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When the alarm rings out at exactly 7:00 am, Max wholly prepares to strangle someone.
The fact he’s in an unfamiliar environment only amplifies his rude awakening. He slaps the alarm off his bedside desk—stupid and plastic and bright neon green—and the noise mutes as it clatters to the floor.
It takes a second. Multiple seconds. Multiple minutes. Max drags a hand down his face, as if physically scrubbing the exhaustion out of his eyes is possible. He’s entangled in soft downy sheets (“the best we can buy ya!”), facing walls not littered with holes, and the soft beginnings of sunlight stream through his curtains.
He’s in a room. And it takes him a while to process that, every single morning, he wakes up in his room.
He doesn’t make a move to trudge out of bed. Today was special, and he was going to ignore the shit out of it. Of course, the feat is impossible, considering he can hear peppy stupid footsteps making their way to his room, but he shoves his face in his pillow and burrows deeper into the covers.
“Maaaax!” The devil himself, presented none other than as David, swings open the bedroom door with way too much energy. “Hey! Wake up, the bus gets here in an hour and you gotta get ready!”
Max doesn’t reply. He merely holds up a hand and lifts a middle finger.
David strides to Max’s bedside, picking up the alarm clock and pulling back Max’s sheets in one fell swoop. His tone drops, just a hitch lower into “vaguely serious David” mode. “Max, c’mon. Aren’t you excited? It’s your first day of school!”
“Mmhm. You’ve been telling me for three. Fucking. Weeks.” Max grips the pillow underneath him, gathering all his energy to glower at the man who interrupted his morning brooding.
Of course, David dresses for the occasion. A neat red flannel, skinny jeans that definitely need to be made fun of, and that stupid camp bandana that Max wonders is even detachable at this point. David tries, he always tries, and the fact continues to piss Max off even as the weeks go by.
David’s bright smile barely falters as he scoops Max up, who proceeds to hiss at him in Nikki-influenced fashion. “Alright, up!”
“Down,” Max snaps, and he gets his wish. The second his feet touch the rug, he turns to his dresser (god, he has a dresser, he still can’t process this) and digs bandaged hands into his mess of clothes. “Fuck off. I need to change.”
“Language.”
Max glances at David over his shoulder. “You said you’d quit hounding me about that.”
“Well, don’t go cursing in school!” David hesitates, as if not quite sure what direction to take: lecture or reassurance. “...watch it,” he warns lamely before bounding back out the door.
Max resists the urge to roll his eyes as he gets dressed.
Living with David had become his life for only a solid month but it still didn’t feel real. He fully expected Neil to shake him awake from this surely drug-induced nightmare or for his foster dad’s yelling to wake him to start prepping his siblings for school. David is vastly different, far too caring, and ridiculously respectful of boundaries (aside from hugging) and Max gets too tired just thinking about it all.
His mind can’t keep up these days. So he lashes out to test his theories. And still, David stays.
It convinces Max that running away wouldn’t solve anything at least.
Max pulls on his new black windbreaker, cuffing his new jeans, smoothing out his new t-shirt, he didn’t even know clothes came new, and then he’s making his way down the stairs.
David got a house when he officially took Max in. God only knows how, considering the horrible salary of Camp Campbell, even if he was technically CEO or whatever business term Campbell slapped on that poor counselor’s back. David said it wasn’t hard; all it took was savings, a loan, and his mom’s support. Max didn’t like to dwell on it, considering it’d move to the topic of his brand new grandmother and that was a whole-ass dilemma he was happily avoiding.
Regardless of being a month in, the house isn’t empty. David set to work putting up pictures from camp, filling empty corners with plants, and covering every flat surface with decorative objects Max tends to use as projectiles. It’s weird, and annoying, considering Max got requested for constant input with every decision. The amount of times “I don’t fucking care” rolled out of his mouth was incalculable at this point.
Max swipes a decorative candle off a nearby table and onto the floor as he makes his way down to the kitchen. The smell of French toast hits him before David’s singing does.
“David. I think I’m sick.” Max announces his presence by loudly pulling a chair out in the dining room. David hates it and it promptly stops the singing.
“Max, the floor!” David pops into view, a spatula still in hand and adorning a bright yellow apron with a dog face printed on the pocket. “...you’re not sick.”
“Wow, asshole. Caring about basic house functions over me.” Max plops himself into a seat, curling in on himself as he always does. In big chairs like these, he can’t understand how to fill it. “Besides, you can’t tell. I probably have pneumonia or tetanus. I can’t go to school.”
David hops back in the kitchen without a reply. Max brings up his phone (fully his now, complete with a brash lock screen and a multitude of mindless games) and proceeds to scream at David from the dining room.
“Yeahhhh I probably have two days to live. I also burnt up my backpack trying to smoke last night. Completely an accident. I also broke my leg last night. Fell off the bed, but you obviously won’t hear it cuz you’re too busy sexting your girlfriend or something—“
“Alright, that’s enough!” David appears, wielding two plates of French toast and he snaps Max’s down in front of him. “...coffee or juice?”
Max pauses, his onslaught deadening at the idea of a choice. He loses the ability to be snarky whenever David does this and if David’s learned to weaponize it, he’ll retaliate later. “...coffee, I guess.”
David’s lips press in a thin line of disapproval but he listens. He returns with two cups of coffee, gently handing one to Max, before sitting at his spot next to him.
“Hey.” Max turns his sour gaze up at David’s voice. “Max, you’re gonna be fine.”
“You don’t know that. If I get kidnapped on my way to school, I’m blaming you.”
“Hm.” David begins cutting into his toast, and Max recognizes that playful look in his eyes that’s become more apparent the longer they’ve lived together. “Well, when the house collapses while you’re gone, I’ll blame you.”
“When the police arrest me for drug-dealing, it’s your fault.”
“When I accidentally adopt 15 puppies, it’s on you!”
“When I punch a kid for looking at me weird, I’ll say you taught me.”
David winces at that. “Please don’t.” Then he looks back at his toast for a minute before his rebuttal. “When I cry when you head to the bus, I’ll blame me!”
“Oh you better fucking not.” Max chomps down on his breakfast, ignoring the nervous churning in his stomach. “...you know school is a big sham, right? Like, kids don’t learn shit. I’m gonna walk out of there only knowing how to find the area of the triangle but I still won’t know how to cook a damn egg.”
“I can teach you!” David’s eyes sparkle at the prospect of a lesson and Max makes a harsh noise in the back of his throat. God, he always pulled that. “You’ll do fine.” David’s voice is gentle and Max turns away, focusing only on breakfast.
Once they’re done, David whisks the dishes away and disappears in the kitchen again. Max is tempted to start up another spiel but a knock on the door interrupts his barrage.
“Can you get that? It’s Gwen!”
“Ugh, fuck, why?!” Max slides off the chair, and greets his second counselor with a surly glare. “Oh my god, go get a home.”
“Good morning to you, too, you little shit.” Gwen has a tote bag slung over one shoulder, donning casual attire similar to David’s, and Max’s nose wrinkles at her hair that’s weaved into some kind of braid.
Gwen was just as much a part of the formula, though not to David’s extent. She hovered as support and most importantly, Max’s grounding mechanism; Gwen refused to burst into tears the way David did when Max pushed too far. He’d be lying if he wasn’t at least a little grateful his second counselor had tapped in as David’s back-up. The guilt-tripping tactic of David’s kicked puppy look easily washed itself out when Gwen stepped in.
It wasn’t a surprise when her visits became regular; too regular, that Max had an inkling the third room in their house was going to become more than a guest room before the year even ended.
“So. First day of school?” Gwen steps in like she owns the place and Max slams the door and flips her off. “Ah, first day jitters.” That earns her a kick and she laughs it off in general Gwen fashion.
David bounces out of the kitchen with an overly cheery smile. “Gooooood morning, Gwen! Are you excited?”
“God, you guys can’t wait to get rid of me.” Max quips, as he stands in the middle of the two banes of his existence.
“Not really,” Gwen starts, as David’s face flickers with a hint of concern and his spiel sputters with “now, Max, that’s not what this is at all!”
“Relax. I’m not worried or some shit. Consider yourselves blessed.” Max trudges up to brush his teeth to rid himself of coffee breath.
As Max disappears up the staircase, David and Gwen fall back into whatever meager lovebird conversation Max has gotten used to ignoring. Ugh, adults.
The churning in his stomach doesn’t stop. In fact, once he’s alone, it’s only gotten worse; pressure and turmoil he hasn’t felt in a long time. Not since the night David showed him the house and he’d cussed out every single inanimate object just to vent his frustrations that goddamnit David was trying again—
The boy in the mirror looks exhausted and harried, but it’s not much different from how Max always looks. David often remarked things about good sleep schedules and proper vitamins, and maybe his work paid off in that the bags under Max’s eyes weren’t as phenomenal anymore. But the emotions took a lot more than a serving of broccoli and a set bed time. Even David, expert of showing emotions, had a hard time trying to remedy that.
Max isn’t scared. He’s not. He knows he won’t fit in, that he’ll be the weird foster kid in the classroom who texts his real friends all day and teases the teacher. He’ll cause mayhem and trouble and David will be tired of it and Gwen will yell at him and it’ll work. Because that’s what Max has always done. And that’s what they always did back at camp.
But this isn’t camp.
And that little fact changes the game. Because David isn’t as pushy or acting as if the universe itself bestowed happiness on his stupid face. Gwen isn’t as sour and pouty with the intent to haul off all her responsibilities on someone else. Somehow, just the mere fact camp is over and Max became a crucial part of a bad thing that happened, a switch had flipped and things changed. And Max has no one but himself and new experiences he can’t understand and sometimes it’s too much.
This is too much. He doesn’t want to admit it because he’s scared of what David and Gwen will do.
And if they do nothing?
If they don’t care?
If his rowdiness and poor attention span and shitty grades end everything? If his experiments push David to the brink and CPS bursts down that door like it owes them money? Shit, does David owe them money? David, poor and broke and at his wit’s end, somberly handing Max away because he’s just too much—
“Ngk—“ Max hurls himself to the toilet, and the puking begins.
Too much.
He doesn’t hear when David comes up to check on him. The world is too noisy, the buzzing in his ears drowning everything out, all he can taste is coffee, and David’s warm hand plants itself on his back.
It’s. Soothing. And Max lets some tension melt away.
“Hey. Hey, it’s ok, Max. It’s ok.”
Max huffs, wiping sweat from his brow and letting himself collapse back into David. “...n’tol’ you I w’s sick.”
David chuckles, reaching to flush the toilet. “Max, if anyone can differentiate between nervous sickness and regular sickness, it’s me.”
“Fuck. You know too fucking much, camp man.” Max rests his head on David’s shirt, smelling the woods and cedar and cinnamon and he closes his eyes. The world stops spinning, just for a bit, and when he opens his eyes back up, Gwen is leaning on the doorway.
“Are we having him pop a pill or let him ride it out?” There’s also a knowingness in her eyes and Max momentarily lets the worried thoughts in his head drop.
“I’ll send him with something in his bag.” David rubs Max’s arm, momentarily inspecting the bandages on his fingers, before letting Max stand up. “Alright, bud. Bus is almost here. Think you can handle or should Gwen and I take you?”
“Fuck no.” Max clambers to his feet, already reaching for his toothbrush. “I could never live that down.”
“Yeah, I would not pass up opportunity for proper embarrassment there,” Gwen snorts as David lets out a huff. “Alright kid, get yourself sorted out. We’ll pack your bag. Um, shit. Backpack. I mean.”
Max eyes her through the mirror. “You guys don’t gotta do that, you know?”
“Do what?” David gets to his feet, flanking Max’s other side. The two of them tower behind Max, and he resists the urge to chuck water in their direction.
“I dunno.” The mint burns at his lips. “Acting like saying certain things sets me off or something.”
David looks puzzled, but Gwen only shrugs. “Just let us care, kid. We’ll be downstairs.”
They leave him to his devices, and Max ponders the fact.
Caring. That’s a million dollar word he doesn’t wanna fucking touch because he never wants to say it.
He spits out his toothpaste and reaches for a hairbrush.
They’re standing on the porch ten minutes later. Max shifts the backpack straps digging into his shoulders as he looks down the empty street. Another kid with their parents waits a few houses down. The old lady next door with the loud as hell parakeet waters her lawn. The air smells of dew and leftover rain and the lilies David planted when they moved in and the churning in his stomach is barely more than a mild current now.
“Oh god, David, wait until the kid is actually gone.” Max snaps back to the present, peering up at a sniffling David.
“I know, Gwen!” David’s voice cracks as his friend swipes a frustrated hand through her hair. “B-but it’s fifth grade, he’s getting so big—“
“Aw geez, I’m 100% gonna book it down the street if we have this talk.”
David squeezes Max’s shoulders as Gwen barks a laugh. “Yeah, you’d win that one, kid.”
The bus begins chugging its way in their direction. The brakes squeal, and Max swallows hard against a lump in his throat.
School never started like this for him. Hell, he’d never attended the first day of school before at all. But he has to at least admit to himself it’s a nice change of pace.
“Thanks,” Max mumbles. He avoids looking at David’s look of unabashed joy or Gwen’s look of any emotion at all. God, he’s fumbling. “I just...I dunno, I’ll try being good. Or something. I won’t kill someone, is that enough?”
“Better than ever!” David chirps and Gwen rolls her eyes. “Yeah. Max, you’re gonna do great, just act like it’s camp.”
“Don’t act like it’s camp!” David butts in, voice going high. “Socially yes! To authority or your surroundings, please no.”
“I’ll think about it,” Max teases, and the bus finally comes to a full stop and swings its doors open. “Okay. That’s my cue. Good luck with him, Gwen!”
“Oh you fucking know it.” Gwen side-hugs a now sobbing David, who stutters out a half-hearted “L-language!”
Max makes his way down, pretending as if this is normal. He pretends he’s always been a kid with a well-stocked backpack and parents on the porch. He pretends to ignore David’s emotional outburst, he pretends not to see that subtle hand over Gwen’s waist, he pretends to ignore one of the rare encouraging smiles Gwen even gives him, but at least he doesn’t have to pretend that he’s ok.
And with that, he steps onto the bus.