Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The air smelled like warm hay and motor oil as the summer in the valley hung heavy in the heat, the kind that made everything feel slow and sticky.

Alonso’s Garage, tucked on the corner of Main Street, was wrapped in the kind of quiet where the only real sound was the occasional clink of tools, the hum of an old radio, and the soft creak of the floorboards as someone walked by.

Max wiped the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm. He was hunched over Mrs. Alonso's Ford, scowling into the engine bay like it had personally insulted him.

Oscar, perched on a stool nearby with a socket wrench in hand, passed Max a bolt without needing to be asked.

"Left tray," he said casually, nodding to the old metal cart with scattered parts.

Max gave a barely-there grunt of approval. "Thanks." 

Oscar just smiled faintly, rolling his sleeves up higher. His hands were already smudged with grease but he didn’t seem to mind it.

"Hey, you’re missing a washer here," he added, peering over Max’s shoulder. "This one’s loose."

Max looked at him, impressed despite himself. "Not bad."

Oscar shrugged. "You showed me how to fix a carburetor. I pay attention."

Before Max could respond, the garage door creaked open with a dramatic clang and in strolled Lando Norris, carrying two coffee cups.

"Okay," he declared, "one of these is for Max, and one is for someone with taste."

He tossed a cup toward Oscar, who caught it mid-air.

"Is this even coffee?" Max asked suspiciously, reading the cup.

"It’s called a dirty chai oat milk latte. Seb's deep in his experimental phase. He said hi by the way," Lando said, proud.

"That’s not even English."

"It’s fancy English," Lando replied, already hopping onto the bench beside Oscar and nudging Max’s foot with his own. "Also, Pierre says there’s a wedding emergency, but he’s dramatic so it might just be that the string lights are tangled."

Max sighed. "Again?"

Oscar raised an eyebrow. "Didn’t that happen yesterday?"

"That was different string lights," Lando said. "Apparently these ones are festoon lights, which are fancier and therefore more sacred."

Max exchanged a look with Oscar. "You coming?" he asked.

Oscar nodded, hopping off the stool. "Better go save the day before Pierre starts threatening the lights with scissors."

✨✨✨

Across town, the old community barn, soon to be Lorenzo Leclerc's wedding venue, was a war zone of burlap, fairy lights, and people trying to be helpful in entirely unhelpful ways.

Pierre was indeed tangled in a mess of string lights, standing on a ladder and arguing with a very calm Arthur Leclerc, who was holding a box of mason jars and trying not to laugh.

"I'm telling you, they’re cursed,” Pierre huffed. "Every time I untangle one, two more get twisted."

"You’re just twisting them more while you talk," Arthur pointed out.

Pierre rolled his eyes just as Max, Oscar, and Lando walked in.

"We brought backup," Lando called, waving his coffee like a white flag.

Pierre looked at Max like he’d just seen salvation. "Thank God. The brooding mechanic has arrived."

"I'm not brooding," Max said immediately, brushing his hands on his worn jeans as he crossed the room.

Oscar bumped his shoulder. "You’re kind of brooding."

"I’m not brooding. I’m just... contemplative."

"That’s brooding."

"Contemplative sounds better though."

Arthur grinned, setting down the jars. "Thanks for coming, seriously. Lorenzo's losing his mind and Maman is stress-baking."

Lando perked up. "Did she make those lemon things with the flaky crust?"

"In three varieties," Arthur said solemnly.

"God bless her."

They got to work - Max handling the ladder while Pierre bossed everyone around with a half-unraveled Pinterest board on his phone. Oscar climbed up beside Max without hesitation, helping reroute the tangled cords with precision. Arthur was organizing table settings, dragging Lando away from sneaking too many pastries.

The air was full of chatter, laughter, and soft sunlight pouring through the open barn doors.

At one point, Max stood quietly by the open doorway, hands on his hips, watching the others work. Oscar came to stand beside him.

"You good?" Oscar asked, nudging him.

Max didn’t answer right away.

He was staring at the horizon. Toward the stretch of road that wound into town, the one he'd driven a hundred times.

"Yeah," Max finally said. "Just thinking."

Oscar followed his gaze, though he didn’t know what he was looking for.

"You ever think about what it’d be like if we all left?"

Max’s answered immediately. "No."

Oscar didn’t press. But he noticed the way Max’s fingers curled at the mention.

✨✨✨

Lando came bouncing up seconds later, already halfway through a lemon tart.

"You’re not gonna believe who’s finally coming back to town," he said, in the same tone someone might use to announce a UFO sighting.

Max grunted, fiddling with the lights, "If it’s Mr. Rosberg's son again, I already told you - the kid didn’t accidentally fall into a cult."

Lando laughed. "Not him. Someone you actually care about."

That made Max pause. Only for a second but everyone saw it.

"I swear to God, Lando - " Max warned.

"Charles," Lando said, a grin spreading across his face like he was watching a favorite movie.

Arthur’s head turned at that. "He is?"

"Yup," Lando said cheerfully. "Pierre said so. Coming with his coworkers, apparently. Probably all drink sparkling water and wear pressed shirts and say things like synergy."

Oscar glanced at Max. Max didn’t move.

"He didn’t tell me he was coming," Arthur said, a little quieter. "You’d think he would."

Max bent down, fiddling with the lights again.

"Maybe he forgot," he muttered.

Arthur frowned. "He doesn’t forget."

"He hasn’t been back in seven years," Arthur added, like Max didn’t know that down to the exact number of days. "You’d think we’d get a postcard. A phone call. Something."

Max was looking at the grease stains on his hands like they might say something if he stared hard enough.

Lando tilted his head. "You okay?"

"I’m fine."

Lando snorted. "Liar."

Max didn’t argue.

The barn fell a little quiet after that.

Just for a moment.

Then Pierre snapped from across the room, "Does anyone know how to tie a bow around a napkin?!"

Lando raised his hand. "Absolutely not."

Oscar sighed. "Show me the ribbon." 

The sun dipped lower. The barn glowed gold. And somewhere, a grey rental car was on a highway headed home.

Chapter Text

The road into town looked exactly the same.

Cracked asphalt. Dandelions poking out of the shoulders. Telephone wires swinging lazily overhead. A battered green sign that still read:

Welcome to Duvet Hill

Population: 3,019

in chipped white paint.

Charles squinted through the windshield of the rental car, his sunglasses doing little to cut through the early evening sun.

Carlos, lounging in the passenger seat with one leg crossed over the other, looked up from his phone.

"This town looks like it's stuck in a Hallmark movie," he said.

Charles smiled faintly. "That’s generous. More like a postcard someone forgot to mail."

In the back seat, George leaned forward, eyes wide behind his sunglasses. "Is that the diner? With the neon sign?"

"The Duvet Diner," Charles confirmed. "They’ve had the same menu since 1986."

"God, that’s sexy," George said.

Charles didn't say anything. His eyes were scanning the sidewalks, the familiar porches, the figures crossing the street.

He wasn't sure who he was looking for.

Actually, he was.

He just wasn’t ready to say it out loud.

The window booths of the diner were full. A couple sat at the same corner table where Charles had his first ever date.

His gaze flicked across the town square: the gazebo, the rust-red fire station, and the hardware store where he bought gum as a kid - God, I hated that gum.

The bell in the square, still ringing at noon, the same as it had for years. As a kid, Charles had spent an entire summer trying to ring it himself, convinced it would make him famous. The bell hadn’t moved. And neither had this town.

But I have.

✨✨✨

They pulled into the gravel driveway of his childhood home: a two-story house with pale green shutters and a porch that creaked when you walked across it. 

The place was swarming with wedding buzz.

Lorenzo stood on the porch barking into a phone, shirt half-untucked, clipboard in one hand and a lemon tart in the other.

Arthur was carrying a box of candles toward the garage, visibly annoyed that someone had labeled it: wedding fire hazards???

When the car doors slammed, Lorenzo looked up.

"Charles!" he called, marching down the steps. "You're here. Finally!! I thought you were going to cancel last minute and send a gift card instead."

"I'm offended," Charles said, with an expression of mock hurt on his face. "I'd never send a gift card."

Lorenzo crushed him in a hug, clipboard and all.

"Mon dieu, you're so thin," Lorenzo muttered into his shoulder.

"I'm fine," Charles laughed.

"You eat like a sparrow and you live in a city that sells seven-dollar coffee. I worry."

Carlos slung his bag over his shoulder and held out a hand. "Carlos. Friend-slash-work hostage."

George followed, grinning. "George. Designated worrier."

Lorenzo shook both their hands. "Thanks for making the trip. Hope Charles hasn't completely scared you off yet."

Before Carlos could respond, a blur of curls and denim came running around the side of the house, sneakers skidding on gravel.

"CHARLES!"

Lando.

He barreled straight into him, arms flung around Charles' neck, nearly knocking him backward onto the driveway.

"You’re here," Lando said into his neck. "You’re actually here. You didn't chicken out."

Charles caught him, laughing. "I was never going to chicken out."

"Hmm that’s debatable."

"I swear to God, Lando, you haven't changed at all."

Lando pulled back, eyes wide. "You have. You look… expensive. Like a banker. Ew."

"That’s just what stress does to the face," George chimed from behind.

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "You didn’t tell us your friends were this enthusiastic."

"I didn’t tell you anything on purpose," Charles muttered.

Lando turned, finally noticing the others. "Wait - are these your mysterious city friends?"

"Unfortunately," Charles said.

Carlos smiled and offered a handshake. "Carlos."

Lando blinked. "Oh. Oh. Okay."

Charles groaned. "Lando, please, for the love of God, stop that."

"Stop what?" Lando asked innocently, already twirling a strand of hair around his finger like a Disney princess.

Carlos tilted his head. "What?"

"Nothing." Lando stepped back a little too quickly, hiding behind a sip from a lemonade glass he'd stolen from somewhere. "Cool. Totally normal. Nice to meet you. I’m Lando."

Charles stared at him. "You’re malfunctioning."

"I'm fine."

George leaned over to Carlos and whispered, "He's already in love with you."

"Great," Carlos said flatly. "I'm going to die here."

✨✨✨

They carried their bags up to the porch, where Arthur met them halfway, smiling in that quiet way he always had.

"Cha?" he said, pulling Charles in for a hug that was tighter than expected.

"Hey, bébé frère."

"J'ai vingt-deux ans," Arthur groaned.

"Tu auras toujours cinq ans pour moi."

As Carlos and George introduced themselves again, Charles set his bag down by the screen door. His eyes flicked toward the edge of the yard.

A group was setting up long wooden tables. Folding chairs. Lanterns. The barn in the distance had its doors open, lights strung like constellations between the beams.

But no Max.

Not among the laughter. Not in the barn. Not on the ladder fixing lights. Not on the porch with the others.

He wasn't here.

Charles didn't know how long he'd been looking when Lorenzo appeared beside him.

"Il n'est pas là," Lorenzo said softly.

Charles blinked, caught. "I wasn’t - "

"You were."

Charles looked down.

Lorenzo didn't press. He just clapped a hand on his shoulder and said, "He’s been helping with the setup. All day. Lights. Tables. Hanging signs. Je pense qu’il évite la foule."

Charles swallowed hard. "I didn’t ask."

Lorenzo gave him a knowing look. "You didn’t have to."

Charles nodded like that made sense.

It did.

And it didn’t.

✨✨✨

Later That Evening

The front yard looked like a scene from a country wedding catalog. String lights zigzagged across trees. Tables half-draped in linen.

Lando was dragging Carlos toward the drinks table.

"Small town wine is always either phenomenal or tastes like regret," he explained cheerfully.

Carlos grinned. "I'm ready for both."

George was deep in conversation with Alex, who'd wandered in from his shift at the vet clinic. The two of them were already locked in a debate about who had the better dog as George handed over a second glass of something pink and fizzy.

Arthur and Oscar were adjusting a chalkboard sign near the entrance, both crouched over it in the fading light.

Oscar was laughing. "You can’t write 'No jerks' allowed under the welcome sign."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Why not?"

"It’s Lorenzo’s wedding."

"And he's my brother."

Oscar smirked. "You’re insufferable."

"You’re new."

"Still right."

Charles stood on the porch with his arms crossed, watching the glow of the evening settle over the town.

He hadn't realized how badly he'd missed the sound of crickets. The smell of wet grass. Even the small cracks in the porch steps where he and Max used to race each other, laughing at the way their feet made the boards creak.

Max.

A flash of memory hit him, sudden and sharp - a summer evening years ago. Max had stood at the very edge of the porch, daring Charles to run him down the hill, grinning like an idiot, the way he always did.

"Don’t chicken out," Max had taunted, and for a second, Charles could feel the sharpness of that dare in his chest again, like it was yesterday.

And then the moment passed, slipping into the shadows of the past.

He caught himself looking again.

Scanning the edge of the yard.

Nothing.

Just the slow, golden quiet of home.

And a silence he could feel waiting for him.

"Want a refill?"

Charles turned to find Arthur, holding a pitcher of lemonade.

"Merci," Charles murmured.

Arthur poured quietly, then looked up at him.

"He’s been working himself to the bone all week. Wedding stuff. Helping everyone. Even fixed the fairy lights in the barn. Honestly, I think he’s trying to get extra credit for the wedding."

Charles raised an eyebrow, glancing back at the yard. "Extra credit?"

Arthur's smirk grew. "Yeah, you know, trying to earn some goodwill so he can keep avoiding... well, everything else." He waved his hand vaguely toward the house, where Lorenzo and the others were organizing. Toi y compris."

"He’s always been good at dodging."

Arthur raised an eyebrow, taking a deliberate sip of his lemonade before replying, "Look who’s talking."

Charles blinked, caught off guard for a split second. "I don’t dodge."

Arthur gave him an unimpressed look. "Yeah, you just… relocate." He gestured toward the distant horizon, as if Charles’s escape to the city was a well-known fact. "Real subtle, that."

Charles kept his eyes on the horizon, said nothing.

Arthur tilted his head. "He's been... different. When you weren't here."

Charles sipped the lemonade. "So am I." 

Arthur didn’t push.

But Charles felt it, the subtle pressure in the air. Like the town itself was waiting for something to happen.

Something to break.

Or finally fall into place.