Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

 Max King was a pro at faking confidence. Self-assured smiles? Got it. Charming comments? Check. Vague and consequently diplomatic responses? You know it! Pulling himself together when he was at the brink of a breakdown? Yes, sir! 

Max was a lot of things- he had been a lot of things! Judge, musician, writer, explorer, businessman –even influencer! But his most recent (and most successful) endeavor was that of the spokesperson of Discity! Perhaps, even the most meaningful one, as well. Definitely the hardest one, though. 

It was all too much. The controversies, the planning, the strategic games everyone seemed to play, while he was left out. Trying to please all sides wasn’t working as well as he hoped, and he knew he would have to change strategies soon. “Pick your allies, Mr. King,” everyone repeated, as if he didn’t know time was running out.

The one thing Max wasn’t was an idiot. He was biding his time. He knew the allies he wanted, the ideologies he represented, the people he wanted to help. The people he swore to help.  Sure, he was a little idealistic, perhaps often even overrun by his own enthusiasm, but he wasn’t stupid . He couldn’t tell if it was a good thing that others thought he was or not. Sometimes he wondered if they were right.

The presidential seat was rougher than he expected. Stiff. Uncomfortable. Everyone demanded something of him, and he didn’t have much patience to give anymore. The harsh truth of it was that Max truly was alone. Adrien’s death has marked him in a plethora of ways. The most important one was that he lost his support system. He saw it get thot down and drained, devoid of blood or life in him. Not the public, ‘contesting (now current) spokesperson for DisCity support system’, but his own, personal one. He was alone. 

There was no one patient enough to hear his rambles anymore, no one who could encourage or advise Max. No one to believe in him. The only thing he has left from Adrian was a weight of expectation on his shoulders and his gloves, which he’d often hold before bed.

Sometimes, when the night got darker and the weight of everything got heavier on his chest, Max King thought of quitting. He didn’t feel that capable anymore. Not on top of the world. Not much of a king . He felt more like a scared little boy, waiting for someone to rescue him.

  Maybe he should have stuck to being an influencer, or a businessman, or even a writer (he loved that). Maybe he bit off more than he could chew. Maybe it was time to spit it out.

But then, when the sun’s rays would rudely intrude and glare on his face, he would remember Adrien. Adrien did everything for Max to win– even die . All because he believed in his vision. And not just him. 

So Max would drag himself out of bed, but the act remained the same; important and spiteful. He stood up and started another day, and he would crawl and bite and choke before he let Adrien down. Or his voters. Or you . Goodness, letting you or Adrien down is the one thing he would never do. 

He often imagined scenarios where he managed to do all that he had promised and had been the best speaker of DisCity -maybe a bit of a stretch, but hey, why not? He wanted to say a big FUCK YOU to everyone who doubted him. And help people, duh, but when he was down like that, the “fuck you, I won” scenarios helped a little.

There was this particular scene he replayed in his head every single time when he felt this way. Him, up on some stage or podium, with the crowd beneath him clapping and cheering. Vain, perhaps, but the satisfaction of actually implementing all his plans and promises filled him with a sort of peace he found hard to get these days. He would see Adrian’s face –of course–, somehow miraculously resurrected, with tears streaming down his face, mirroring his own.

His eyes would crinkle and the wrinkles on his face would bend and crumble and he’d look satisfied. He’d look happy, and the light Max saw dim out of his eyes would be restored. Adrien would be finally at peace. 

Then he saw you, of course you. You would be looking up at him, with a proud smile on your face –which,beautiful, by the way– and clapping. Ah, Max did not have a more favourite fantasy than that.

Your words that day, before the election, had stayed with him all this time. He replayed them in his mind often; “Then please win and prove yourself by making real changes. Who knows? By then, I might be the one not letting you go.” He had felt worried that day. Unsure, nervous, weak, vulnerable. Whatever. Max wore his mask so well that he confused even himself on occasion. But the words he spoke to you then were the truest. And your words, despite all that, filled him with hope and longing. Determination. He would do it. All that he said, and more. 

But now, with Nirvana pressing on him, no one taking him seriously, having no allies, he was not so sure. He was tired. Exhausted. And lonely. Very lonely. 

The whole “having it together and being diplomatic with all sides” was, by now, definitely not working. Not really. He pretty much realised that when he saw that dancer (Jasmine?) jumping towards you at the Expo. His warning scream was the first one (probably, he was too busy shitting himself to notice), but unfortunately, others did. Namely, that Nirvana executive who was accompanying Parfait Medici. Max covered it up with a bunch of lies he did not believe in. His own words even disgusted him at some point, because he so would do everything you asked him to do. It was hard to pretend he did not like you or care about you. 

You were not ‘impossible’, you were literally the legendary chief of the MBCC!  How could he not admire you and want your approval and not think of you every day? You were the bestest friend he had. Even if you called him a “smart arse”.

By that point, as he glanced over his shoulder and walked away with that man, brushing off his relationship to you, he was sure you hated him. He acted nothing like his campaign self, he knew that. But he hoped that you knew he was still the same, even if he acted differently. 

All hope was lost that night- quite literally. The Expo was a mess, which was borderline risking a diplomatic episode with the Outlands, which would lead to war, and you were in danger, and Nirvana turned his back on him and– there was not enough oxygen to breathe. Max was so close to falling apart. Nothing was going the way he wanted it to, nothing was working out the way he had organised it, and he was so alone. But like a saving grace, those two girls visited him; Elvrira -Steward’s daughter- and Hecate, the one who always seemed to follow and protect you. 

At first, he felt his knees buckle and his hair turn gray- he was sure he had aged 48 decades by the time they finished talking. They were sent by you, and if that was the case, he could calm down – he trusted you with his eyes closed and limbs tied. 

He felt his heart beat faster and his lips curl into a soft, genuine smile. You trusted him. You trusted him still, even after his shortcomings, and he was close to bursting into tears. Suddenly, he wasn’t alone. He had you looking out for him, for your shared purpose. And that was something that he had only dreamt of. Somewhere in your mind, amidst all the chaos, you thought of him, and he revered that more than anything. So, of course he followed your directions and went to Medici’s dinner.

If it meant he would return back to you, he would never throw in the towel. 

Despite that flicker of hope, things turned really sour, really fast. A fifth black ring broke out (which, actually, what the actual fuck), but as if that wasn’t enough, the ground zero was one of your sinners –one he heard you cherished. 

He heard it was a young girl named Hella. He could only imagine what you were going through, even more so after finding out that due to the shackles, the mania was affecting you and all of your sinners. Truly, it seemed like fate did not favour him much lately.

He wanted to meet up with you, to thank you and help you, but he figured he would be the last person you’d want to see. He pretty much thought everyone except Hella and Hecate would be the last people you’d want to see.

So he waited. He waited, day and night to hear news of you, every second passing agonising and slow.The interviews, the chaos, the worry… He felt like he had visibly aged years. And then you finally came home. With Hella . Time didn’t pass fast enough for the appointment he scheduled with you. He was giving you space, he was patient, and so he waited for a couple of weeks. He did not want to pressure you, but he felt like only when he saw you would his heart find its place right where it should be.

It was an odd thing, though, how despite time passing achingly slow when he waited, it now passed like water in a river. He was sure the same five employees had passed by to see if he was still pacing outside your office.

It wasn’t his fault, really! It was yours! For being so cool and amazing and brave that he got nervous . Ah, he had rarely been this nervous ever. But lately it seemed like it was a much more common phenomenon.

After more time passed, and the staff’s gazes were nailed on him, he realised he had embarrassed himself enough. He straightened his blazer, buttoned it properly, and let out a shaky exhale, finally lifting his head. 

Roll your shoulders, keep your back straight, grin, knock.

Chapter Text

You weren’t really in the right headspace for much. The fury in you still burned bright and scorching, ready to topple over. At least your ears weren’t constantly ringing anymore, your heart didn’t clench every second, and your fists didn’t feel ready to wing at everyone on your path. Sure, mania amplified your feelings, but you were sure all that violence was yours. And you didn’t really care this time.

You had experienced anger, rage, even. But this felt like so much more. The helplessness of Hella being away from you, terrified and in pain… It wasn’t something you could forgive yourself for, let alone those twisted, sick fucks that did put her in that place initially. They would get their punishment, and you were more than satisfied to be the one to crack the whip.

 The good thing was that Hella was back. Thank goodness . She was safe, but that didn’t mean you would let whatever happened unpunished- the threats you’d made were very, very real.

She was still healing, emotionally and physically, and you had done your best to be by her side. But the truth was that everyone needed a sense of normalcy, and your responsibilities could not wait for you longer. Hella had Hecate, and at least you took comfort in that. 

But your responsibilities (meaning meeting with Max King) were late. Ten minutes late. You tapped your pen against the leather mat of your desk, creating a consistent rhythm which slowly increased along with your impatience. 

With a sigh, you tossed your pen on the desk and stood up. You walked up to the door to check what was happening. Maybe he got held up? Or lost? Knowing his enthusiasm with MBCC, he might have been keen to look around, like a small child at an amusement park.

The second your hand hovered above the doorknob, there was a knock. You opened it, half not expecting it to be the speaker. After a millisecond of his expression betraying surprise, he quickly schooled it into his usual charming grin. 

“Chief! Thank goodness! Long time, no see!” He moved in for a hug out of the blue, and before you realised, you were pressed against his body. He engulfed you. You awkwardly patted his back and gave a small smile, even if he couldn’t see it. “Ah, I’m so relieved you’re okay, chief! I don’t know what I would have done with myself if anything had happened to you,” he exclaimed dramatically. 

Your expression softened slightly, and the pats on his back became less automatic. “I’m okay, no need to worry. Hella was the one who was in real danger,” you tried to keep your voice leveled, but you were sure your anger seeped into your tone. If Max noticed, he did not say anything about it. 

“Right, of course!” His voice was laced with sympathy that felt entirely too real for someone in his position. He pulled back to look at you, his hands squeezing your arms. “The girl, is she okay?”

You nodded, glancing at his hands on your arms. He was being awfully touchy. Was he really worried? Despite not being savvy on political games, you could tell when someone was pretending or not, and Max seemed so genuine that it left you feeling awkward.

“Yes, she’s all right. She’s strong.” He nodded, and his smile returned. He squeezed your arms again, as if encouraging you, and let them slide into his pants pockets. “Good. I’m relieved. Though, of course, I knew you could do it! You’re the legendary chief of the MBCC after all!” He grinned wide.

The words left you shuffling a bit. You hated flattery,  and yet you were  unsure if that was the case with Max’s praise. “It was a hard fight. I really couldn’t have done it alone. I had Hella, who fought back tooth and nail… As expected,” you chuckled fondly at the girl’s stubbornness. “Hecate, who never left either one of us…” You trailed off, deciding to stop there. You looked up at him, your eyes finding his.

“It was a team effort,” you concluded. He smiled, and his eyes stared into yours in some sort of way that you couldn’t decipher. It wasn’t intense, not invasive or extra either. It was just… lingering. Like he was trying to etch this moment in his memories.

“Ah, ever so humble!” He laughed and took the liberty of glancing around. “Quite the spacious office, chief! Oh, what’s that?” His fingers grazed the glass separating your office and this isolated, dark room with his fingers.

“The interrogation room,” you crossed your arms and watched him. He was stalling for whatever he came for. The official meeting was -in theory- about the BR-005, but it didn’t feel official or over. Your brows creased slightly. 

Max grazed the glass with the tips of his fingers and looked at you over his shoulder, his smile bright. “Ah, this is where you interrogate the sinners . Must be fun,” he replied, almost gleeful or excited about knowing. Like he was let in on a secret.

Truthfully, Max was absolutely thrilled to learn anything he could about you and your life. Even crumbs of information like this. “Ah, I bet you’ve had some good interrogations in there, huh? What was the hardest one? Ohhh, do you have a favourite?” his enthusiasm was… sweet, dare you think, like a little dog wagging its tail in excitement. However, the questions were not something you wanted to entertain, definitely not now.

“Is there another reason you scheduled this meeting? Because I don’t think it was to check on me.” His smile faltered but only for a small second before he grinned again. His chest seemed wider, preening.

“Not just to check on you,” he corrected and walked over to stand in front of you, the height difference between you even more noticeable. It was a little embarrassing how you had to tilt your head up a bit to look at him, while he had to tilt his head down. Although at this point, you were used to interacting with people who were both taller and stronger than you.

You raised an eyebrow, expecting, but felt a little confused when you saw him suddenly avoid your eyes. “Well, um… I really wanted to thank you. For that invitation at the expo. I really…” he cleared his throat, adjusting his stance. The tie felt a little uncomfortable around his neck. “Appreciated that.”

Vulnerability wasn’t his thing, and neither was it yours. As he gently tugged on his tie, you shuffled a little. “Uh… Yes, well… It was something that benefited the both of us. No need to thank me,” you replied and shrugged.

Max quickly looked at you. His hands immediately shot up. He didn’t want to tell how much it had really meant to him, that would be desperate! But come on! “Really, I mean it. It was… a saving grace, really.” He repeated, and this time, you did not object. Maybe it was his hands, slowly waving themselves around, or the way his eyes were wider, but somehow sadder. Droopier. 

You didn’t have much time to linger on it, however, because the alarms sounded off. When can you ever get a break? You sighed exasperated, and quickly moved around the desk to grab your coat. Max, on the other hand, blinked and looked around, startled, as the blaring noise of the alarm and the red flashing light boomed.

“What’s happening?” There was a lilt of panic in his voice, but seeing you collected (even slow in your movements) reassured him. “Something must have gone wrong,” you walked around the desk, adjusting your belt. “You should go. It’s better if not many people see you. Also, this could be a little dangerous, so it’s better to just go home.” Max wanted to protest -he was about to- but when he saw you walk towards the door, he exhaled the words he wanted to say instead. Even if you could not see him, he smiled. It was a sad, small smile, but it was real.

“It’s all right. I understand.” You glanced at him and nodded, quickly apologising before running off. He sighed, with his shoulders dropping this time, and his hands rubbing his face. It was supposed to be soothing, but for some reason, his body felt raw, open, and sensitive. 

He was escorted out by his bodyguards, but he didn’t really realise it until the car drove away. His eyes had been searching for you throughout, just a glimpse. Just you. Only you.  Always you.