The Connection

It’s six o’clock when Avery’s phone rings.

He looks up from his sketch pad, a little annoyed, and reaches blindly for his buzzing phone. The back screen is alight with a picture of his mother, hair loosely tied in a braid fresh from sleep, holding a cup of coffee and smiling wryly at the camera. Probably calling to check in while they’re in Chicago; just to make sure that he and Quinn are eating more than take-out and to make sure that they haven’t killed each other yet.

“Hey, Mom.” Avery answers, balancing the phone in between his shoulder and his ear, as he turns down his drawing playlist a little.

“Hi honey. How’s Quinn?” Mrs. Reeves answers, her voice a little strained. In the background Avery can hear some people talking loudly, laughing occasionally.

“She’s good,” Avery shrugs, picking up his pencil again, “She’s downstairs, I think. Watching anime.”

“Oh okay. And Max? Is he still there?” His mother asks. Avery feels his cheeks flush and the pencil gripped firmly in his fingers stops outlining. He swallows, hoping his mother can’t hear his thundering heart or somehow see the less than innocent images of this afternoon flashing through his mind.

“Uh, No. He had to work at four, so he had to leave… just me and Quinn, now.” Avery says a bit too brightly. His mother hums on the other end of the phone.

“Okay. Well, I’ve got some bad news.”

“Dad got into an argument with someone over Kerouac and it turned physical and now you need bail money?” Avery asks dully. His mother snorts over the phone.

“Have you even looked outside today, Avy?” His mother asks plainly. Avery glances at his window. Outside, the sky is almost black, not with nighttime, but with storm clouds. The wind, too, is heavy; making the thick branches of the maple tree outside of Avery’s window thrash around wildly. It’s not raining yet, but thunder is booming softly over his drawing playlist and once in a while the black clouds outside will flash brightly with a strike of lightning.

“Nope. The outside is a scary place.” Avery quips. Over the static of the phone he hears his mother heave a heavy sigh, but there’s a smile in her tone when she speaks again.

“It’s storming hard here, and there’s a tornado watch at home. So, turn on the weather and make sure the generator is working, okay?” His mother says.

“Are you and Dad still at Chicago?” Avery asks, naming the huge university that his dad graduated from.

“Yes,” Mrs. Reeves sighs, “Your father still has a few speeches to do, and a lecture for new professors. Avy, please do me a favor and never move here. The people are so rude! And the people your father calls friends? The whole night they’ve done nothing but ask me how to properly brew a cappuccino. It’s terrible.”

“College professors seem like the espresso type to me.” Avery quips, struggling not to laugh. Mrs. Reeves snorts.

“They are. Always wanting more than I give them and demanding that they don’t pay extra.” And Avery can practically hear his mother roll her perfectly round blue eyes. Aver laughs, imagining his mother and father at a fancy dinner table surrounded by the people that his dad went to school with and their wives. He can imagine his mother, bored out of her mind as they discuss literature and other scholarly pursuits and gently poke fun of his mother who makes coffee and bakes for a living. He laughs harder as he imagines what these people would say if they knew that Dr. William Reeves often is a pushover in the face of his wife’s big blue eyes or her honeyed steel glare.

“We’re at the hotel now…. Well, the lobby. Your father ran into an old professor.” His mother says, as if reading his mind, “We just wanted to make sure that you and Quinn ate something other than pizza and where safe.”

“We had pizza and breadsticks.” Avery says happily. And his mother laughs softly.

“And we’re fine. Everyone’s safe over here.” Avery reassures his mother.

“Okay, honey. I love you, and make sure you check the generator.” His mother adds as an afterthought.

“Love you too, mom.” Avery says; ready to hang up when his mother voice rings out again.

“Let me know if anything happens, okay?”

“Like what?” Avery chuckles. His mother hums.

“Like anything bad or just anything… you know it wouldn’t kill you to call me occasionally. Quinn
does.” His mother adds breezily. Avery smiles, shaking his head slightly.

“Fine, I’ll call you in the morning. Better?”

“Much. I love you, Avy.”

“Love you too, Mom.”
________

Its ten thirty-two when Avery’s phone rings again.

He’s no longer sketching, but feeling drowsy. And when you’re so close to being done with something that you’ve been working on forever, you can’t just sleep. So, Avery’s in the middle of his kitchen, making a cup of coffee. It’s as he waits for the hissing and spitting of the coffee machine to stop that his phone buzzes. He rolls his eyes, because it’s probably his mother checking on them and the progress of the storm (which has now started to pelt heavy droplets on the roof; with thunder and lightning and Quinn swears hail). But the picture that lights up his screen isn’t the one of his mother fresh from sleep on a Saturday morning. It’s one of a slightly blushing Max, smiling sheepishly around a mouthful of burger in the middle of Archie’s.

“I could have been asleep.” Avery answers, opening the fridge for what’s left of the hazelnut creamer.

“Were you? Look, ‘m sorry, I’ll go—“Max babbles, and something in the lilt of his voice is all wrong. He’s not acting like he usually would. He’d usually tell Avery to quit begin a bitch or make some sexual comment—no, he’d definitely make a sexual innuendo considering this afternoon. His voice sounds slurred slightly, hurried and panicked. In the background, Avery hears the non-to subtle roar of the Chevelle and the soft mumbling of someone else.

“Wait. What’s wrong?” Avery asks. On the other end Max chuckles, but that too, sounds odd. Forced and strained and so wrong.

“It’s… It’s nothin’. I should go—“

“It’s not nothing. Tell me right now!” Avery hisses. Quinn pokes her head into the kitchen, quirking an eyebrow at Avery’s loud phone conversation. She mouths ‘mom?’ with a frown and Avery waves her away, pressing the phone tighter to his ear.

“I… Allie and I need a place to stay.” Max says finally. His voice is tired and defeated, and Avery’s heart swells with pain. There’s only one reason why both Max and Allie would need a place to stay.

“Look, it’s no big deal. We’ll sleep in the Chevelle, ‘m sorry I—“

“Shut up.” Avery commands, and then a little softer, “Are you hurt?”
Max makes noncommittal snort, and Avery heart sinks further. His mind weaves images of Max, bloody and bruised, head pressed against the wheel of the Chevelle as rain pounds on the sleek black hood. And of Allie; sweet and timid Allie, sitting in the passenger side, looking fearful.

“Never mind, you’re parents—“

”Shut up!” Avery repeats he glances at Quinn and swallows, “Come over. Mom and Dad are in Chicago. Quinn’s here, though.” He adds, hoping Max can hear the question in his voice.

“I don’t care if you don’t.” Max says softly, his voice heavy and hopeful.

“Of course I don’t care. Why’d you ask something like that?” Avery says sharply, “Where are you?”

“By the school. I’ll be over in five, if you’re sure it’s okay.”

“It’s more than okay. I… I’ll get the guest room ready.” Avery adds, wanting to tack on something else instead. On the other end, Max sighs softly, and Avery can hear him change gears. A flash of lightning and a boom of thunder shake their house and Avery’s chest feels hollow and at the same time too full. When Max speaks his voice is quite, so quite that Avery has to press the phone almost painfully to his ear.

“Thank you, Av.”

Then the line goes dead. Avery takes a deep breath and glances at Quinn. She looks up from the window, from the storm raging outside. She’s in a pair of penguin printed pants and a huge Soccer t-shirt, her pajamas. She peers at Avery through her rarely wore glasses, a frown on her face.

“Avy, what’s wrong?” She asks seriously. Avery shakes his head.

“I-I can’t tell you, okay? I just—“

“That was Max. Is he okay?” She asks. Avery swallows, cursing the tears that are prickling his eyes. No, he wants to scream, He’s not okay, and I don’t know how to help him! But instead he pushes his glasses up and shakes his head.

“No. He’s not. He and his sister are coming over… okay? They’re going to stay here tonight.”
Quinn squints, tilting her head slightly. Avery chews on his lip, hoping, praying that Quinn will be accepting and won’t ask question like a normal human being would. Quinn sighs heavily, blows her slightly wavy bangs out of her face, and ties the rubber band on her wrist around her long, mess of hair.

“I’ll—I’ll go make up the guest bed, then?” She says softly, her eyes heavy with questions that she must know she can’t ask. Avery wants to hug her, and he moves forward to do so, but then the doorbell rings. Avery doesn’t even think. He breezes past a still Quinn to the foyer.

When he opens the door, all the tears he wanted to shed in the kitchen flow back. Allie stands under Max’s arm. Her wispy frame drowning in Max’s letterman jacket; her long hair sticking wetly to her face, her huge green eyes wide and scared, one of them rapidly swelling shut. She looks at Avery and gives a small watery smile, and Avery isn’t sure if those are tears or raindrops still clinging to her eyelashes.

But Max’s face is what stops him. Max’s beautiful, soft features are torn, ripped and bloody. Both his eyes are starting to turn a sickly yellow and Avery can no longer see those beautiful freckles because the whole of Max’s face is covered in scrapes and welts and blood. His lips, the same ones that kissed him so tenderly are torn and bleeding heavily; his whole face, a map of abuse. And his bare arms are not covered by a well-worn flannel but in the same welts, scratches, and bruises that mar his face.

“Max—“Avery starts, reaching forward for the beaten and bloody quarterback. Max shakes his head, gently shoving Allie forward.

“No. Take her first. ’m fine—“

“You’re beat to fuck!” Avery all but screams, he barely notices Allie flinch or Quinn appear behind him,
“You are not fine!”

“Avery. Stop it.” Quinn says loudly, she moves forward pulling Allie and Max out of the rain. She smiles softly at Allie, who tries to return it, but her tears stop her.

“Just a black eye?” Quinn asks Allie kindly. Allie nods and Quinn wraps an arm around her shoulders, guiding her into the kitchen.

“Go, I got her.” She directs Avery, who still stands looking up helplessly at Max, whose injuries are all the more vivid in the bright lighting of the house. There’s even blood in his hair.

“Wait—“Max starts reaching for Allie. Quinn bats his hand away.

“Go get cleaned up. I’m just going to get some ice.” She says firmly. Max looks at Allie, who nods once before letting Quinn lead her away, mumbling softly to her as they go. Avery blinks back tears and grasps Max’s hand, giving it a gentle tug towards the bathroom. Max follows him blindly, walking with a slight limp. Avery flicks on the light as they go and shuts the door behind them. He waves his wrist towards the closed toilet seat. Max doesn’t speak, but sits, pulling off his t-shirt gingerly. Avery breath catches in his throat and those tears that he’s been vigilantly fending off all night tickle his
eyes again.

He decides somewhere between running a washcloth under the warm tap and Max’s hiss of surprised pain when he presses the cloth tentatively to Max’s cheekbone, fuck it, and lets the tears fall down his cheeks and spot his glasses as he sets to work. He wipes all the blood off Max’s face and neck, cleaning the innumerable cuts and gashes all over his face and arms, dabbing alcohol and antibiotic cream, placing a wad of gauze and a band aid over the deep gash running over Max’s cheekbone and wondering if he might need stiches. He runs his hands carefully up Max’s sides, checking for lumps or bumps, just as Max did for him a thousand years ago.

He cries the whole time, tears splashing on Max’s boot-marked chest, his glasses smearing wetly. His nose runs, but he refuses to wipe it, focusing solely on caring for Max. Max; who is kind and protective, funny and gentle, wonderful and amazing. Max; who is beaten and bruised almost every day. Max; that somehow, in between the bullying and the fear and the swelling hope, some impossible way, he’s fallen in love with.

He doesn’t look at Max, really look at him as he works. He’s embarrassed by his tears, and angry at Max’s step father, and he longs for some way to whisk Max and Allie away from their house

“Can I… Can I tell you somethin’ kinda bad?” Max says his voice hesitant. Avery snorts, putting away the bandages and wipes, his back turned.

“I’m not sure if you could tell me anything worse right now, but go ahead.”

“Your eyes look even bluer when you cry. It’s nice… but I don’t wanna see you cry ever again, so… I guess I’ll enjoy it while I can.” Max says softly, his hand coming up to tug gently on the hem of Avery’s t-shirt. Avery huffs a reluctant little laugh and lets himself be pulled to stand in between Max’s knees.

“Do you spend a lot of time cataloging the color of my eyes?” Avery sniffles, as he eases his arms around Max’s neck. Max smiles crookedly up at him, one of his hands coming up to rub away the tears on Avery’s cheekbone, his other slipping over Avery’s hips to his waist and pulling the shorter boy against him. Max presses his forehead against Avery’s shoulder; his arms holding tightly around his skinny middle.

“More than I’d ever admit.” He mumbles, and Avery smiles slightly, wiping his nose.

“Now you share a girly comment.” Max says softly, and a burble of surprised laughter wrenches itself out of Avery’s chest. He winds his hands through Max’s softer-than-he’d-ever-thought hair, massaging his scalp with his fingertips.

“I like your freckles.” And at Max’s doubtful snort, “No, seriously! I’ve always like them. Even when we were kids, I always thought they were cute.”

Max huffs a small laugh and Avery takes that as a small victory.

“Your turn.” Avery whispers, as Max rocks them gently. Max hums in mock thought for a moment; his hand rubbing small circles over Avery’s spine. Their breathing is soft against the cold tile of the bathroom, where their chests pressed together is pure warmth. The feeling; a soft fluttering thing, right behind his breastbone that the taller boy hasn’t been familiar with since that day when the scrawny kid with the most beautiful eyes held his bleeding lip in the haunted bathroom. He swallows, his throat still feeling raw from screaming at Mike. From screaming at his mother. From crying with Allie.

“I’ve always thought you were beautiful… like more than any girl I’ve ever been with. And not just physically, like, mentally too. You’re smart and funny. Avery, I’ve always—“

A knocking on the bathroom door interrupts them.

Max clutches onto Avery’s back, like he might drown without the contact. Avery doesn’t move away, he only moves closer to the taller boy, holding him tighter against his chest.

“Yeah?” Avery asks the door.

“Hey… is everything okay?” A sickbed soft voice asks.

Quinn.

“Yeah… everything okay on your end?” Avery asks, and although he thinks Max might lift his head from his chest, Max stays still, clutching onto Avery like he’s the only lifeline around.

“Mhm,” Quinn hums happily, “Allie says she’s never seen InuYasha and it’s on Netflix’s so—“

“You’re not exposing her to your stupid anime, are you?”

“Hey, fucker! She wants to watch it. Now, stop molesting your boyfriend so he can say good night to his sister.” She huffs, her light footsteps trailing away from the bathroom. Avery continues to run his hands through Max’s thick sandy hair, smoothing the short strands until Max moves, peeking up from Avery’s chest through one bloodshot eye.

“’m gonna say good night to Allie, and then ‘m gonna go to bed and I’m not sleeping in a fuckin’ guest room.” He grumbles. Avery nods, pressing a small kiss to Max’s forehead. His heart pounds in his chest, and her wonders if Max wants him to sleep in the guest room, or for him to share. Distantly, as Max and he exit the bathroom, and pulls a crying Allie into his chest, whispering gentle words into her damp blonde curls, if his bed is even big enough for one overgrown man and himself. Once Max pulls away from Allie, placing a small kiss on her freckled forehead, she steps forward; throwing her arms around Avery’s shocked neck. Hesitantly, his wraps his arms around the shaking girl, smoothing her hair as he’s done for Quinn and Kat a thousand times before.

“T-Thank you, Avery.” She mumbles into his neck. Avery shrugs.

“It’s no big deal. Really.” He insists. But Allie pulls away, peering at him though bloodshot green eyes. And Avery suddenly remembers that Allie is, in height, taller than him, but somehow she still manages to look so tiny, so afraid.

“No. I mean…” She glances at Max, who is exchanging soft words with Quinn, “I mean with Max. Thank you.” She repeats. Avery shrugs, still a little confused as to what Allie exactly meant. But then, Max comes back, giving a small tug to one of Allies long locks of hair.

“’m gonna go to sleep. I’ll be upstairs if you need me.” He says. Allie wrinkles her nose.

“Ew.” She mumbles. From the couch Quinn guffaws loudly. Max turns pink and rolls his eyes.

“Do you really think ‘m in any condition to fuck my boyfriend?” He says gruffly, and now Avery turns bright pink and resists the urge to punch his already battered boyfriend.

Quinn nearly falls from the couch and Allie makes a thoroughly disgusted face.
________

In his bedroom things feel heavy.

Not with lust or anticipation like they did this afternoon. And even though Max slips off his sneakers, jeans and t-shirt leaving him in his boxers (navy blue and not nearly baggy enough), Avery doesn’t feel the stirring of lust in his stomach like he should. He feels nervous, twitchy, and unsure of what to do. Max seems too tired and beaten to care; he tosses his phone on Avery’s nightstand and makes a face at the amount of blankets on his bed, but slips underneath them anyway. Avery pulls off his t-shirt throwing it in the hamper in his closet. He’s glad that Max has his back turned, even though Max has seen Avery almost naked and has felt him almost naked. It’s irrational, and stupid, but Avery’s too nervous to care right now.

Avery goes through the motions of going to bed as if his boyfriend was not in the room, let alone his bed, and although he can feel Max watching him he tries not to think about it. He plugs in his phone; he closes his curtains and mutes his TV but doesn’t shut it off. Max looks comfortable, propped up on his elbow watching Avery and the bed does indeed look too small. So, Avery pulls some blankets from his closet and starts to fold them, making a small pallet on the floor.

“What’re you doin’?”

Avery looks up, pushes his glasses up his nose, tilts his head.

“Uh… I’m… making a bed on the floor?” Avery ventures, the question lilt of his voice not lost on anybody. Max snorts, narrowing his eyes.

“That’s stupid. C’mere.”

“I… You should take the bed… I’m fine, really.” Avery argues. Max rolls his eyes and huffs.

“Seriously. Come here.”

“My bed’s too small! I’m fine!” Avery argues.

Max gives him a look and it’s one of those looks. A loaded ‘are you stupid?’ kind of look that masks the pleading request behind the façade. Avery stares right back, he’s bad at reading these looks, and nearly two months of dating has done little to help him. Max sighs, flopping on his back and staring at the ceiling.

“You’re gonna make me say it.” He says finally, still not looking at Avery, crouched on the floor with blankets surrounding him. He shrugs.

“I guess…”

“But it’s gay.” Max whines. For a moment, Avery lets the words sink in. And then instead of being offended, he laughs almost until he cries. Max even manages to chuckle a little.

“You jacked me off earlier today.” Avery points out, still giggling. Max snorts, shaking his head slightly.

“But that was hot. This is… lame. It’s girly, is that better?” He offers, and Avery still smiling hums an affirmative.

“I… I’ll deny this if you ever repeat it, okay? I just need you up here. With me.” Max grumbles. Avery stands, leaning over the bed so that Max can’t look away. He smiles as it clicks.

“You want to be held.” He grins. Max flushes pink and pouts at Avery.

“Don’t fuckin’ say it. “ Max hisses, crossing his arms.

“But you do.” Avery maintains. Max rolls his eyes; finally meeting Avery’s smiling ones.

“Yes, okay? Yes. Now c’mere or leave me alone.” Max growls, throwing his arm out to lie over the empty side of Avery’s bed; an invitation. Avery smiles softly and flicks off the lamp. Carefully, because of the tenderness in Max’s ribs and back and the nervous excitement coursing through his veins, Avery crawls to snuggle beside his boyfriend. Max doesn’t wait for him to settle before throwing his other arm around his skinny waist and tugging him closer. Like two jigsaw pieces fitting together, they lie there; their legs tangle together, one of Avery’s hand at the back of Max’s neck the other curled against his chest, and both of Max’s thick arms wrapped around Avery’s skinny frame, gingerly as if he’s something precious and wonderful. Max kisses his softly, just a simple press of lips with the hint of coppery blood. In that moment, everything is soft and warm. Safety and comfort radiate from the skinny boy held in his arms like rays of afternoon sunlight. And Max feels happy… sore and still tasting blood in his mouth, but happy and comfortable and almost loved.

“G’night, Av.” He whispers. Avery buries his face into the hollow of Max’s neck, placing a gentle kiss there.

“’Night, Max.”