Chapter Text
Winter was still unkind, but today was warmer, thankfully. It didn’t bite his nose or wrap its icy cold tendrils around his hands or try to whisk his jacket into its evil, windy clutches. Not that it mattered because he was walking five blocks from his dorm room, and his ears started burning and his body began to shake by the second. He was sure Kyle would be talking about the nice, clear sky or the still leafy trees, but right now he didn’t give a fuck about nature. Nature could kiss his ass. He was getting a week’s worth of nature exposure, and it was only the fourth block.
His hand had nearly frozen off where he was holding the cup, and there had been several times he debated stopping to dump the hot coffee over his skin. But he’d tried that before, and it wasn’t fun. Kyle got really pissed at him and made him promise not to be that stupid again. So he elected not to—at least this time. Maybe next time.
He stopped in front of the shop door, and someone shoved past him, bumping into his shoulder as they slid inside. Warmth trickled out the door, an inviting, come-hither sort of comfort, the kind that promised he’d be able to feel his fingers again. He could see Richie inside, painted deep blues and sky from the mural on the window he was peeking through. He served a customer with that nervous smile that was more of a jolt of his lip. It wasn’t weird to watch your friend work a bit, right? Not that they were friends. Were they? No, probably not. He was trying to fix that at least, right? Or was he causing more harm?
Max braced his free hand against the door handle with anxiety skittering across his ribcage and alighting every nerve in his body. It was worse than pregame jitters, pooled in his stomach, making it contort, almost hurt.
This was stupid. It’s not like he was trying to mend a five-year relationship that went about as well as a cowboy on the back of a bucking bronco—who's thrown off and trampled by it. Repeatedly. Yeah. Not at all.
It’s fine, Max. He didn’t ignore you or shout in your face- where’s the Jägerman who took that as a good sign ?
He pushed inside, fingertips drumming on the edge of the cup. The shop door swung in an arc and it nearly ripped his arm off with how fast it flew open. Max nearly dropped his coffee as he grappled to close it, back heaving against the glass as he scrambled backward until it clicked shut, and he stood against it with dozens of eyes from coffee enjoyers staring at him. He could feel the hair on the back of his neck bristle.
“Ah, good morning. How’re we doinnnggg?” He grinned, pushing away from the door and trying to smooth his lingering anxiety. He nearly tossed the drink into the trash beside the devil-spawn of a door, but his fingers wouldn’t let go of it, and he was sure his unconscious brain remembered why on earth that was better than his conscious one. His strides were smoother than the anxiety-quick skitters he wanted to make, trying to project an aura of confidence.
He locked eyes with Richie first and made a dash to reach him. Richie’s eyes dulled and Max watched as the barista vigorously tapped Steph on the shoulder, said a few rushed words, and nearly tripped on his escape to the back.
His prey drive instincts alighted for a moment, but he frowned when he nearly fell over the front of the counter, trying to follow after him in that mad dash, arm reaching out far to try and stabilize the drink in his hand. The flower sticker on its side had started to peel from where Max’s nails worried against it on the walk.
Steph, above him, pushed the drink away from her face and didn’t bother holding back a smirk of amusement. “Is this how you impress all the ladies?” She huffed, and Max fumbled to straighten himself out. There was totally not a dusting of red across his cheeks. His ears definitely didn’t burn. We don’t talk about the pace of his heart.
“Well, uh. Usually, it works?” He wished he could lick his anxiety out like he’d seen cats do, smooth his chest fur. Instead, he imagined she was one of the cheerleaders back at campus.
He leaned on the counter, crossed an ankle over the other, and held the drink close to his side, his other hand propping up his chin. “Did it?” He grinned, biting the corner of his bottom lip.
Steph rolled her eyes and pressed her hand to his face, pushing him back. “Not onnnnee bit.”
Max pouted a bit but straightened out. Placing the drink on the counter and nearly knocking it over when he pressed his palms to the granite and leaned over the counter. “Got any little nerds hiding under this?”
“No, but Richie did just start his break, if that is why you are harassing me.”
“Yes!” He blurted, leaning back and shrugging the bag on his shoulder further up. “To both.” He cooed, not denying the fact that he was harassing her.
Steph shook her head as she worked the machine, not the least bit surprised at him. She lost Max’s attention quickly as he slid around the counter towards the back, pushing the cloth door to the side as he peeked in. “Hey, Steph? You don’t mind if I go after him, do you? Ohyoudontokay byyyeee.” He rushed out as he pushed the cloth out of his face and blinked into the back of the store. He could hear the end of Steph’s yelling from the front, but it was a blurry mess compared to the towering piles of stuff he could knock over back here. Oh, what fun he was going to have.
He felt like a king surveying new lands, corner of his lip curled up in a smile.
The cloth barrier fell behind him, fluttering a bit as he looked around in awe before his eyes reached the area beside the door and—“Ooh, a peppermint.” He popped it into his mouth and stuffed another into his pocket as he looked up at the racks of syrups and cups. He hated peppermint. He took care not to knock into the towers, but when he turned to slide through a gap, his bag caught on the edge of a pile and it came tumbling down as he slid through. Oh, how tragic.
Max watched as it all came tumbling down in succession, a look of mild amusement on his face. Like a miniature castle besieged into ruin by a handsome warlord. The clatter is hardly loud but the visuals of it falling down, one after another after another, too quick to fully appreciate, it brings a shine to Max’s eyes. Fuck, he should’ve done that earlier. But when he looked up, Steph was glaring at him angrily on the other side of the landslide, slowly picking her way through the fallen debris. Max shot straight up like a rabbit being spotted, then shrank back down. “Stepppphhh.” He smiled, cocking his head a bit. His nails tapped against his cup. “Listen, it was an acci—”
Her face was red, and Max counted his blessings and realized he was out of them. “You did this on purpose, you’re dead, Max.” She shot, and he shrank a bit further down, eyes darting around for the exit before—bingo. He made a dash, not bothering to avoid the ground cups. They were already on the ground; who’d use ground cups?
He turned to bash his shoulder against the door and it swung open, the outer side slamming against the building. The sound of Steph’s angry yowl is drowned out by the rattling bell above the door and the equally loud slam as it ricochets closed.
He took a breath of fresh air, let it fill his lungs, and cleared his throat. Mumbling under his breath as he reached up with his free hand and moved the hair out of his face. “You did that on purpose.” He mocked in a high-pitched girly voice, or whatever the fuck he could muster with his totally deep masculine voice. He shrugged his bag back on. “Yeah, I did.”
Birds sing overhead and he can’t help but wonder what the hell they’re so happy about. He sent them a scowl. One that’s meant to be mean and intimidating. It isn’t. The cold winter sun barely reached him through the clouds above, and he squinted up at it, trying to feel any resemblance of heat on his face. He didn’t though, and was quick to shrug it off in favor of peeking around to see where Richie went.
A parking spot a few lengths from the building poked out to him, and he held his hands firmly around the cup as he approached, trying to let the heat from the relatively cold coffee seep into his fingertips. It hums on the edge of his fingertips. Teasing warmth before failing to reach him.
There was a lanyard hung over the sign reading ‘employee parking’ and he plucked it off, flipped it in his hands, and snorted at its contents. ‘Anime expo, January 9-12th’. There were even cute little paint pen scribbles on the back, what he assumed were logos from anime. He wouldn't know; he wasn’t nearly lame enough to watch any. The blue and pink lettering pop out, accentuated by small little stars. Cutsey. Right next to one that looked like it borrowed all the fonts from horror movies and mashed them together. And one that was just. Normal. Plain. A weird mixture. But, well, suppose you’ve gotta be weird to draw the weirdos. Have a particular brand of bizarre? This little card has all the choices you’d want.
He stuffed it in his pocket, and turned on his heel to look at the empty parking lot, rocking back on his feet a bit as he looked around. Maybe today just wasn’t the day? Maybe he wasn’t meant to see Richie again? Maybe he was causing more harm than good.
Was he redeemable in Richie’s eyes? He wasn’t sure how he was going to explain to Richie why he’d bullied him so badly—why he was his main target all those years.
The coffee cup is squeezed in his hand, a tugging darkness in his stomach that’s mirrored by a cloud passing over the meager sun. Of all of them maybe, maybe Richie would understand the most?
Max cleared his throat and turned back to the spot next to the parking sign. Leaning down, he placed the cup of coffee beside it, licked the tip of his thumb, and smoothed the sticker, dulled a bit but still bright against the white of the cup. A single little daffodil covered the scribble of his name from Grace.
Rocks grated under his heel as he stood, shoving his freezing hands into his pockets and taking a breath. Maybe this distracting cold wasn’t so bad.