimi in his car seat, the baby already drooling onto the plush fox tucked beside him. Charles pressed his forehead against the cool window glass, watching the neighborhood blur past–Sebastian Vettel’s ivy-cloaked porch, the gargoyle-adorned fence now half-hidden behind moving boxes, the Craftsman with its curtains drawn tight.

The park smelled like damp earth and pine needles, crisp in a way that made Charles breathe deeper despite himself. Even in winter, the evergreens stood defiantly green against the gray sky, their branches dusted with frost that hadn’t melted yet. The grass crunched faintly underfoot, still soft beneath the thin layer of ice.

Lance was already there when they arrived, perched on a bench with a toddler balanced on his knee. The boy–Gabi, George had exclaimed as they approached–was bundled in a puffy jacket, his dark curls escaping a striped knit hat. He waved his hands at George, who grinned and ruffled his hair before crouching to unclip Kimi from his stroller.

"How's Nando?" George asked, plucking a leaf from Kimi's sleeve.

Lance's mouth twitched. "Got a migraine. He sulked for twenty minutes before I told him I'd bring back those cinnamon buns he likes." He glanced at Charles, his expression unreadable. "You look nice."

Charles blinked, unsure if it was a compliment or an observation. Before he could reply, a bark cut through the air as two dogs came towards them. Yuki followed, balancing a woven basket piled high with containers, his free hand shoved deep in his jacket pocket. Oscar trailed after him, juggling two leashes and a thermos.

The gold-furred dog, whom Yuki introduced as Simba, pressed its damp nose against Charles' knee with an insistent whine. Its tail wagged, stirring the air between them. Charles hesitated, fingers curling inward instinctively before he forced them to relax. The dog's fur was unexpectedly soft beneath his palm, warm. Simba leaned into the touch with a pleased huff, his weight solid against Charles' shin.

"Careful there, mate." Yuki said, shifting the basket to his hip. "He'll take your whole hand if you let him." His grin was sharp-edged but not unkind as he jerked his chin toward the mutt sniffing at Charles' shoes. "Basil's less of a thief."

Oscar snorted, adjusting his grip on the leashes. "Unless it's socks. Then all bets are off."

Basil's tail thumped against Charles' ankle in agreement, his tongue lolling pink. Charles crouched, slow and awkward with the swell of his belly, and let the mutt sniff his knuckles. The dog's breath was warm against his skin, its ears velvety when he brushed them with tentative fingers. George's phone clicked softly from somewhere behind him, the sound barely audible over Lance's murmured conversation with the toddler in his lap.

Charles glanced up in time to see George tucking his phone away, the screen flashing briefly with what looked like a photo preview. Something twisted in his chest but then Simba shoved his head under Charles' palm, demanding more attention.

George unfolded the picnic blanket with a sharp flick, sending a gust of winter air swirling around them. "Gabi," he called, snapping his fingers toward the toddler now wriggling free from Lance's lap. "Come help me weigh down the corners before this bloody thing flies off to Belgium, love."

The boy stumbled forward with the solemn gravity only a three-year-old could muster, plopping his mittened hands onto the fluttering edge of the blanket. Charles watched from his crouch beside the dogs, fingers still buried in Simba's sun-warmed fur. The dog had flopped onto his side, belly exposed. Basil, not to be outdone, shoved his snout under Charles' free hand with a whine.

"Alors, comment ça va, cherí? (So, how are you, darling?)"

Charles blinked, and his mouth moved before his brain caught up. "Bien. On a fait des courses l’autre jour. (Okay. We went shopping the other day.)"

Lance’s eyebrows lifted as he adjusted Kimi on his lap, the baby now chewing on a corner of the omegas' jacket. "Ah ouais? Pour quoi? (Oh yeah? Why?)"

"Des affaires pour le bébé. ( Baby clothes.)" Charles says. "Max nous a acheté plein de choses. Il a dit qu’il monterait le berceau cette semaine. Et on a pris des vêtements, des biberons, des couvertures– ( Max bought us loads of things. He said he'd assemble the crib this week. And we got clothes, bottles, blankets—)"

Charles froze mid-sentence. Lance was staring at him with an odd expression, the corner of his mouth quirking. "Je savais pas que t’avais des fossettes. (I didn't know you had dimples.)" he murmured.

Charles realized he’d been smiling. The realization hit him like a misplaced step. He felt the now unfamiliar pull of his cheeks, the lightness in his chest. He touched his fingertips to his mouth, feeling their upturn.

George smoothed the picnic blanket with, anchoring the corners with rocks and the basket Yuki had brought. Kimi immediately rolled onto his back, pudgy hands reaching for the sky as if he could grab the clouds. Oscar unclipped the dogs’ leashes with a soft snick of metal, and both bolted across the frost-tipped grass, kicking up clumps of earth in their wake.

It kind of reminded Charles of Arthur and himself, when they were young.

Then suddenly, the warmth of the moment dissipated like breath in cold air. He thought of the phone call, of the way his mother's voice had sounded just the same before he'd hung up.

Lance didn't comment on the sudden shift in his scent, just shifted Gabi on his lap and unwrapped a granola bar with his teeth.

"Well, Alex is still stuck in traffic." George said, thumb skimming over his phone screen. He didn't look up. "Might be a while."

Charles' stomach dropped. He hadn't known Alex was coming, had assumed this was an omega-only outing. The dogs' leashes lay discarded on the picnic blanket, coiled like snakes. Simba came back at some point and nudged Charles' knee.

Charles exhaled slowly, watching his breath mist the air. Simba’s weight against his leg was grounding

Alex wouldn’t be that bad. Probably.

The last time–the only time–they’d met, Charles had been curled into a hospital bed, raw with fear and the ghost of cramps tightening his belly. Alex had come in with a containers full of delicious food. He’d just sat beside George, close enough to share whispered conversations with the omega but far enough that Charles could still breathe.

And George trusted him. That had to mean something, right? George trusts Max too.

Charles scratched behind Simba’s ear, the dog’s tail thumping against his thigh. Across the blanket, Lance was peeling an orange, giving slices to Gabi. Oscar had opened his thermos, pouring steaming liquid into paper cups that fogged in the chill.

Kimi sat in the center of the picnic blanket, hands smacking at a stack of wooden blocks George had pulled from the diaper bag. One toppled over, and the baby let out a delighted squeal, kicking his legs as if he'd just conquered Everest. Charles watched the baby from the corner of his eye as Oscar pressed a warm cup into his hands, the paper cup seeping heat through his palms before he even tasted the rich chocolate-cinnamon swirl on his tongue.

"Merci." Charles murmured, the steam curling up to brush his lips.

Lance smirked, peeling another orange slice for Gabi. "T'as l'air moins pâle qu'avant. (You look less pale than before.)"

Charles huffed a quiet laugh, the honey sweetness lingering on the back of his teeth. "J'ai dormi. Un peu. ( I slept. A little.)" He hesitated, gaze dropping to Lance's stomach beneath the drape of his coat. "Et toi? Le deuxième trimestre... ça va? (And you? The second trimester... it's going well?)"

Lance's expression softened in a way Charles hadn't seen before. He pressed a hand to his belly, thumb rubbing absent circles. "Fernando panique si je tousse. Hier, il a acheté trois humidificateurs. (Fernando panics if I cough. Yesterday, he bought three humidifiers.)" The eyeroll was undercut by the fondness in his voice.

Lance's gaze dropped pointedly to Charles' swollen ankles before he spoke. "Tes pieds te font souffrir? (Your feet are hurting you?)"

Charles nearly choked on his hot chocolate. The memory of Max kneeling at his feet the past few nights, his broad palms sliding over his arches with a tenderness that made his body do things it never did before flashed through his mind. "Non, c'est…" His fingers tightened around the paper cup. "Max a acheté des bas de compression. (Max bought compression socks.)"

Lance's eyebrow arched. "Ah ouais? (Oh really?)"

The steam from Charles' drink did nothing to hide the heat creeping up his neck. "Et il– (And he-)" He swallowed. "Il me masse parfois. Les pieds. (He sometimes massages my feet.)" The admission slipped out sticky-sweet and embarrassing. Kimi chose that moment to bang two blocks together with a clatter that sounded suspiciously like mockery.

"Ahhh, tu reçois le traitement royal! ( Ahhh, you're getting the princess treatment!)" Lance sang, waggling his eyebrows as he flicked an orange peel at Charles. The citrus scent burst between them, sharp and bright. Whether it came from himself or the fruit, Charles couldn't bring himself to care.

Charles ducked his head, fingers tightening around his cup. "Tais-toi. (Shut up.)"

Lance leaned forward, conspiratorial. "Non, non, c'est une bonne chose. (No, no, it's a good thing.)" His voice dropped, softer now. "Tu le mérites. You deserve it."

Do I? The thought flickered through Charles' mind like a dying bulb, brief and unwanted. He crushed it before it could take root. He can't let his –likely true– thoughts ruin this beautiful day.

Basil chose that moment to flop against Charles' other side, his wiry fur pressing warmth through the thin fabric of the baby blue sweater. The dog sighed dramatically, nosing at Charles' pocket.

Oscar's voice cut through the quiet chatter. "What, you an animal whisperer or something? Baz never stays still here." He gestured at Basil sprawled against Charles’ thigh, the dog’s chest rising and falling in deep contentment. "Little shit normally tries to steal Yuki’s gloves and bolts."

Charles wasn’t sure which arrived first–the scent of green apple and mint curling through the crisp park air, or the border collie that came barreling toward them like a furry torpedo. The dog skidded to a halt inches from the picnic blanket, panting, its tongue lolling pink against brown-and-white fur. Then Alex appeared, his silhouette cutting through the weak winter sunlight, a woven basket dangling from his elbow.

"Sorry I’m late." he said, though he didn’t sound particularly sorry. His gaze flickered briefly to Charles before settling on George. "Traffic was shit. Brought reinforcements." He lifted the basket, and the smell of warm bread and something herbaceous unfurled into the air.

Yuki snatched the basket before Alex could set it down, popping the lid open with his thumb. "You made the garlic rolls."

Alex grinned, sharp and bright. "And the honey-glazed pork buns."

George made a noise in the back of his throat, leaning forward to peer into the basket. "Man, I could kiss you."

Charles watched Alex flush pink at George’s words, the alpha’s fingers tightening briefly around the basket handle before he forced them to relax. Oscar and Yuki exchanged a glance, some mixture of amused, exasperated and knowing flickering between them that made Charles suddenly grateful Max wasn’t here to witness his mate (was he? he slept in Max’s nest but wore no bite, and Max never–) flirting so shamelessly with someone else.

Alex cleared his throat, shifting his weight as George plucked a pork bun from the basket. "They’re, uh. Still warm."

Charles kept his gaze fixed on Simba’s ears, velvety beneath his fingertips. The dog’s warmth was a steady anchor against the sudden, irrational urge to slide between George and Alex like a human shield. Stupid. He wasn’t... he wasn’t–whatever George was to Max. He wasn’t anything to anyone here except a temporary guest with a swelling belly and too much baggage. He has no leg to stand on. Maybe George and Max had an agreement or something. Maybe this isn't what he thinks.

Still, a sour taste coated his mouth and his heart beat just a tad bit off.

The border collie planted her paws on Charles’ knee, her cold nose bumping against his wrist. Her breath smelled vaguely of peanut butter. Charles startled, nearly knocking over his hot chocolate, but she just wagged her tail harder, her entire body wriggling with excitement.

"Down, Ottie." Alex said mildly, not looking up from where he was unpacking the basket. The dog immediately dropped, though her tail continued thumping against the frosty grass.

Alex crouched beside the picnic blanket, pulling out containers of food with practiced ease. His movements were unhurried, nothing like Max’s restless energy. Charles watched from beneath his lashes as Alex handed George a container without looking, their fingers brushing briefly. George didn’t react, too busy keeping Kimi from face-planting into the pork buns.

"Charles," Alex said suddenly, and Charles stiffened. The alpha held out a small container, steam curling from the vents in the lid. "Figured you might like this since George says you like pasta."

Charles stared at the container in Alex’s outstretched hand, steam curling through the slits in the lid like whispered promises. The scent of garlic, herbs and browned butter hit him and for a dizzying second, he was eight years old again, standing on a stool in his mother’s kitchen, watching her stir pasta with a wooden spoon.

He took the container gingerly, careful so their fingers are not touching. “Thank you,” he murmured, voice barely above the rustle of wind through bare branches. The warmth seeped into his palms, chasing away the lingering chill from earlier. Alex just nodded, already turning to unpack more food. Simba whined, pressing his wet nose against Charles’ wrist.

“Non,” Charles said automatically, nudging the dog away. “Pas pour toi. Not for you.”

Oscar stretched his arms overhead, joints popping audibly. "Right, I'm gonna go wear these mutts out before they start chewing on the picnic blanket again." He jerked his chin toward Charles, a smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. "What about you, dog whisperer? Wanna throw some sticks?"

Basil's warm weight pressed against Charles' side, the dog's muzzle resting just below the curve of his belly. A faint flutter beneath his skin–the baby shifting–made him wonder if the dog could feel it too. The thought sent an odd little thrill through him. He glanced between the sleeping Basil and the eager border collie bouncing around Oscar's feet, torn between the comfort of staying nestled in their makeshift omega circle and the restless energy pulling at his limbs.

"Go on." Lance murmured, nudging Charles' ankle with his toe. His eyes crinkled at the corners. "Take Gabi with you too, yeah?"

Charles exhaled through his nose, carefully shifting Basil's head onto the picnic blanket instead of his lap. The dog huffed but didn't wake. "Okay. " he said, pushing himself up with more effort than he'd ever admit. The baby kicked sharply as he straightened. Whether in protest or excitement, he couldn't tell.

Oscar tossed him a frayed tennis ball, the felt rough under his fingertips. Ottie immediately zeroed in on it, her entire body vibrating with anticipation. Charles hesitated, glancing back at their little group–George helping Kimi stack blocks, Lance peeling another orange, Alex and Yuki debating something over the food containers–before drawing his arm back and hurling the ball as far as he could.

The tennis ball sailed through the air, bouncing twice before disappearing into a cluster of frost-browned bushes. Ottie shot after it like a bullet, kicking up clumps of grass in her wake. Gabi wobbled to his feet, his little hands flailing as he stumbled after the dog.

Charles' breath caught. His fingers twitched, already half-reaching out. But Gabi caught himself before face-planting into the mud, righted himself with the oblivious resilience of toddlers, and kept running. His delighted squeal carried through the crisp air as Ottie circled back with the ball, her tail a blur.

"Be careful!" Charles called out, forcing his voice lighter than he felt. Gabi beamed at him, cheeks flushed pink with cold and exertion. And Charles felt the same odd feeling that swallows him whole when he thinks about his son too much or Kimi smiles at him.

The tennis ball became a blur of motion-Oscar throwing it high, Gabi stumbling after it with his arms outstretched like a tiny, determined windmill, Ottie circling them with her tongue lolling. Charles stood back, fingers flexing at his sides, torn between the urge to hover and the fear of looming too large.

"Want to try?" Charles murmured when Gabi paused, panting, his little hands braced on his knees. He bent and picked up the ball, offering it to Gabi instead of throwing it again. "Like this. As far as you can, yes?"

Gabi blinked up at him, his cheeks flushed beneath a thatch of dark hair. Then, with the solemn gravity only toddlers could muster, he took the ball and hurled it with all his might. It rolled approximately five feet before stopping in a patch of grass. Ottie, pounced on it like it was the most thrilling prey she'd ever caught.

"Magnifique." Charles said, trying his best to smile at the boy. Gabi beamed.

Basil and Simba eventually abandoned their nap to investigate the commotion, their tails wagging lazily. Simba nudged Charles' knee, while Basil flopped onto his back at Gabi’s feet. Gabi giggled, his tiny fingers sinking into Basil’s scruffy fur.

"Alright, gonna grab the other toys from the car, since these two decided to join." Oscar announced, stretching his arms with a yawn. "Be right back."

Gabi, still crouched beside Basil with his fingers tangled in the dog's scruff, tilted his head up at Charles. His dark eyes blinked slowly. "What's your name?"

Charles hesitated. "I'm Charles," he said finally, crouching down to Gabi's level despite the protesting twinge in his lower back.

Gabi's nose scrunched. "Shal." he repeated, testing the shape of it in his mouth, and Charles didn't have the heart to correct him. He pondered this for a moment before nodding decisively. "I'm Gabi."

Charles exhaled through his nose. "That is a nice name." he murmured. Gabi beamed, revealing a crooked front tooth. "How old are you?"

Gabi held up three fingers with his little brows furrowed in concentration. "I'm three! That's like this." The middle finger drooped slightly, but he shoved it back up with his other hand.

Charles had the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "Wow," he said, tilting his head, "you're such a big kid."

"Yeah!" Gabi beamed, rocking back on his heels. The sudden movement made him wobble, and Charles' hand shot out instinctively to steady him...only to freeze midair when he realized what he was doing. But Gabi had already caught his balance, oblivious to Charles' aborted gesture. The boy plopped down onto the grass, patting the space beside him. "Sit!"

Something fluttered beneath Charles' ribs, soft and warm. He lowered himself carefully onto the damp grass, his knees protesting. Gabi immediately leaned against his side, his small body radiating heat through the layers of fabric.

The scent of milk, vanilla and coffee clung to Gabi's hair. Charles inhaled sharply, suddenly thrust back into memories of his baby cousins and how they'd clambered into his lap during family gatherings, fingers tangling in his shirt. The ache was sudden and visceral, but beneath it, something else stirred. A quiet, tentative curiosity.

Charles pressed his palm flat against his belly where Gabi's warmth seeped through his sweater. The flutter of his baby beneath his skin coincided with Gabi's small fingers patting his knee. He wondered if this fragile, hesitant warmth curling through his chest was a fraction of what he'd feel when – if—his baby was born. Gabi liked him. Kimi reached for him sometimes, pudgy hands grasping at air until someone distracted him.

But even now, Charles' shoulders stayed rigid where Gabi leaned against him, every nerve ending hyperaware of the contact points between them despite the thick layers of fabric separating them. The boy smelled like milk and vanilla and what Charles thinks is Fernando's scent.

Oscar's footsteps crunched through the grass as he returned, arms laden with rope toys and a neon orange frisbee. "Alright, mutts." he announced, tossing the frisbee toward Basil. The dog lunged, nearly knocking Gabi over in his excitement. Charles' hand shot out again, this time making contact with Gabi's back to steady him before immediately recoiling as if burned.

"Whoops," Oscar said, not sounding particularly apologetic. He crouched beside them, offering Gabi a smaller toy. "Here, little man. This one won't knock you on your ass."

"That's a bad word!" Gabi giggled, grabbing the toy with both hands. He held it up to Charles, eyes wide. "Throw?"

"Yes, Gabi. Throw." Charles murmured, watching the boy windmill his tiny arm before releasing the toy in a lopsided arc. It landed barely four feet away, but Simba pounced on it with the enthusiasm of a wolf taking down prey. Gabi shrieked with laughter, his entire body vibrating with delight.

Charles exhaled, his breath misting in the cold air. The baby kicked sharply beneath his ribs. Gabi scrambled after the dog, his little hands patting Simba's flank when he dropped the toy at Gabi's feet. The dog wagged his tail furiously, his tongue lolling.

"Again?" Gabi asked, turning to Charles with the toy clutched in his fist. His cheeks were flushed pink, his dark eyes bright.

Charles hesitated. The grass was damp, the air sharp with winter, and his back was starting to hurt. But Gabi’s enthusiasm was contagious in a way that made his chest ache. "Oui," he said softly. "One more time."

Gabi beamed, winding up for another throw. This time, the toy sailed slightly farther, enough for Ottie to actually sprint after it. Gabi clapped his hands, bouncing on his toes. "Did you see? Did you see?"

"Yes. That was a good throw!"

"Again?"

"Again."

Gabi’s second throw went wildly off-course, the toy smacking directly into Oscar’s shin.

"Jesus Christ–" Oscar hissed, clutching his leg dramatically. "Friendly fire!"

Gabi dissolved into shrieking laughter, nearly toppling backward into the grass. Charles caught the back of his jacket before he could fall, fingers instinctively tightening in the puffy fabric. The toddler's weight was slight, but the momentum still pulled at Charles' already protesting muscles. Gabi twisted in his grip, still giggling, and Charles forced himself to loosen his hold before the boy could notice how long his fingers stayed on him.

Oscar pointed accusingly at the toddler. "This one’s violent. Lance, your kid’s violent."

"And? You deserve it." Lance didn’t even glance up from where he was scrolling through is phone.

"Whoa, whoa. Victim blaming?" Oscar mimed clutching his pearls.

"He gets it from Fernando anyways." Lance says.

Alex snorted. "Like you’re one to talk. Remember when you threw a stapler at Daniel’s head?"

"Daniel fucking ate the last chocolate chip cookie," Lance said, gesturing with his orange peel. "And it was right after my heat. I was sad."

George arched an eyebrow. "And attempted murder was the solution?"

Lance waved a dismissive hand, the sunlight glinting off his wedding band. "Didn’t you nearly bite Max’s hand off when he tried to rearrange your nest while you were pregnant?"

George’s jaw tensed, but his voice remained dry as dust. "Keyword being nearly."

Lance arched a brow. "And keyword being attempted."

Ottie trotted back with the toy clenched proudly in her jaws, tail whipping side to side hard enough to smack Charles’ knee. Gabi grabbed for it immediately, tiny mittened hands determined. The dog let go with reluctance, tongue lolling as if she’d just run a marathon instead of a few steps.

Charles found himself smiling again before he realized it.

It felt strange every time it happened. Like his face had forgotten the motion and was relearning it piece by piece. The muscles around his mouth ached faintly from disuse. Gabi wound up his arm with all the coordination of a drunk windmill, and Charles had to bite the inside of his cheek when the toy slipped from the boy’s grip mid-throw, landing with a sad little plop at Oscar’s feet.

“Again!” Gabi demanded, already scrambling after it.

Oscar clutched his chest. “You’re going to kill me at this rate.”

The game continued until Gabi's cheeks were flushed cherry-red beneath his knitted hat and his mittens hung limp from his sleeves by their clips. The dogs sprawled panting on the frost-stiffened grass, tongues lolling. Even Oscar had to slump against a tree trunk, tossing the toy with increasingly lazy arcs.

Charles found himself breathless in a way that had nothing to do with exertion-Gabi's delighted shrieks still ringing in his ears, the phantom sensation of tiny fingers clutching his sleeve lingering like a brand. He pressed a hand to the side of his belly where the baby had been kicking insistently throughout their play, as if trying to participate.

"Alright, Gabs." Oscar groaned, hauling himself upright. "Time for lunch before you pass out mid-throw."

Gabi shook his head violently, curls bouncing. "No! More!"

"Gabriel, come here," Lance called, holding up a container. "I got chicken tenders."

Gabi abandoned the toy immediately, his little legs pumping as he hurried back to the picnic blanket. The dogs trailed after him for half a second before collapsing at the edge of the blanket, their sides heaving. Simba flopped onto his back, paws twitching mid-air, while Basil curled into a tight ball, nose tucked under his tail. Ottie laid down with her head resting on Simba's belly.

Yuki tossed a bottle of water to Oscar, who caught it one-handed before washing his hands and passing it to Lance. They all scrubbed their hands in turn, wiping them on napkins before settling onto the blanket. Charles hesitated before accepting the water bottle from George, pouring a stream over his fingers. The cold bit into his skin, sharp and bright, before he shook them dry.

His container of pesto pasta was still slightly warm when he pried it open. The scent of garlic and basil hit him all at once, and for a fraction of a second, he was sixteen again, sitting at his mother’s kitchen table while she pressed a kiss to his temple and slid a plate in front of him.

He blinked, and the memory evaporated. The pasta was real, the warmth seeping through the thin plastic. Gabi sat cross-legged beside Lance, gnawing on a chicken tender with single-minded focus, his cheeks bulging like a chipmunk’s. Kimi was in Alex's lap, the alpha feeding him from a container of what looked like baby food.

The conversation flowed easily around him filled with currents of jokes and gossip that Charles found himself pulled into despite himself. Yuki stole a forkful of Oscar’s salad without asking, earning a half-hearted swat, while Lance plucked a piece of roasted potato from George’s container. It was warm, lovely really despite the cold early winter air. Charles wonders how it would be, when it starts to snow.

Charles watched, fascinated, as Alex speared a piece of grilled chicken from his own lunch and held it out to George without breaking his conversation with Oscar.

George leaned forward to take it between his teeth, his gaze locked on Alex’s face with an intensity that made Charles’ stomach twist. There was something indecent about the way George’s lips brushed the fork for a beat too long. Alex’s knuckles whitened around the utensil before he pulled back. Charles looked away sharply, his fingers tightening around his own fork.

"Shal," Gabi said around a mouthful of chicken tender, his little fingers sticky with sauce. He pointed at Charles' untouched pasta. "You eat?"

Charles blinked. The boy's voice was so absurdly earnest that something warm flickered behind his ribs. "Oui," he murmured, picking up his fork. "I eat."

Gabi nodded. "Good." he declared, then promptly shoved the rest of the chicken into his mouth.

The fork felt too heavy in Charles’ grip, the pasta suddenly tasteless. He watched Gabi’s fingers smear sauce across his cheeks as the boy chattered animatedly to Lance, his words half-muffled by food. Across the blanket, Alex murmured something that made George duck his head. Though not in embarrassment, Charles realized, but to hide the way his lips curled into a smile too private for public viewing. It made Charles' stomach churn.

"You’re not eating."

Charles startled at the voice beside him. Oscar had shifted closer without him noticing, his knee brushing Charles’ thigh. The contact was fleeting but Charles still stiffened. Oscar pretended not to notice, swirling his fork through his salad. "Not hungry?"

"No, no. Just thinking." Charles forced himself to take a bite. The pasta was good–better than good, really–but it sat heavy in his stomach.

Oscar nudged his knee against Charles’ thigh again. "Penny for your thoughts?"

Charles glanced at him sideways. The omega had a smear of dressing at the corner of his mouth, his cheeks still pink from the cold.

"It’s nothing specific really." Charles murmured, pushing a piece of pasta around his container.

Across the blanket, Gabi had migrated into George's lap, his sticky fingers clutching at the omega's scarf. George was laughing at something Alex had said, his head tipped back, throat bared. The sound carried easily through the crisp winter air, warm and bright and effortless. Alex was smiling too, softer than before, his entire face changing around George in a way Charles couldn’t stop noticing now that he’d seen it once. Max was–

Max was at home, unaware that his mate is cheating on him.

Something cold curled in Charles’ stomach.

The fork scraped softly against the container. Charles stared at the smear of pesto clinging to the plastic, appetite draining from him with every passing second.

Across the blanket, George laughed again. Charles’ stomach twisted so violently he almost felt sick.

He shouldn’t be here.

The thought arrived suddenly and completely, cold enough to make his fingers numb despite the warm food in his lap. Around him, everyone remained easy and relaxed. Oscar was stealing bites off Yuki’s plate, Lance wiping ketchup from Gabi’s chin while the toddler protested, George leaning into Alex’s shoulder for half a second while reaching for a napkin.

Too close. It was far far too close.

Charles’ pulse thudded unevenly in his throat.

Maybe Max already knew?

Maybe this was normal somehow. Maybe this pack worked differently than he understood, than the norm. Maybe affection like this between alpha and omega pack members was normal here. But the way Alex flushed whenever George looked at him, the lingering touches–

Charles had seen men cheat before.

His appetite curdled completely.

“You’re zoning out.” Oscar observed lightly.

Charles blinked down. His thumbnail had shredded half the paper label on the container without him realizing.

“Sorry.”

Oscar’s brow furrowed faintly. “Why are you apologizing to me?”

Charles swallowed hard and forced another bite into his mouth. The pasta turned to ash on his tongue.

The conversation around him blurred into indistinct noise. His thoughts spiraled faster and faster, sharp and ugly.

Max took him in.

Max bought him and his baby clothes, got Charles a phone. Rubbed his swollen feet when the pain got too bad. Scented his plushie, hell got him the plushie. Fed him, got him medical care, sat with him through ten days of statements–

And Charles sat in here, eating his food while everyone around him acted like this was normal.

Maybe Max already suspected.

Maybe that was why George had looked tense this morning.

Maybe Charles being here made it worse somehow. Maybe the alpha would think Charles knew. That he approved. That he helped hide it.

His chest tightened painfully.

“Shal?”

Gabi’s small hand patted his knee.

Charles startled so hard he nearly dropped his fork.

The toddler blinked up at him, curls windswept and cheeks sticky with ketchup. “You kay?”

Charles opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

“Hey.” Lance’s voice slid in smoothly from beside him. “Why don’t you help me grab juice boxes from the car?”

Charles looked at him gratefully enough that something sharpened in Lance’s expression.

“Okay.” Charles whispered.

He followed Lance a short distance away from the blanket, toward the car parked near the gate. The cold air hit harder away from the warmth of the group. Charles wrapped his arms around himself automatically.

Lance crouched beside the trunk, rummaging around theatrically for several seconds before glancing up at him.

“What’s wrong?”

Charles shook his head too quickly. “Nothing.”

“Charles.”

The gentleness in Lance’s voice nearly undid him.

Charles stared at the frost-crusted grass. “I just…” His throat tightened. “I think maybe I should go home.”

Lance straightened slowly. “Why?”

Because George was smiling at Alex like he made the sun rise in the mornings.

Because Max deserved better.

Because Charles already owed that alpha too much.

His voice came out thin and frayed. “I didn’t know Alex was coming.”

Lance frowned slightly. “Okay…”

“And George…” Charles swallowed hard enough it hurt. “They keep–” His fingers twisted violently in the hem of his sweater. “I think maybe I’m not supposed to see this.”

Lance blinked.

Charles forced the words out before courage failed him entirely.

“Max’s mate shouldn’t be–” His voice cracked. “I mean, maybe packs are different here but they’re acting like–”

Lance's entire face changed. “Oh.”

Shame flooded hot beneath Charles' skin. “I’m sorry.” he blurted out. “I know it’s not my business, I just– Max’s been so kind to me and if he finds out I knew–”

“Charles.” Lance sounded halfway between horrified and wildly amused. “Baby,” he said carefully. “George and Max are not together.”

Charles stared at him blankly.

“They…” He frowned. “But they live together.”

“Yeah.”

“And Kimi–”

“Is their kid.”

Charles’ confusion only deepened.

Lance rubbed a hand over his face like he was trying not to laugh at the world’s worst possible moment. “Okay. Right. Nobody explained this to you.”

Charles’ pulse roared in his ears.

“They broke up almost two years ago.” Lance said gently. “Before Kimi was even born.”

The world seemed to tilt sideways.

“What?”

“They’re still pack.” Lance explained. “Still family. But not, like, together-together.”

Charles stared at him, breathing shallowly.

“But…” His voice came out tiny. “Max sleeps in George’s nest.”

Lance snorted softly. “Yeah.”

Charles blinked.

Lance continued. “They coparent. They’re really good friends. But romantically? Done. Completely.”

The tight knot in Charles’ chest loosened so suddenly it almost hurt.

“Oh.”

Lance’s expression softened further. “Alex’s been in love with George for years.” he admitted. “And George’s been pretending not to notice for almost as long.”

Charles’ mouth parted slightly.

“He…” Charles looked back toward the blanket automatically.

George was helping Gabi peel an orange now while Alex watched him with that same helpless softness.

Nobody else looked uncomfortable.

Nobody else looked scandalized.

Yuki was literally stealing food off Alex’s plate while Oscar argued with him about something.

The normalcy of it hit Charles all at once.

“Oh my God.” he whispered, horrified.

“You thought George was cheating on Max?”

Charles covered his face with both hands immediately. Lance looked like he was fighting a laugh. Heat flooded all the way down his neck.

“I’m going to die.”

“No, you’re not.”

“I judged them.”

“You had context missing.”

“I thought Max was being betrayed in front of me.” Charles sounded miserable. “I thought I was helping hide it somehow.”

Lance's expression softened into something fond.

“Oh, sweetheart.”

The endearment hit strangely hard after the morning he’d had. Charles looked away quickly before his face could crumple again.

Lance, of course, noticed anyway, and his expression gentled immediately. “Hey.”

Charles pressed his lips together.

“You okay?”

No.

He’d heard his mother’s voice for the first time in five years and failed to say a single word.

He missed home so badly he could barely breathe around it.

He was carrying a baby he still didn’t fully know how to love without fear.

And somehow, stupidly, irrationally, the idea of Max being hurt had devastated him too.

Charles swallowed hard.

“Just tired.” he whispered.

Lance looked at him for a long moment, but thankfully he didn’t push. Instead, he bumped their shoulders together lightly.

“For what it’s worth,” he said, “Max would probably cry if he knew you got protective over him.”

Charles huffed out a sound that almost became a laugh.

Almost.

Behind them, Gabi shouted, “Shal! Ottie ate grass!”

Oscar's voice followed. “Oi! Don’t narc on the dog!”

And for the first time since the phone call, the crushing weight on Charles’ chest eased just enough for him to breathe.

Charles blinked, and suddenly lunch was over. Containers snapped shut, crumbs were brushed from laps, half-empty juice boxes tossed into a plastic bag. The conversation had picked up seamlessly around him, as if the moment with Lance had never happened. He was grateful for that. The omega didn’t so much as send an odd glance his way, instead helping Gabi clean his hands while the toddler chattered about something Charles couldn’t quite follow.

Gabi bolted upright the second his tiny hands were clean, sprinting toward a patch of frost-browned grass with all the urgency of a man on a mission. "Bug!" he shrieked, skidding to his knees. Yuki sighed but pushed himself up to trail after the boy, hands stuffed in his coat pockets like a reluctant bodyguard.

Charles watched them from the blanket, his fingers curled loosely around his now-empty juice box. The cold plastic crinkled under his grip. Across from him, Alex was meticulously wiping Kimi's face, the pup's face scrunching in protest. George hovered close enough that their shoulders brushed. The intimacy of it made Charles' chest ache with something he couldn't name.

Charles thinks he could have hated George, if given enough time before the misunderstanding was cleared. For putting him in that awkward position, for making him complicit in what he thought was betrayal. For hurting Max–kind, patient Max. For hurting Kimi, that baby who deserves better than fractured parents and fights.

But he doesn’t have to.

The relief of that knowledge sits strangely in his chest, light and aching all at once. He watches Alex tuck a stray curl behind George’s ear and feels no spike of fear for either of them. Only a quiet, distant envy for something he can’t name.

George catches him looking and smiles, soft and unguarded before turning back to help Kimi with his mittens. The pup whines, shoving his tiny hands away, and Alex laughs, deep and warm. The sound carries through the cold air, mingling with Gabi’s shrieks as he chases Ottie through the grass.

It’s peaceful. Normal.

Charles blinked, the tail end of Oscar’s indignant squawk registering belatedly.

“–wouldn’t even make it past the first tide.” the omega was saying, gesturing emphatically at Yuki. “And you can barely look over the wheel of a car–”

“The fuck does driving have to do with this?” Yuki called from where he crouched beside Gabi, inspecting a suspiciously damp leaf.

George didn’t even look up from his phone. “Oi. Language.”

Charles glanced between them, lost.

The argument had escalated to a full-blown debate by the time Charles fully tuned back in, something about hypothetical survival tactics and who’d last longest stranded on an island. Oscar was gesturing wildly with a half-eaten cookie, crumbs flying as he insisted, "I grew up camping in the Outback, mate. I’d have a fucking shelter built before any of you figured out which way was north."

Yuki scoffed, tossing a pebble at Oscar’s shoulder. "Yeah, and then you’d starve because the only thing even remotely capable of being consumed that you're capable of making is a mocha cappuccino."

Alex leaned forward with that easy grin of his. "Okay, but George would have calculated his rationing within an hour."

"Assuming he doesn’t faint at the first sight of a crab."

"Hey!"

"Come on, mate." Oscar said, raising an eyebrow. "Didn't you scream because a caterpillar landed on you–"

"A hairy caterpillar! Huge difference."

Lance, who’d been quietly repacking the picnic basket, smirked at Charles. "Alex would just charm a dolphin into giving him a ride home."

Yuki snorted, flicking a stray piece of grass at Alex. "Oh yeah, definitely. Bro is like a whole Disney princess, minus the singing skills."

Alex rolled his eyes, but there was no real heat in it. "Well, screw you too, Yuki. You can't sing either."

"At least I don't sound like a dying seal." Yuki shot back, grinning when Oscar choked on his water beside him.

Lance bumped his shoulder gently, pulling Charles from his thoughts. "They're always like this." he murmured, voice low enough that only Charles could hear.

"It's nice." Charles murmured, watching Gabi try to tackle Ottie into the grass. The chill in the air was sharp enough to sting his cheeks, but the chaos around him felt warm in a way he hadn't experienced in years.

Lance bumped their knees together, grinning. "I know, right? We really should do this more." He paused, tilting his head. "Are you coming to the pack Christmas party? It's being held at Toto and Christian's. I don’t think you've been there yet. Or met them."

Charles scoffed. "Oh, I met Christian."

Lance blinked. "Wait, when?"

The memory surfaced in jagged pieces. Max's voice, tight with something that wasn’t quite panic. The unfamiliar alpha with salt-and-pepper hair who’d materialized at the foot of his bed, smelling of leather and something uncomfortably familiar.

"You know how I was in the hospital because a part of my placenta detached?"

Lance's hand froze halfway to repacking a Tupperware container. "Jesus, no." His head snapped up, eyes wide. "I didn't know that–what the fuck?" The omega's scent spiked with alarm, vanilla turning sharp enough to sting.

Charles regretted it instantly. Around them, the pack's laughter continued, but Lance's sudden stillness carved out a pocket of silence between them and the chaos.

"It's fine, really." Charles muttered, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve. "Just...happened a while ago. They caught it in time. Both me and boo are fine."

Lance blinked, the sharp concern in his scent softening into something warmer. "You call them boo?" The omega’s lips twitched upward. "That’s adorable."

Charles felt his ears heat, fingers tightening around the empty juice box. "George started it, really."

Lance’s expression did something complicated, his gaze flicking toward George. "Of course he did."

Behind them, Gabi shrieked as Ottie knocked him flat onto the grass, the dog’s tail wagging wildly. Yuki sighed and hauled the boy upright by the back of his coat like a scruffed kitten.

Something brushed against Charles’ knee, warm and insistent, and he startled, looking down to find Kimi staring up at him with wide brown eyes, one tiny hand fisted in the fabric of his pants. The pup had crawled all the way across the blanket without anyone stopping him, his curls wind-tousled and his overalls grass-stained. Charles froze, fingers twitching against his thighs. He glanced up, searching for George, but the omega was just watching him with an unreadable expression.

Panic coiled tight in Charles’ throat. He forced himself to move, patting the boy’s hair with stiff fingers, hoping it would be enough to satisfy the boy. Kimi blinked, then made a small noise and lifted his arms in clear demand.

Charles’ breath caught.

“No, no cheri.” he whispered, voice cracking. But Kimi wasn’t deterred, his tiny body swaying as he tried to haul himself into Charles’ lap. Around them, the pack’s laughter continued, oblivious. George hadn’t moved. Kimi let out another, more frustrated frustrated noise.

Shit.

Charles swallowed hard and, with trembling hands, lifted Kimi properly into his lap. The pup settled immediately, his weight warm and solid against Charles’ thighs, one small hand curling into the fabric of his sweater.

Kimi's fingers brushed against Charles' cheek, clumsily curious and Charles' breath stuttered in his chest. The pup smelled like milk and baby shampoo and George and Max, his tiny body a warm, wriggling weight against Charles' thighs. His fingers traced the line of Charles' jaw with uncoordinated movements, babbling something that almost sounded like words. Charles couldn't move. Couldn't blink. His pulse thundered in his ears, drowning out the pack's laughter, the distant bark of the dogs, the crunch of grass as Gabi and Ottie ran around.

Something in his ribcage twisted sharply, a sensation so raw it bordered on pain. He recognized it distantly as the same ache he'd felt watching Max cradle Kimi to his chest that first night, the same hollow yearning that kept him awake staring at the ceiling. The pup patted his cheek insistently, brown eyes wide and trusting, and Charles' throat tightened.

Don't. he thought desperately. You can't ruin him.

Kimi giggled, his tiny fingers tangling in Charles' hair now, tugging just enough to sting. The sensation shocked a wet, startled laugh out of Charles. It echoed strangely in his own ears. Kimi froze at the noise, eyes going round, then let out a delighted squeal and yanked harder.

"Ow–cheri–" Charles caught the pup's wrist gently, disentangling tiny fingers from his hair. Kimi whined, lower lip wobbling, and Charles panicked. Shit, had he hurt him? Was George watching? Would Max–

Kimi's fingers stilled against Charles' cheek, his tiny face scrunching in sudden concentration. Then, with startling clarity, the pup's gaze dropped away from Charles' face, and lower. Down to the swell of Charles' stomach, where the baby had just kicked hard.

Charles held his breath. Kimi's eyes widened, his mouth forming a perfect 'o' of surprise. Another kick, stronger this time, and Kimi jerked back slightly before leaning in again, pressing his small palm flat against the curve of Charles' belly like he was trying to catch the movement.

"Ba." Kimi said.

Charles inhaled sharply. He caught Kimi's wrist gently, guiding the pup's hand to where the kicks were strongest. The baby obliged almost immediately, rolling under Kimi's touch.

"It's okay." Charles murmured, his voice cracking on the words. "That's just boo, yeah?"

Kimi's tiny fingers spread wider over Charles' belly, his expression shifting to something awestruck as another kick pressed against his palm. The pup gasped, his dark curls bouncing as he leaned in closer, pressing his forehead against Charles' stomach.

Charles felt like he couldn't breathe. His hands hovered awkwardly over Kimi's back, terrified to touch but equally terrified to push him away. The pup smelled like sweet baby shampoo, his warmth seeping through the fabric of Charles' sweater.

"Ba!" Kimi insisted, louder this time, patting Charles' stomach with both hands now.

Charles barely registered the soft click of George's phone camera, too lost in the weight of Kimi's tiny body pressing against his own and the warmth of the pup's hands. His throat burned, the storm of emotions washing over him and threatening the drown him.

Somewhere out there, his firstborn was alive, probably walking now, maybe babbling half-words just like Kimi. The thought carved something jagged and hollow behind his ribs.

Kimi giggled, pressing his cheek against Charles' stomach with a delighted squeal when the baby kicked again. Charles' fingers twitched against the pup's back, aching to curl around him properly, to tuck Kimi against his chest and never let go. But that wasn't his right. Kimi wasn't his to keep.

A cold gust of wind cut through the park, ruffling Kimi's curls beneath the hat. Charles shivered, but the pup only burrowed closer, his tiny fists clutching Charles' sweater. Charles swallowed hard. He should hand him back. George was right there, watching with that unreadable expression.

But then the pup tilted his head up, brown eyes wide and trusting, and said. "Buh?"

Charles tapped Kimi’s nose gently with one finger, watching as the pup’s eyes crossed comically trying to follow the movement. Kimi giggled, the sound bright and bubbling, and Charles’ chest tightened. His fingers hovered uncertainly over Kimi’s curls, afraid to mess up the delicate balance he suddenly found himself in.

Kimi, blissfully unaware of Charles’ internal crisis, reached up with both hands and grabbed his face, tiny fingers pressing into his cheeks. “Buh!” he declared, grinning toothily. His breath smelled sweet like the banana slices George had fed him earlier. Charles exhaled shakily, letting himself smile back, even if it felt brittle at the edges.

There was still panic humming under his skin, a constant whisper that he was doing this wrong, that he’d mess up and George would take Kimi away, that Max would find out and–

He glanced up abruptly, searching for George’s reaction, and found the omega watching them with a softness in his eyes that Charles hadn’t seen before. George wasn’t just smiling, no. He looked fond, the curve of his lips warm and unreserved, like Charles had done something right.

Charles felt warmth spreading through him like wildfire, uncontrollable and all consuming. Kimi's tiny fingers traced patterns on his cheeks and Charles wanted to sob. The emotions clawed at his ribs, too big for his chest, so overwhelming it bordered on pain. He wanted to scream into the quiet afternoon air, wanted to bury his face in Kimi’s soft curls and inhale that sweet, milky scent until it drowned out everything else.

But he also wanted George to come and take Kimi away, to spare him the terrible ache of wanting something he couldn’t have.

Kimi babbled something nonsensical, pressing his forehead against Charles’ sternum, and Charles’ hands trembled where ran over the pup’s back.

Don’t touch too much. Don’t get attached.

But Kimi had other plans, wriggling closer until he was practically molded against Charles’ chest and belly, his tiny hands fisted in Charles’ sweater like he had no intention of letting go.

Charles’ breath hitched. He glanced at George again, silently pleading for something. Help, reassurance, intervention–he didn't really know at this point. But George just smiled, soft and unguarded, and raised his phone to snap another picture. Alex leaned in to murmur something in George’s ear, and George’s laughter blended with the distant sounds of Gabi and Ottie’s chaos.

No one was coming to rescue him. No one saw the storm inside him.

Kimi patted Charles’ stomach again, insistent. “Ba!” The baby kicked in response, and Kimi’s eyes lit up, his entire face scrunching with delight. Charles swallowed hard.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. He wasn’t supposed to feel this–this yearning, sharp as a blade between his ribs. His first pup was out there somewhere, growing up without him, and here he was, trembling under the weight of a child who wasn’t his, who would never be his.

A gust of wind rustled the trees overhead, sending a shower of golden leaves spiraling down around them. Kimi reached for one, his tiny fingers closing around the brittle edge, and held it up to Charles like an offering.

Charles took the leaf with careful fingers, its edges brittle and veins stark against his palm. "Thank you." he murmured, voice gentle. Kimi blinked up at him, then grinned, saliva shining on his chin.

"Buh."

"It's really pretty." Charles added, because whether he understands it or not, the pup seemed to expect a response, and because the leaf was pretty. It was all golden at the edges, fading to green at the stem, the exact kind of thing he might have pressed between book pages years ago.

"Da." Kimi said, then promptly shoved the hem of Charles’ sleeve into his mouth, gnawing with single-minded focus. The fabric darkened with drool. Charles didn’t pull away.

Somewhere beyond them, Gabi shrieked with laughter as Ottie tackled him into a pile of leaves. Alex said something low and teasing to George, who swatted at him without looking away from Charles and Kimi. The sun dipped lower, stretching their shadows long across the grass.

Slowly, imperceptibly, the tension began to leak from Charles’ shoulders. Kimi’s weight was warm and solid against him, his breaths puffing damp against Charles’ collarbone. The pup’s fingers curled and uncurled against Charles’ sweater, kneading absently like a cat.

Charles blinked slowly, the world filtering back in like sunlight through water. The weight of Kimi against his chest had lulled him into something hazy. Not quite sleep, but the drowsy contentment of a cat basking in warmth. Then George’s voice cut through the fog, sharp and familiar: "Charles? We’re getting ice cream. I need to buckle Kimi in, love."

He nodded before his brain caught up, the motion automatic. George reached for Kimi, his fingers brushing Charles’ sleeve as he lifted the pup away. The sudden absence of warmth left Charles oddly untethered, the cold air biting at his skin where Kimi’s body had pressed against him. He swallowed hard and pushed himself up from the blanket, his back protesting with a dull ache.

Maybe he could ask Max to massage it later.

He shook the thought away before it could take root.

Kimi whined, twisting in George’s arms to reach back for Charles, his tiny fingers grasping at empty air. "Ba!" he insisted, lower lip wobbling. George adjusted his grip, murmuring something soothing, but Kimi’s eyes stayed fixed on Charles, wide and pleading.

Charles hesitated. He shouldn’t. He couldn’t. But then Kimi’s face crumpled, a prelude to tears, and Charles’ hands moved without permission, reaching out to take the pup back. George let him, his expression unreadable as Kimi immediately burrowed into Charles’ chest with a satisfied sigh.

"Just–just hold him while I help the others clean up, yeah? " George said, turning away before Charles could decipher the look in his eyes.

Charles held Kimi against his chest as the pup’s tiny fingers twisted into the collar of his sweater, tugging insistently until the fabric stretched taut. Kimi let out a pleased noise, then pressed his entire face against Charles’ neck with a muffled giggle, his warm breath puffing against Charles’ skin. The pup smelled like milk and the faint sweetness of George’s scent, his curls tickling Charles’ jaw as he nuzzled closer. Charles froze, his arms locked awkwardly around Kimi’s small frame, unsure if he was supposed to adjust his grip or just stay still.

Lance approached with Gabi in tow, the toddler bouncing on his toes while clutching Lance’s hand. “Someone’s clingy today.” Lance remarked, nodding toward Kimi, who had now wrapped both arms around Charles’ neck like a tiny koala. Charles swallowed hard, his pulse fluttering beneath Kimi’s cheek.

“He’s–uh.” Charles’ voice cracked. He cleared his throat. “He’s just tired, I think.”

Lance’s lips quirked, but he didn’t push.

Charles couldn't shake the creeping dread that George was mad at him. Or at least upset. He held Kimi tighter, the pup's sleepy breaths warm against his neck, as he watched George put the folded blankets in the trunk. His fingers twitched against Kimi's back.

"Tu penses que George croit que j'essaie de lui voler Kimi? (Do you think George believes I'm trying to steal Kimi from him?)" The words tumbled out before he could stop them. Lance paused mid-step, turning to face him fully. Charles swallowed hard. "Parce que je ne le fais pas. Je le jure. Mon Dieu, il va me détester, n'est-ce pas? (Because I am not. I swear. God, he's going to hate me, isn't he?)"

Lance's expression softened. He reached out, brushing a leaf from Charles' shoulder. "Charles, respire, mon cher. George ne pense pas ça. Pas du tout. (Charles, breathe, my dear. George doesn't think that. Not at all.)"

"But he—" Charles' throat clicked. "He looked at me weird. And he's tense. And earlier I thought he was cheating and now Kimi won't let go of me and I didn't–I didn't mean to!" His voice cracked on the last word. Kimi stirred slightly, fingers tightening in Charles' hair.

Lance sighed, glancing over Charles' shoulder to where George was now putting Ottie into Alex's car. "Charles," he said slowly. "George isn't upset with you. The reason Kimi won't let go of you is because you smell nice."

"Huh?"

Lance raised an eyebrow. "You're pregnant, Charles. And Kimi's a pup. The pregnancy scent is how they recognize and bond their omega parents. And the scent makes everyone want to be close to you. Like, remember how the dogs kept pressing their noses to you?"

"Oh."

"Yeah, oh. George knows that. He's just not used to Kimi attaching himself to someone else. He's not upset with you. And even if he was, he'd get over it, okay?"

Charles nodded, his throat too tight to speak. George called his name from the car, voice cutting through the crisp air. "Charles? We need to buckle him in."

Kimi whined the moment Charles shifted him toward the car seat, his tiny hands clutching at Charles' sweater like a lifeline. The pup's fingers caught on the fabric, stretching it taut before slipping free with a soft snap. Charles flinched. His own hands hovered uselessly as George clicked the harness into place, fingers brushing against the pup's curls when Kimi twisted to look back at Charles, lower lip wobbling.

"Ba!" Kimi protested, kicking his feet against the restraints. George sighed, adjusting the straps, but Kimi's eyes never left Charles, wide, wet and accusing. Like Charles had betrayed him somehow.

Charles clenched his hands into fists at his sides, nails biting crescents into his palms. He shouldn't feel guilty. He hadn't done anything wrong. But the way Kimi stared at him, hiccuping on a sob when George closed the car door, made his chest ache. The tension in George's shoulders didn't help.

Lance brushed past him with Gabi balanced on his hip, the toddler already half-asleep against his shoulder. "See you at the ice cream place?" he murmured, pausing just long enough to squeeze Charles' elbow. The touch burned through the fabric of his sweater, too warm, too much. Charles nodded jerkily, unable to tear his gaze away from Kimi's face.

The car door clicked shut behind Charles , sealing him in with George and the soft hum of the engine. Taylor Swift’s voice filtered through the speakers. The song itself was unfamiliar. Something to do with London? Charles didn't really have the mental capacity to focus on it too much.

He fumbled with his seatbelt, the click of the latch loud in the quiet. Kimi’s muffled whimpers from the backseat clawed at his resolve to not breakdown.

"I'm sorry." Charles blurted out, staring at his own white-knuckled grip on the seatbelt strap.

George’s fingers paused where they were tapping to the beat on the steering wheel. "Hmm?"

"I'm sorry. I don't know why Kimi's attached to me. I didn't mean to–"

George’s laugh cut through the apology, warm and startled. "Oh! Oh no, love. I don’t care about that. It’s adorable, really."

"Really?" Charles' voice cracked. His fingers still trembled against his thighs, though he pressed them flat now, trying to force them still through sheer will.

George sighed, drumming his fingers against the wheel as they idled at a red light. The dashboard glow painted his face in shifting blues and greens, softening the sharp angles of his cheekbones. "Really really." He turned to face Charles fully, his expression so open it hurt to look at. "God, Charles, you think I'd lie about that? I'm glad he likes you. Means he's got good taste."

Charles swallowed hard. The ache in his chest pulsed like a fresh bruise. "But you've been acting... off."

The light turned green. George exhaled, fingers flexing around the wheel before easing forward. "Oh, have I?" A half-smile flickered across his face, gone before Charles could parse it. "It's something else completely, Charles. I promise."

Behind them, Kimi made a soft snuffling noise, his breaths evening out into sleep. George's gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, lingering for a beat too long before returning to the road. "You don't need to worry about anything." he murmured, softer now.

The car rolled to a stop at the ice cream parlor, the neon sign flickering in the dimming light. Charles hesitated, his fingers curled around the door handle, unsure if he was meant to wait or just follow.

George unbuckled without looking at him, his voice oddly distant. "Infact, you can never have too many people when raising a kid." He paused, one hand resting on the wheel. "You'll see what I mean when Boo gets here."

Behind them, Kimi let out a soft snuffle, his tiny fingers flexing against the straps of the car seat. George glanced back, his expression unreadable in the half-light. "Max used to say the same thing. About the village, I mean." He let out a small noise, as if amused by some private joke. "He thought we could do it alone at first. Bloody idiot."

Charles couldn’t tell if George was talking to him or just thinking aloud.

The crunch of gravel under tires announced the others’ arrival. Gabi’s high-pitched shriek cut through the evening air before the car doors even opened. "Glace! Glace!" The toddler practically vibrated out of Lance’s arms, his earlier exhaustion forgotten at the promise of sugar.

Charles watched, detached, as George unhooked Kimi’s car seat with practiced ease. The pup didn’t even stir when the base clicked free, his curls mashed against the padded headrest, drool soaking the safety straps. George’s biceps flexed as he lifted the entire carrier one-handed.

Alex materialized at George’s elbow like a shadow, shouldering the diaper bag before George could reach for it. "Got it." he murmured, fingers brushing George’s wrist. Charles looked away, his nails digging into his own thighs.

"Jesus, someone muzzle that child." Yuki grumbled as Gabi ricocheted off Oscar’s legs, nearly upending Lance. Lance just laughed, scooping Gabi up with one arm.

The ice cream parlor smelled like waffle cones and sugar, the air thick with the chatter of scattered patrons and the occasional clatter of metal scoops against tubs. The pastel pink walls and turquoise trim gave the place an almost surreal, dreamlike quality. It was like stepping into a watercolor painting where everything bled softly at the edges. Charles hesitated in the doorway, his fingers twitching at his sides.

The server behind the counter grinned at them, her striped yellow-and-white sleeves rolled to the elbows. "What can I get you folks?" she asked, tapping her scoop against the glass display case. Inside, rows upon rows of ice cream gleamed under the lights.

Gabi immediately pressed both palms against the glass, leaving smudgy fingerprints. "Blue!" he declared, bouncing on his toes. Lance sighed, peeling him away with a muttered apology to the server.

Charles hovered near the back, his gaze flitting between the menu board and Kimi’s sleeping form.

The ice cream arrived in small glass bowls, condensation beading on the sides like sweat. Charles stared at the Oreo balanced precariously on top of his cookies and cream. Around him, spoons clinked against glass as the others dug in without hesitation. Gabi was smearing more blue raspberry across his cheeks than he got into his mouth. Yuki mixed his Neapolitan around until it looked like a grey mess before he started eating. Even the dogs were digging into their pup cups.

"You gonna eat that or wait for it to become soup?" Lance murmured around a mouthful of vanilla, nudging Charles' elbow with his own. The contact sent a jolt up Charles' arm, but he didn't pull away. Not when Lance's scent wrapped around him like a safety net.

The Oreo crumbled beneath Charles’ spoon with a satisfying snap. The first bite melted against his tongue, cold and sweet and achingly familiar, like childhood summers on the beaches in Monaco. Around him, the chatter blurred into white noise. Lance was scolding Gabi for smearing ice cream on the booth cushions, Yuki arguing with Oscar over some game Charles has no clue about.

Charles licked melted cream from his thumb, the sugar sharp on his tongue. For a suspended moment, the taste overpowered the copper tang of old panic.

Kimi’s drowsy whimper cut through the chatter. George twisted in his seat, fishing a pacifier from the diaper bag slung over Alex’s chair. The pup’s fingers curled around George’s wrist as he guided the silicone between Kimi’s lips. Charles watched the way Kimi’s eyelids fluttered, how his tiny throat worked as he settled back into sleep, his hand letting go of George. Something twisted behind Charles’ ribs.

"Stealing my chocolate chunks again, mate." Alex’s voice, warm with amusement. Oscar’s spoon retreated from his bowl, laden with stolen chips. "Bloody menace." Alex added, but he was pushing his dessert toward Oscar anyway.

Gabi’s face was more blue than skin now, his sticky fingers leaving streaks on the table. He kind of looked like a Smurf. Lance sighed, scrubbing at the toddler’s cheeks with a wet wipe while Gabi squirmed, giggling at the sensation.

Charles couldn’t help the twitch of his lips as he watched Lance’s exasperated fondness and the way his fingers lingered just a second too long, ruffling Gabi’s hair even as he scolded him. Across the table, Oscar was mid-move, reaching for Yuki's bowl with his spoon when Yuki’s hand shot out, smacking his wrist with the back of his own utensil.

“Ow! Fuck, Yuki–” Oscar hissed, shaking his hand like Yuki had stabbed him.

"Language."

Yuki just smirked, licking a stripe of melted strawberry off his spoon. “Shouldn’t have tried to steal my fucking ice cream, dickhead.”

"Language!"

Alex snorted into his own bowl, shoulders shaking. George leaned back in the booth, stretching his arms overhead before letting them drop with a sigh. “Honestly,” he mused, “if I had a euro for every time Yuki assaulted someone over food, I could retire.”

Charles' spoon scraped against the bottom of his bowl, the sound lost beneath Alex's laughter as Yuki flicked a chunk of strawberry straight into Oscar's hair. The younger omega yelped, batting at the melting mess now dripping down his neck.

Charles didn't realize he was smiling until his cheeks began to ache. The warmth in his chest was unfamiliar, spreading through him like melted butter. His spoon hovered halfway to his mouth, dripping melted ice cream onto the table. He didn't even care about the mess.

Across the booth, Yuki flicked another chunk of strawberry, this time hitting Alex square on the nose. The alpha blinked, cross-eyed at the red smear on his face before breaking into startled laughter. George snorted into his palm, shoulders shaking silently. Even Kimi stirred in his car seat, blinking sleepily at the noise before settling back against the padding with a contented sigh.

Something bumped Charles' knee under the table. He glanced down to find Lance's boot nudging his shin gently. When he looked up, Lance was watching him with a warm expression Charles couldn't name. Gabi was now attempting to climb onto Oscar's back, blue-stained fingers tangling in the omega's hair. Oscar groaned dramatically but didn't shake him off.

Charles' spoon clinked against the bowl as he set it down. His fingers trembled. The sugar rush buzzed under his skin, electric and alive.

The sun was dipping low, casting long shadows across the gravel parking lot as they shuffled out of the ice cream parlor. Gabi, now sticky and half-asleep, flopped against Lance’s shoulder like a wilted flower, his blue-streaked fingers clutching a half-melted cone. Lance balanced him effortlessly while digging for his wallet, waving off Charles’ half-hearted attempt to contribute. "Pack privilege," he murmured, flashing a tired smile before handing the cashier a card. "You’ll get used to it."

Charles didn’t know how to explain that he wasn’t part of the pack–not really–so he just nodded and crouched to scratch Ottie behind the ears one last time. The border collie leaned into his touch, her tail thumping lazily against Basil’s flank, who in turn nipped playfully at her wagging tail. For a moment, the three dogs became a tangle of fur and warmth, and Charles let himself drown in it.

"Merci." he whispered, when he hugged Lance. It was too quiet for anyone but Lance to catch. Lance squeezed his shoulder in reply, fingers lingering just a second too long before pulling away.

Goodbyes were a messy affair, with Yuki tossing a "See you later, losers!" over his shoulder as he dragged Oscar toward his car, Alex laughing as he wrestled Gabi’s sticky hands away from his shirt. George buckled the car seat back into place with practiced ease, though his hands hesitated briefly over the straps, adjusting them twice before stepping back. Charles hovered, unsure if he was meant to help or stay out of the way, until George gestured vaguely toward the passenger seat.

"Home?"

Charles nodded happily. His eyelids felt heavy, the weight of the day pressing down on him like a warm blanket. The sugar rush had started to fade, leaving behind a pleasant exhaustion that made his limbs feel loose and pliant. As much as he'd enjoyed the afternoon–the laughter, the dogs, the food, the ice cream, the way Kimi had curled trustingly against him–he was ready to curl up in his nest with his elephant plushie and favorite blanket. Maybe, if Charles wasn't too tired after his nap, he'd tell Max about his day and ask him about his own.

George slid into the driver's seat with a soft sigh, twisting the key in the ignition. The engine purred to life, and the soft strains of a another song Charles didn't recognize filled the car. It was slow and melancholic, the kind of song that made Charles want to close his eyes and drift.

Boo, having the best timing as usual, kicked hard against his ribs. Charles huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing the spot where the baby's foot had pressed. "Sugar got to you too, huh?" he murmured, tracing the curve of his belly through his sweater. The fabric was soft beneath his fingers.

George glanced at him sideways as he pulled out of the parking lot. "You good?"

Charles hummed, letting his head loll against the seat. "Tired." he admitted. "Boo's kicking up a storm."

The car hummed along the highway, its rumble soothing. Charles traced idle patterns over his swollen belly, fingertips pressing lightly whenever Boo shifted beneath his skin.

The rhythmic hum of the car lulled Charles into a half-aware daze, his fingers still absently tracing the swell of his belly where Boo had settled. The streetlights flickered past, casting fleeting shadows across George’s profile. Charles watched the tension coil and release in George’s shoulders, and noted the way his scent shifted subtly, orchids tinged with something bitter.

He's not mad at you.

Kimi whimpered in his sleep, small fingers twitching against the straps of his car seat. George’s gaze flicked to the rearview mirror, his exhale barely audible over the music. "Almost home, love." he murmured, though Kimi wasn’t awake to hear it.

Charles swallowed around the sudden lump in his throat. He turned his face toward the window, letting the cool glass press against his temple as the city blurred into streaks of light.

The car slowed, tires crunching over gravel as George pulled into the driveway. Max’s house loomed ahead, its windows glowing amber against the encroaching dusk.

The car door clicked shut behind Charles. George was already lifting Kimi from the car seat, the pup’s curls mussed from sleep, his little mouth slack against George’s shoulder. Charles reached for the diaper bag slung over the passenger seat before George could even ask, receiving a warm smile for his efforts.

The front porch light buzzed faintly, moths swirling in its yellow halo. George nudged the door open with his hip, Kimi still limp in his arms, and Charles followed, the diaper bag bumping against his thigh.

Inside, the living room was bathed in the blue glow of the TV. Charles turned on the overhead lights.

Max was sprawled across the couch, one arm draped over his eyes, the other absently stroking Jimmy’s back where the cat lay on his chest. The sound of the door made Max lift his arm, squinting against the sudden light from the hallway. His face softened when he saw them, lips quirking into something warm.

"Hey." Max murmured, voice rough with disuse. Jimmy lifted his head, tail flicking once before he settled back into his perch, unimpressed.

Charles hovered in the doorway, suddenly hyper aware of the sugar still sticky on his fingers, the way his sweater smelled like vanilla and dog fur. George brushed past him, Kimi still asleep against his shoulder, and headed towards the nursery.

The diaper bag slid from Charles’ shoulder with a soft thump onto the hardwood floor. Max shifted on the couch, the movement sending Jimmy leaping down with an irritated flick of his tail.

"How was your day?" Max asked, voice still sleep-rough. His socked feet nudged the coffee table as he sat up properly, blue eyes tracking Charles’ movements with that particular intensity that always made Charles’ skin prickle. It was not unpleasant, surprisingly. Just made him noticed. So thoroughly, unbearably seen.

Charles pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth, tasting lingering Oreo crumbs. "It was nice." He hovered near the armrest, fingers twisting in his sweater hem. The fabric was still faintly dog-scented from Ottie’s enthusiastic nuzzles.

Max hummed, stretching his arms overhead until his joints popped. "Yeah?"

And suddenly Charles was sinking onto the couch beside him, closer than he usually dared, his hip brushing Max’s thigh. He’d forgotten all about his planned nap, about the way his eyelids had drooped in the car. "Yeah. The park was good." The words came out halting. "We, um, we got ice cream."

Some talk show was playing on the screen, the hosts' laughter tinny through the TV speakers. Charles didn't pay it much mind—some American program with too-bright studio lights and a couch that looked uncomfortable. Jimmy rubbed against his calf, tail curling around his ankle before the cat sauntered off toward the kitchen, presumably in search of food or victims.

"How was your day, Al—Max?" The slip made Charles' fingers tighten momentarily in his sweater. Old habits died hard.

Max's eyebrows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across his face before he schooled it into something more neutral. "It was okay," he said, rubbing at the stubble along his jaw. "I mostly streamed."

Charles nodded. The living room smelled faintly of coffee and whatever takeout Max had eaten for dinner. "That's nice." His fingers uncurled from the fabric. "Gabi painted himself blue."

Max blinked. "What?"

"With the ice cream." Charles clarified, his thumb brushing absentmindedly over a faint stain on his own sleeve. "He looked like a smurf. Stained his shirt and everything."

Max huffed a quiet laugh, rubbing at his eyes with the heel of his palm. "That's kids for you. I lost count of all the good onesies we lost to blowouts."

We.

The word settled between Charles' ribs like a shard of glass. He traced the edge of his sweater cuff, focusing on a loose thread rather than the cold ache spreading through his chest. Lance had told him George and Max weren't together anymore, he reminded himself. Co-parents, not mates.

Still, the we made something uncomfortable wrap around his heart and squeeze.

Jimmy hopped onto the coffee table, tail flicking against an empty takeout container. Max reached out to scratch behind the cat's ears, his fingers pausing mid-motion when Charles shifted slightly closer.

The talk show buzzed in the background, some late-night host interviewing a comedian Charles didn’t recognize. Laughter tracks swelled and faded like waves against the shore. Charles just sighed, letting his shoulders sink into the couch cushions. His back ached–a dull, persistent throb that had settled between his shoulder blades hours ago–but for once, it didn’t bother him too much.

He glanced sideways at Max, who was scrolling absently through his phone, thumb pausing every few swipes to like or dismiss something. The alpha’s socked feet were already propped on the coffee table, Jimmy now sprawled across his shins like a particularly possessive throw blanket. Charles hesitated, then gingerly lifted his own feet, pausing mid-air with a questioning tilt of his head.

Max didn’t look up from his phone. “Go for it.” he muttered, thumb flicking across the screen.

Charles settled his feet beside Max’s, toes curling against the warm wood. The position eased the pressure in his lower back immediately, and he couldn’t suppress a quiet sigh of relief. Boo shifted lazily beneath his ribs, as if settling in for the night.

Down the hall, George’s phone rang.

Their feet brushed. It was just the barest contact, Max’s socked toe nudging against Charles’ bare ankle, and Charles still had to consciously remind himself to breathe. Pine and rain, sharp and clean, curled through the air between them. It shouldn’t have been comforting, not to someone who associated alphas with sweat and musk and the metallic bite of aggression. But Max’s scent was different. It made Charles’ shoulders loosen, his fingers unclenching where they’d been gripping the couch cushion.

George’s phone rang again, the tinny sound of some pop song Charles didn’t recognize cutting through the quiet. Max sighed, thumb pausing mid-scroll on his phone screen.

“He’s gonna wake Kimi.” Max muttered, more to himself than to Charles.

Charles hummed noncommittally, watching as Max’s toes flexed unconsciously against his ankle. The contact was fleeting, barely there, but it sent warmth pooling low in Charles’ belly. Boo kicked, and Charles pressed a hand to the spot, half to soothe the baby and half to steady himself.

For an insane moment, he considers grabbing Max's hand and putting it on his belly so he can feel them too.

The ringing stopped. For a blessed second, the only sounds were the faint hum of the refrigerator and Jimmy’s contented purring from Max’s lap.

Then the phone starts ringing again making Max groan and drag a hand down his face. On the TV, the talk show host has inexplicably launched into a shaky rendition of Sweet Caroline, off-key and grinning too wide under the studio lights. Charles presses his lips together to stifle a laugh when the host dramatically holds out the mic to the audience, only for the camera to pan to visibly confused guests.

The ringing stops.

Max’s phone buzzes on the coffee table, screen lighting up with a name Charles vaguely recognizes. He ignores it, letting it vibrate against the wood until it stops. Jimmy, thoroughly displeased with the interruption, flicks his tail and abandons Max’s lap with a disdainful leap.

George's phone starts ringing again.

“Jesus Christ.” Max mutters, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “Who the hell keeps calling him at–” He squints at the clock on the cable box. “–six-fucking-twenty on a Wednesday?”

Charles doesn’t answer. He’s too busy watching Max’s jaw clench, the way his scent sharpens with irritation, the smell of summer rain turning to a storm. Boo kicks again, harder this time. Charles presses his palm to the spot absently, fingers splaying over the curve of his belly.

The phone stops.

The host's off-key Sweet Caroline chorus cut abruptly to static. The screen flickered—once, twice—before flashing a stark red BREAKING NEWS banner crawling across the bottom. A woman in a navy blazer appeared, hand pressed to her earpiece and expression grim.

"–just been revealed that a coordinated series of raids and arrests occurred earlier today in a joint international operation involving authorities in Italy, Monaco, Great Britain, and the United States–"

George's phone is ringing again.

Max's phone skittered across the coffee table with another incoming call. The vibration sounded obscenely loud. Charles watched Max's fingers twitch toward it, but his eyes stayed locked on the screen where the anchor's mouth kept moving, her lips forming words Charles couldn't hear over the blood roaring in his ears.

The screen flickered—blurry helicopter footage of police vehicles swarming an estate’s wrought-iron gates, red and blue lights cutting through the dusk. Tactical teams poured through the entrance, rifles raised. Charles’ fingers dug into the couch cushion, his breath hitching when the camera zoomed in.

“–According to officials, investigators have been pursuing a trafficking network believed to span multiple countries–”

George’s voice sliced through the noise from down the hall. “–at? Lewis, I can’t hear you over all the–”

“–a shootout occurred during one of the raids after armed suspects opened fire on officers while authorities attempted to breach what police describe as a basement holding multiple kidnapped victims–”

Charles stopped breathing.

Max had gone completely still beside him, his feet now off the table as he leans forward to look at the TV. The footage changed again–stretchers, crime scene tape, a glimpse of someone being loaded into an ambulance beneath flashing blue lights.

"-killing three officers and critically injuring two others."

Suddenly, George stumbled into the living room, face pale, phone clutched in his hand like a lifeline. His knuckles were white around the device, his breathing ragged. Charles watched, detached, as George’s lips moved, forming words that didn’t make sense at first.

"It’s Nico." George said, voice cracking. "Nico got shot."