The Connection

MM: got any pets?

AR: Nope. Not even a fish. You?

MM: no. step dad hates animals. says they’re messy n too much work.

AR: Cat or dog person?

MM: definitely dog. I’m allergic to cats. and they’re kinda bitches.

AR: I’ve always wanted a dog.

MM: me too. what kind?

AR: A pug.

MM: dumb. an ankle biter?

AR: Well, what would you want?

MM: boston terrier :)

AR: Are you serious right now?

________

After the last bell rings, calamity ensues.

Everyone is swept up in the post final tidal wave of emotion. Students are throwing papers in the air, happy they won’t need those countless pages of biology notes any longer. Some are cheering, thanking god that they’re finally done with calculus or that they’ll never have to hand in another rhetorical analysis to Mr. Graves, because he grades like a dick. Some people are discussing parties, wanting to get trashed after that hell of an exam. Some people, their noses in the air, are talking about how that exam was like their first test, so simple their cat could have done it. And yet others are simmering in their heads. How did they do? Not very well. Well, how will that affect their GPA? Mom’s going to shit.

“Guess who’s taking Geometry next semester?”

“You don’t know that. I’m sure you did fine.” Avery says rolling his eyes. He shuts his locker, a pleasant feeling in his stomach to see it so empty of hefty textbooks (namely his chemistry books), binders and stray notebook paper. The only things that remain in the narrow metal closet are a few photos stuck to the door and the stuff Kat hasn't picked up yet. She refuses to use her own locker, and Avery being weak willed, caves and lets his best friend share the already cramp space.

“Whatever you say, Avy. It’s another semester of triangles and Proofs for me.” Kat says dramatically, with an added shutter. Avery rolls his eyes, shutting his locker.

“How traumatizing are Proofs?” Avery counters dryly. Kat’s nose wrinkles like she’s just eaten a whole lemon.

“Extremely.” She responds.

“Do you need after finals therapy?” Avery teases, turning around and scanning the bustling hallway for an almost black head of pin straight hair. Kat hums in mock thought.

“Well, if you’re offering, I’m not going to say no.” Kat says, smirking. Avery rolls his eyes. He can see Quinn down the hall, exchanging goodbyes and happy holidays with her friends. They won’t see each other until the spring semester, unlike himself and Kat. And according to Quinn, two weeks is an unbearable time to wait.

“I’ll pick you up tomorrow at noon. Quinn’ll probably tag along.”

“No problem; but I am Queen Front Seat. Make sure she knows.”

“I’m pretty sure she’s well aware.” Avery says lightly.

________

There is just something about old book stores.

And to be completely honest, Avery can’t exactly pin point that particular something. There are a ton of things it could be. It could be the smell; the mix of worn, yellowed pages and the dust motes that dance in the wintery sunlight spilling into the shop and the faint whiff of impossibly black coffee that lingers around the shop; bled in through the wall that The Book Nook and Common Grounds share. Or it could be the shop owner, a little, old man with tuffs of wiry white hair creating a low halo that seems to rest on his ears. He offers a smile to everyone over the top of worn paperback, always sitting, stooped over on the stool next to the register.

The Book Nook, tucked in between the local coffee shop and Goodwill is a regular haunt for Avery and Kat… and Quinn doesn't mind it terribly, though she makes it quite clear she’d rather be at the colossal shopping mall at the edge of town, rather than this dusty main street shop. But Quinn, ever the little sister, didn't want to be left out, and seems to be okay pursing the secondhand manga (one of her guilty pleasures). Avery has absolutely no idea where Kat disappeared to, and the shelves are too tall for him to spot a bright red head of hair bobbing amongst the crammed shelves. She’s probably skulking in the Poetry section, or near the massive collection of Classics up near the front of the shop.

Avery busies himself near the back of the store, where the Self Help slash DIY books are. Avery’s not much of a crafty person, and he’s too proud to admit that he might need some sort of uplifting bestseller. But luckily for him, there’s also a selection of gently used (and a little worse for the wear) art books. Some are just books of famous paintings and sculptures, some are actually useful books of How-To’s, and yet others are just books of Still Life’s and photography. Avery opens each book in the minute selection and flips through the pages. Every now and again, he spots a photograph that he might want to try and commit to his well-worn sketchpad. He folds down the page (something Kat berates him for doing), and sets the book aside. The few he’s already set to the side will probably only add up to fifteen bucks, or less.

Without looking up from folding the corner of a book of Still Life’s, Avery reaches for another book.

“Oh!”

Avery’s eyes snap up to a girl, whose sweater sleeve covered hand is frozen mid-reach for the book he’s already got his paws all over. She’s a couple inches taller than him, but something about her hunched, narrow shoulders, her rail thin frame and her huge skittish green eyes makes her seem frighteningly small.

“Oh, sorry.” Avery withdrawals his hand, grinning sheepishly. The girl tucks her impossibly long, dirty blond hair behind her ear, giving Avery a slightly scared, slightly embarrassed smile in return.

“I’m… ah,” He peers at the book, “I’m not really into knitting. I wasn't looking and I grabbed the wrong thing.” He chuckles. Her lips twitch further upwards, but she doesn't reach for the battered knitting book.

“Are you sure you don’t want it?” Her voice is whispery and insecure, just as timid as she is.

“Nah, I’m not really that crafty. And I’m pretty sure if I tried it, I’d hate knitting.” Avery says lightly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets as a further invitation.

“I like it.” She says carefully, like she’s afraid of some sort of reprimand, “Kitting, I mean. It’s… It’s soothing.” Her eyes flick to his, and her face flushes underneath the thousands of freckles dotting her cheeks, nose and forehead.

“Are you any good?” Avery grins. The girl’s face turns a deeper shade of pink, but she smiles and gives a slow nod of her head.

“I’m okay, I guess. I like to make scarves.”

Avery plucks the book from the dusty shelf, and holds it out to her.

“Then, you should probably take this. Start a scarf factory in your basement.”

A small burble of laughter falls from her lips. Her smile crinkles the corners of her eyes, and she has dimples, it’s achingly familiar. She accepts the book, tucking her hair behind her ear again.

“What’s your name?” She questions, her voice scarcely more confident.

“Avery. You?”

“Allison. But you can call me—“

“Allie? Hey, there you are. Did you find it?”

Avery freezes. He knows that voice, even if he’d heard it as more of a snarl rather than the affectionate, yet too loud for a bookstore tone. It can safely be said that Max Matthews looks out of place in this dusty, quite nook of a second hand book shop. His shoulder’s alone brush against the narrow stacks. And his clunky, navy and white Letterman jacket is loud and obnoxious in this small, yellowed environment. Max catches sight of Avery, and the color drains from his speckled cheeks.

“Mhm… Well, I really didn't find it. He… um, Avery found it for me.” She smiles up at Max, inclining her head towards Avery’s and flashing him another timid smile. Max glances at Allison, and then his eyes falls back to Avery’s furiously blushing face.

“Didn't take you for much of a knitter, Reeves.” Max says. And Of course he would say something to make himself an asshole. How could he not? Avery rolls his eyes, and makes a noncommittal noise, crouching to pick up his stack of books; he really doesn't want to make a scene in a bookstore in front of Max’s seemingly darling friend.

“Here,” Avery hears Max say, accompanied by a papery crinkling, “Go next door and buy yourself something. I’ll be there in minute.”

“Max…” Allison says warningly. As Avery rises, his arms full of books, he’s sees Allison eye the wad of crumpled bills with trepidation.

“Its fine, Allie. I picked up a few extra shifts.” He says giving her an easy smile, and folding the bills into her tiny hand.

“Leave that here, I got it.” Max says, slipping the battered knitting manual out of her arms, “Go. I’ll be there in a minute.” Max insists. Allison gives her brother a long, speaking stare, before she sighs and shoves the money into the pocket of her jeans.

“Don’t take forever.” She says to Max; her shy personality seems to evaporate in Max’s presence. It screams of familiarity and makes something nasty he’d rather not name coil in his stomach. She gives Avery another timid smile.

“’Bye Avery.”

“Later.” Avery calls lamely after her. He glances back towards Max, who leans casually against a bookshelf, hands buried in the pockets of that stupid Letterman jacket. He gives Avery a small smirk, a simple upturn of the corner of his pink, pouty lips. A cocky look glinting in his forest green eyes. And that’s all Avery needs to turn on his heel and trudge down the narrow aisle.

“Hey, wait.” Max says, and Avery turns around, pulling the books closer to his chest as a shield.

“No. I’m busy and…” And what? And Avery doesn't know how to talk to this guy with the barrier of a keyboard and a few miles? “And these books are heavy.”

Oh, god. How lame could be?

Max quirks an eyebrow, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“You've got like, ten books.” Max smirks fully now. Avery ignores the heat pooling in his face and in his neck. What happened to him? He used to be able to push this guy away. Make him be the one to lose his cool. Now Avery’s blushing like a school girl, the back of his mind playing the friendly, sometimes flirtatious text messages instead of the constant three years of humiliation. Avery rolls his eyes, shifting the books. Okay, he can do this.

“We can’t all be All American Football stars with muscles of steel.” Avery counters with venom, glaring at Max. Max, seems unfazed, simply raises an eyebrow and takes his hands out of his pockets.

“I’m flattered you think I have muscle of steel, then.” He replies, smirking. Avery groans. Really? Really? How fucking arrogant can one guy be? Avery opens his mouth to try and pop Max’s inflated ego, but in that moment Max must see the fire in Avery’s cheeks and eyes, because he reaches his tree trunk like arms around the books cradled in Avery’s arms and swiftly shifts the pile so that he now holds all of Avery’s books.

“Hey! I’m not some damsel in distress. Give them back.” Avery says far too loud for the subdued atmosphere of a bookstore. Max raises an eyebrow, shifting the pile so that he’s holding them with one arm against his barrel of a chest. Fucking show off.

“You seem pretty distressed to me, and you whine like a girl. You’re sending me mixed messages here, Reeves.” Max says dryly. Avery scoffs, whipping he head a little to move his bangs out of his eyes. Okay, maybe he should try to change the topic. Go for the jugular.

“I didn't really take you as the type to keep your latest conquest waiting. Why are you messing with me when you could be trying to get in her pants?” Avery says acidly. A muscle twitches in Max’s jaw and his arm tightens around Avery’s book. But then he chuckles tensely.

“Allie’s my little sister, not a ‘conquest.’ I’m taking her out for today, getting her out of the house for a while.” Max says. He’s voice carries no inflection, but the look he gives Avery carries something impossibly heavy. Max remembers the confession he gave Avery a long time ago. And if he remembers the confession, then he must remember Avery’s clumsy attempt at caring for him.

Avery’s face flares, and he looks away from Max’s heavy green irises to the spotted carpet.

World’s biggest asshole goes to him, for sure.

“But whatever, not why I sent Allie to get coffee.” Max says, shifting the books again. Avery looks up timidly.

“Okay, I’ll bite, why’d you send her to get coffee?” Avery says, trying to inject a little less venom into his tone.

“Mostly because Allie really likes the chia tea they have there, and their coffee’s really good, too.” Max says. He runs a free hand through his hair, making the short blonde strands stand up on end. He’s looking down, a faint pink tinge to his freckled cheeks.

“And I actually wanted to ask you if we could start over, too.”

“Start over?” Avery says skeptically, after a very pregnant pause, “Like you’ll introduce me to your football buddies as your Soul Mate?”

It slips out before Avery can really think about what he’s just said. What neither of them have ever admitted to each other. Max’s reaction is instant, violent pink blooms in his cheeks, making the freckles there turn a darker brown. He runs a hand through his hair again, further agitating it.

“N-no. I mean, no. Not to like friends or anything. But, I don’t know? Like start over. Like we could hang out or something? I really—“

Avery’s chuckle is dark and venomous as it cuts off Max’s stuttering whatever-the-hell it is.

“Are you serious?” Avery asks, still chuckling disbelievingly.

“No, I won’t start over with you.” Avery says coldly, looking up at Max’s wilted face. “I might have some self-worth issues, but I’m not going to let you string me along.”

“That’s not—“ Max starts, but Avery shakes his head, his bangs falling in to his eyes and steamrolls ahead.

“You beat the shit out of me for three years. And you made fun of me every day for just as long.” Avery counters fiercely. And Max actually flinches at the cold truth.

“So, no. We aren't going to start over. I really don’t care if we’re Soul Mates or not.” Avery hisses. Max looks stricken; his face dark pink and his eyes impossibly sad. His jaw clenched to the point that it looks painful.

“Avery, I never meant—“ Max starts, his voice tight, controlled.

“I don’t give a shit what you meant!” Avery cries, surprising himself. He was halfway convinced that Max didn't even know his first name, and to hear it fall from his mouth makes Avery see red. “You did it. It’s done. It doesn't matter what—“

“Hey Avy, we’re done, and Quinn’s hungry so—“

Kat stops, her arms full of paperbacks looking between them, her face surprised. Quinn peeks out from over Kat’s shoulder, looking just as confused. Kat eyes Avery red faced, fist clenched at his sides and Max looking sad and somewhat desperate.

“Um, Okay. You look a little busy so… I’ll pay for Quinn’s and… I’ll meet you at the car… I guess?” She ventures haltingly, eyes still darting between her best friend and Max Matthews.

“No. I’m done.” Avery says curtly, he reaches for his books and Max obliges meeting him halfway and depositing the books into Avery’s arms with a surprising gentleness.

“Avery…” Max starts, but Avery quickly turns, pushing past Kat and his sister, almost running. His face is on fire and his head is spinning. What the fuck was that? He doesn't see the questioning glare Kat flashes Max. And when they get in the car, Avery turns up the radio, ignoring both his best friend’s and his little sister’s questioning looks.

He only ask where they want to eat at.

________

It’s nearly two in the morning when Avery’s phone beeps.

He ignores it for as long as possible, taking his time toweling off his sopping wet hair and pulling on a pair of sweatpants. It’s probably Kat, wondering what the hell happened today. He didn't really elaborate in the car, or when they ate after the bookstore debacle. And no way in hell is it Max. He’s probably totally done with Avery, not that Avery cares. So what if he doesn't have a Soul Mate? He doesn't need anyone to make him happy. And if he gets lonely; well, he has the internet and knows how to use in incognito tab.

He flops on his unmade bed, hair still damp and wraps himself in his nest of blankets. He wants to at least be comfortable when he tells Kat how much he fucked up with Max. He reaches for his darkened phone on his nightstand, and enters in the pass code which has no point, as both Kat and Quinn know it. His phone lights up and he selects his messages. And then he stops. Because the message isn't from Kat, it’s from Max. Probably something along the lines of ‘let’s never speak again’ colored with a few homophobic slurs.

I’m not very good at this so bear with me. I’m sorry. I've been a dick. its gonna take some time, I get it. maybe someday you won’t hate me as much. I deserve it, your hate. but I really hope you’ll give me a chance. someday.

Avery stares at the message, letting the words sink into the flesh of his muddled brain. His phone beeps again, and Avery almost drops it.

I want a second chance. plz, Av.

He messages back before he can think about it too long, pointedly ignoring the flush to his overall chilled body.

Okay.

He hits send and rolls over in his cocoon of blankets, away from his phone. His chest feels full of something. Something bright white and pleasantly warm.

Something alive.