The Connection

Thank God he’s not valedictorian.

Matthew Doyle is. And he gives his speech, in a high clear voice layered thick with the sticky film of ego that only someone accepted into Yale can muster. However, Avery can’t help but think Matthew Doyle is okay at this very moment. Sure, he was one of those to approach Avery when he started dating Max. He looked at Avery with his oily smile and even oiler hair and placed and hand on his shoulder. Almost like a friend, or a mockery of a wise old man, and then explained that he forgives Avery for his lifestyle, and that he’ll pray for him.

Avery only quirked an eyebrow, told Matthew he’d pray that he finally find some goddamn shampoo, and went to class.

But now, seated in the position of Salutatorian, right next to the vice principle with her boxy pantsuit and plastic smile, Avery can’t help but thank some higher power for not being valedictorian. He’s still squirming, seating on stage in the stuffy, sweaty gym under an itchy gown and a bow tie tied way too tight by his teary mother. But at least he’s not delivering a hollow speech about the brightness of the future and how much he’ll treasure high school; the friends he made and the one of kind memories that will always be with him.

The only treasured friends Avery made are currently sitting out in the tiny crowd of seniors; one making faces at him and sticking out her tongue, the other smiling softly and mouthing words or encouragement when he fidgets uncomfortably on stage.

Cooper, even in the front row, is playing a game on his phone and not looking up.

Matthew finally sits down to modest applause. And then the names start. Avery zones out for most, clapping politely after each name that he’ll (hopefully) never hear again. He claps a little louder for,
“Cooper Lee Cleft,” who walks across the stage to thunderous applause and plenty of whistling and catcalling from the football team. The stocky blond takes time to wink at someone in the last row, before he takes his seat again. Avery doesn’t have to wonder who when he sees Kat turn tomato red, standing out starkly against her navy cap and gown. He zones out again, clapping robotically, until—

“Maxwell James Matthews.”

Max is scarlet, his freckles dark and pronounced as he makes his way on stage. He looks straight ahead, accepting his diploma and handshake, and even a slap on the back from the superintendent. The crowd, both of seniors and of those in the bleachers is going crazy. Even in the din, Avery can make out the deep, baritone cheer of Jim, and the screechy wails of his mother, Quinn, Allie and Andy. The football team is clapping the loudest. They shout Max’s name and stomp their feet on the freshly polished floor, like they’re at a game rather than a graduation. Max smiles stiffly, as he shakes all the offered hands; and when Matthew Doyle offers his hand with a snide, stiff little smirk Max nods once, tense and unsmiling.

Avery barely has time to register Matthew less than discreetly shaking the pain out of his hand from Max’s passive aggressive handshake, before he’s being yanked into a bone crushing hug.

It’s awkward. Avery’s cap stabs Max in the chin and the rowdiness of the crowd stills for just a moment, before picking up again… and, Avery notes with a funny little jump in his chest, maybe a little louder. Avery hugs back, awkward and scared of the lynch mob that might be waiting outside. But before he has any more time to consider the people watching, Max pulls away. His smile looks less plastic, a little softer around the edges; the corner of his mouth and the crinkles around his eyes deep and easy. Avery smiles back, only slightly awkward and feeling a flush of affection flame into his already pink cheeks.

As Max walks back down the aisle, guys on the edges of the rows stand to smack him on the back, and the applause dies down greatly, as the list of names continues.
Avery waits until “Sara Marie Reese” is called to become tense. He hates attention like this; it makes him squirmy and red faced. The principle drones on, and Avery begins to stand on wobbly knees—

“Avery William Reeves, Salutatorian of the class of 2012.”
His full name isn’t even uttered before the applause starts. It’s polite and modest, aside from the island of people in the bleachers and the few in the crowd of seniors. He hears his mother howling, Quinn and Allie’s ear-piercing screams, and Jim and Andy cheering loudly, yet like respectable individuals. He even hears the utterly weird noise of his father yelling happily. His father, who doesn’t even raise his voice in lecture halls or at his children, is yelling at the top of his studious, proper lungs for his son.

In the crowd, there’s polite clapping from his classmates… but then there’s his friends. Kat is screeching, ungodly squawking noises from the back of her throat. She’s saying something, Avery knows, but he can’t decipher any actual English words in her crying, half due to his stage fright and half to the two other screaming in the senior crowd. Cooper is calling, his hands cupped around his mouth to make the sound louder in the already small gym. He’s wolf whistling and laughing at Avery’s bright complexion. Avery is quick to sit down after he’s shaken hands with what seems like every person on the school board, but not before catching a glimpse of Max.

The quarterback is standing; like a wide, beaming lighthouse in the sea of seated, navy clad waves of his classmates. He’s clapping loudly, his huge hands slapping together and once coming up to cup around his mouth to yell out. But more than that, more than the yelling and the standing and the ferocious clapping, he sees Max’s smile. It’s strange; Avery thinks when he sits down. Avery can’t put a finger on why Max’s smile is so strange to him in this moment, but he can’t find it in himself to care. So he smiles back, gummy and shy.

The rest of the names fly by (“Kathrine Rae Wright” is possibly even redder than he is, and nearly trips), as well as the honors. Before Avery knows it, the ceremony is over. The ground is covered in strictly forbidden silly string and the crowd is screaming happily. The senior class is filing out; two at a time in the weird pairs that someone convinced school officials ‘look better’. Girls, in their sky high heels cling to each other as the stumble on the sticky, foamy gym floor.

The gym empties; families go to embrace their children and children go to embrace their friends. Avery waits until he can finally escape the strict stage seating he’s been chained to, and then he bolts. He slips slightly on the gym floor, and a random parent holds the courtyard door open for him as he rushes into the crowd, looking and looking.

He, with rushed politeness, dodges people taking photos and girls crying, and even his own family, who try to snatch him up for pictures. Finally, he sees Max. His gown is already thrown over his shoulder and his cap in his hand. His hair is messy from the polyester confines and with the warm summer breeze. His shoulders broad in his tight maroon dress shirt that Avery loves. Max is looking around like him, and everyone else is yelling so Avery does too.

“Max!”

He runs towards Max, dodging a few people and getting a poisonous look from a grandmother.
Max reaches him with his own lengthy strides, lifting him up effortlessly and laughing hard as he knocks Avery’s cap even more askew on his messy hair. Avery giggles, too. He can’t help it. He feels giddy and free; he feels Max breathing, tightening his arms around his waist, his heartbeat pounding, pounding into Avery’s chest. Avery kisses his speckled, flushed cheek.

“Congratulation, Mr. Matthews.” Avery whispers into Max’s ear. The taller boy’s kiss is chaste and sweet, and when he lowers Avery to the ground, he presses another to his forehead, smiling so big that Avery can’t believe he ever went a day without seeing it.

“Congrats to you too, cutest Salutatorian ever saw.”

Avery grins, huge and gummy and so happy his chest feels pulled tight. That’s when he notices the flashing around them isn’t from everyone else’s cameras; it’s from his mother snapping pictures herself. Avery looks over, perturbed and snotty.

“How long have you been standing there?” He asks, aggravated. Max, the asshole, is laughing. His mother shoots him a look and waves her hand at him, holding on to the camera loosely with the other.

“Shush, Avery. You ran away so quick, and I’m getting some pictures, damnit.” She says haughtily. And that really has Max laughing, his back bent and his face buried in the half of Avery’s hair not covered by his cap.

“Fine.” Avery scowls, annoyed and bratty. He tugs Max down by his tie, and kisses him full on the mouth, just to spite his mother. But his family, and Max’s, seems unbothered by his act of defiance.

If Quinn and Jim’s wolf whistles are anything to go by.
________

It’s supposed to be Avery’s graduation party.

But the fact that there are a number of grilled hamburgers, instead of the platters of cold chicken strips that Avery requested isn’t fooling anyone.

“Jesus, save some for everyone else.” Avery says with a laugh, as Max takes a hearty bite out of his fourth burger, ketchup and a sliver of grilled onion clinging to his cheek. Max rolls his eyes, takes a bigger bite to fill his already bulging cheeks. Avery wrinkles his nose and shoves the taller boy gently, to which he lays a sloppy, ketchup-y kiss on Avery’s cheek.

“Gross! Quit it, asshole!” Avery cries, half laughing, swiping at his cheek with one hand and pinching Max’s bicep with the other.

“Avery! Watch your language!” His mother shrieks from the grill, less than discreetly pointing her spatula at her mother-in-law. He shoots what he hopes is an apologetic look at his grandma. The dark haired woman grimaces but says nothing. His Grandma Reeves is majorly conservative. And from the second Avery introduced Max to her; she’s been sitting perfectly poised in her stiff lawn chair, her nose wrinkled as if she’s smelled something just awful.

She eyes them occasionally through her dark brown eyes, her lip curling back in a sneer when Avery kisses Max’s cheek or when Max pushes Avery’s bangs out of his eyes. And she only picks at her food, talking less than quietly about how the food is ‘Decent. But I’ve had better William.’ And more than once she’s called over Avery’s dad to have a hissing, hushed conversation that leaves his father scowling and his Grandma with spots of pink high on her powdery, tight looking cheeks.

Avery means to be sheepish about his language, but from his left a laugh sounds. It sounds like wind chimes in a harsh breeze; hitching and wheezing, but still musical in its own way. An elderly woman with hair so pale red it almost looks pink as the afternoon sun filters though the thin tresses stands behind him. She then slaps Avery soundly on the shoulder.

“It’s alright Avy. Nothing no one here’s not heard before!” She smiles, wide and gummy. Avery stands, nearly vibrating with joy.

“Mimi! Hey!” Avery cries happily, pulling his mother’s mother into a hug. His grandma, Mimi as he’s called her since he could form choppy, shaky words hugs him back tightly. Avery wasn’t expecting his mother’s parents to come to his graduation party. Not because they wouldn’t want too, but because they’re both well past eighty and Tennessee is a long way from Illinois when you’re that old.

Her bony arms wrapped crushingly around his middle and she presses a kiss to the underside of his chin, as far as her lipstick coated lips can reach.

“You made it.” Avery smiles again, pulling away from his grandmother and not minding the salmon pink lip print on his chin. She adjusts her round glasses, giving her grandson a cheeky smile.

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Avy.” She says, patting her wrinkled, sweet smelling hand on his cheek.

“Oh,” She grumbles, licking her thumb and then dragging it roughly across Avery’s chin, “Lipstick, sugar.”

A short, paunchy man with a shiny bald head and a beaming, crooked toothed smile approaches.

“Lemme see the boy, Susie!” He booms, his voice loud and carrying over the loud conversations all around the Reeves’ back deck. His grandmother moves, grumbling about her husband. Avery smiles widely, as he’s engulfed by a hug too strong for an eighty-eight year old man. His grandpa slaps him on the back, before pulling away.

“Still as skinny as ever. What’s your mom feeding you, son?” He asks jovially. When he grins, his canine is missing, and the other is capped in gold. Avery beams.

“Nothing, Papa. I’m starving.” Avery laughs. His grandfather snorts, slapping his shoulder again.

“I don’t believe for a second that your mom isn’t feeding you, Avy.” His grandfather chortles.

“Hey Avy. Who’s this handsome young man?” His grandmother asks slyly, jabbing her thumb in Max’s direction. Max’s eyes go comically wide, as he swallows a huge bite of burger and stands up; his chair scraping harshly against the deck.

Avery gulps. In his heart, he knows that his Mimi and Papa would never hate Max like his Grandma Reeves does. But at the same time, he knows that they’re from a red state, and Papa always turns off the TV with a grimace when any democrat is on the screen. He loves his grandparents so much, that he’ll feel devastated if they don’t like Max. And from the way Max tenses near his side, he can tell Max feels the same.

“This is Max. He’s… He’s my Soul Mate.” Avery says. Around him, he can hear the party goers still, just somewhat. And out of the corner of his eye, he can see Jim shift slightly near the food table.
Mimi peers at his Soul Mate for a minute, even taking off her glasses to review the red-faced Max shrewdly. Avery feels a too tight rope wrap around his chest as he waits for Mimi to say something. He doesn’t dare risk looking at his grandpa. Finally Mimi grins, a hint of wolfishness in her normally innocent, sweet smile.

“You did good, sugar. He’s a fox.”

Avery burst out laughing as the rope, now feeling like string around his chest seem to fall away. He can’t help the laughter, he’s so relieved. Beside him, Max huffs a thankful laugh too. His grandmother chuckles, holding out her tiny, wrinkled hand towards Max.

“Sue Carson. Or Mimi, as Avy calls me. It’s wonderful to meet you, honey.” Mimi says happily, as Max takes her hand with the utmost care.

“Max Matthews. It’s nice to meet you, ma’am.” Max says quietly, earnestly. Mimi hoots with laughter, pulling the flabbergasted Max towards her with surprising strength. The top of her permed head only reaches the bottom of his chest, but she gives him a hug just as powerful as the one she gave her own grandson. She pulls away, beaming at a pink Max. She pats his cheek the same way she patted Avery’s.

“Polite as I ever saw. It’s real nice to meet you, honey.” She says again, before she ambles over to Quinn to engulf her in a hug. Papa offers his hand to Max, eyes still narrowed, but with none of the disgust Grandma Reeves held in hers. Avery holds his breath.

“Harold Carson. It’s real nice to meet you, boy.” His grandfather says, his round face open and his beard covered mouth smiling kindly, if not a little stiffly. Max smiles politely, and takes Papa’s hand.

“Max Matthews. It’s nice to meet you too, sir.” Max says, his ears still bright pink. Papa smacks Max on the shoulder, and then follows his wife to fuss over Quinn. Conversation eases back into its previous roar; Avery’s parents are introducing his grandparents to Jim and Andy. Kat, Allie and Quinn are all hovering over the desserts, chatting away and shoving both his mother’s and Allie’s desserts in their mouths. Cooper is making conversation with Kat’s burly, perpetually furious looking dad with an ease that Avery can’t even fathom.

He smiles softly looking around at his family and friends. And then he feels a hand, wide and warm and rough weave through his.

“You okay?” Avery asks his Soul Mate, leaning his head against his tense shoulder. As soon as Avery makes contact with Max’s shoulder, the anxious, tight feeling in his muscles seems to drain. Like rainwater through new leaves.

“I thought your grandpa was gonna kill me.” Max mumbles. Avery snorts.

“He wouldn’t. And Mimi thought you were hot, so—“
Max flicks his ear, causing Avery to giggle. Max throws an arm around his shoulder, tugging the smaller boy into his side.

“I am hot.” Max says arrogantly, to which Avery snorts. Max sits back down, and Avery follows. But there seems to be a shift in Max’s mood—he picks at his burger and shoves potato salad around his plate. Avery lays his head on Max’s shoulder once again.

“Are you sure you’re okay? They like you, they would have said something if they—“

“Do you wanna go somewhere?” Max asks abruptly, completely abandoning his plate. Avery pulls away to look at Max with a furrowed brow.

“Max… Mom would never let me go right now—“

“No. She um… she knows that I’m going to take you somewhere. Your dad too. So, you wanna?” Max says. He looks down at his half eaten plate rather than Avery, and runs a hand through his hair. He peers up at Avery’s confusion wrinkled face, as his cheeks bloom a faint pink.

“You don’t have to… I know that was dumb. You probably want to see your grandparents, I’m sorry.” Max stumbles. Avery reaches for his hand, lying still on the picnic table top. He laces their fingers and smiles up at Max.

“No. No, we can. Mimi and Papa will be here for a few days, especially since it’s so late. I’m just confused where we’re going…” Avery trails off, waiting for Max to explain. Instead of Max’s face clearing and his words falling easily, accent twanging and eyes happy, his ears turn a darker shade of pink and his eyes shift around, never quite falling on Avery’s.

“Um… it’s… it’s a graduation present? It’s a surprise, and I can’t really say much. Can we just go?” Max asks evasively. Avery has no idea why Max is acting like this… and he has not even the faintest clue why Max’s graduation gift is a location rather than a box with a bow. But when he looks at Max’s slightly twitching fingers and earnest, nervous green eyes, he knows it’ll be okay. Avery smiles slightly, and kisses the corner of Max’s frowning mouth.

“Sure, we can. Whenever you’re ready.” He says. Max smiles, nervous and tense and not really a smile at all, before standing up and walking hurriedly through the party guests and up towards the front of his house where his car sits.

“Hey, dad?” He asks, as he gets up to follow Max. He can’t just leave without telling someone, it’s his party after all. His father turns away from his conversation with Jim.

“Yes?”

“Um… Max and I are going… somewhere? I don’t know, but he said you and mom know?” Avery says. Jim shifts behind him, taking a sip of his beer. His father looks at him with unreadable eyes, darker than usually in the pink light of the setting sun. Avery swallows.

“Is that okay?”

His father tips back his beer bottle, and smiles, just a half tilt of his mouth before speaking.

“That’s fine, Avery.” His dad says, and surprisingly pulls him into a one armed hug. Avery hugs back, a bit awkwardly. What in the hell is going on?

“Be back before too long, understood?” His father demands after pulling away.

“Yeah. I’ll be back.” Avery says, still shocked. His father nods once again before turning back to Jim. Avery, if at all possible, is even more confused by his father’s words and actions.
He gets into Max’s car, rolling down his window as the June air is humid and hot. Max reaches across him to fiddle in the glovebox, pulling out a clean, blue handkerchief and offering it to Avery with a sheepish smile.

“It’s weird, I know… but could you…?”

Avery takes his glasses off. This evening must be located in some type of wormhole, where his southern grandparents accept his homosexual relationship without batting an eyelash and his surly, protective father readily allows him to leave a planned party and go somewhere with his boyfriend without so much as a peep. And his mom knows about this too? He clumsily ties the bandana around his eyes, folding his glasses and tucking them into his shirt pocket.

“I honestly have no idea who this could get weirder, but please continue.” Avery says, darkness all around him as well as the motor oil, clove smell of Max. Besides him, the leather squeaks and dips, and warm lips press into his cheek.

“”m not gonna hurt you.” Max whispers into his ear. Avery turns blindly, his nose brushing Max’s eyelashes, then bumping into his cheek, and finally finding his lips. The kiss is clumsy and chaste,
Avery feeling safe in a way he thought he never would with Max.

“I trust you.” He says softly, “I love you.”

The engine starts, the rumble of the frame and the harshness of the music all sharper in the
darkness. Max kisses him again, softer, slower.

“Love you more.” He says. The car jerks into drive.

And then they go.
________

The drive over is silent, aside from the ever present classic rock.

Avery doesn’t say anything. And Max seems too nervous, too scared to say anything. He doesn’t even drum his fingers on the steering wheel. Avery can feel the tension stringing itself through the muscles of Max’s body like it’s his own. At some point, the feeling of heaviness and unpleasant static that seems to filter in through the bass line of ‘All of my Love’ gets to be too much for him, already feeling enough tension through his blind state. He reaches out dimly, straining against his seatbelt and groping for worn denim, or paper-thin plaid, or rough and tan skin.

Out of the darkness, Max’s hand finds his. The flesh, as always is rough and warm, yet in this moment he can feel the bones and nerves twitching, his palm feeling clammy with sweat. Avery, without thinking, rubs his thumb over Max’s scarred knuckles. The skin chapped and pocked; dents when skin should be and bumps and hills where too much skin grew back.

Avery usually tries not to think about the state of Max’s skin. The scars that blemish his knuckles, the long, raised lines that crisscross his shoulder blades, the perfect circles of scar tissue that dot the insides of his forearms, the slight crook of his freckled nose, the perfectly straight, white line that divided his left eyebrow right down the middle. He likes to think of his skin how it appears when Max is lying next to him. Soft and flushed pink with exertion. Warm and olive toned and covered in close-knit clusters of freckles and freckles far and few between.

The car is slowing, the engine breathing heavier, slower. The gear shift slides easily into park, and the black beast of a car is cut off, leaving only the soft sounds of traffic floating in though the open window.

“Are we here?” Avery asks. Max exhales, slow and shaking and like he’s taking his final breath.

“Yeah. We’re here.” Max squeezes his hand, and then opens his door. Avery waits, cranking up his window. He hasn’t finished rolling up the glass, before his door opens; causing him to nearly fall. Hands, strong and safe, hold him under his armpits and save him from whatever lies beneath him. Max huffs a laugh, helps a blind and already clumsy Avery out of the car. Max wraps an arm around his waist, and Avery throws his arm around his shoulder.

“You’re not going to carry me?” Avery teases. Max snorts, tugging him tighter and beginning to take small steps.

“You’re not a girl, ‘member?”

Avery can’t help the soft laugh that escapes him. Max is walking carefully, leading Avery to his graduation present. Vaguely, Avery wonders if it’s a car. It’s no secret that Max hates his car; refusing to even ride in it. The most Max will do is give him free checkups on the old, still reliable car and complain that he needs a new one to be safe. Avery loves his car, paid for by himself, and he won’t give it up so easily.

But he does wonder where they’re at. The ground under his feet is solid and when the loose bottoms of his sneakers slap its surface, it sounds like the dull thumping of rubber on concrete. He hears cars; breaks squealing and horns honking and the incessant ”Wait… Wait… Wait” of the crosswalk.

“Where exactly are we?” Avery ventures, hoping that Max will say something rather than clamming up. Max guides him effortlessly, they don’t stumble, and they don’t trip over Avery’s huge feet or Max’s thick soled boots. They’re almost one person. Avery blushes; they’re truly two bodies and one soul.

“Lincoln.” Max says softly. Avery opens his mouth to ask more, but Max unknowingly interrupts him.

“There’s some steps,” Steps? Car lots don’t have steps, right? Dealerships maybe, “I’ll help.”

“”Kay, hold on a sec.” Max says once they’re up the steps. His body stretches around Avery… and a loud screech of a buzzer sounds. A minute goes by, and then the click of a lock. The only thing Avery can think of now is an apartment building. Is this the apartment Max said he got? Maybe they’re going to christen it? Avery blushes at the thought. Max opens the door and taps the small of his back; so Avery enters without him, tripping a little without Max’s arm to ground him.

The building he’s standing in doesn’t smell like any apartment that Max would have gotten. He imagined mold and mildew, cigarette smokiness and a collection of all the nasty, old food odors that would simmer in a building so small and without air-conditioning. While this building is sticky with the early June evening, it doesn’t smell bad at all. It doesn’t smell great, not like the lemony, laundry detergent scent of his home. But he can’t smell old fish dinners and black mold growing on ever available surface.

Max’s arm is back, curled around his waist.

“Okay, elevator.” He says and Avery cringes.

“I hate elevators.” He says, and Max squeezes him.

“Well, it’s either the elevator or walkin’ up four stories blind.” He half laughs, as the ding of the call button fills the deathly silent foyer.

“It’s just…. What if it stops? Like, I don’t ever want to be trapped in an elevator. It’s so small and there are cameras. It’s just weird.” He rambles. Max is beside him, shaking with suppressed giggles.

“You’ll be stuck with me… and we’ll give the cameras a show.”

Avery punches him, just as the muted slide and loud ding of the elevator arrives. They walk in, and Max again presses a button. The whole way up, Avery hides his face in Max’s chest; the taller boy’s hand smoothing up and down his spine. The elevator opens and then they walk what Avery assumes is a hallway. It’s warm too, but it smells like stained wood and a clean, slightly chemical smell. And then they stop; abruptly. Max takes a deep breath, the inhale trembling slightly. Keys jingle, a lock clicks, cool somewhat air conditioned air and the smell of new paint washes over Avery’s face.

“Ready?” Max questions, his voice scared and small like Avery’s never heard the arrogant, surly man before. He takes his own breathe, exhales, and nods.

“Ready.”

Max’s hand twines easily with his own, fingers fitted together like they were crafted just for each other, and he leads him in.

“Keep your eyes closed for a sec?” Max requests, and Avery nods. Careful, thick fingers glide through the back of his hair, smoothing down the curls and points, and then he unties his make-shift blindfold. He keeps his eyes closed, reaching into his pocket to slip his glasses back onto his nose. And then Max is kissing him; soft and slow and so full of love that it makes Avery’s knees buckle just slightly under the weight both so heavy and so freeing.

“Now?” Avery whispers, his lips still damp and Max’s breathe still fanning over his mouth. Max kisses him again.

“Now.”

When Avery opens his eyes, he’s greeted by the soft yellow-orange light of afternoon playing gently of white walls. The apartment is empty, and surprisingly clean. Windows cover the whole wall, carefully crafted frames and elegant ledges frame the spill of afternoon light, and outside he can see the jagged silhouettes of dorm buildings at Milton. Avery looks around, slightly stunned that Max got himself some place so nice. Max stands in the shadows, letting him look with a face full of apprehension. The apartment is small, but it’s open. The kitchen and the wide space he stands in are divided only by an island and a half-wall. He wonders into the kitchen, Max watching from the front room.

The kitchen is clean and narrow; with white cabinets, white tiles and a small window. He runs his hand over the granite island, it’s smooth and cold and he feels a stinging in the back of his eyes. Max chose a beautiful place, he hasn’t even seen all of it and he feels a part of himself already attached to the empty, but warm shell. He can see filling it with art and laughter. The smell of spring scent detergent and burgers. The soft feel of his blankets and the rough feel of Max’s canvas work clothes.

The feeling of needing this place with Max and being so happy that Max has this apartment on his own fills him full of light. Max watches him, his own heart pulling and growing and reaching for his Soul Mate.

“Do you like it?”

Avery turns towards Max’s rough voice, and gives him a watery smile.

“It’s wonderful. I’m glad you found such a nice place for yourself.” He says. He doesn’t know how to tell Max that he wants to be here with him… he want this to be the home Max never had. He wants to give Max so much. So much more than he’s gotten. Max frowns slightly, looking confused. But it clears soon, a small, sad smile in its wake and he offers his hand to Avery.

“C’mere.” And Avery does.

The bedroom is like the front room and the kitchen; a whole wall of windows and a warm spill of sun. Avery looks around, and then as if a wind-up toy who’s finally stopped its teetering journey, his heart stops. In the corner, its shiny metal sparkling bright white in the setting sun, is an easel.

In that moment, as if in hyper speed, Avery’s brain and body and heart seem to fill. Bigger and bigger until it leaks warm white light. Tears hot and fast flow from his eyes. The windows, the easel…. How on earth are they going to get a king sized bed on the fourth floor?

“It’s ours.” He says. It’s not a question, not really. But Max smiles anyway, bright and shinning, his green eyes bright and teary in the setting sun.

“It’s ours.” Max says, and then he laughs, a choked, disbelieving sound, a single glinting path running down his flushed cheek, “Fuck. Av, it’s ours.”

Max smiles. Dimples and crinkles around his eyes and bright white, slightly overlapping front teeth. And it hits Avery, like nothing has ever hit him before, ever will hit him again. That smile that seemed so odd, so insanely welcome at graduation; it makes sense. It all makes sense and Avery nearly falls down with the weight of it.

For most of his life, he’d never seen Max smile. Smirks and sneers; unpleasant twist of his mouth that signaled something foreboding on its way. A shove, a curse, another hurt feeling to tally. When Avery, would press on a tender mark on his shoulder blade or nurse another hurt feeling; an unnamed, uncatchable wisp of wrong swirled deep in his stomach, his head, his heart. He would think terrible things about him. He’d wish that Max was gone, would leave him alone… and most painfully, most nauseatingly, he would apologize. Max would hug him and tell him he didn’t mean it, wouldn’t hurt him again.

Someway, somehow, time would reverse and Max would be wiry and black-eyed and sweet. Would smile at him across classrooms and ask to borrow pencils and say hi to him in the hallways, every single time they passed each other.

He never told Kat, he never told Quinn. And he never needed to. Kat and Quinn and everybody else knew that Max hated him, couldn’t stand him, probably wanted him dead. But Avery, despite ignoring it, despite pouring any and all feelings into canvases and charcoal and paint splattered; thrown with anger and rage all over the floor of his garage. He couldn’t ignore it. The itching, gnawing feeling of wrong wrong wrong simmering in his body, lighting up his insides like a thousand matches all struck at once. Because Max wasn’t supposed to do this. He was supposed to be close to him. How, Avery didn’t know. But he had a feeling, and that made him even more upset. More furious. More hopeless.

So he ignored it harder. Blamed it on the crush he had in sixth grade that went sour and was too deep in his body to remove, so it had to rot away. And it would rot away, it had to, and then Avery would go on. He’d meet a boy and fall in love and never have to think about Football Admiral, Max Matthews ever again.

But then his chest; his traitorous, wonderful chest sparked to life. And shockingly, inescapably, so did Max’s. And now, Avery can’t bear to think of a single morning, afternoon, night, or anytime in between where he won’t see that same, glowing, goofy, slightly crocked-toothed smile.

Avery is crying hard; hiccupping and nose running, his glasses smearing wetly as his tear saturated eyelashes brush over the lenses. Max laughs, booming and hitching and the best sound in the world.

“Don’t cry, dork. This is good, right?” Max drags a hand over his damp, speckled cheek, sniffles softly.

“Stop it, you’re makin’ me cry." Max laughs wetly. Avery smiles as another wave of tears flush down his face, dripping hot onto the collar of his shirt.

“It’s ours? Really, really ours?” Avery asks. Max nods, cheeks looking rosy and ready to split with the weight of his grin.

“Your parents gave us the down payment, and dad paid the first year for us… Av, sweetheart, it’s ours. It’s really fuckin’ ours.” Max whispers, he sniffles hard, rubs at his nose.

“It’s our home. If you want it… if you want me.”

A startled, especially wet snort erupts from Avery. He takes his glasses off, rubbing at his blurring, stinging eyes.

“O-Of course I w-want this. Want you. H-How could you ask such a-a stupid question?” Avery says, his breath hitching, his words stilted with the force of his tears. Max laughs; opens his arms, wide and welcome. Loving and open.

Home.

Avery remembers. He remembers his parents, and his grandparents. He remembers his Grandma Reeves and his late Grandpa Reeves. How sharp and sarcastic they were with each other, how they fought tooth and nail, but always ended up kissing each other good night. He remembers his Mimi and Papa, how they meet each other in elementary school. How Papa teased Mimi about her flaming hair and gummy smile, how when they made the Connection in the middle of a chemistry class, Papa broke a beaker on his way to finally, finally kiss Mimi. How he got detention for the display, but Mimi waited for him and demanded that he take her on a date for embarrassing her like that.

He thinks of his parents. Of his sweet, romantic mother, who left home at eighteen in order to find her Soul Mate. His mother who was going on hardly any sleep, and the only one working the morning rush when she met his father. How is father, gruff and older and rude, kept trying. Kept trying for his mother. He thinks of them at home; playful and teasing and loving each other for their faults. Like when his father doesn’t come to bed when he’s grading a lot of papers, or when his mother gets so involved in testing recipes, they all eat scones or pasta salad for dinner, and then dinner the next day.

He thinks of the horror, the overwhelming blackness he felt when he thought about his Soul Mate. What he would do if they didn’t like each other, what they would do if they never found a way to be happy like his parents.

For the first time, Max falls when Avery runs towards him. They fall in a heap on their new hardwood; Avery’s elbow and the back of Max’s head whacking against the glossy floor. They don’t care. They can’t. Not when Avery is sobbing into Max’s neck and Max is clutching Avery so tight his back pops and his ribs strain. They lie on the floor, Avery piled on top of Max and the quarterback crying silently, tears streaming down his face, feeling whole for the first time in his life. Avery remembers how scary the Connection was. His heart beats, rabbit fast. His chest feels like it’s on the most pleasant fire in the world. In Max’s arms, he sighs and kisses Max hard enough that their teeth click and their noses smash into each other. Ungraceful and uncoordinated and perfect. Because this is okay, this is good. Because this is what he’s wanted, what both of these lost, unhappy boys needed.

Because the Connection isn’t so scary anymore.