The Connection

Max buys a huge bucket of popcorn and two huge drinks.

And he won’t let Avery pay. Because of that, the shorter boy is pouting when they enter the nearly empty theater. And Max snorts when he sees the look on Avery’s face and then pointedly ignores him, he doesn’t even ask where Avery wants to sit. After a two second survey of the auditorium, Max trudges up to the row fourth from the top and sits dead in the center. Avery raises an eyebrow, but says nothing. He wonders if Max quizzed Kat on Avery’s preferred seating, because they’re position is absolutely perfect for Avery’s tastes. Not too close to the front, but not in the very back and right in the center of the row, so not too close to the blaring speakers, either. Avery sits next to Max, tucking one of his gangly legs underneath him. Max has already claimed the shared armrest, but Avery puts his soda there anyway.

“Are you gonna quit pouting and eat some popcorn?” Max grins, shoving the bucket under his nose. Avery snorts, grabbing a handful of the buttery and light popcorn.

“I’m not pouting.” He says moodily, shoving a handful of popcorn in his mouth. Max smirks, popping more of the snack into his mouth, as well.

“Sure.”

It isn’t more than a few minutes before the previews start, he and Max grabbing handfuls of popcorn from the bucket resting on Max’s knee. Avery’s mostly eating to calm his nerves; which he feels spark in the darkened theater. Movies and TV has educated him as to what goes on during movies in between two teenagers. And he’d be lying if he said he didn’t kind of hope that Max would wrap his arm around the back of his chair or hold his hand. He reminds himself that this isn’t a date. It’s merely a friendly outing between two sort-of-friends. He keeps reminding himself of this, his body rigid next to Max’s loose and easy posture; their thighs pressed together, their elbows bumping.

Avery’s not sure where, but somewhere during the movie, he kind of forgets Max’s imposing presence next to him. Avery likes horror movies, sure. But he hasn’t been actually sacred by one since middle school. He can pick out the jump scares with astounding ease and the plots twists are always easy to grasp, too. But this movie isn’t scary as much as it creepy and eerie. There are almost no jump scares, only uncanny little glimpses of the supernatural entity that haunts the family’s home. He’s so immersed in figuring out the plot (because it’s very rare that he can’t discover it within the first half and hour), that he doesn’t notice the quarterback staring at him.

Max has always noticed Avery’s eyes. It’s hard not to. They’re always almost too dark to be consider blue, but holding just the right amount of light for them to only be blue. Not gray, and not green. Dark, deep blue; like the summer sky right before the thunderclouds roll in. But somehow, the light from the massive glowing screen in front of them has turned Avery’s stormy blue eyes into something more. And Max drinks his fills as Avery focuses all his attention on the movie, squinting occasionally. His irises are the brightest electric blue Max has ever seen; an unnatural color that should freak him out. But it doesn’t. How could it when it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen? Avery doesn’t see Max break the one-sided staring contest (he’s too busy waiting for the clapping demon to jump from the closet), doesn’t see him swallow the lump in his freckled throat, and doesn’t see him flex his calloused fingers, willing them to just do it already.

But Avery does notice when the warm, rough palm of Max’s hand cover the back of his own. Avery gasps, jumping at least ten feet in the air, his whole body tense from waiting for the demon to come screaming out of the closet and kill everyone. Max notices (with his own small wince at the strong reaction), and starts to move his hand, embarrassed and already thinking of a way to play it off. But Avery is quicker. The shorter boy flips his hand over, lacing their fingers and pressing their palms together tightly.

“Sorry. I—the demon was going to jump out.” Avery whispers hurriedly, glancing at Max and hoping he can’t feel the trembling of Avery’s hand in his or see the brilliant flush prickling Avery’s whole body. Max looks down at him; an unreadable look across his too-soft features. And for a moment, Avery thinks Max will rips his hand away, call Avery a fag and leave him here in Lincoln without a ride home. When Max finally snorts, Avery thinks it’s over.

“Pussy.” Max says almost fondly. And then his wide calloused thumb starts to rub tiny circles of pure electrical current on Avery’s knuckle. Max isn’t looking at him, his eyes focused on the movie that Avery is totally missing. He swallows his girly little sigh, and turns back to the movie, trying desperately to focus.

But all he can process is Max’s thumb; softly tracing the ridge of his knuckles.
________

When the movie ends, they don’t go home.

And Avery’s kind of surprised that they don’t. He had thought, for one heart sinking moment, when the lights came on and Max dropped his hand like it burned him, that Max would drive him home and then leave. And then they’d resume their sort of friendship, minus the flirting and warm fluttering in Avery’s chest. He resigns himself to this fate as they climb back into Max’s car, and Max turns up the radio, cutting off all conversation. But when Max turns down a side street, almost on Milton University’s campus, he wonders maybe that they aren’t done yet.

“Where are we going?” Avery questions hesitantly. Max glances at him quickly, gripping the steering wheel a little tighter.

“A diner.” And at Avery’s unconvinced stare, “There’s a really awesome one here. Cooper and I went once… and I’m hungry.” He adds lamely. Avery frowns, something that doesn’t go unnoticed by Max, whose knuckles turn white on the steering wheel and sighs heavily.

“We don’t have to. I—“

“Are we going to Archie’s?” Avery interrupts, and at Max’s dumbfounded look, “Because you need to get in the turn lane, like right now.”

Max jerks the wheel, cursing and swerving into the left lane and cutting off a bright red Mustang. The Mustang drives past, but not before the driver stops to yell a few choice words at Max out of his open window and flip him off. Max rolls his eyes, mumbling something about, ‘stupid fuckin’ show off cars’ and turns into Archie’s neon washed parking lot.

“You’ve eaten here?” Max asks, jamming his car into park.

“Mhm. Dad used to take me and Quinn here when he had to take us into work with him. He’d be grading papers and Quinn and I would finally get on his last nerve and he’d take us here.” Avery smiles warmly at the memory of himself and Quinn bored to death in his dad’s office. And of the unfortunate students that would come into Dr. Reeves’ office hours only to be turned away, either by Dr. Reeves himself or two children, screaming over a coloring book.

“They have incredible chocolates malts here, too.” He adds as an afterthought.

“Gross.” Max makes a face. “Right. Your dad’s a doctor or something.” Max says, his voice carry a teasing edge. Avery snorts.

“He’s got a doctrine in Literary Studies. But he’s not a doctor. He teaches hung over college students about the finer points of Vonnegut.”

“Better than Mike.” Max chuckles, “C’mon I’m starving.”
________

“I just don’t.”

Max throws his sandy head back against the leather booth, groaning loudly. The elderly lady, drinking coffee with her husband in the next booth, gives them a sour look over her shoulder. When he finally brings his head back, he eyes Avery with a mix of amusement and exasperation.

“How long have you lived in this country?” Max asks instead. Avery rolls his eyes, slumping in the booth; his knees brush Max’s.

“You’re not going to do the whole, ‘you’re not an American unless you love football’ spiel, are you? Because it’s annoying and false. I promise I’m American; I can get you my birth certificate if you want. ” Avery says wryly. Max fights the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“But it’s an American pastime.” Max argues.

“No, that’s baseball. Football was based off of rugby, which is British and—“

“It’s real cute when you get nerdy and all, but no. Baseball is lame and football is far superior.” Max says, smirking at the violent shade of pink that blossoms in Avery’s cheeks. Cute? Him?Avery huffs, and studiously ignores Max in favor of looking at the mostly elderly patrons around the diner, drinking from endless coffee cups but rarely ordering anything more substantial than toast or a muffin. Most of the men give Avery and Max dark looks over the ceramic rims of their cups. But most of the women smile kindly at them. Max’s throaty chuckle breaks his observations.

“Don’t get pissy.” He grins, “What don’t you like about football?”

“I don’t know. I guess I just don’t understand it all. To be honest it seems really silly. Like hitting people over a ball? I don’t even know.” Avery sighs. Max rewards him with a soft smile.

“I’ll teach you. I can’t have my—I can’t have you not knowing anything about football.” Max says his face slightly pinker than it was before. Avery feels his own face flush at Max’s almost confession. He opens his mouth to ask what, exactly are they doing, but just then their waitress comes by with two heaping plates.

“Okay, so bacon cheeseburger and fries…” She smiles and sets the plate in front of Max.

“And a turkey club and curly fries.” She says, placing the sandwich in front of Avery with another easy smile. She plants her hands on her slim hips and cocks her head slightly.

“Anything else for you boys?” She asks. She’s pretty. Slim, with soft chocolate colored hair that falls in gentle waves over her shoulder and round eyes of light blue. She’s everything Max looks for in a girl, even if she’s a bit older than high school aged. And Avery immediately feels a prickle of jealousy, and then he feels stupid. He has no reason to be jealous, Max isn’t his.

“Nah. We’re good. Thanks.” Max says giving their pretty waitress a polite smile. She returns it, and gives an equally bright smile to Avery.

“Well, let me know if you boys want dessert or anything else.” She chirps, before waltzing off to the booth behind them to aid the sour looking grandma. Avery doesn’t have to look at Max to know that his face is probably pink or to know that he’s probably looking at Avery. He ignores the heavy weight of Max’s quizzical stare and instead smears the bright orange dressing that comes with the sandwich on the bread. He takes his time, trying to get lost in the meticulous, tedious task, but he can’t. He can’t help but wonder what this is, what they are. Friends don’t buy each other movie tickets and also their drink. Friends don’t hold hands at the movies. Sure, some friends make the Connection, but are he and Max one of them? Avery needs to throw it all out there. He needs to
know.

“Is this a friend thing? Like, are we just friends?” Avery asks lightly, hoping his casual tone will magically make this conversation more bearable. Max stops mid bite of his burger; the sandwich dripping ketchup on the table as it hangs in the air. Avery looks down, his cheeks coloring, as he starts to pull apart a few wound together curly fries. The silence is heavy and almost unbearable, only disturbed by the clink of ceramic coffee mugs and the gentle conversation of the other patrons… but to him, the noise seems so far away and almost nonexistent due to the vicious roar of blood in his ears. Max clears his throat, a few times, as if the rejection is jammed in there. Struck right next to the giant, greasy bite of his cheeseburger. Avery swallows the lump forming in his own throat, right under his Adam’s apple; stealing himself for the oncoming rejection.

“We were never friends, Av.” Max says gruffly, setting down his burger to run a hand through his hair. At those words, the bottom of Avery’s stomach falls through the booth; the popcorn and the cherry coke and the lone curly fry there all splattering the checkered floor in a sticky, heartbroken
mess.

“Okay…” Avery says, keeping his voice light and clam despite the fact that the butterfly of hope in his chest has just had its little, fluttering wings ripped off.

“Look, its late… and I need to get going… so. Yeah.” He shimmies out of the booth, his knees knocking into Max’s under the tabletop. He ignores his full plate of food, and he ignores his rude and sudden departure. He’s got to leave. He’ll call Kat. He’ll call Quinn. Hell, he’ll call his mom. Anyone. As long as he doesn’t have to ride home with Max; his crushed hope sitting stiffly between them.

“Wait.” Max rushes, his hand coming to grip Avery’s elbow. Avery teeters on the edge of the booth, and tries to shrug out of Max’s light hold only to have Max apply the faintest bit of pressure.

”Wait. Don’t leave. I’m… I’m not—“

“It’s fine. I’ll pay. And Kat can give me a ride home. Seriously, no big deal.” Avery mutters, looking down at the checkered floor.

“No! We… We were never friends!” Max says again, a thread of desperation clinging to his tone. Avery rolls his eyes, getting a bit annoyed with this whole thing. All he wants is to call Kat for a ride and not talk to her, and then crawl into his blanket nest and maybe cry. Maybe.

“I know. I get it. I’m going to go. Thanks for the mo—“

“No! Fuck. I mean that—shit…we weren’t friends… so this can’t be a friend thing.” Max stumbles, meeting Avery’s cool stare with his own desperate pleading one. Max sighs, running the hand not holding on to Avery’s elbow for dear life, through his short hair. Max only does that when he’s nervous. Avery knows that. Why does Avery know that?

“It’s not a friend thing.” Max repeats his voice louder, more confident. His face and ears a brilliant shade of pink. His golden green eyes are imploring. Avery feels like his whole chest might burst under the light of happiness pouring out of every single cell in his body. He feels his heart start again, he feels his stomach string itself back together, and he feels his face break into a grin so wide it could split his cheeks.

“So… this is a date?” Avery probes, grinning widely. Max said it was in his own way. But Avery wants to hear the words tumble from Max’s lips. Max releases his elbow and glares without real venom.

”Yes! The fuck did you think it was?” Max hisses, gracelessly shoving a handful of fries into his mouth. And Avery can’t help it, he laughs. He laughs until tears spring into his eyes and until Max is begrudgingly grinning around his food and chuckling. Finally, when Avery’s laughing subsides into giggles and Max is almost finished with his fries, Max slips a few curly fires off his plate.

“Hey! Those are mine!” Avery cries, still half laughing, shielding his plate with his forearm. Max reaches around his arm, snagging a few more and popping them into his mouth with a smug grin.

“Then eat ‘em, and quit laughing. Hurry up. I wanna take you somewhere.” Max says, flagging down their waitress, who Avery no longer feels jealous of. He actually wants to hug her. He even wants to hug the sour looking grandma behind them, even though she’s been sending them pointed glares all night long. Avery eats; the turkey club tasting better than it ever has before, as Max keeps stealing fries off his plate. When Avery finally finishes, the waitress comes back with the bill and two large Styrofoam cups. Max snags the receipt before Avery can, and hurries off to pay it. Avery takes a sip of the cup nearest to him, and starts laughing again at the pure wonderfulness of the whole situation.
They really do have the best chocolate malts.
________

They drive past the city limits of Lincoln.

And that should make Avery very nervous. And that’s mostly because on the outskirts of Lincoln, there are only woods. Woods that people usually go hunting in, but rarely venture out into willingly. Max drives like he knows exactly where he’s going. He drives just as fast down this lonely stretch of road, with the windows rolled down and one arm hanging out of it. The sun is just starting to set and Avery can’t help but notice that Max looks golden in the setting sun. His eyes and hair and even his skin seem to soak up the dying light and pour them back out in high definition. Avery is only pulled from his admiration of Max when the car slows and turns down a dirt road.

“Are you going to kill me?” Avery asks stupidly, and is surprised when Max throws his head back and laughs. He’s seen enough crime shows with Kat to know what a murder scene looks like. Max is still grinning when he slows to a small cabin next to a small lake. Avery ignores the beautiful way that the orange light of the dying sun reflects off the softly rippling water.

“You still didn’t answer. Am I going to die?” Avery presses. Max chuckles, giving Avery a small smile and a teasing wink before exiting the car. And like an idiot about to be killed, Avery follows. Max sits on the hood of his car, resting on foot on the fender and letting his other leg dangle to the ground. He pats the spot next to him, and Avery sits down, sitting cross legged on the spotless hood. They sit in silence for a while, watching the light ripple off the water and the first stars dot the sky. Their thighs press together. It’s peaceful and Avery really likes it here.

“This is a really nice place to commit a murder.” Avery comments, only to have Max bump his shoulder softly.

“Probably not why my dad bought it.” Max chuckles, leaning back on his elbows and staring up at the darkening sky.

“Mike?”

“Nah. My real dad.” Max says softly, sadly.

“It’s his?”

“Yep.” Max nods, “Well, its mom’s now, I guess. But she’s never here. My dad bought it outright, and gave it to her. I don’t know why she hasn’t sold it. But I’m glad she hasn’t.”

“Me too.” Avery smiles. They sit together for a while; they only sounds to be heard are the chipping of crickets and the softly lapping waves of the lake on the sandy bank. Avery feels like this a dream. It’s too good to be true. And he says so. Max chuckles softly, sitting up straighter.

“Just can’t let a good thing happen, huh?” Max teases. And Avery feels stupidly happy, but he still wonders.

“No. I mean, is it just the Soul Mates thing? Like, this is wonderful and I’m really happy. But… I mean, for three years you hated me. And now we’re on a date and I just… I don’t know. Like, am I in a coma? Is this real? Or are you just being nice to me because you have to?” Avery rambles. Max sighs heavily and looks up at the starry sky, as if it holds all the answers.

“I never hated you.”

“Really?” Avery snorts. Max shakes his head sadly.

“No. I didn’t. I—“He stops, runs a hand through his hair. Exhales roughly. Chews on his lip.

“I’m real fuckin’ bad at this. So give me a minute.” Max says finally. He takes a few breaths, and it reminds Avery so forcefully of the wiry sixth grade boy who confessed his life of abuse to him, that Avery finds himself leaning closer.

“I… I never hated you. Ever. I… I actually… I cared about you. A lot.” Max says softly, glancing at Avery, who stares at him through huge, unblinking eyes. Max exhales harshly before he continues. Like he’s running downhill with a confession that he’s been holding in for too long.

“You… you cared about me. No one else did. You just…” he laughs, the sound too loud for this quiet confession.

“You fuckin’ held my bleeding lip and just listened. And when I told you… about Mike, you didn’t judge me or say something stupid like, ‘Jesus Christ get out of there,’ or ‘tell someone, it’ll get better’. You just listened.” He repeats.

“You cared about me. And I… I paid you back by kicking your ass for three years.” Max laughs bitterly. The sound breaks Avery’s heart.

“I guess I was scared. You scared me. You still scare the hell out of me. You’re just… you’re you.” Max rambles. Avery leans closer, but he isn’t even really aware of it.

“When I joined football, Harris was the big guy, you know? And he was still just as mean. And he saw you with Kat once and started saying all this shit about you… and I just couldn’t say anything to stop him. ‘Cause I’m chicken shit. But then he said he was gonna beat your ass and I couldn’t let him. So… so I did.” Max runs a hand through his hair again, and Avery doesn’t really remember, but somehow his hand ends up laced with Max’s.

“I know it’s weird as fuck, but I wanted to make sure you weren’t hurt to bad. But it was…I was so fuckin’ stupid. ‘Cause I did hurt you. ‘Cause I was scared of… I wanted to… I don’t know. I’m just stupid and—“

“You’re not stupid.” Avery says finally, his thumb rubbing the back of Max’s hand in slow circles.

“I kissed you. You acted like anyone else would have. I mean, it was weird and I shouldn’t have.” Avery says lamely. Max smiles sadly.

“It was really weird.” Max confirms, tightening his fingers in Avery’s. Max bites his lip, stealing himself.

“But I should have kissed you back.”

And then something in Avery breaks. A wall, holding back all everything. The hurt, the hope, the happiness and the sadness all come spilling out. He feels the ghost of the light, hot and bright, sparking behind his breastbone. He closes the distance, which seems so short and yet vastly long, between his lips and Max’s. Max freezes and Avery remembers suddenly, stupidly, that Max is not gay. He might care about Avery, but not in the way he wants him too.

“Shit. Fuck. I’m so sorry!” Avery pulls away, looking anywhere but Max’s beautiful freckled face and his wide eyes. Avery pulls back further, waiting to be pushed to the hard ground. Waiting for Max to laugh and leave him here next to this beautiful lake. Waiting for this delicate dance to fall apart.

“Shit. Shit. Shit. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t —“

A strong hand clasps the back of Avery’s neck, thick fingers curling in the soft hair at his nape, pulling him down. And Avery doesn’t expect the tenderness in the hold. He doesn’t expect chapped, full lips to mold to his. He doesn’t expect those lips to move in time with his slow responding ones. He doesn’t expect Max’s lips to capture his own too-full bottom one, and suck lightly. He doesn’t expect to open his own mouth to Max’s gentle one. He doesn’t expect the heat and pure need to be so sweetly juxtaposed next to the gentleness, the carefulness. He doesn’t expect that when the kiss ends for Max to rest his forehead against his; or Max’s spearmint scented breath to waft over his own tingling lips, or their noses to bump.

“Don’t apologize ever again.” Max whispers, pecking Avery’s tingling lips again. Avery doesn’t expect to smile.

But that’s all he can really do.