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Gods, why is he even here?
Standing in the corner by the unopened bottles, Bradley spends his night leaning against the wall and scowling at the other party guests. Nobody is paying him any mind, except for a few odd freshmen girls who don’t know any better, it’s decidedly too loud now that he isn’t drunk, and he is, in general, just absolutely miserable.
It was a stupid idea to come here. Just because the party is taking place at his house doesn’t mean he has to come down for it. There’s honestly no reason for him to be here right—
Suddenly, the front door swings open, brazen laughter, and Bradley’s gaze immediately catches on Max, sauntering into the house with the two obnoxious people he calls friends in tow and a goofy grin on his lips.
Ah, Bradley thinks. There would be his reason.
Groaning, Bradley downs his drink in one gulp and watches as the three of them head straight for the bar. It takes them a while to order because they’re arguing about something, most likely trivial, but when they eventually do, it’s Max who leans across the counter and flashes a wide toothy grin at the girl manning the station and, promptly, Bradley feels the familiar twist of a knife in his chest.
The girl laughs shyly, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, and Bradley really doesn’t want to see how that unfolds but, try as he might, he can't take his eyes off of Max. So. He drags a hand across his face and resigns himself to spend the rest of the night staring at Max like some kind of creep and wallowing in his own jealousy.
And, if he’s being honest with himself, it’s been like that ever since that first time he saw him, skating down the street with his ridiculous helmet and clothes at least three sizes too big, and at first he thought it was just a harmless obsession fuelled by athletic rivalry but—the more time passed, and especially after the X games ended and Tank made him apologize to Max and his friends, he begrudgingly had to admit that it was something a whole lot worse than that.
And honestly, Bradley really doesn’t have a problem with liking guys anymore (he’s had a lot of time to come to terms with that fact ever since he fell for the neighbor’s son in pre-school) but—why does it have to be Max? Of all people?
Throwing his head back in exasperation, Bradley squeezes his eyes shut tight and curses himself, Max, and the entirety of the universe.
Several hours later, Bradley is still standing on the sidelines and scowling into his cup of water. And Max is still there, laughing and chatting with a bunch of other freshmen and lazily waving his drink around as they all awkwardly dance in a circle.
All of a sudden, the ginger one digs his elbow into Max’s side and Max returns in kind, grinning at him before offering his hand to one of the girls and asking her to dance.
Bradley grimaces, watches as Max grabs her around the waist and starts to twirl her across the floor and he honestly doesn’t know what’s worse—the burning hot jealousy in his chest or the low simmer of arousal in his stomach. Max proceeds to give her a smile and dip her low and Bradley curses under his breath. He hates this. He hates parties and he hates Max and he hates that he doesn’t really hate Max.
Scoffing, Bradley turns on his heel and empties his remaining cup before crumpling it in his hand and tossing it into the bin. This was a stupid idea. He set himself up for feeling like this when he decided to come down here in hopes of Max stopping by.
Just as he’s about to call it a night and head up to his room, someone is tapping his shoulder from behind. Bradley swivels around only to come face to face with Max himself, that same dopey grin on his lips and his hair all messed up.
Even though his breath catches in his chest, Bradley tries not to let his surprise show and takes a step backwards to put some more distance between them—only to have the edge of the sink dig into his back. “Fancy seeing you here, Baby Goof.”
Max cocks his head to the side and narrows his eyes at him in the way only drunk people do before extending his hand and shoving a cup against Bradley’s chest, liquid splashing over the sides.
“I noticed you've been standing here on your own for a while, so I thought,” he shrugs, hair falling into his eyes. “You know. Maybe you wanted a beer.”
“How awfully charitable of you,” Bradley sneers, turning up his nose. “But, I don't drink.”
Which isn’t even a lie. Alcohol messes pretty badly with the meds he’s been started on a few months ago but Bradley doesn’t really feel like giving Max a full rundown on all of his insanity so he leaves it at that.
Max retracts his hand, thin brows pulling into a frown. “Then why are you here? At a frat party? Isn't this, like… the whole point?”
Bradley scoffs, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I live here. And, unlike a certain someone,” he makes a deliberate pause to throw Max a pointed look, “I’m not a baby anymore, desperate to get drunk for the first time.”
“Hey, this isn’t my first—”
Cutting himself off, Max suddenly narrows his eyes at him, a smirk spreading across his face. And then, audaciously, he moves even further into Bradley’s space and steps in between his legs, leaning himself against the fridge next to Bradley.
“So you used to get drunk at these parties before.” Max clicks his tongue, evidently satisfied when Bradley stiffens. “Man, I sure am glad to have missed that, a less stuck-up Brad must’ve been dope.”
Bradley’s heart skips a beat. “Don't call me—”
Just then, Max’s eyes widen almost comically, a look of horror crossing his face before he sways on his feet and stumbles forward, crashing right into Bradley’s chest.
“Sorry!” A boy, carrying at least five cups, brushes past the both of them, not even bothering to look back.
“Ah shit,” Max curses, and it takes Bradley a few seconds of blinking in surprise until he manages to look down at himself. The sticky wetness of beer spilled all over the front of his shirt would usually make his skin crawl but Max’s weight against him is way too distracting to care about much else right now.
“Ugh, I’m so sorry,” Max grumbles, a faint blush tinting the height of his cheeks when he moves away. “I’m not usually this clumsy, I swear!”
He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly and ends up nearly spilling the rest of the drink onto himself so Bradley rolls his eyes and lets out a long suffering sigh before surveying his ruined sweater.
“I’m going to go change,” he announces in a clipped tone before turning to leave. He knew it was a stupid idea to come here. And it was one of his favorite sweaters as well.
“Wait!” Max reaches for his arm, wraps his fingers around Bradley’s wrist and pulls him back. “I’ll help.”
Bradley turns to give him one of his best glares. “Thanks, but I don't require your assistance changing a shirt, Baby Goof.”
“The least I can do is clean up my mess,” Max insists. His grin has turned wobbly and his eyes are silently pleading and Bradley is a weak, weak man when it comes to Max.
So. They make their way up to his room and Bradley tries not to let his nerves get the better of him when Max continues to bump into him, stumbling up the stairs behind him.
“I certainly hope you are aware that this is grade A cashmere so mindless scrubbing will only ruin it,” Bradley tells him while entering his room.
Behind him, Max huffs, mumbling something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, “There are different grades of cashmere?”
Slightly swaying on his feet, Max comes to a stop right next to Bradley. Their shoulders bump together every other second and Bradley frowns at him, taking a step to the left to stop that from happening.
Somehow this suddenly feels even more stupid than going to a party he didn’t even want to go to just to ogle at Max all night. This is—up here, it’s a lot quieter and a lot more private than downstairs in the kitchen and Bradley has a hard time keeping his racing heart under control. Anything could—
”Whoa, it’s… messier than I expected,” Max comments, surveying the room.
Bradley’s jaw locks. Shoving Max to the side, he makes his way towards his drawer and takes off his sweater in the process. He tosses it over his shoulder and makes sure to aim for Max’s face.
“I'll have you know that these are quite unique circumstances,” he informs him, digging around his clothes to find something that won't clash horribly with the custard yellow of his pants nor scream ‘Pay attention to me!’. “Senior finals are around the corner—not that a freshman baby such as yourself would know anything about that—and I have just recently moved all my things back from my apartment. Actually, a well-kept room is my—Ah!”
With a triumphant yell, Bradley fishes out a white dress shirt and a sage green sweater vest and holds them both up with a broad grin. This might actually work even better than the burgundy one Max ruined.
By the time he turns back around, he fully expects Max to have zoned out, to maybe even have fallen asleep standing up, but instead he catches him staring straight at him, his dark eyes fixed on the bare skin of his chest.
And all of a sudden, Bradley feels strangely self conscious, caught off guard by the tension in the air. He swallows and curses internally when the breeze from the open window feels suspiciously cool on his face; a dead sure sign that his cheeks must be embarrassingly red right now.
“Pay attention, Maxie,” Bradley barks, snapping his fingers in front of his face in an attempt to play it casual. This is so stupid. And he can’t even blame it on the alcohol. “Has no one ever taught you to listen to your elders?”
Blinking sluggishly, Max snaps out of it and raises his eyes to meet Bradley’s, a light pink dusting the bridge of his nose. “...Sorry, what?”
Bradley groans loudly, shaking his head. “Exactly how much have you had to drink, baby?”
Nose wrinkling in a way that makes Bradley’s heart skip a beat, Max’s brows pull together in a frown, gaze shifting in concentration as if Bradley just asked him about the meaning of the universe.
“...A few? Beers, I think? Bobby brought something else, too.”
Bradley lets out a snort and walks away, pointing over his shoulder to his left. “Sink’s in there if you want to make good on your promise.”
This is so stupid. All of tonight was a stupid stupid stupid idea. It’s none of his business how drunk Max is. Nothing concerning Max is his business actually. Chewing on his bottom lip, Bradley waits for Max to leave for the en suite bathroom so he can have his meltdown in peace, but Max only makes it about halfway there before he suddenly stops, a noise of surprise leaving him.
“What is it now—” Bradley’s mouth snaps shut when he turns to find Max sitting on his bed, a look of awe on his face.
“I didn’t know you played the guitar, man!”
Immediately, Bradley follows Max’s gaze to the electric guitar in his hands, missing strings and all. He feels the muscles in his jaw tense. “I am a man of many talents, Goof.”
Max turns towards him, clearly excited. “You could—PJ and Bobby, we, sometimes we mess around a bit in PJ’s old garage, ya know, with Bobby’s bass and PJ’s drums and, technically, I learned how to play the guitar a few years ago, so,” he pauses, grinning, and Bradley has a terribly sinking feeling of where this is going. “You could, ya know… come with sometime, if you wanna.”
Even though he’s pretty sure Max is too drunk to notice, Bradley is careful not to let his distress show on his face when he takes a deep inhale through his nose, clenching his fingers at his sides. Then he stomps over to his bed and rips the guitar out of Max’s hands.
“Thanks for the offer but I don't play with freshmen,” he says and puts it back with his other things. Then, standing there awkwardly with nothing to do, he sits down next to Max.
He hasn’t played in years. Not since his friend found out about his crush and practically kicked him out of the band. But he would rather die than tell Max about any of that, so.
“Oh.” Silence. “Well, then, maybe I can come over sometime and play with you instead?”
Bradley is just about to tell him off for inviting himself over when Max suddenly looks up at him through dark lashes, a smug grin on his lips and a playful spark in his eyes and Bradley immediately chokes on his words, blinking rapidly to avoid dissolving into a humiliating coughing fit.
“You know, you’re not so bad in private,” Max adds, bracing himself on one arm and leaning into Bradley’s space. “I don’t mind hanging with you if you’re like this.”
He’s so close that Bradley can watch as his lashes brush against the top of his cheeks, every time he blinks. Peeling his tongue off the roof of his dry mouth, Bradley pries his teeth apart despite his heart jumping into his throat. “You want to… hang out with me?”
“Well, it sure beats almost dying because of you.”
Max delivers that line with a tone so dry that Bradley can’t help the chuckle slipping past his lips, evolving into laughter when his nerves suddenly get the better of him. Gods, this is ridiculous. He’s two years Max’s senior, he shouldn’t be acting like this.
When Bradley looks back up, Max is staring at him; wide-eyed and open-mouthed.
“What—”
“You can laugh.”
Bradley sputters, choking on nothing. Then, he blinks a few times before puffing out his cheeks and glaring at the other boy. “Of course I can laugh, I laugh all the—”
“I like it,” Max interrupts him. “When you laugh like this.”
Bradley’s breath hitches in his throat, all air punched out of his chest, and he can only gape at Max in silent disbelief. He’s so stunned that he doesn’t even care about the warmth flushing his face. Shit. If any of the other Gammas found out this was all it took to disarm Bradley Uppercrust III, he would simply pass away from embarrassment.
With his heart threatening to jump out of his ribcage, Bradley has to suppress another nervous laugh. Oh, who is he even kidding? At this point, Bradley’s so far gone, crushing on the other boy, that there's no way he could ever have been even the tiniest bit of normal about Max coming up into his room with him. He bites down on the inside of his cheek to at least make it seem as if he has his shit together.
Max’s gaze drifts from his face to his chest and suddenly Bradley is painfully aware of the fact that he’s still naked from the waist upwards with barely a hairsbreadth of distance between his own bare skin and Max’s ridiculous denim vest. Jesus fucking—okay, he needs to get out of here. He needs to—He wants to—
“Max, I—”
At first, Bradley is entirely too caught off guard by the sudden press of something warm against his lips to realize what’s going on and by the time he wraps his head around the fact that Max just up and kissed him right now, Max has already pulled back, dark eyes wide with fear and a crimson flush on his cheeks.
“Shit, sorry—” he stammers, unable to meet Bradley’s gaze. “This isn’t—Shit, I wasn't... I don't know why I just did that.”
Bradley’s chuckle is more of a choked gasp as he blinks at Max in a daze, barely able to make out his features from this close. He doesn't know what to say or do, and he can't even think straight, so when Max bares his teeth in a self-deprecating grimace and shuffles to get up off the bed, it’s entirely on instinct when Bradley grabs him by the wrist and pulls him back down.
He swallows. “If you’re gonna do it, do it right.” Then he surges forward and captures Max’s lips in another kiss—a proper one, because Max is clearly lacking in experience if that was his best attempt just now.
Max makes a quiet sound of surprise at the back of his throat and even though Bradley can barely hear it over the rushing of blood in his ears, it takes a considerable amount of willpower for him not to wrap his hand around the small of his back and push Max closer. He’s not entirely sure he can go back to not doing this, now that he knows what it feels like.
When they break apart, Bradley briefly catches a glimpse of Max’s face before his eyes flutter open too, and he thinks this might actually be it for him. Surely, a heart should not be racing like this.
They’re both flushed bright red and panting quietly, sharing the same hot air, and yet Max still manages to give him a cocky grin, tooth gap on display and all. “Soooo…. you wanna tell me, we could've been doing this all this time?” He hums playfully, pursing his lips. “You could’ve just told me, Brad.”
Bradley scoffs and shoves at Max lightly only for him to fall over backwards because he’s drunk and clumsy and stupid. “I changed my mind,” he says. “I actually don't want anything to do with you.”
Max laughs, high-pitched and terribly wheezing, and Bradley’s chest melts at the sound, warming his heart. He squeezes his eyes shut because Max can’t see and takes a shaky breath. Oh, he is so done for.
“Yeah, that won’t fly anymore,” Max snickers, prodding at his sides. “Actions speak louder than words and all that.”
“Whatever,” Bradley crosses his arms in front of his chest and stops just shy of stooping so low as to pout. “I still expect you to clean up my sweater. It was—”
“Sure thing,” Max interrupts him, but before he can complain, he’s being pulled down onto the bed as well, warm arms wrapped around his waist and grinning lips against his.