Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It all started that morning at the breakfast table. Charles and his friends had planned a summer trip to George's holiday house out in the country. Three hours from the nearest town was this two-storied home in the middle of a great, grassy field with only one more house in its 4 kilometer radius. It was the perfect retreat for someone who wanted a few days of peace and quiet.

But George, Alex, and Lando were hardly ever that .

“Do you think we should do something today?” Lando asks with his mouth full of a piece of bread.

“What's there to do?” Alex asks. “There's nothing but wilderness for miles on end.”

“Hey, you begged me to come here,” George retorts. Alex pats him on his cheek as if to say yes darling, I know.

Their blossoming relationship has been a matter of great sorrow for both Charles and Lando; mostly because they're jealous.

“Okay but I did find this place nearby that we can visit.” Lando pulls out his phone to show pictures of some old mansion. “It says it's about 15 kilometers from here. We can go check it out.”

“Go 15 kilometers to see that ?” George sounds uninterested. “Mate, no one around here thinks twice about that house.”

Charles, intrigued, leans in to take a closer look. The house looks very out of shape, yes. But it looks eerily beautiful. And if Charles could just brush aside the vines wrapped around the front of the house, he's sure he'll find some beautiful work around the house.

“It looks like a beautiful mansion though,” Charles says. “Why doesn't anyone pay attention?”

“It's nothing special, really,” George starts. “Some old, rich family used to live here several years ago. Then one day they all just up and vanished. Packed up whatever they could and left in the middle of the night, and the house just stayed there. The first few days some people went in to try and see what clues they could find but really all they really did was steal all the valuables the family had left behind. Once people had taken everything there was to take, they just left the mansion alone.”

There's the loud sound of skin hitting skin. George winces in pain, rubbing his left arm while Lando looks at him with a slightly angry expression.

“You know how much I love unsolved mysteries and you didn't tell me about this?!”

“What was there to te—”

“ What was there to tell?! ” Lando thunders. “George, a rich family just up and left in the middle of the night. They left their valuables here. Their mansion was just abandoned and nobody knows why? That's the most perfect unsolved case right there. How have I never heard of this?”

“Well, no one really cared about it outside of this place,” George explains. “Besides, there aren't enough people in this part to even care about unsolved mysteries. So, whatever stories did get out people probably thought they were just that. Stories.”

Lando sits back down with a thud as he starts furiously typing away on his phone, surely trying to find some clues about this alleged abandoned mansion. Charles' mind is still stuck on the long vines wrapped around the pillars on the front of the house.

“We should go see this mansion,” Charles suggests. “Lando can get some clues for his little case and I'll also get a chance to check it out from up close. It looks like a beautiful building.”

Alex shakes his head. “Oh you architects. Always popping a boner for an old building”

Charles scrunches his face. “Ew, Alex. I don't pop a boner for old buildings. Also, I'm technically, not an architect yet,” he wags his finger to make his point. Alex rolls his eyes and argues that it’s the same.

—

Turns out, 15 kilometers on a bike while carrying bags with snacks and water is not an easy task physically. They have to take several breaks on their way because their legs keep giving out. 

Bunch of college students whose primary diet consists of instant ramen and cheap vodka are hardly the epitome of peak physical health.

“I’m dying!” George cries, slumped over the handlebars of his bike. “I will die out here in these woods. They will find my corpse tangled in the metal bars of this bike.”

“Oh shut up, you big baby.” Alex parks his bike to go get Alex off of his. “The place is barely twenty minutes away now.”

“Yeah but what if I die in those twenty minutes?”

Alex raises his eyebrow in question. Then, with a deadpan expression he answers, “Then we bury you here and move on with our lives.”

George gasps dramatically. Lando snorts out a laugh.

“You don’t love me . Ah!” George slides off his bike and drops to his knees on the grass. Alex rolls his eyes. “How you wound me, my love! You do not care for me the way I do for you. You wish for me to suffer these pains all by my lonesome? Oh how I wish I had been struck down before I heard these wretched words leave your mou—wait where are you going?”

Alex, who is already pushing his bike away from George, turns around to say, “Leaving you here to finish your dramatic act. The rest of us have an abandoned mansion to explore, whether you plan to join us or not.”

And with that, Alex climbs on his bike and pedals away. Lando and Charles follow, snickering as they do.

“He–guys, hey! Wait for me, I’m coming too!” George scrambles to get himself off the grass, dusts himself off, and quickly gets on the bike to join his friends.

—

“Woah,” is what Charles says as the mansion comes in their view.

The pictures didn’t do the beauty of this place any justice. Lando says it gives him ‘the creeps’. But Charles loves the air of mystery and melancholy hanging around it like a blanket. 

As if on cue, the clouds start rolling in, shielding away the weak English sun that was shining over them.

“This looks like something straight out of a horror movie,” Alex remarks. 

“Yeah. But it’s so beautiful.”

“Mate, only you could find a place like this beautiful,” Lando snickers.

“Well, it’s not my fault you guys don’t have an aesthetic eye,” Charles teases before wheeling his bike in through the front gates. 

He will admit, the property is in quite a pitiful state.

The grass in the yard is overgrown and stands at about four feet tall in some places. There are puddles of water in various places from last night’s rain. Charles can hear animals shuffling in the bushes and prays that a snake doesn’t decide to come out and bite him in the ankle. 

Then, it starts raining. Hard.

“Shit,” George exclaims. They run over to the mansion, abandoning their bikes in the yard, and seek shelter under the front porch. 

“That came out of nowhere,” Lando says just as a loud rumble of thunder echoes in the distance. “Well, now we’re trapped I guess.” 

They move further in to avoid the splashes of water from the rain, but it doesn’t help much. It’s torrential downpour out there and the porch isn’t big enough to shelter them all effectively. There is also no place for them to sit really.

Rain splashes onto Charles’ shirt and he moves further back on instinct till his back hits the locked front door. It rattles faintly on contact. 

Charles turns around, places his hands on the doors and gently pushes. It rattles again, as if only held together by a latch. He pushes again, just to test how much the door gives, when George asks,

“Charles, what are you doing?”

“I think this door isn’t really locked.” Charles gives another shove with his shoulders, now convinced that the door isn’t secure. “If we get this open we can probably wait out the storm inside.”

Lando audibly shudders. “This place has been closed for years . I do not want to know what creatures reside inside.”

“Well, unless you have a better idea for us to hide from this thunderstorm we are going in,” Charles huffs. “Now, come and help me get this open.”

Alex joins him first, throwing his shoulder against the door, trying to get it to budge. George seems hesitant, but when Alex scolds him to just get over yourself and come help, George , he does so. Lando caves in too, because how could he not.

On the twenty-third try, something cracks, and the door falls open, and the four of them stumble forward before catching themselves. The sight they’re greeted with is not what they imagined.

For as run-down as the outside of the house was, the inside of the house is the exact opposite. 

Time doesn’t seem to have touched this place. Everything is pristine and well kept. The lounges are dusted and neat, the tables spotless. The carpet doesn’t have a speck of dust on them. By the winding staircase to the side of the main hall sit two dog bowls, empty but clean. The group moves further in.

From the inside, the windows look spotless as the rain beats against the panes. There is a faint perfume of patchoulis throughout the space, like someone sprayed perfume right before they walked in. The hall opens up to a dining hall—pristine and expansive. A chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a golden light over the space. There are plates and wine glasses lined up with their tops down, silverware beside them. The china cabinet is stocked and clean, a little lock on the handle.

It’s all very confusing.

“George,” Lando whispers, “I thought you said this place was abandoned.”

George, who is just as dumbfounded at their discovery as everyone else, blinks. “I—that’s what I’d heard.”

“ When did you hear this? 1997?” 

“Wha—no. Guys, I swear this place is abandoned.”

“Well, it doesn’t look very abandoned right now,” Alex hisses. “Oh God, did we just break into someone’s house?”

“Guys, come on. It’s definitely abandoned. Didn’t you see the yard out front? Who lets their yard overgrow like that?”

“Maybe a guy who doesn’t care about landscaping?” Lando answers. “We need to get out of here.”

“Lando it is raining cats and dogs outside.”

“Well, it’s better than getting shot for trespassing—”

“We are not trespassing—”

The three of them continue to bicker, but the noise fades in the background. Because Charles, the ‘building-nerd’ he is, cannot seem to get enough of the ornate crown moldings. The pillars in the large doorway that leads into the dining room have carvings of little angels and Charles wants to get his phone out and snap a picture, but he can’t. They are still very much trying not to get caught by the supposed inhabitant of this place.

There’s a loud flash of lightning outside just then, followed by a boom of thunder, and Lando screams.

George clamps his hand over Lando’s mouth to try and muffle the sound but it’s too late.

There’s a sound of dishes clinking in the kitchen, then of someone shuffling around.

“Who’s there?” a voice asks from inside. Alex gestures to everyone to stay silent and points towards the staircase.

“Hello?” the voice asks again. The four of them quietly tiptoe over and hide behind the staircase.

“I know someone’s out there. Who is it?”

Alex turns to them again, specifically to Lando, and mouths keep quiet . Lando scrunches his nose as if to say I’m not stupid . Charles peeks through the gaps between the balusters. 

First, he hears the steps. Light, almost like the person isn’t mad about a bunch of men breaking into their house. Then, the figure comes to light.

It’s a man, dressed in a loose button-up shirt and black trousers that are slightly pooling around his ankles. He has no shoes on, yet his feet don’t look as dirty. His hair looks shaggy but tamed. There’s a dusting of facial hair on his jaw, like he forgot to shave this morning. And there are bags under his eyes, like he hasn’t slept properly in a while.

His eyes scan the place, searching for the cause of the commotion in his house. Lando quietly hopes that the man, on not finding anyone, figures the sound came from some animal who wandered in because of the rain, and goes back. But that doesn’t happen.

The front door creaks ominously in the wind, thunder rumbles in the sky. The man walks up aiming to close it, his eyes still wandering over the space.

And then, his eyes land on Charles.

Chapter Text

“Maxie! Stop met rennen voor mama, lieverd.”

Max can hear his mother trying to chase him around the house. It was bath time, but Max does not like bath time. So while his Mama was filling up the bathtub with warm water, Max grabbed the towels and ran.

He was littler than his Mama, so he could slide under the banisters, weave through the spaces between cabinets, and hide where his Mama couldn’t catch him.

“Schatje, your Mama is getting tired. Will you come out, please?”

Max giggles. He loves it when he teases her like this. “Nee, Mama.”

“Ah, ah. In het Engels,” his Mama reminds him. They ought to practice their English now that they’ve moved.

“No, Mama,” Max translates. He tries to stifle his giggles using the towel. There are many advantages of being four years old, the major one being that he can still fit into tiny spaces where no adult can reach.

Like the back of the china cabinet.

Max stays there, trying to listen for his Mama’s footsteps. His little sister is still a baby; too small for Max to be able to play with her like this. So he plays with his Mama.

He slows his breathing down as he feels his Mama getting closer and closer. Slowly, he peeks his head out from behind the cabinet to check if she is close.

“Gotcha!”

Max is off the ground and being tossed in the air for one second before he is back in his Mama’s arms, and the towel falls from his hands onto the floor. His Mama nuzzles her face into the space near his neck, pressing kisses there in the way that always tickles. He’s a giggling mess.

“Mama. Mama, it tickles. Stop, alsjeblieft.”

Mama stops and kisses his cheeks instead.

“Come on now, little bug. It’s time for your bath.”

“Nooo,” Max kicks his feet.

“But there are a lot of bubbles. And we have duckies.”

That gets Max’s interest. “Duckies?”

“Yes. All ten of them.”

Max throws his arms up and around his Mama. “Yay! Let’s go!”

His Mama laughs and carries him to the tub.

—

Max had been in the kitchen cleaning the dishes when he heard someone scream.

The front door hadn’t been opened in years. But the scream had come from inside the house. Max wondered if maybe it was a cat who had snuck into the house through a loose opening in the window or something, but that seemed unlikely. Cats don’t usually enter his house.

He calls out into the space, thinking maybe it’s someone from the village. He sees out the window that it is raining. Maybe someone walked in for shelter , he thinks. He calls out again, but gets no answer. He hears hushed voices—multiple voices—and he seizes in terror. 

Were they here to steal again? What else was left to steal now? They’d taken everything already.

Still, Max makes his way out into the hall.

The front door is swinging open, cold wind rushes in, bringing leaves and dust along with it. Max had just dusted the room. Shaking his head, he goes to close the door when his eyes land on him.

—

Once the shorter one and the tallest one have stopped screaming, Max asks them all to sit. They pat the lounge as if making sure that they’re real before taking a seat.

“I would offer tea,” Max says first when no one else seems to be taking initiative, “but I don’t have any in the house. I need to go grocery shopping. Would you like some water instead?”

The four men seem to be surprised by Max’s level of hospitality. Eventually, the green-eyed one that Max had initially spotted speaks.

“I would like some water, thank you.”

The others try their best to hide their incredulous looks, but fail. Max smiles at the green-eyed one and goes to get him water.

“What? He’s being nice,” he hears them whisper from the other room.

“We don’t even know what he’s doing here, Charles. How can you just accept water from him?”

“Well, I’m thirsty, Lando.”

The other one—Lando—then sighs. “We brought water bottles—”

“It’s called being polite,” Charles cuts him off, and the conversation ends there.

Max walks in with four glasses of water, because unlike his uninvited guests, he’s a polite person. Charles is the only one who drinks. With the newly acquired knowledge of his name, Max looks at him once again. Suits him , is all that Max can think about his name.

“Well, let me introduce myself first. I’m Max.”

Charles smiles and extends his hand. Max takes it. “I’m Charles. And these are my friends, George, Alex, and Lando.” Max waves at them and they wave back. “We’re staying at George’s place for the summer holidays.”

“Oh, that’s nice. Are you guys in school?”

“University. We all go to the same one, but have different majors,” Charles explains. “I’m majoring in Architecture. George here is studying English Literature, Alex is majoring in Media Studies, and Lando’s doing Business.”

Max nods his head. “That’s an impressive list. So, how did you guys happen upon my house?”

George opens his mouth but then promptly shuts it. Charles chimes in again. “We were looking for things to do since there isn’t much to do around here really, and Lando found your house listed in some article about ten unique places to visit around here.”

Max’s smile falters a little at that. The fact that the house he’s living in is listed somewhere as a tourist attraction makes him uneasy. It must show on his face too because Charles immediately adds, “If we had known you were living here we would’ve never broken in like this. We truly are sorry about that.”

The apology sounds sincere, so Max shakes off his frown. “It’s alright. Truth be told, you guys are the first humans to come visit me in years.”

Max had meant for that to come off as a joke, but Charles’ eyebrows furrow with concern. “Really?” Max lightly nods, and the room goes quiet once again. Max notices Charles’ hands on his thighs, clenching and unclenching, like he’s nervous. 

Then, he says, “We can come hang out with you then.” Max’s eyes go wide. “If you’d like that, of course. It’s fine if you don’t, we’ll understand. It might be difficult sometimes to let people in, or like if people try to force their way into your lives. Not that that’s our intention! We just want to—” Lando’s hand slides over to gently pat Charles’ thigh signalling him to stop talking now . Charles promptly stops, but not before saying, “Sorry. I sometimes tend to ramble on.”

That makes Max smile again. “You don’t have to be sorry. You’re probably the only person who has spoken to me this much in God knows how long.”

Shit. He hadn’t meant to let that slip out. Max braces for the shift in Charles’ expression, for the pity . But this time his expression remains unchanged.

“So, we can come visit you every day then? At least for the time we’re here for our holidays.”

He hates to admit it, but he’d love some company around here. The company of just the wallpapers does get a little lonely. Max nods. Charles beams.

—

“Max, hi!”

Leaning against his front door, Max can see Charles waving from across the yard. He waves back with equal enthusiasm. Behind him, George and Alex are arguing about something, while Lando tries to balance two backpacks over his shoulders.

“We brought you some snacks. And we also picked out some books for you. We thought it might help you pass the time when we’re not here with you.”

It was kindness Max hasn’t received in years. The wide smiles on all their faces, their genuine desire to spend time with him, their efforts of choosing to travel out here daily  just to spend the whole day with him. 

Every morning when they’d show up at his front door, Max would feel alive. He would spend hours in the kitchen cooking for them while they sat around him, recalling stories. Max usually didn’t have much to share, but they didn’t seem to mind. Meals went from being a forced chore to a shared experience Max would look forward to. And for the first time in years, the walls of the hollow mansion came alive with the sound of shared laughter.

—

It had been storming since last night, and Max woke up in a glum mood.

He peers through his window and knows one thing for certain—his friends weren’t coming today.

His yard is wet and muddy, the water ankle deep. Far away, he can see the raindrops hammering onto the main road. The conditions aren’t drivable in the least. 

Max hates the rain.

He doesn’t remember why, anymore. All he knows is that he hates it when it rains. He hates it when he sees the clouds roll in, so he draws his curtains and shuts the world out. He presses pillows to his ears to muffle out the noises of the water outside. He hides behind rows of closed doors and doesn’t dare look out unless the sun shines through from under the doors begging him to open up.

The rain always makes him feel lonely.

The weather seems unrelenting outside, so Max tries to busy himself.

He makes tea, then pours it down the drain because he doesn’t really feel like drinking tea. He thinks of cooking something but every ingredient in his pantry just reminds him of how he bought extra food so he can share them with his friends. Friends who weren’t going to be here. So he leaves.

He walks upstairs and gets one of the books Charles had brought him and tries to read. But lightning flashes through his window, reminding him that it’s still here. Outside. Caging him.

He throws the book across the room, and curls up in his bed. His arms come around him, and he buries his head between his knees. He doesn’t mean to—really doesn’t mean to—but he starts to cry. Slow, in quiet sobs.

“ Ik mis je, Mama. Kom me alsjeblieft zoeken. Alsjeblieft, Mama. ”

He hasn’t cried like this in years. He was doing just fine all this time. Maybe he should’ve let himself stay lost. Forgotten.

Someone’s banging the front door.

Max’s head jerks. He jumps off the bed and walks towards the window and looks down to see who it is.

Standing there small, shivering, bicycle lying forgotten in the yard, is Charles.

“ Godverdomme, Charles! What were you thinking coming out here in that wretched rain?”

Once he’s dried him off and warmed him up with a bowl of soup set in front of him and a blanket wrapped around his shoulder, Max lets his anger through.

“Do you even think , Charles? You could’ve gotten hurt. That is such a long way to come by a fucking bike in this weather. Do you not ever think before acting?”

Charles looks at him through wet lashes, slowly sipping on his soup. He lets Max scold him, lets him get his frustration out. And once Max has slowed down, he says,

“I didn’t want you to feel alone again.”

It’s a simple admission, nothing to it really. But it breaks Max on the inside.

He slumps down into the chair opposite from Charles, head dropped into his hands. He breathes in, deep, because he can’t cry in front of Charles. He just can’t .

He hears the sound of something scraping against the hardwood floor, the soft pads of feet moving, and then feels two hands resting on his knees. Max opens his eyes to find Charles on the floor in front of him. The blanket is still on his shoulders but barely. Max immediately tugs it close.

“Max, I came because I wanted to. Please don’t feel bad.”

It’s once again that damned sincerity in his voice that cuts right through to Max’s weak heart. “You don’t know how scared I got when I saw you on my front porch. I knew that you were there in front of me but my brain kept telling me all the way you could’ve—” Max cuts himself off, unable to finish his thought. Charles grips his hands then, gently. They feel warm, Max notes with relief.

“See, I’m here. I’m okay. I just wanted to come see you.”

One question keeps nagging him in the back of his head. “But why?”

Charles blinks. “Why what?”

“Why did you come here in the rain? We both know it couldn’t have been easy for you. Why did you do it then?”

Charles tilts his head to the side and looks at Max. His gaze is fixed, but soft. Like he’s trying to take all of Max in. Max usually hates being looked at like that. Like someone’s trying to decode him, like someone’s trying to gaze into his soul. But the way Charles does it makes him feel safe. Seen.

“You’re my friend, Max,” he says. “And I promised you that I’ll come see you everyday that I’m here. I don’t break the promises I make to my friends,” Charles smiles, the kind that puts sunshine to shame. And Max lets his heart relax.

the academic victims quartet 📖💔

george 

charles, did you get there alright?

alex 

i still maintain that it was absolutely stupid of him to do that

lando 

oh come on alex

when does charles ever make sound decisions

charles

ha ha, very funny 🙄

lando

charlito! 

pray tell, how are you faring

charles

ew why are you talking like george

and im fine

max got me dry and made soup to warm me up

lando

oooooohhhhh

😏😏😏😏😏😏

charles

shut UP lando

alex

was he doing alright when you got there?

charles

idts

i think he was crying before i got here

and he weirdly got very upset that i biked out here in the rain

george

well would you look at that

another person with a functioning brain

charles

stfu george

he was happy i came here

also im gonna crash here tonight

lando don’t

lando

oooooh

charles

ugh

alex

you sure you’re alright?

if you need us to pick you up let us know

the rain has calmed down a bit so we could probably drive down there

charles

no it’s okay

i think max also needs this

lando

uh huh uh huh

‘max’ needs u to spend the night with him

sure sure

george

😭😭

he got you there charles

charles

i hate all of u

[photo]

goodnight from me and max

we’re gonna play uno now

lando

that’s just u flipping us off 

whatever 

enjoy your date night

charles

????????

it’s not a date

lando 

sure loveboy

use protectionnn

mwah kiss kiss

charles

i hate u

[lando reacted with 👍]

Chapter Text

Charles doesn't know how to cook, that much is for certain. But to his credit, he is trying.

“Mate, what the fuck did you do here?” 

Lando coughs when he enters the kitchen, trying to fan away the smoke from his face. Alex peeks from behind the wall, decides it's not his mess to deal with, and walks away.

“I was trying to make the tomato soup that my Maman makes for me,” Charles pouts. Sitting in the pot in front of him is not something that resembles a tomato soup.

Well, for starters there's no liquid. Because it has all evaporated. And what remains is the burnt remains of tomatoes, onions, and garlic. Charles throws his head back and groans in defeat.

“I just wanted to do something nice for Max. He mentioned that he loved the tomato soup his mother used to make for him and I thought, ‘Hey, I can make that!’ and so I decided to give it a try but— urghhhh .”

Charles slides down against the kitchen wall and folds onto the floor, hiding his face in his hands. Lando sighs. Charles has a real knack for the dramatics.

“Okay sad boy, get up,” Lando says, lightly kicking Charles' thigh. “We're gonna figure out how to make some tomato soup so that you can go get your man.”

Charles lifts his head, looking at Lando like a dog who just heard the word ‘treat’. “You'll help me? Really?”

“Yes. Now stop moping and get off—ow, hey!”

Charles almost tackles Lando to the floor with his hug but they catch themselves in time. “I love you, I love you. You're my best friend in the whole world .”

Lando breathes out a laugh, his hand coming up to pat Charles on his back. “Right, right. Now get to work you disaster.”

—

“You've known me seven years, Charles, come on. Don't do this,” Lando pleads, but Charles' eyes don't reflect even a hint of mercy.

“It has to be done, Lando. This isn't personal.”

“You don't have to do this. Come on. Charles, I'm your friend. Think about all the memories we've shared together.”

“Those memories can't save you now. I'm sorry, I wish this could end differently,” Charles sounds sincere in his admission as he lifts his hand. Lando begs again, with his eyes. Begs Charles to spare him, but even he knows that it's a lost cause now.

Charles slowly lowers his hand, four pairs of eyes track his movements, as his hand comes down to place the final card on the deck.

A draw 4.

Charles throws his hands up in celebration.

“No! No, no, no! Charles, come on. You cheated!”

“I win!” he screams at Lando's face. Lando throws the rest of his cards on the carpet.

“Whatever, it's a bullshit game anyway.”

“I win,” Charles draws it out in a song. Lando mutters something grumpily under his breath and gets off the ground.

“So that's that game finished then,” George declares as he too gets off the floor. “Max, thank you again for having us. I apologise for Lando's juvenile outburst back there.”

Max stifles a laugh as Lando gasps in offence. 

“You're all conspiring against me. You all hate me so much, it's insane.”

George just shrugs as Alex says, “Yeah, you're right.”

Charles enjoys the exchange like he does all others. It's familiar banter to him, his friends freaking out over simple card games. What catches his heart is the look on Max's face. 

He's sitting across from Charles, still holding his cards, and he's laughing. He's been laughing a lot more these days, and Charles loves that he's been a part of it.

He still remembers the look of surprise on Max's face when he brought him the tomato soup he'd made. Max had teared up before taking the first sip and Charles had asked him nervously if maybe he did something wrong.

Max shook his head and said to him that it was probably the nicest thing he remembers anyone ever doing for him. He tasted the soup, said that it reminded him of his mother. Said that it had made him cared for. Charles took that as an absolute win.

He cooked for him again, this time in Max’s kitchen. He burnt the pasta while boiling it and managed to slice his finger open when trying to mince garlic. Max turned the gas off and took Charles’ hand in his, carefully. He ran it under the water then cleaned it up before bandaging it. And as if that wasn't enough to make Charles' heart want to jump out of his chest, Max pressed the most feather-light kiss right where the wound was and said, “There. Now it'll be all better.” 

Charles had only nodded because if he'd tried to say anything he would've choked on his words.

—

They had all been exchanging stories about their birthdays when George asked, “Max, when's your birthday?”

Max's smile, so sure and bright, had faltered.

“I…I don't remember.”

“You don't remember?”

Max shakes his head slowly. The look on his face is odd. It's not him not wanting to share that information, he seems to genuinely not remember.

“I haven't celebrated my birthday in years. I guess, maybe that's why I can't remember,” Max lets out a dry laugh, trying to lighten the mood. But it doesn't work on Charles.

“Well, that just won't do,” he declares. The other four faces turn to look at him.

“What?” 

“We're gonna celebrate your birthday. If you can't remember your birthday then we'll just pick a date to celebrate your birthday on.” He scoots over to where Max is sitting— way too far from him, according to Charles, but that's neither here nor there—and says, “You pick a date. It can be this week, next week, whenever.”

Max just stares at him for a while. “You want to celebrate my birthday?”

“Of course I do. We all do. Right, guys?”

On cue, the other three agree enthusiastically. And Max feels it smack dab in the center of his chest.

Belonging.

He's felt like he's been floating around aimlessly for years, trying to find somewhere to latch on to, to feel safe. These walls, they're familiar, yes. But they don't have the same warmth anymore that they once used to. 

The sun rays didn't penetrate the threshold before these four came into his life. And no one had made him feel so seen like this, before Charles.

He smiles, the kind that comes from his heart and surges through his veins. 

“I would love that.”

Charles throws his arms around him, hugging him in celebration almost. Lando makes some comment for which Charles seems to flip him off, but Max doesn't hear. He has his head resting on Charles' shoulder.

—

“Remind me again, why exactly did your parents choose to build a house so far away from civilisation?”

They're maybe ten minutes from the nearest town market, and Lando has not shut up about the distance their entire drive.

Alex is sitting shotgun with his sunglasses resting on his head, hand leaning on the open window with his eyes looking straight ahead. Charles is in the backseat with Lando, watching the trees go by. As remote as this place might seem, Charles has been enjoying his stay here so far. The trees, the breeze, the animals in little fences pens out in people's backyards—anyone living in a stuffy city would find all of these things refreshing.

Well, except for Lando apparently.

“Seriously, I ran out of my stock of Kinder like three days ago, and the stores here don't even sell it!”

George sighs. He's got one hand on the wheel, the other lazily drawing circles on Alex's thigh. What's making it worse is how natural they look doing it. Like that is where George's hand was always meant to be. 

It sends a wave of something sharp through Charles' heart. Not just jealousy, it's that sick feeling of want .

He's always been teased about this by his friends and family. There goes Charles, falling too fast. Again.

He remembers the look in his mother's eyes when he returned one day crying with a crumpled bouquet of daisies in his hand. He remembers how his brothers whispered among themselves when he didn't talk to anyone for three days because a boy Charles had liked for so long said that he never saw Charles as someone more than a friend. He remembers how his friends had to physically hold him up and feed him when he couldn't get out of bed for a week after a breakup.

He falls too hard, too fast. He gets hurt and has to drag himself back up. And just when he's gotten himself stable, he falls again. 

But this time, it feels different.

He doesn't have the ambient sound of warning sirens playing in the background of his daydreams. He doesn't hear his subconscious giving him warnings he would actively go against.

No. It's calm.

Much like the scene outside the car window.

“Okay so we've got the wine, got the flowers, got the balloons and streamers—”

“I'm surprised they had those honestly.”

“Lando, I'm gonna push you into the lake.”

Charles sputters out a laugh and Alex shakes his head with a sigh.

“Okay. We just need to stop by that fruit stand and get some stuff for the dessert now,” Charles says as he tries to balance the bags on his hands. He might've gone a little overboard with the shopping.

“Fruits? What are you making?” Alex asks.

Charles smiles wide before answering, “Pavlova.”

The group lets out a collective groan. Charles swings one of his bags at them. 

“I can make a pavlova. Why are you all laughing?”

“Charles, mate. I've seen you burn water.”

“I've gotten better . I swear I'm—oh forget it.” Charles stomps over to the fruit stall, ignoring his friends’ voices in the back.

“Hello,” he greets the old man with the brightest smile he can put on. “What fruits would you recommend to put on a pavlova?”

The old man's eyebrows lift. “Oh, you're making a pavlova? That's lovely. You must be making it for someone special I assume.”

Charles tries not to blush and fails. The old man smiles and starts sorting through the oranges. 

“I'll suggest a mix of oranges, raspberries, kiwis, and passion fruit. You can add other fruits of your liking as well.”

Lando comes up behind him just then and chimes in with, “Ooh, put grapes.” 

“Lando, shut the fuck up. I’m sorry about him.”

The old man laughs. “Don’t worry about it.” Charles smiles.

He picks up a peach and inspects it. “Do you think Max will like peaches?”

Alex peeks his head in then and Charles feels relieved to have someone with common sense helping him. “Maybe. You can add fruits after the pavlova’s done baking anyway. Get them and we can ask him before putting them on.”

“Oh, yeah. True.”

“What did you say your friend’s name was again?” the old man asks then. 

“Max.”

“Huh. Haven’t heard that name in a while.”

Curious, Charles asks, “You knew someone with that name?”

The old man nods. “This family that lived here, years ago. They moved from a far country, the Netherlands or something. They lived in some big house in the countryside people would always talk about.”

That catches Lando’s interest. “Wait, big house in the countryside?”

“Yes, yes. Last I heard I think they left that house. It’s a shame. They were a lovely family.”

“Do you remember anything about them?” Lando has the notes app on his phone open, thumbs at the ready to type. 

“A father, a mother, and two kids—a boy and a girl. Both kids had grown up here so they had a different accent from their parents. We used to love seeing them around the market whenever they came here to do the shopping.”

“They lived here for a long time?”

“Yes. Around twenty or so years. A shame why they had to leave though.”

“Oh? What happened?” Lando’s close to cracking the mystery he’s been chasing and the excitement shows on his face.

The old man’s face falls. Something like grief passes over his face. “An accident. They…” he sighs, “They reported it in the newspapers. It wasn’t that big of a news, it was hidden in some column on the fifth page maybe, but that was that. I guess after that, they couldn’t live here anymore.”

Charles’ heart aches thinking of that family. And the way the old man describes them just makes their fate sound that much more tragic. To imagine a house, once filled with the laughter of children running, lying abandoned, stripped of that light, it saddens him.

“You said the name ‘Max’ reminded you of them,” Alex notes. It presents more like a question, and the old man picks up on that.

“Yeah. That was the name of their son.”

Chapter Text

The floor is covered with old newspaper pages scattered all around. There are issues dating from 1996 up to 2007. They’re all trying to find the report of that accident.

After the old man had told them about the name of the family’s son, Charles brushed it off as some kind of coincidence. But George and Alex seemed insistent on asking more. So the old man told them everything he remembered.

He told them that the boy and his sister used to come to the market with their mother when they were younger, one kid holding each of her hands. Their mother would always smile and the kids would always greet every shopkeeper regardless of whether they shopped there or not. The boy would often save up his allowance and sneak into the candy store when he thought his mother wasn’t looking, and buy candies for him and his sister. 

He grew up and kept changing, but he’d still visit the market with his mother. He’d still greet everyone with that same smile. And he would still buy something for his sister behind his mother’s back even if she wouldn’t have stopped him in the first place. It was something like their own little game.

Then he turned eighteen, and he moved away to London for university. Everybody in the market missed him. The shopkeepers would send little gifts for him with his mother, things that they remembered he liked, and his mother would accept them with a smile. When he’d come back on holiday, he would thank every single one of them for their presents, and give them something he brought for them.

Four years later he moved back home, and rumours started floating around that he was going to take over his father’s business. He started spending more time with him at the office, going to meetings across Europe, watching how his father handled negotiations. Yet, through it all, he still held on to that boy he was at heart. The boy that the town adored so much.

Then, almost overnight, he vanished. So did his family.

Many theories floated around till someone found a news report tucked into the side columns of the Wednesday issue. And then they knew. They all wished they could’ve seen him once before he left.

Charles argued, on the drive home, that it’s all probably just a coincidence. Even Lando, the one always chasing an unsolved mystery, seemed to agree with him. But his eyes also kept exchanging glances with George and Alex. And Charles started to feel very stupid.

So he sulked for one night. Refused to eat, refused to talk, refused to come out of his room.

There he goes again, losing his mind over something that was never even there.

He pressed his pillow around his ears to try and drown out the noise. His screams get muffled into the pillow. He pulled his phone out to— not even sure what he was planning to do but he started scrolling. 

His thumb hovered over the Google search bar, but he didn’t click on it. 

He chucked his phone across the bed and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to fall asleep.

When he woke up in the morning, Lando just dragged him to the car without saying a word. After asking for the fifth time, he said that they were going to the library in town to check their newspaper archives.

And that’s how they got here.

In a cold, dusty, dimly sunlit room in the back of the library, rifling through old newspapers.

“Should I get the 2008 box out as well?” George asks from on top of the wooden step stool. 

“Not yet. Let’s get through these ones first. We’ve got a lot of pages to look through. 

Charles hadn’t spoken much since they got here. He’d just let himself be dragged along into the library, sat down quietly as he was handed the newspapers, and silently flipped through the pages, casually scanning the pages.

He still maintained the belief that his friends were being ridiculous. What they were suggesting was completely…baseless. That kind of stuff doesn’t just happen. Trying to insinuate that Max—

Yeah, it’s all stupid.

He’s flipping through the pages of Wednesday, March 17, 1997, when Lando jumps off his chair with a loud gasp.

“What is it?” Alex asks. And Lando gives him that look again. Charles hates it.

Alex walks over, so does George. Charles stays in his place because he’s stubborn like that.

He watches as Alex and George’s mouths fall open, then their eyebrows furrow.

Then, the three of them look at him.

Charles can’t take it anymore.

“What?” he spits out. It takes them all aback.

“I think we found something,” Lando quietly says. Charles grips the paper in his hands a little tighter. “Do you want to see it?”

Honestly? No. Charles does not want to see it. Charles doesn’t want to see anything in fact. He just wants to get away from everything—this place, this town, this country, his own fucking mind. He doesn’t want to go through any of this.

Twenty-four hours ago, he was shopping in the town market, dreaming about celebrating the birthday of the man he was starting to…whatever. And now he was here .

His heart did not want to see whatever they found in that newspaper. But his mind kept telling him that denying it wasn’t gonna change the fact that there was something that his friends had found in that newspaper.

So he relented. Said he’d see what’s there.

He should’ve guessed something was wrong when all his friends suspiciously surrounded him before handing him the paper.

And then he saw it.

TRAGEDY IN THE RAIN: Son and Daughter of prominent Dutch businessman killed in car crash.

It was a short article, mentioning a car crash. And right at the bottom were two pictures, one of a girl who looked like a teenager, smiling with her hair in braids, the other picture of a boy, older. And there was no mistaking who it was.

Smiling back at Charles was the face of Max.

Chapter Text

The morning had started like any other. Mama was in the kitchen overseeing the cook, Dad was in the observatory with his morning paper, and the house was quiet. The kind of quiet it is on slow mornings. Vic was out on the back porch, sitting in the swing. From their backyard they could see the clouds rolling in. They’d said on the news that it’s supposed to rain tonight, maybe even storm. And Vic is excited.

“Maxie.”

“Yes?”

“If it storms tonight, can we go chase it?”

Max smiles. He reaches out to ruffle his sister’s hair slightly, making her scrunch her nose and push him away.

“Ugh, stop doing that!”

“Hey, if you can still call me ‘Maxie’, then I get to mess up your hair.”

Victoria pouts and crosses her arm like she does when she wants to look tough. Both her and Max know that she’s failing at it, but Max gives it to her.

—

True to the forecast, it starts hammering down rain. Max sits in the observatory, headphones plugged into his Walkman, as he enjoys the smattering of raindrops against the glass. Victoria bursts in padding across the carpet and pulls the headphones off Max’s head.

“Ow—Vic!”

“Come on, you promised!”

Max squints his eyes trying to remember what his sister got him to promise this time when he remembers. “Ah. Yeah we can go. But we’ll have to ask Dad first, okay?”

“Ugh, you’re twenty-four. Why do we still have to ask Dad? I thought you were supposed to be an adult.”

“We have to ask him because we’re taking his car, Vic. Now come on.”

It’s Vic who asks, because their father rarely says no to her. Keys to the Cadillac in hand, they both set off into the rain.

The sun had set hours ago. In the distance they could hear the thunder accompanied by a flash of lightning. Every time there was a spark in the sky, Victoria squealed.

Max has no recollection of when exactly this obsession of Vic’s started. Mama says that maybe it’s because she was born during a rainstorm, Max thinks it’s just a childish interest. Either way, he’s never not indulged her. He might be the reason why everybody says she's so spoiled, he realises. But what’s so wrong about that? Max loves his little sister more than anything, and he doesn't miss any chances of showing it.

“Max, oh my God! There was a big one over there!”

There are no lights out on the empty road in the country, so Max has to squint to see where Victoria is pointing. 

“Can we drive over there? I think another one’s gonna hit soon.”

“Sure,” Max says as he starts turning the car. He’s being careful, as he should. Outside it is pitch black, save for the glow from the headlights and the porch lights from the houses in the distance. He keeps the speed where it’s manageable. The roads are wet, his windshield wipers are on the highest setting, and his visibility is very poor. He tells himself that after this detour, he’s taking them home.

“Maxie?”

“Yes, Vic?”

“If you get married and you move away, will you still come back to chase storms with me?”

It’s not a question Max was expecting to get from his sister. Where had the thought of his marriage even come from?

“Why were you thinking about that?”

“It’s just,” she sighs. “My friend Elsie’s sister moved away when she got married. Before, they used to do so many things together. But now, they only talk once in a fortnight when her sister remembers to call the house. And Elsie's sad because she feels like she’s lost her sister.”

Max’s heart pinches in his chest. Yes, he’s twenty-four now, but he can never imagine not living with his little sister. She was his first friend when they’d moved to this country. She’d been just a baby, but Max had known her. He’d watched her grow up in front of his eyes. He’d beaten up boys who made her cry, and then had gotten in trouble for doing so. He’d learnt how to drive so that they could escape the monotony of their house whenever they wanted.

Out here in the countryside, they had been each other’s constant partners.

He reaches over and takes Victoria’s hand, squeezing it three times. 

“I’m not leaving you, Vic. If I get married, then I’m gonna pack you up and take me with you.”

Victoria laughs. She brings Max’s hand up to her lips and kisses the back of it.

“Thank you, Maxie. I love you.”

Max smiles. “I love you, too.”

The cat comes out of nowhere. Black, like the night.

Max doesn’t see it till he’s only a meter away from it. 

“Oh, fuck!” he exclaims as he slams the brakes and turns the car to avoid it. 

But the road is dark, and Max hasn't noticed that he's driven onto where the road starts to rise.

The crunch of the gravel is sickening as the road slips from under the wheels. 

The windows shatter first on impact, the roof crumples next. The car rolls over in the ditch one more time before coming to a stop. In his fleeting moments of consciousness, Max tries to reach for Victoria's hand. There's pain shooting through his entire body. His vision blurs out right before his fingers brush the back of Victoria's hand.

—

The first thing Max registers when he opens his eyes is that the sun is up, and his pain is gone. And if he weren't hanging upside down in his car seat, he could've ruled the accident out as a bad dream.

The seat belt releases with a jerk and Max drops down. Slowly, he crawls out of the open car window, miraculously avoiding all shards of glass.

The car is a wreck. It's lying in the ditch, half in a puddle of water, upside down. The windows are cracked, the windshield broken in places. But even in this mess there's one thing he can't seem to find.

Victoria.

He looks around the vehicle; her seat is empty with the seat belt cut through. Her hair tie is lying on the roof where it must've fallen out of the cup holder. There are signs of her, but she's nowhere to be found.

He thinks that maybe they just took her to the hospital. They crashed in the night, so he knows that it has probably been a couple of hours. And if Max is still here, it must mean that perhaps whoever found them took her first because she needed more of their attention, and that they were going to come back for him.

But Max couldn't just wait around for someone to come rescue him. No, he needed to get home. His parents must be worried sick. 

He also needs to find out where exactly Victoria was taken to. 

His feet slip on the dirt a few times and he scratches the palm of his hand on something but he finally makes it onto the road and starts walking. They'd driven quite far out last night, so Max knows he's in for a long walk home. Slowly but surely, he makes his way.

The sun is shining overhead by the time his house comes into view. The sight alone fills him with the extra burst of energy he needed to make it there.

“Mama! Mama, ik ben terug. Doe de deur open.”

He rings the doorbell again and again but there's no answer. Getting desperate, he starts banging on the door. He does so one, two, three times before the door suddenly falls open.

Huh? 

It's unlikely for his parents to ever leave the front door unlocked like this. Regardless, he walks inside.

“Mama? Dad? Are you guys home? Can you hear me?”

He checks upstairs, then downstairs. He checks the observatory, the office, the porch. There's no one here. 

But everything in his house is right where it always is. There are plates set neatly on the table, his mother's unfinished knitting project lying in the little basket by the armchair, the leftover pie in the fridge. Every indication that whoever left, didn't leave forever.

They must be in the hospital, Max figures. And they'll come back for him. They always do. So he closes the front door, but doesn't lock it. He walks upstairs into his room, and tries to get some rest.

One night turns into two, two turn to three. No one comes for Max.

He should start to get worried, but he holds out hope.

He even tried calling his father's cell phone, but the house line was dead. So he waited.

On the fourth night, Max hears the front door creak open.

He ran downstairs, expecting to see his family walk in. He would run and scoop Victoria in his arms and apologise to her for not keeping her safe. He would let himself fall in his mother's arms like he was five years old again and just let her comfort him. He would promise his father that he would never, ever repeat this mistake ever again.

But it wasn't his family who was walking in through the doors.

It was a group of random men whom Max has never seen.

“Hey, what are you doing in my house?” Max shouts at them. He's really not in the mood to deal with people like these right now. “Hello? I'm talking to you?” But nobody answers. As if they can't hear him at all.

Then, the men begin to take.

One guy picks up the marble vase his mother loves so much that she rarely puts flowers in them, the other starts to pack up the set in her china cabinet. Some ventured into his father's office, and Max remembers that's where he keeps his art collection.

“Hey! What are you doing? Stop!”

He yells as they all start to take stuff from his house. Things that hold memories of his family, of his childhood. Of his life in this place.

And these people—these strangers—were stealing them all away.

And why the fuck could they not hear him?

He went near every one of them, screamed in their faces and tried to snatch the things they were all holding, but he couldn’t. They didn’t hear him. Not once.

And then he begged. He begged them to not take any more of his things. He begged them to leave his memories. Begged them to let him keep what was left of his family, but the men didn’t listen.

They left once they’d taken everything they wanted to, and Max could do nothing but sob on the staircase.

He drifts off before realising it and wakes up when the cool morning breeze hits his cheeks.

The front door is wide open, it’s been five days since he stumbled back home, and no one has come for him yet. Max decides he’s had enough.

So he locks the doors, shuts the windows, draws the curtains, and hides.

He doesn’t want to know whether it is night or day. Doesn’t want anyone to come into his house. He locks himself in his room, and he sleeps.

When he wakes up, he’s not sure if he slept for hours or days. It doesn’t matter anyway.

He goes downstairs and the house looks different. 

It looks the same as it was before he was robbed. The sight is so relieving it fills him with the wretched, false sense of hope.

Sadly, he’s still alone in his big house. But he’s got his stuff back, at least that’s good. But there is just one problem.

Max doesn’t remember where his family is. He remembers that he lives with his parents and his sister, but he has no idea where they all are. He shrugs off the worry by telling himself that they’ll be back. The car isn’t in the driveway so they must’ve gone to the market. They’ll be back.

He falls into a routine.

He wakes up every morning, goes to the kitchen. He makes tea, but doesn’t drink it. He just stands by the window and watches the front yard and the cup slowly gets cold, and then he drains it in the sink.

When lunch time rolls around he cooks. But then he just stares at the plate instead of taking a bite. He’s not hungry. He hasn’t been hungry in a long time. But it feels nice just to cook.

Eventually, he opens the curtains whenever the sun shines bright outside. He loves the sunshine. Loves how it lights up every part of the house.

But he hates it when it rains.

At first he remembers why—the rain hurt Victoria. But as time passes, it washes away that memory of him too. Eventually, all he remembers is that he hates the rain, but he doesn’t remember why.

Years pass, not that Max would know.

He stays right there in his place, stuck to his routine.

He wakes, he walks, he cooks, and he watches the grass grow taller and taller. Then night falls and he hides in his bed, fooling himself into thinking that his sleep is restful. In the morning, he wakes again.

He remembers his name, because at some point he had written it on the inside of his wrist. He remembers he had a mother, a father, and a sister, but he doesn’t remember their names. He remembers he used to be little, but he doesn’t recall growing up.

Unbeknownst to him, the years pass. The world outside changes, but not Max. 

Max is still twenty-four, and in his house. He’s alone, but he doesn’t know it. Because, how would a person even know they’re alone if they don’t remember ever meeting other people?

But he’s doing just fine.

He haunts the hallways and hangs in the air, but he causes no harm.

He’s stuck at twenty-four, but no one knows. He stays lost, because no one tries to find him. And he’s just fine.

Until, four men break into his house again, but this time, they don’t steal anything. They come in and they stay. And for the first time in years, Max feels alive again.

His house is filled with laughter again. There are stories being exchanged at the dining table, people crowding the kitchen as they cook. The porch swing gets some use again when they sit out there enjoying their tea. 

But, one of them shines the brightest.

One of them always comes back for him even if he doesn’t have to. One of them sees him and understands him in a way that makes Max’s heart lurch.

Charles asks him about his favourite dish, and then he tries his best to cook it for him. Charles brings him new books every week because he knows how fast Max goes through them and he doesn’t want him to run out of options. Charles rides his bike through an active thunderstorm to come and visit Max so that he doesn’t have to be alone in the rain. 

Charles never pushes Max, never asks why he doesn’t leave his place more often. 

He remembers the stories Max told him of his childhood. He remembers that there was this Dutch chocolate brand Max used to love before they moved to the UK. He remembers that Max loves tomato soup on stormy nights. 

Charles remembers Max every time. And he makes sure Max is never lost again.

Chapter Text

Charles has been restlessly pacing around the house all day. Lando and George tried to get him to just sit down and maybe have some breakfast, but to no avail. 

Charles has no idea how to do this.

Once the initial wave of shock passed, a wave of sorrow and grief hit Charles with the ferocity of an Formula 1 car hurtling towards the barriers at full speed.

He was used to losing people after he loved them all their lives. How was he supposed to deal with the loss of a person who wasn't even there to begin with?

And really, none of this still makes sense to him.

If Max really was…then how come the four of them could see him. Could talk to him. Could touch him. Their hands didn't feel like they were passing through thin air, no. Max was there, solid. Present. Warm.

How was Max always warm in Charles' arms? 

So many questions have been plaguing Charles' mind since the library yesterday and he has answers to exactly zero of them.

But the most important question of them all, that was what stumped him the most.

How was he going to tell Max about this?

Does Max even know that he's not alive? Or does he not realise? Is that how he's still here? Like how ghosts haunt their houses because they had unfinished business?

“Charles, mate, you need to eat something. Please.”

Charles finds Alex crouching next to him on the floor. When the hell did he even get down on the floor? He's got a hand placed comfortingly on Charles' folded knee, and a worried half-smile on his face.

“We'll figure it out together. Let us help you, please.”

“How can you help me, Alex? What am I even supposed to do in this situation? How can you help me after I just found out that the person I've been falling in love with is already—”

The next word gets caught in Charles' throat as a sob rips through him. Surprisingly, it's the first time he's cried since finding the news. 

His head falls and Alex immediately wraps his arms around him, pulling him into his chest. Charles sobs. The kind of sobs that shake you from within and make you feel weak in the knees.

Charles faintly registers his body getting enveloped in more warmth and realises that it's George and Lando sticking to him from the other side.

And yeah, he really needs this.

Because honestly, it feels like the Earth is opening up and trying to suck Charles in.

He can’t—doesn’t want to—say goodbye before saying ‘I love you’ . But what would that confession even do except hurt him more? 

Every other time in his life, the ‘I love you’ s had come way before the ‘goodbye’ s. In every other time that Charles had been in this situation, he'd had more time.

All he got with Max was one summer. How is that ever enough?

—

Max thinks maybe he should get some peonies. Plant them in the little planter boxes right outside his windows. They'd make the house look brighter.

The oven timer dings, breaking Max out of his thoughts. The ladyfingers were done and just needed to be cooled down before Max can start with the next step.

He'd found a recipe for tiramisu in one of the old cookbooks in his library. It was Charles' favourite dessert. He'd mentioned to Max many times how he missed his mother's tiramisu all the time ever since moving to the UK. So, Max had decided to surprise him with some. It's the least he could do.

He's just finishing up making the espresso when he hears knocks at the door. There's no mistaking who it must be. There are only four people who ever visit him anyway. 

“Hey guys!” Max greets them all with his usual smile, and they all reciprocate with their own. But something’s different.

Charles’ smile doesn’t reach his eyes like it usually does when he sees Max.

“Charles?”

“Hi, Max,” he smiles, this time, directly at him. It’s fuller, but it also hides something under it. 

“Oh, something smells good.” Alex’s voice interrupts as he makes his way into the house. George and Lando follow him. Charles is the last one to walk in after Max.

The entire dinner seems…off.

George and Lando seem to be overdoing their usual playful demeanors. Alex seems to be more involved in their jokes somehow. And Charles—

Charles has been avoiding Max’s eyes since the moment he walked in through the door, and it stings.

Max goes through the motions, responds to Lando’s absurd questions, listens to George and Alex bicker for the hundredth time, but his heart isn’t in it. All of their noise doesn’t mask the fact that Charles has been way too quiet. He sits in the back end of the dining table quietly grating the cheese. Even when spoken to, he answers in short sentences, like talking is too much effort for him. Max asks him if he is excited for the tiramisu, Charles just quietly replies with a, “Yeah.” And that’s that.

Max’s heart twists. He goes through the past few days trying to figure out what he might’ve done to make Charles act this way towards him. He sees Lando look at him for a moment before he gets up and pulls Charles away from the table. Max tries not to think too much about what they could be talking about.

—

“Charles, you’re making him upset,” Lando whispers once they’re out of Max’s sight.

“What do you want me to do, Lando? I can’t…,” Charles exhales shakily, like it’s taking all of him to hold himself together. Lando pulls him into a hug before he can fall.

“How do I even bring it up with him?” Charles sobs into Lando's shoulder. “He doesn't know. He thinks that this is all…” 

“I know,” Lando whispers into his hair. He runs his hands down Charles' back, trying to soothe him. It's not the first time he's seen Charles cry. It's not even the first time he's tried to soothe Charles after a heartbreak, but this time it's different.

This time, even Lando finds himself at a loss for words.

Sure, he might not be in love with Max like Charles is, but he's still a good friend to him. And Lando doesn't know how to talk to him about this either. He lets out a shuddered breath, his hands still softly running over the back of Charles' head. Both men stand there in the silence holding on to each other, trying not to fall apart.

“Charles?”

Charles takes his head off Lando immediately on hearing the voice. 

It's Max, standing by the door of the study room. His eyes dart between Lando and Charles as he tries to make sense of what's happening. Then, he notices Charles' eyes and is across the room in two seconds.

“Charlie, what's wrong?”

Charles can feel Max's hands cradling his cheeks, gentle and warm. Why are his hands so damn warm?

It makes Charles cry again, because fuck Max feels so real.

Charles reaches out and collects Max in his arms, pulling him in tightly as if he's trying to fuse Max in with his own body.

He buries his face in Max's shoulder, trying to inhale his scent. It might be his brain playing tricks but Charles can pick up the faint fragrance of lavender. 

“Charles, what's going on? You're worrying me.”

Charles pulls away from the hug, wiping the tears off his face. He looks at Max like he's trying to commit his face to memory.

“There's, uh,” he starts, struggling to get the words out at first. “There's something we found in the library a few days ago.”

The page of the newspaper is lying somewhere folded at the bottom of George's backpack. They'd decided to bring it out once they decided on telling Max, which apparently was right now.

Charles watches carefully as George hands the paper to Max, pointing him to where he needs to look. He watches as Max's eyes scan the short article, and they find the pictures. His mouth falls open, but not all the way. Like his body is rejecting full movement.

“That…” is all Max can say. His fingers are grabbing on to the sides of the page hard enough that he can rip through it. There’s no mistaking it. That’s him and his sister, Vic. Oh, he hasn’t seen her in so long. 

But, this can’t be right.

If what this article is saying is true then that means he’s…

“Max?”

“This can’t be right.”

“Max,” Charles says again. Softer this time, like he’s afraid he’ll break Max.

“No. No, this can’t—I don’t remember any of this. This can’t be true, I—”

His knees buckle and hit the ground before he has the chance to catch himself. Charles is by his side, holding onto him. Max just can’t understand how he could be dead.

Flashes of the night come back to him—the rain, the swerve, the screech of the tyres. There’s a pounding in the back of his head. How can he be dead?

He can hear Charles’ voice floating in the air, can feel his hands around his waist. Everything feels so real , but it’s not supposed to be.

Max is supposed to be dead.

“—ax. Max can you hear me—”

The room starts to slowly lose its colour.

The curtains disappear, the wallpaper slowly starts to fade. The floor under Max’s knees is suddenly wet and moldy, the moist stench of it invading the air. The inviting furniture gets replaced by broken, rotting pieces of wood. This doesn’t look like his house anymore.

“What’s happening?”

“The house is changing!”

“This is what it actually looks like.”

“Max, can you hear me, cheri ?”

The world spins. Max can’t stay upright anymore.

“Max! Max, look at me please. Please, Max, look at me.”

His vision is blurred but he sees the face of someone hovering over him. Charles , his brain supplies. He tries to reach up to him, to wipe the tears dripping down the other man’s face, but he can’t seem to be able to move his arms.

“Look at me, please. Mon amour, je ne peux pas te perdre. S'il te plaît, reste avec moi. Je t'aime, s'il te plaît, reste. S'il te plaît. ”

He can’t understand what the words mean, he just knows that he feels it too. He feels someone squeeze his hand, so he squeezes back too, with whatever strength he has.

He also needs to say just one thing before he leaves.

“Cha’?” His voice is strained, struggling to escape his throat.

“Yes. mon coeur . I’m right here. Tell me.”

“Cha’” Max shifts his head, trying to get a better look at Charles’ face. He can’t seem to find him, or maybe it’s just his eyes that can’t focus. He figures he can’t waste anymore time so it’s better he gets this out right now.

“Charles,” he says as he tries to gather the last bit of air leaving him, “I lo—”

The world goes dark.

—

Max wakes up to the sun in his face. He blinks his eyes open and it takes him a few moments to realise where he is.

He’s in his bed, in his room, in his house.

But his house was supposed to be gone.

He jumps out of bed and runs downstairs.

His mother’s voice travels across the living room, he can see his father sitting in the observatory. Vic, he assumes, must be out by the porch. Max goes to check the calendar.

October 16th, 1997. 

It’s the day he dies.

This is all very confusing to him.

“Maxie?”

He finds Victoria standing in front of him.

“Dad was reading the paper and he said that there’s supposed to be storms happening tonight.” She sounds just as excited as she usually does when talking about storms. “Can we go chase the lightning today?”

Loud warning bells ring in Max’s head. That’s how they died. That’s how he lost everything. 

Max doesn’t know anything about the afterlife, or  time travel for that matter. But if this whole thing is some way of the universe giving him a second chance, he’s going to take it.

“I’m sorry, Vic. I don’t think I can take you.”

Victoria’s face immediately falls. “Why not? You always take me to chase storms.”

“I’m sorry, Vic. I just can’t today. I—I’m busy.”

Victoria’s mouth twists into a pout. Her eyes fill with tears as she tries not to cry. 

“Vic…”

“This is exactly what Elsie was talking about,” she mumbles. Max remembers the conversation.

He reaches out but Victoria slaps his hand away before running upstairs into her bedroom. “I don’t want to talk to you anymore!” she cries from the stairs. Max is left standing there feeling like his heart’s been ripped in two.

“What’s wrong? What happened to Vic?” Mama comes running out of the kitchen.

“She’s upset I said I wouldn’t take her to chase the lightning later tonight.”

“The storm thing?”

Max nods. His mother’s face softens. She brings her hand up, gently cupping Max’s face.

“You were worried about her safety, schat . You didn’t do anything wrong.”

He knows he did, and hearing it from his mother is reassuring as well. But the crumpled look on Victoria’s face hurts him. He bites the inside of his lip, trying not to cry.

“I don’t want her to hate me, Mama.”

“ Oh mijn lief , she doesn’t hate you. She’s just upset right now. Just give her a little time, she’ll come around.”

Max nods. He’s changed the one thing he was supposed to change. Waiting is all he can do now.

The evening comes, so do the storm clouds, but Max stays home. Victoria hasn’t even looked in his direction all day, let alone talked to him, but he tries not to let it get to him. 

The storm rages outside as Max goes to sleep that night. He’ll know if he’s done the right thing when he wakes up tomorrow.

—

Max runs downstairs immediately after waking up to check the date.

October 17th, 1997.

The storm destroyed Mama’s bed of roses and she’s outside fussing over them with the gardener. His father is sipping his morning coffee, flipping through the newspaper. Max makes his way over to the porch to check.

Victoria is sitting on the large swing, with her back to Max, looking at the hills in the distance. He hasn’t seen her face yet, but Max lets out a broken sigh just knowing that she’s here in front of his eyes.

“Vic?”

She turns around to look at Max. And then, mends his heart by giving him a smile.

“I’m so sorry, Vic,” he says as he pulls her into a hug, kissing the top of her head. “I’m so sorry I said no yesterday, It was too dangerous and I just couldn’t risk it. I’m so, so sorry. I love you, I still do. I hope you know that.”

“Max, you’re kinda squeezing me there,” is what she says. Max immediately releases his hold and she laughs.

“I’m sorry too. I know I acted irrationally yesterday.”

“It’s alright, Vic.”

“It’s a good thing we didn’t go yesterday. Dad said the storm last night was stronger than they’d anticipated. The roads were undrivable.”

Max takes a deep breath trying to ground himself. He sits on the swing next to Victoria and she leans her head on his shoulder. He pushes his feet against the floor, gently rocking them, as they look out at the sky.

The sky is still a little grey, but not as dark as it was last night. 

Max runs his hand through Victoria’s hair and feels her settling in against him. She’s here, next to him, alive . Max sends out his gratitude to the universe. 

He looks at his house. All his memories, his entire world are here in the same place. But it also feels like something’s missing. And he knows what.

He thinks about the nights he’d spent alone up in his room. He thinks about the laughter he shared with his friends in the kitchen. He thinks about the eyes that understood him for the very first time.

The eyes that he probably won’t see again.

He holds his sister, safe in his arms. He hears her mother’s voice, arguing with the gardener about the placement of the peonies. He hears his father calling out to his mother that he’s going into the town for a couple of hours. 

He was given a second chance. And he took it.

But, he also wonders if the memories of his other life will slowly fade away.

He wonders if, with time, he will forget the faces of the closest friends he ever made, if he'll forget what used to make them laugh. He wonders if he’ll forget how he’d learnt to manage himself all alone, despite his mother always teasing him that he would be a disaster if left alone. And he wonders if he’ll slowly forget about the only person he ever fell in love with; if he'll forget how his eyes would wrinkle when he smiled, how when he entered a room he made it his, and how when he loved, it would seep through his edges and pour out into your hands till you were consumed by it completely.

Maybe he’ll write it all down in a diary while he can still remember everything, and he’ll read it every time he starts to forget.

For now, Max gets a second chance at a life he had lost. For now, Max gets to keep his family close and safe. Maybe one day he’ll find the same kind of love again. But for now, he gets to keep his family. And that’s enough too.

Chapter Text

Charles loved the rain.

The way the sky darkens, the way the air gets cold right before the first shower, the way it smells when the earth is still damp, the way the sky looks cleaner and the green of the trees becomes more vibrant—Charles loved it all. 

It used to always put him in a good mood, the rain. No matter how he's been feeling, the second the cold air hit his face his mood would instantly brighten up. He could sit for hours by the window watching the droplets batter against the glass, cup of tea in hand, tracing hearts in the fog.

Then, Charles fell in love in the rain.

It was the rain that had first brought them together, it was the rain that had slowly shaped their story, it was the rain that had taught them things about each other.

But in a cruel twist of fate, it was also the rain that had taken from Charles the best thing that had ever happened to him.

Now, Charles hated the rain.

He would draw the curtains the second he saw the sky darken and would put his headphones on, playing music as loudly as he could to drown out the sounds. He started to stay in whenever there was a forecast of rain, and would cancel plans the second even a single drop fell from the sky.

Where once it had brought him joy, the rain now only served as a reminder of what he had lost.

Charles didn't get out of bed for a good two weeks after Max left. 

He could still see it whenever he closed his eyes—Max, slowly disappearing from his arms as Charles desperately tried to shake him awake, tried to grasp at fragments of his being slowly vanishing. Like a madman he had even tried to chase a floating fleck in the air till Lando and George had to physically hold him back. He'd sat on the floor and sobbed, clinging onto the front of George's t-shirt till it was soaked with his tears.

———

“Charles?”

The voice is followed by a cursory knock before the door quietly opens.

Soft footsteps, the sound of a tray carefully being placed on the desk, then a sigh. Charles feels the mattress dip behind him, and a hand coming up to slowly pet his hair.

“I brought lunch,” Alex says, his voice soft. “It's soup, so you don't have to make much effort to eat either.”

Charles hums in response, retreating further into his blanket. Now that the soup has been set down and he's been informed, Charles hopes Alex would just leave and let him be. But he doesn't.

Instead, he slides into bed next to Charles, wraps his arms around the blanket and Charles' torso and pulls him close.

“You should know by now that I'm not leaving unless I see you have your soup, Charlie,” Alex says. He hooks his chin over Charles' shoulder and drapes his leg over, making it clear that he's not going to leave Charles to sulk alone, at least not till he's had his lunch.

“I really don't wanna eat,” Charles croaks out. It takes more effort than expected, with his throat gone dry from the lack of hydration.

“Well, I don't care. You haven't eaten anything properly for days and I'm not trusting you to feed yourself this time, so,” Alex sits up and starts to tug on the blanket, “get up.”

Charles groans. “I'll eat. Just leave the soup and go.”

“No.”

“Alex.”

“Charlie.”

“Alex, come on.”

“Nope. Get up.” 

Charles turns his head just a little to see Alex sitting there with his arms crossed in determination. Charles rolls his eyes.

“Why are you being so stubborn, Alex?”

“Because I love you,” Alex answers plainly. “You're hurting inside, I know. But that's making you hurt yourself on the outside too. And if you're not feeling strong enough to take care of yourself then that's fine, just let us take care of you then.”

Charles blinks a few times. He's already been very emotionally volatile for two weeks at this point. Every time he thinks he's all cried out, more tears somehow spring from his eyes. Like right now, seeing his friend plant himself firmly and be so adamant about loving Charles is making his vision blur. He hopes Alex doesn't notice.

“Oh, Charlie.”

Of course Alex notices. His brows are furrowed in concern and his arms are back around Charles with his body being a comfortable weight against his.

“Sorry. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cry,” Charles rushes out and he hastily tries to wipe his tears off. Alex sits up and gently moves Charles so his head is resting against his chest. 

“Of course you can cry. You don't have to apologise for that.” 

Charles looks up at him with teary eyes. His lips wobble as he tries to get some words out, but he can't. So he clutches onto Alex's t-shirt and sobs instead.  

———

It is on the seventeenth day that his friends decide they've had enough of letting Charles be alone and giving him space. 

He gets dragged out of bed at sunrise and gets shoved around till he’s showered, dressed, and ready for…something. He’s not really sure, and he doesn’t really care enough to ask.

He slumps against the window in the backseat and watches the buildings pass as his friends keep talking in the background. They came back to school a couple of weeks ago. This semester is the first time that Charles has missed his classes in the start. He emailed his professors a weak excuse about some family emergency and that was that. He hasn’t even looked at his phone in a while and at this point the piled up notifications will only make him more anxious.

The music on the radio gets louder, the glass of the window is cool against Charles’ cheek, the slight vibration of the moving car feels oddly comforting, like he’s being rocked gently.

———

The lights in the classroom are too bright on his face. Charles squints his eyes, trying to focus on the professor up at the front of the class. 

He wasn't in the mood to attend any classes really, but he had an elective class in common with Lando this year—Introduction to Quantum Theory. Why a business major and an architecture major would need to study an introductory physics class is anyone's guess. All Charles remembers is Lando looking over the syllabus and declaring, “Oh, this will be very fun. Charles, you should take this class with me.” And Charles hadn't really been in a state where he could make too many decisions for himself, so he just nodded.

He was regretting his decision just a little right now.

An elbow hits him in the side of his stomach and Charles yelps. “What the fuck,” he hisses.

“Pay attention. You're very clearly zoning out and I don't want the professor to call on us,” Lando whispers.

“Since when have you been so serious about college?”

“Since the professor is very hot in a silver-fox way and I would very much like to get some extra-credits at the end of the semester if you catch my drift.” Lando wiggles his eyes suggestively to make his point clearer. Charles’ face scrunches up in disgust.

“Can you please not tell me that. That's so—”

“Oh come on, Charles. Look at him!”

They both turn their attention to the front. Their professor, Dr. Button, is waving his hands around and pointing at all the stuff he's suddenly written on the huge blackboard in the two minutes that he and Lando were having their conversation.

Charles must admit, Dr. Button is not bad looking. And he's definitely Lando's type too. Still,

“Dating a professor is risky, mate.”

“It's risky if I'm taking his class,” Lando wags his finger. Charles rolls his eyes. He briefly curses his past self for being too depressed to come to classes because had he done so earlier, he would’ve made the deadline for switching classes and would’ve been free of this mess. Instead, he now has to watch Lando make eyes at his new man-crush for the next five months.

The professor drones on and on about theories in physics that Charles really couldn’t give less of a shit about, even though he should give a little bit of a shit seeing as he still has to pass this class. Whatever, he’ll figure it out later. 

It’s boring, the AC kicks in overhead, and Charles yawns. He’s like five minutes from falling asleep so he pulls his phone out to keep himself awake. The next moment the professor says something that catches Charles’ attention.

“The multiverse,” Dr. Button starts, “is a concept suggesting the existence of multiple universes, potentially including our own, all existing together as part of a larger structure. You must’ve heard of this concept in popular media, usually in films.”

A faint murmur goes around the room and someone brings up Christopher Nolan’s Interstellar and Dr. Button nods approvingly. 

“It is a great representation of the multiverse, yes. Multiple universes existing at the same time, isn’t that a fascinating idea.”

The discussion goes on and Charles listens, trying to grasp whatever he can. That night, he goes down a rabbit hole, reading articles and papers about the multiverse, recorded instances, accounts of suspected multiversal travellers, and speculated methods of multiversal travel. 

Through the burning of his eyes and the slight fuzziness in his brain from the lack of sleep, Charles feels a hint of that traitorous feeling bloom in his chest: hope.

———

Dr. Button’s office hours are merely a suggestion, is what Charles has heard from students of his. They say that he’s happy to help students any day of the week after class. Charles decides to test this theory. With a deep breath in, he knocks twice on his office door softly.

“Come in,” he hears him say. Jenson lifts his head and gives him a smile. “Ah, Mr. Leclerc, right?” Charles nods. “Please, come in.”

Charles shuts the door behind him, walks over to the desk and takes a seat. “Good afternoon, Dr. Button. I hope I’m not disturbing you.”

“Nonsense. I’m always available to take doubts from students,” he replies with a grin so wide it makes it seem like he really means it. “Tell me, what question has you perplexed today?”

Charles wonders briefly if maybe Dr. Button would think he’s being stupid. But then, he had seemed so animated during the discussion in the last class so, perhaps he won’t think much of it.

“It’s about the multiverse essentially,” he says.

“Oh?”

“After our last class, I went home and did some research of my own. About the multiverse.”

“Did you find it interesting?”

“Yes. But I still had a few doubts. I read a lot of articles but to be honest most of them kinda just flew over my head.” He laughs nervously. “I’m an architecture major, you see. The last bit of theoretical physics I encountered was probably never.”

Jenson nods, chuckling slightly. “That’s okay. I can help you with that. So, what do you want to know?”

“I couldn't really get my head around the timeline part,” he says. “They say a version of you exists in every timeline. But, is it possible for the same version of you to exist in two different timelines but just at different points in time?”

Jenson scrunches his eyebrows. “Like?”

“Like. Okay, so assume that you were originally a part of one timeline. But sometime in the future you exit your original timeline. And this exit coincides with your entry into a new timeline. And yes, I know that there are possibilities of branched timelines from certain events being changed by going back in time but assuming that we don't do that, is it still possible for the same version of you to exist in two different universes?”

There's a long pause as Jenson tries to digest the question properly. And then it clicks. 

“Are you talking about multiversal travel?”

“What?”

“Travelling between universes, is that what you're talking about?”

Charles blinks. Then blinks again. “You can do that?”

Jenson seems very amused by this and looks two seconds away from bursting into a long winded explanation about the topic at hand. Luckily for him, Charles came here looking for exactly that.

When Charles gets back to the apartment, Alex and George are out on their weekly date. He hears a door creak open in the background as he walks into the kitchen to get some water.

“Dude, where were you?” Lando asks.

“Um, Dr. Button’s office. I needed to ask him something related to class.” 

Lando looks at him like he doesn’t quite believe him. “And you needed to stay in his office till 8 PM to get answers?”

With a sigh, Charles sets down his bottle on the kitchen counter. “There’s nothing like that , Lando. Seriously, I just went to ask him about something that I was reading up on yesterday.”

“The thing you spent all night researching about and forgot to sleep?”

“Yes.”

“And what exactly is that thing ?”

Charles swallows the gulp of water he just took before answering, “The multiverse.”

Lando looks like he expected any answer but that. Actually, he looks like he didn’t expect an answer at all.

“Mate, you’re joking.”

Charles shakes his head. 

“You actually spent five hours after class talking to Professor Hot Ass about the multiverse?”

Charles makes a disgusted face at that. “Can you not? And also, before you ask me, I do not have the hots for Dr. Button, alright? He’s all yours to ogle at.”

Lando grins very stupidly at that. “Thank you. I have trained you well.”

“You haven’t trained me for shit.”

“Yeah, yeah. But you’re telling me about this multiverse shit in the morning,” Lando says almost as a warning.

“You don’t have time now?”

“Nope. Right now I’m a little busy testing whether becoming a Discord kitten is a viable career option for me in the future.”

“Well, good luck with that.”

———

“So, you’re saying there’s a way to travel to different universes?”

“Yeah.”

“And people have done that?”

“Mhmm.”

“Is there some sort of proof or…?”

“Well, nothing too concrete, but—”

“Then how do you know this is going to work?”

George is a great friend almost every day, except for when his logic seems to contradict Charles’. Like today.

“You’re not listening, George. I’m saying that I have a theory and—”

“Oh because you’re such a physicist now that you have read a handful of papers.”

“George, you’re not even listening to me.”

“What is there to listen to?”

“Oh my fucking God, you’re so—”

“Okay! I think we should take a break now, yes?” Alex intervenes right before Charles says something in his anger, which is good. He walks away from the table while Alex tries to cool George down.

George isn’t a bad friend, Charles knows this. This reaction of his is also because he is such a good friend. He cares, he’s emotional, he’s passionate, and he really wants to protect the people he loves, which includes Charles. But he also needs to believe that Charles has a plan.

After about a week of doing additional research, making PowerPoint presentations, preparing a small speech, and hyping himself up, Charles finally told his friends about his plan.

He was going to travel the multiverse and go to one where he can be with Max.

He doesn’t understand why George reacted the way he did, all huffy and mad like Charles had personally offended him; or why Alex, who is usually the beacon of wisdom in their group, hadn’t tried to question the logic of Charles’ plan; or why Lando, the first to always make fun of him, hadn’t yet cracked a joke about his decision. 

It all just seemed…off.

Was Charles being too crazy? All he wants is to be with the man he loves, that’s all. In his heart he knows that this isn’t the end of their story. If you think about it, him ending up in an elective which teaches about the multiverse, even though it is not a part of his course, is all just a sign from the universe. 

He is meant to find his way back. He is meant to be with Max.

“Charles, you’re talking about crossing universes here,” George exclaims suddenly right as he hears Alex say, “George, don’t yell.”

Ignoring him, Charles turns to Lando instead. “What do you think?”

Lando’s eyes scan his face. The usual bright green looks clouded and for the first time that day, Charles feels unsure about his decision.

“Do you not think this is a good idea?” he asks, his voice small.

Lando looks at him like he’s trying to figure out the kindest way to break his heart. And Charles braces for the impact.

But the impact never comes. Instead, Lando smiles. It's small and a little strained, but it's a smile. “I trust you, Charlie,” is all that he says.

———

Charles has a plan. It's not a very concrete plan, nor does it have an encouraging success rate based on his preliminary calculation, but there is a plan.

Charles is going back to Max, that much is clear. 

He visited Dr. Button again and presented the case with Max as a hypothetical. He told him about a man who had died in one universe but was alive in the other and whether it was possible for someone to go visit the universe he was alive in. He was met with a concerned expression.

“Charles, are you sure you know what you’re talking about? This is—you’re talking about jumping from one universe to another here.”

“I know it sounds crazy but, I really think it can work.”

“How can you be sure?”

And Charles can’t really tell him how. He can’t tell him about Max. Can’t tell him that he sees him in his dreams, that he’s been seeing him in his dreams ever since he left. He can’t tell him about the times he’s hovered in the background as he watched Max— his Max —in his apartment. 

They share it, Charles assumes. They’ve got two cat beds and a full pantry. There are pictures on the wall and the bedsheets are rumpled like they’ve just woken up. And every time he sees Max, he’s humming while he makes them breakfast. He hasn’t seen any traces of him—no photos on the wall or shoes by the front door—but he knows he belongs there. He knows, because he sees Max look for him.

But all of this he cannot explain to Dr. Button, so instead he says, “I just know.”

———

George hasn’t spoken to him in a week, Alex only gives him curt nods and half smiles when they run into each other in the kitchen, Lando rarely leaves his room. Charles can’t understand what it is he’s doing that is so wrong that his friends have started to retreat from him. He decides not to question it, not today. He’s got a long day ahead of him. So he grabs his coffee, slungs his backpack over his shoulder, and walks out.

He’s close to finding a way to Max, he can feel it. 

All those hours of research and studying—at this point Charles could get a degree in theoretical physics. The librarian knows him by name now, always keeps his stack of books aside for him. He gives her a smile when he walks in and goes to sit at his usual table. He’s got his laptop out, his notebooks, and three books. He needs to figure a way out as soon as possible.

Max’s birthday was last week, he knows because he looked it up. Old pictures of Max in a grand ballroom, in his black suit and bowtie. That Max, the one he once knew, he may not be the one Charles gets to keep, but he’ll love him still. He’ll carry him in his heart wherever he goes. For now, Charles needs to focus. He needs to find a way before his birthday at least.

His laptop whirrs to life and Charles doesn’t give it two seconds before opening up his browser and all his saved tabs—a hundred and sixteen now, all organised under different groups. He clicks the one labelled ‘ Travel methods ’.

He didn’t find any official reports of any such travels, obviously. But he found a few accounts—blog posts, amateur websites, obscure Reddit threads—talking about people who have travelled to different universes and survived. All of them talk about the most important thing one needs to make sure of—travel to the universe where there is a space carved for you. For if you step into a space not made for you, that universe will spit you out, making sure you never infiltrate it again. Kind of like the immune system if you will. 

Charles exhales and rubs his forehead. He remembered to bring his glasses today so that he doesn’t have to stop his work early again because of a headache. He scrolls and reads and searches. It’s the last piece of the puzzle, the last thing he needs to figure out: how to make sure you land in the universe that is meant for you? Once he’s got the answer to that he can be on his way. He can be on his way to Max. But so far, he’s turned up with nothing.

The sun makes its movements outside and the hands on the clock keep moving. Charles ignores the grumble in his stomach, promising no one in particular that he’ll eat something later. If it were up to him, that ‘later’ might just never arrive. Ultimately, Charles has to yield and take a break when his eyes start to glaze over and the letters on his screen become nothing but blurry little specks. Fuck, he can’t ruin his eyes now. What would Max think if he saw him with permanent glasses?

And so, reluctantly, Charles takes a break. He pushes himself away from the desk and goes to grab some water and a snack from the vending machine. The first sip of water reminds him just how parched he truly is and he ends up gulping down half the bottle in one go. The protein bar tastes a little stale, but the chocolate masks it enough that he doesn’t really need to worry. 

He thinks, as he chews, about what could be the missing link. What was it that sent Max away after being here all these years? What was it that made him disappear from Charles’ arms and float into the world he always belonged to? 

He sits back down, scrolls till he’s reached page 57 of the Google results. He’s about to give up and call it a day when his eyes land on a result linking to a Reddit answer.

Reddit • r/Conspiracy

I travelled through the multiverse and made it to my designated world.

With a new burst of hope, Charles clicks on the link.

———

It’s been four days of Charles talking with user murphysdotlaw.

He’s asked them everything about the travel itself, the preparation leading up to it, the requirements to make sure he landed in the right spot. They said they travelled to be in a world where their mother was still there to stroke their hair and shield them from nightmares. Charles says he’s looking for something similar. Together, they figure out a plan for Charles. It’s all written out in his small, leatherbound notebook. In between its pages Charles has stuck the letters he wrote for Max whenever he missed him. When he meets Max, he will give him those letters, or maybe he’ll read them to him. Whatever, he’ll figure it out when he gets there. For now, his plan is ready and he can leave any day he wants to.

All that’s left is telling his friends about it.

———

Charles had it all planned out. 

After class, he would cook a nice dinner, he and his friends would sit around the table like old times and then, he would tell them his decision. And really, it was the most perfect plan he could come up with to break the news.

Except, before he could do any of that, George walked into Charles’ room to drop off his clean laundry and found his notebook lying open on the desk. 

“Were you ever even going to tell us?” George thundered the second Charles walked into the apartment. He looked at George confused till his eyes landed on the notebook in his friend’s hand.

“Where did you get that?”

“So you weren’t planning on telling us.”

“George, give me that.” Charles drops the bags in his hands onto the floor and goes to grab his notebook. The pages are slightly scrunched from where George had gripped onto them tightly, but it’s nothing Charles can’t fix later.

“I was going to tell you guys today,” he says, gesturing at the grocery bags now lying forgotten on the floor. “I was going to cook us all a nice dinner.”

“You were going to cook?” Lando says from the couch then. It has that teasing lilt Charles has come to miss over the past week or so. It used to be annoying, now, it’s just the hope that maybe his friends do forgive him.

“Yeah. Pasta with grilled vegetables. And tiramisu for dessert.”

“Were you going to make that as well?”

“No. I bought some.”

“Okay, enough!” George cuts in. “Charles, will you just explain this,” he asks, his hand pointing accusingly to where Charles has his notebook clutched securely against his chest.

With a deep breath, Charles tells everyone to sit down. Alex keeps a hand curled around George's bicep to keep him steady. 

“I found a way by which I can get to the universe Max is in.”

The silence that follows feels heavy. 

“How…how are you going to do that?” Lando asks.

“I’ll need two things—the same things that helped Max leave—something that connects me with the right universe and the place which is common between both lives.”

The others still look confused, so Charles continues.

“The newspaper article was the thing that drew a connection between the Max here and the Max in the universe he is in now. His house was the common point, almost like a portal. Both of those things at the same time combined with Max's desire to go home is what made him leave. If I do the same then—”

“You'll leave,” George finishes for him.

“Yeah.”

It sounds a little selfish, but really it's the best plan he has. And Charles wants to explain that to his friends. That he has this covered. That he knows what he's doing.

“So you'll just leave? Just like that?” 

Surprisingly, it’s not George who says that.

“And what about us? You just leave and we, what? We stay here and mourn you basically?”

“No, no. You won't have to mourn me,” Charles quickly reassures. “There will be another Charles who takes my place, right where he is supposed to be.”

“So what, people just keep jumping universes whenever?”

“If there is a need.”

He sees the tears on Lando's lashline and it breaks Charles' heart. He sees George trying to keep his emotions in check, sees Alex gone numb almost. 

“Guys, please. I know how this sounds but trust me—”

“When are you going to do it?” Alex asks.

“Next week. On my birthday.”

Lando leaves the room first. George follows shortly after.

———

Charles finds the apartment on Airbnb pretty easily. He books it for one night, it's all he's going to need anyway. 

On the morning of his birthday, Charles wakes up to silence. There's no noise in the apartment, no shuffling of feet, no clinking of dishes. A year ago, his friends had surprised him at midnight with a cake. This year, well, they've been avoiding him for a week.

You lose friends when you're in love, Charles thinks. It's fine. He'll figure it out later. 

He slides off his bed with a yawn and gets ready for the day ahead.

He's chewing on a partially burnt piece of toast when Alex approaches.

“Hey. Happy birthday, mate.”

Charles smiles, because it's the polite thing to do. “Thank you.”

“Are you, umm,” his eyes dart to the bag by Charles' feet to complete his question.

“Oh. Yeah. I'm leaving in a little bit.”

“Oh.”

They've known. They've all known that Charles is going to leave on his birthday. They've all known that Charles is going to the apartment he's seen him and Max share in his dreams to do it. That's his portal. And he has one of Max's shirts from when he was still here. It was the one he lent Charles that day he'd gone to his house in the rain.

“You're leaving right now? Or can you wait a few minutes?”

It's an odd question. “I guess I can wait? Why?”

“I would like to accompany you to the apartment, if you don't mind.”

It's the last thing Charles was expecting Alex to offer, especially after the tension between him and his friends.

“Really?”

“Yeah. I don't want you to be alone,” Alex smiles. It's restrained, coloured with sorrow, but it's there. Charles throws his arms around Alex, hugging him close.

“Thank you. You don't know how much—thank you. I'm sorry, I'm so sorry but— fuck —I really needed someone there and I just didn't know if I deserved to ask—”

“Hey, hey,” Alex pulls back to look at Charles' face, “please don't ever think you have to deserve asking us for help. Charles, we love you. I know we got angry but, it's because we were just scared of…” he trails off, unable to finish the sentence. Losing you . Charles has explained to them that they won't technically be living in a world without a Charles, but still, their heart can't really understand.

“Give me ten minutes, I'll try and convince the other two to join as well.”

“They won't want to come,” Charles says. He knows how mad George was at him. But then Lando got upset too. And Lando rarely got upset with others, so this had to mean something.

“Trust me, they will come. They love you too, you know.”

———

The four of them stand in the apartment’s living room.

It's pretty nondescript—bare walls with a generic looking artwork hanging. It's a far cry from the warm home he and Max build in the other universe.

“This is your place?” George asks, looking around.

“Yeah. But it's much prettier over there, trust me.”

“I suppose I'll have to.” 

Charles makes a face at that, though he's not really mad.

“So, how does this work then?” Lando asks. Charles hasn't really brought many things, just whatever he will need to make the journey. Plus, a couple of things he hopes he can carry with him.

“We need to wait till sunset—that’s the time I always see in my dreams. Then, I put Max's shirt on and try to think of my life with him.” His explanation is met with hesitant nods. “I know it might not make as much sense right now, but it will soon.”

When the sky outside turns orange, Charles walks into the golden ray of light falling on the hardwood floor. He sits down, wrapping Max's shirt around him. He tucks his diary under his t-shirt, holding it close. Then, he closes his eyes, and dreams.

He dreams of warm touches and soft kisses in the morning. He dreams of bills stuck on the refrigerator with magnets and mini whiteboards with grocery lists. He dreams of early morning coffee and habitual bickering over the most trivial of things. He dreams of strong arms holding him close and keeping him safe. He dreams of his life. 

“Charles?”

The voices in his ear sound faint, like they're coming from two rooms over. He sees Max's blurry face in front of his eyes. He dares not open them.

“Charles, are you okay?”

Max is smiling. The kind that brings out the wrinkles by his eyes. The kind Charles loves so much. He smiles too, because how can he not.

“Oh fuck, is he—fuck, is he fucking disintegrating?”

His head feels lighter, like he's never felt in years. He clutches the diary tighter, but finds his increased grip does nothing.

“Is this okay? Is this normal?”

“I think so. Remember, Max also did this.”

“But Max was dead .”

Not his Max, no. His Max is alive and breathing. And he's waiting for him. He's waiting in their kitchen. He's always been the early riser between the two of them. 

“Why can I see through him? George, why can I see through him ?!”

He feels it, the shift. He feels himself getting lighter and getting pulled away. He doesn't resist it, just lets it happen. Bit by bit, flecks of him float up and vanish.

“Fuck, he's really leaving.”

Charles can't hold on to his visions now. His eyes fly open and he sees the vague shapes of what must be his friends. His hold on the diary gets firmer, but his fingers just pass through half of it. He tries to speak, but can't seem to remember how to.

When he finally manages to open his mouth, all he can say is, “Love you.”

He hears someone sob, someone else saying that it's okay.

The last thing Charles hears is a voice telling him that they love him.

When he's gone, all that's left in Charles' spot is his diary.

———

Charles doesn't recognise the room he wakes up in. 

The walls are different, the bed is too big to be his, and the number of pillows seems excessive.

Then, he hears the sound of someone humming a tune softly, and the sizzle of oil in a pan. All at once, it clicks. Charles runs in the direction of the noise.

In the kitchen there is a man. Dark blue t-shirt stretched over his broad shoulders. He's humming a song, a song that sounds familiar to Charles but he can't quite place it. 

Then, the man turns, and smiles. And Charles' entire world changes.

“Morning, schat .”

And Charles sobs. He runs into Max's arms, pulling him impossibly close against his chest. Max's hands find his waist, slowly rubbing his back as Charles weeps into the crook of his neck.

“ Schat ? What's wrong? Is something the matter?” 

Max holds his face in his hands like Charles is the most delicate flower from his garden. His thumbs gently wipe the tears from his cheeks, and Charles smiles.

“I just had a really bad dream, that's all.”

Max frowns. “What dream, baby?”

Charles shakes his head. He holds Max's face and kisses him. He never thought he'd get to do it again.

“Doesn't matter. I have you here now. The rest doesn't matter.”

Max smiles. “Come. I've made coffee and breakfast.” 

He lets go of Charles to check on the bacon. Miraculously, they're not all burnt. 

“Oh also, don't forget. We need to pick up some wine for dinner later,” Max says.

“Dinner?”

“Yeah. George, Alex, and Lando are coming over tonight. Apparently they have some big news to tell us.”

“They are?” Charles asks again. It's probably not the part he should be focused on, but he's just so glad his friends are still in his life. 

“Yeah.” Max turns off the stove and walks over to where Charles is sitting. His hands slowly stroke the sides of Charles' neck. “What's wrong, darling? Did you not sleep well?”

And God does Charles want to tell him everything. He wants to tell him all about how he had lost him. About how he had tried his best and found a way to come back to him. And how he had missed him so terribly in his bones all those months that they were away from each other.

But all of that doesn't matter anymore. Hell, it could all have been just a dream for all Charles cares about. Right now, he is here. In the life he chose, in the world that was meant for him. And nothing is going to take that away from him.

Over bacon, toast, and eggs, Charles and Max discuss what should be their menu for dinner tonight.