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Max felt it before he fully understood what was happening. The mattress dipping. A cold hand pressing against his chest. Fingers trembling against his throat.
He stayed still.
Not because he was sleeping. He had woken up two minutes ago when Charles left the bed for the third time that night. He heard the bathroom door open. He heard the soft footsteps padding back. He felt Charles hesitate at the edge of the mattress.
So Max kept his breathing steady. His eyes closed. His body relaxed.
He wanted to see what Charles would do.
The fingers on his throat pressed harder. Searching. Max felt Charles's palm flatten against his skin, right over his pulse point. The touch was cold. Too cold. Like Charles had been holding ice.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five.
Charles counted under his breath. The sound was barely there, a ghost of a whisper. His thumb pressed down once, twice, three times, measuring the rhythm.
Then the hand moved.
Charles's fingers slid down to Max's wrist. He lifted it carefully from the mattress, held it between both of his hands, and pressed his thumbs into the vein. Another count. Another whispered sequence of numbers.
Max wanted to open his eyes. He wanted to grab those cold hands and warm them up. But something in Charles's breathing stopped him. The way it hitched. The way it stuttered.
So Max waited.
Charles let go of the wrist. His hands traveled up to Max's face. One palm rested on his cheek. The other hovered near his nose. Charles leaned closer. His breath ghosted over Max's lips.
Warm. Alive. Charles was checking for breath now.
The palm on Max's cheek trembled. Charles's thumb traced over Max's cheekbone like he was memorizing the shape. Like he needed to feel the skin to believe it was still warm.
Max felt something wet hit his chin.
A single drop. Then another.
Charles was crying. Silent tears falling from his face onto Max's. No sobs. No sounds at all. Just the steady drip of water and the shaking hands and the careful way Charles touched him like he was made of glass.
Max almost broke then. Almost sat up. Almost pulled Charles down and held him until the shaking stopped.
But Charles moved again.
He pulled back. Max heard him walk to the closet. The door opened with a soft creak. Fabric rustled. Charles was pulling things down. Sweaters. Hoodies. The gray one Max wore last week. The blue one Charles liked to steal.
Max heard Charles carry the pile back to the bed. Heard him arrange everything. A circle of fabric and wool and cotton.
Then Charles climbed back onto the mattress.
He curled up around Max's side. Not touching. Just close. His body made a small shape in the dark. He pulled one of Max's hoodies up to his face and breathed in.
The scent hit Max then.
Omega distress.
It was subtle. Charles was trying to hide it. But the air had that sharp edge to it, that bitter note that made Max's Alpha want to tear something apart. Fear. Pure animal fear coming off his Omega in waves.
Charles pressed his face into the hoodie. His shoulders shook. Silent. Always silent. He never made noise when he cried. Max learned that months ago. Charles cried like he was apologizing for it.
Another breath. Another wave of that bitter scent.
Max opened his eyes.
Charles didn't notice. His face was buried in the gray fabric. His body was curled tight, knees pulled up, hands clutching the hoodie like a lifeline. The pile of clothes surrounded him like a nest. A desperate Omega nest built in the middle of the night.
Max watched Charles's chest rise and fall. Fast. Too fast. Hyperventilating but silent about it.
"Charles."
Charles's whole body locked up.
He lifted his head slowly. His eyes were red. His cheeks were wet. His green eyes caught the moonlight and reflected it back like broken glass.
"Max." His voice cracked. "I didn't mean to wake you."
"You didn't."
Charles blinked. More tears fell. He wiped at them with the back of his hand, quick and angry, like he was punishing himself for crying.
"I was just getting some water," Charles said. "Go back to sleep."
Max reached out. He caught Charles's wrist before Charles could pull away. The skin under his fingers was freezing.
"Your hands are cold."
"I'm fine."
"You're crying."
Charles pulled his wrist back. He wrapped his arms around himself. His scent went sharp and sour. Embarrassment. Guilt. Fear wrapped inside fear wrapped inside more fear.
"Just a nightmare," Charles said. "It's nothing. Go back to sleep."
Max sat up.
The movement made Charles flinch. A tiny thing. A barely-there recoil. But Max saw it. He saw Charles's eyes dart to his face, his chest, his hands. Checking. Always checking.
"Tell me," Max said.
Charles shook his head. He pulled Max's blue hoodie out of the pile and held it against his chest like a shield.
"It's stupid."
"Tell me anyway."
Charles looked away. His jaw tightened. His fingers twisted into the fabric of the hoodie, pulling at a loose thread. The moonlight caught the side of his face. Pale. Too pale. Like he hadn't slept in days.
"You were so still," Charles whispered.
Max waited.
"I woke up and you were so still. And I couldn't hear you breathing. And I thought. I thought."
Charles stopped. His voice broke on the last word. He pressed the hoodie against his mouth.
Max understood.
The crash was three months ago. Silverstone. Max remembered the impact. The way the car crumpled. The way everything went black. He remembered waking up in the medical center with Charles's hand crushing his fingers and Charles's face white as the sheets.
He thought Charles had gotten past it. Charles stopped flinching when Max walked through doors. Stopped calling five times during every practice session. Stopped showing up at the garage with red eyes and no explanation.
But Charles never stopped checking.
Max realized it now. The way Charles always touched him before sleep. A hand on his chest. A leg hooked over his. The way Charles woke up first every morning and watched him with those green eyes before Max opened his own.
The checking never stopped. Charles just got better at hiding it.
"Come here," Max said.
Charles shook his head again. "I'll make your scent go bad. I smell like fear."
"I don't care."
"I'm all bitter. It's gross."
"Charles."
Max held out his hand. Palm up. Fingers open. An invitation.
Charles stared at the hand. His bottom lip trembled. Another tear rolled down his cheek and dripped off his jaw.
"I woke you up four times tonight," Charles said. "Four times. I keep thinking you're dead. I keep thinking if I don't check, I'll wake up tomorrow and you won't be here and I didn't even say goodbye because I was too busy being a coward who couldn't look."
Max didn't move. His hand stayed open.
"I feel your pulse and I know you're alive and then five minutes later I forget," Charles continued. His voice went higher. Thinner. "I forget because my brain keeps showing me the crash. The car. The way you didn't move. And I can't make it stop, Max. I can't make it stop."
Max reached forward.
He caught Charles's elbow and pulled. Gentle. Slow. Charles resisted for half a second before he folded. He fell into Max's chest with a broken sound. Half a sob. Half a gasp. His cold hands pressed flat against Max's bare skin.
"You're warm," Charles whispered.
"I'm alive."
"I know. I know you are. I checked."
Charles pressed his face into Max's neck. Right over the scent gland. His nose touched the skin there. He breathed in deep. His whole body shook with the force of it.
Max wrapped his arms around Charles. Tight. Secure. He pressed his nose into Charles's hair and breathed back.
Omega. Mine. Safe.
He let his Alpha push through. Let his scent go warm and steady. Protective. The opposite of fear. He held Charles against his chest and let the pheromones do what words couldn't.
Charles cried harder.
The tears soaked into Max's skin. Charles's hands gripped his shoulders. His fingernails dug in. Not hard enough to hurt. Just hard enough to hold on.
"I thought you were dead," Charles said into Max's neck. "When I saw the car. I thought you were dead."
"I wasn't."
"I know. I know that. But I keep seeing it anyway."
Max ran his hand down Charles's back. Slow strokes. Steady pressure. Charles's spine was sharp under his palm. Too sharp. Had he been eating? Max couldn't remember the last time he saw Charles finish a full meal.
"When did you last sleep?" Max asked.
Charles laughed. Wet and broken. "Define sleep."
"A full night. More than two hours at a time."
Charles didn't answer.
Max pulled back. He cupped Charles's face in both hands. His thumbs wiped the tears off Charles's cheeks. The skin was cold and wet and so beautiful it hurt to look at.
"You need to tell me these things," Max said.
"You have a race tomorrow."
"I have you tonight."
Charles's breath caught. His green eyes went wide. More tears spilled over. Max caught them with his thumbs.
"I'm sorry," Charles said. "I'm sorry. I don't mean to be like this. I don't mean to need you this much. It's pathetic."
"It's not pathetic."
"I built a nest out of your clothes because I couldn't sleep without your smell. That's pathetic."
Max looked at the pile on the bed. The gray hoodie. The blue one. Three t-shirts. A pair of socks. All of them worn. All of them smelling like him. Charles had arranged them in a circle. A perfect ring of fabric and scent.
"I think it's sweet," Max said.
Charles made a face. "You're supposed to say it's normal. You're supposed to tell me every Omega does it."
"Every Omega does it."
"Liar."
"Okay, every Omega in love does it."
Charles stopped moving.
The tears kept falling. His mouth opened and closed. No sound came out. His hands slid up from Max's shoulders to his neck. Cold fingers pressed against Max's pulse point again. Searching. Counting.
Max let him.
He held still while Charles counted the beats. One to five. One to five again. Charles's lips moved with the numbers. His brow furrowed in concentration.
"I'm sorry," Charles said again. "I can't stop."
"Don't stop."
"It bothers you."
"It doesn't."
Charles's fingers pressed harder. His eyes dropped to Max's throat. Watching the skin move with each heartbeat. His breathing was still too fast. Still too shallow.
"Tell me what you need," Max said.
Charles shook his head.
"Tell me."
"I need you to be alive," Charles whispered. "That's all. I just need you to stay alive."
Max pulled Charles back down. He arranged them both on the mattress. Charles on his chest. Charles's ear over his heart. Max's arms wrapped around Charles's back. The pile of clothes surrounded them both.
"Listen," Max said.
Charles went still.
"My heart," Max said. "Feel it."
Charles pressed his hand flat against Max's chest. His fingers spread wide. His palm covered the space where Max's heart beat under skin and bone.
"It's loud," Charles whispered.
"That's because you're close."
Another tear fell. Then another. Charles pressed his face into Max's chest and breathed. His body slowly uncurled. His legs untangled. His shoulders dropped.
Max ran his fingers through Charles's hair. Brown strands slipped between his fingers. Soft. Clean. Charles's scent was still bitter with fear, but something else was coming through underneath. Something warm. Something sweet.
Safe. Charles's Omega was finally recognizing safe.
"Stay here," Max said.
"I'm not going anywhere."
"Good."
Charles tilted his head up. His green eyes found Max's blue ones in the dark. His face was a mess of tears and red skin and exhaustion. He looked wrecked. He looked beautiful.
"Why are you so calm about this," Charles said. "I just told you I check your pulse every night. I told you I can't sleep without your smell. I told you I'm going insane. And you're just. Calm."
"Because I'm not going anywhere either."
"That doesn't make me less crazy."
"It makes the crazy less lonely."
Charles's face crumpled. He buried his face in Max's neck again. His arms wrapped around Max's ribs. His legs tangled with Max's. He pressed his whole body against Max's like he was trying to climb inside.
Max held him.
The room stayed dark. The moonlight stayed thin. Charles's tears kept falling, slower now, softer. His breathing evened out. His heart slowed down.
Max felt the exact moment Charles started to relax. The tension left his shoulders. His grip loosened. His scent shifted from bitter to something almost peaceful.
"I love you," Charles whispered. "I hate that I love you this much. It's terrifying."
"I know."
"You're supposed to say it back."
Max smiled against Charles's hair. "I love you too. Even when you check my pulse at three in the morning."
"Especially then."
"Especially then."
Charles laughed. A real laugh. Small and tired and wet from crying, but real. He pressed a kiss to Max's throat. Right over the pulse point.
"Your heart is still beating," Charles said.
"It's going to keep beating."
"You don't know that."
Max tightened his arms. "I know I'm going to try."
Charles was quiet for a long time. His fingers traced patterns on Max's chest. Circles and lines and shapes that didn't mean anything. Just movement. Just touch.
"Can I ask you something," Charles said.
"Anything."
"Does it bother you? When I check?"
Max thought about it. He thought about waking up to cold hands and whispered numbers. He thought about Charles's tears on his face. He thought about the pile of stolen clothes and the bitter scent of fear.
"No," Max said. "It makes me feel cared for."
Charles lifted his head. His eyes searched Max's face. Looking for the lie. Looking for the politeness.
"I mean it," Max said. "No one has ever cared if I live or die. Not like that. Not enough to lose sleep over it."
Charles's mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.
"That's the saddest thing you've ever said to me."
Max shrugged. "It's true."
"Max."
"It's okay. I have you now."
Charles stared at him for another long moment. Then he lowered his head back to Max's chest. His hand found Max's heart again. His fingers spread wide over the beat.
"I'm going to check every night," Charles said. "I'm warning you now. I'm going to wake up and check your pulse and listen to you breathe and I'm not going to stop."
"I don't want you to stop."
"You're weird."
"You're weirder. You stole my socks."
Charles pulled Max's hand up to his face. He pressed a kiss to Max's palm. Then he tucked the hand under his chin and held it there.
"Your hands are warm now," Charles said.
"They were cold before."
"From the bathroom tiles. I was sitting on the floor."
"Why?"
Charles closed his eyes. "Because I couldn't breathe. And the floor was cold. And I thought if I made myself cold enough, I wouldn't feel the panic anymore."
Max's chest went tight. He pulled Charles closer. Tighter. His Omega. Sitting on a cold bathroom floor in the middle of the night because he was too scared to wake his Alpha.
"Next time," Max said, "wake me."
"You need to sleep."
"I need you more."
Charles's breath hitched. His fingers curled into Max's side. Another tear slipped out. Then another.
"You can't fix this," Charles said. "You can't say the right thing and make it go away. I'm going to be scared for a long time."
"I know."
"It might get worse before it gets better."
"I know."
"I might need to check your pulse forever."
Max pressed a kiss to the top of Charles's head. "Then you'll check my pulse forever. I'll be right here. Heart beating. Waiting for you."
Charles cried again.
Soft this time. Quiet. His tears soaked into Max's skin. His body shook with small tremors. But his hand stayed over Max's heart. His ear stayed pressed to Max's chest.
Listening.
Counting.
Believing.
Max held him through all of it. He didn't try to stop the tears. He didn't try to talk Charles out of the fear. He just held on. Steady and warm and alive.
The moonlight moved across the floor. The room stayed quiet except for Charles's breathing and Max's heartbeat and the soft sound of two people learning how to hold each other through the hard parts.
Charles's hand never moved from Max's chest.
"Max," Charles whispered after a long time.
"Hmm."
"Thank you for not dying."
Max smiled into Charles's hair. "Thank you for not letting me forget I'm alive."
Charles lifted his head one last time. His green eyes were swollen and red. His cheeks were wet. His lips were chapped from crying.
"I'm going to check again in five minutes," Charles said.
"I'll be here."
"I'm serious. I'm going to wake you up again."
"I'm already awake."
Charles stared at him. Then he pressed a kiss to Max's lips. Soft. Brief. A whisper of contact.
"I love you," Charles said against Max's mouth. "Even when my brain is broken and I can't stop being scared. I love you."
Max kissed him back. Gentle. Reassuring.
"I love you too. Now go to sleep. I'll wake you if my heart stops."
"That's not funny."
"It's a little funny."
Charles dropped his head back to Max's chest. His body relaxed. His breathing slowed. His hand stayed on Max's heart.
"Five minutes," Charles mumbled.
"I'll be counting."
Charles was asleep in two.
Max stayed awake. He watched the moonlight fade. He listened to Charles breathe. He felt the warm weight of his Omega pressed against his side.
And he counted.
Not heartbeats. Not breaths.
He counted the reasons to stay alive. He got to one and stopped.
Charles.