#is more than half (all) of this fic going to be Charles crushing over Max and mistaking it for hate/jealousy?

[blueberry-obsessed]

Does anyone want a snippet of the tennis au? (She asked, knowing damn well that she's going to give it regardless)

Charles doesn't find an empty court. Instead, he finds Max practicing—no, playing because no one gives this much of themselves over while just practicing—against someone Charles doesn't recognise. Charles can't help it, he lingers, takes a seat in the bleachers and just watches.

He's slightly off kilter as he sets his duffle bag down onto the empty seat next to him. It's way too early for anyone to be here, the sun only made an appearance minutes before. Point is, no one's supposed to be here. Maybe that's why Max is, though.

Charles watches as Max sends the ball flying and watches some more as his opponent misses it entirely. While he's at it, he watches the way Max's eyes stay on the ball, never straying away, watches the scruff of his shoes, the swish of his shorts with every movement, and the way sunlight shines down on his hair making it look golden. The ball thuds against the clay ground again, Charles hears it happen. Despite him not watching it happen, he knows it wasn't Max who lost track of it. The sunlight catches again, this time on the newfound curve of Max's lips.

Charles thinks maybe this is why the sun is here so early.

The thought stays for a minute, simmers under Charles' white polo before burning and biting—hard and hot. It has him running warm—skin sizzling like the beginning of a fever.

He hastily grabs his bag and leaves feeling like a fucking vouyer.