Chapter Text
Thunk,
Thunk,
Thunk,
Max’s eyes fly open at the persistent sound. He sits up quietly, looking around the dimly lit room. The dorm room was washed in darkness; the only light streaming in was from the full moon peeking through the curtains. He squints at the cat-shaped clock that hung over his dresser, which was pressed in the farthest corner of the room. But gave up on that as the numbers blurred together, being a jumbled mess. He looked over to the other side of the room; the only other person in there was the Felix-shaped lump, still tucked under the dark lilac covers that mirrored the lighter strands in his hair. Another thunk fills the otherwise silent room. He groans, kicking his own comforter off, then slaps his hand on the small bedside table for his glasses. After a couple of attempts, he finally gets a hold of them, wipes the sleepiness from his eyes, and slides them on his face. Finally able to see, he moves quietly to the large bay window, moving the curtains as quietly as possible, though the other boy in the room slept like the dead. Gripping the smooth latch due to decades of use, he unlatches it and nudges the window open, cringing at the loud creak that echoes throughout the dorm while also disturbing the stillness of the night. Leaning out into the early fall air, he takes a deep breath before what he can assume was the source of the “thunks” comes sailing toward his face.
“Gods Madrigal,” he hisses, barely catching the offending pebble that very easily could have put a dent in his head, “You couldn’t have thrown that any harder if you tried.” Tone slightly agitated, but he can feel one side of his lips quirk up despite himself
“Uh, Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair?” came from down below, voice sheepish.
“Really?” Max can’t help but snort, amusement surfacing.
“Ok, to be fair, you were taking forever to open your window.”
Max rolls his eyes, then looks at the guy who seemed to make it his goal tonight to take Max’s head off. “You know, Luis, most people are sleeping at this time.” He can’t help the slight smile that creeps onto his face; any tension in his body eased as he looked down at the familiar figure.
Luis, still bearing a sheepish expression, was standing right under the window, hand full of small rocks, clearly planning to lay siege to the window until Max relented. He was dressed in an old tourney shirt, his plaid pyjama pants having seen better days, the hem stopping short before his ankle. Chestnut curls fell in front of his face as he tried to hide his face. “I thought that since we couldn’t meet up this week, I thought you know-” the other man trails off, uncharacteristically quiet.
Max bites his lip, knowing that the other was right. They had both been busy the following week, Max working on a Robotics project and Luis busy with his own schoolwork, plus Tourney and the little league team he volunteers with. It felt strange; this “thing”- he was scared to even label their current relationship- had been around since summer. They really only met one-on-one, at odd times when their schedules aligned, when no one was watching.
“Felix is asleep in here right now.” Max huffs, glancing back over to the sleeping boy, shaking his head.
“I know a place we can go.”
Max raises an eyebrow, “Really?”
Luis nods, fidgeting with the backpack that Max realizes that he has.
“Fine, let me get dressed.” he goes to move away from the window.
“Don’t worry about it; you’re fine. I’m obviously not super dressed up too.” he gestures at himself.
Max looks at his own old hoodie and sweats and relents. “I’ll put my shoes on and meet you at the entrance to the dorms.”
“Just go through the window”
“What! It’s like a 15-foot drop.”
Luis tossed his backpack aside, throwing his hands out, “I’ll catch you.” His voice was full of confidence, throwing the dark-haired boy a blinding smile that made Max’s chest ignite with warmth. “Trust me?”
He flushes, hoping the Madrigal is not able to notice from the ground. Deep down, despite his reservations, he finds himself trusting the other boy. He does trust the other boy, even though he tries not to. It’s all a complicated mess, no matter how much he wants to resist; something within him tugs. His circle of trust is, well, small; he can probably count everyone on his fingers. Max grabs a rough-looking pair of black boots, unsure if they belong to him or Felix, and heads back to the window.
“Fine,” he concedes, throwing a leg over the window ledge, “Drop me and you die.”
He leaps, landing into the arms of his unlabeled, sorta-not-really-boyfriend.
“Hi,” said the unlabeled, sorta not really boyfriend, winking at him.
“Weirdo,” Max mutters, his voice a mix of amusement and annoyance as he pushes the other boy's face away with his palm. Once again, a warm flush creeps across his face, something that happens too much when he was around the other.
Luis gently pulls away Max’s palm, turning his head back to look at him. “Wait, how long have you worn glasses?” he asks, his brow furrowing, the gears in his head already turning, trying to remember if he had seen the other wear glasses before.
Pushing off the strong boy’s chest, signaling to Luis to let him down, Max brushes off imaginary dirt from his clothes and straightens his frames. They are slim, rectangular, and much more his speed than the oversized frames he had as a child.
“Since….I was five, I only wear them before bed and when I wake up. I was able to get contacts when I left the Isle,” he says almost timidly.
He had completely forgotten he was wearing them; they were only meant for the solitude of his dorm room. He recalled the previous pair he owned, a constant reminder of the times they were stepped on, stolen, or weaponized against him when he was younger. So when starting school away from Isle, he buried that part of himself.
“You look good in them, sophisticated,” Luis remarks, a soft hum escaping his lips as he assesses him. His gaze lingers before reaching out and gently taking his hand. “I like seeing these parts of you.”
“What parts?”
“You know-” Luis begins to walk, taking the other with him, “just some of the stuff I don’t usually get to see.”
Max lets himself be pulled along. Their footsteps made a soft crunching sound as the fallen leaves broke beneath them. Early fall had left the nights relatively mild, but the wind blew through the trees, ruffling their hair and bringing a slight chill. They had had plenty of night excursions, always somewhere different; sometimes, if they were lucky, in their own separate dorms when their roommates were away.
“So where are you taking me to? Should I be worried?” Max bumps Luis’ shoulder. “This better not be like the spot you promised was ‘empty’ but very much not.” his voice is teasing.
Luis sputters, “Ok, one time,” he holds up one finger in emphasis,“you promised me you would not bring that up.”
The very incident involved Luis promising that he knew a super secret spot that no one would ever be at. Lo and behold, people very much knew about this spot. One particularly “active” couple didn’t notice them when they showed up to the alcove underneath the belltower or when they quickly made their escape.
“I promised nothing,” he singsongs, pulling him close, looking his not-boyfriend in the eyes.
Luis squeezes his hand, “Yeah, yeah, but I have had other great date spots.”
Max smiles in return, “I liked the one at the lake, at the end of summer.” That day had started horribly; his summer job at a local tea shop had drained him that day. Serving some of the rudest people he had ever had the pleasure of meeting. Instead of allowing him to rot in his bed, Luis dragged him out to the lake. It was…nice to be cared about.
“Even though it rained?”
Max laughs a little at that; it poured almost immediately as soon as they got there. Luis had been upset, having had this whole thing planned, apologizing profusely. Max had jumped into the water, pulling the other with him. “Yes, it showed me what a true loverboy you are.”
“Guilty.” Luis winks at him.
As they walk for a few more minutes, Luis leads him along. They talk about their weeks, the topic never reaching anything deeper than surface level. Luis gets animated talking about his little league team; they have actually grasped some concepts of the sport compared to the beginning of the season.
“They might not get their asses handed to them when they play their first game next week. Of course, I will support them anyway, win or lose, but now I think we can win.”
“Yeah? No more tumbling over each other.”
“Ehh,” Luis wobbles his free hand side to side, “That still happens, most of the time, but we practised scoring in the opponents' goal instead of ours, so you know progress.”
Their voice fades into the trees as Luis leads on. Around the next turn, they take a small cottage, small, quaint, and hidden away, comes into view.
“Told you I had a spot,” the curly-headed boy gestures excitedly in his tone.
Max looks at him, confused, both eyebrows raised. “Whose house is this?”
Luis shrugs, “Dunno, but the people who know about it say it's empty and unlocked.”
“Who are you, Madrigal?” The Wonderlandian feigns a gasp, pressing a hand to his chest. “What would your family think, your other merry band heroes? Scandalous.” he lets out a tsk, “Trespassing."
Luis shakes his head, pushing the rounded door open. The cottage was small in size; the windows were covered in a thin veil of dust, moonlight filtering through the grimy panes showing off the dust particles in the stale air.
“Looks like it's been forgotten for a while,” Max murmurs, stepping, Luis following suit.
Luis grins, looking around. “No one has been home for years, it seems,” he says, running his finger along the shelf that overhangs the unlit fireplace, “Just you and me.”
The curly-haired boy sets his backpack on the ground and pulls out a large, vibrant blue blanket; star motifs seem to be embroidered into the corners in a soft yellow. Luis catches Max eyeing the blanket. “One of my Tía’s gave this to me; she customizes everything she can get her hands on.” his voice was warm as it always was when talking about his family.
Max nods, watching the other boy spread it out on the creaky wooden floors. Luis, once satisfied, flops down on top of it. He pats the spot next to him. Max takes the hint laying next to him.
“Are you going home over break?” he starts, knowing that his lover had been juggling whether or not to go, too busy to really take a break.
Luis’ shoulders rise and fall as an exhale leaves his body. “I honestly don’t know,” he says, frustration creeping into his voice. “I think Mami is still upset about me not coming home over the summer, I think. She likes to have me close, but this is my last year in high school, and I have to take all the opportunities I can to build up my college application. It’s not like I don’t want to go home. There is nowhere else I would rather be, but I have to focus on my future.”
“I think you’ll be fine: good grades, sports, volunteering you have done it all.” his voice is soft and comforting, something he doesn't often do; he plays with the other's hair, a familiar habit over the last couple of months, entangling his fingers into soft curls.
“I hope so.”
Time slips by in a quiet, familiar feeling. They kept their voices low as the night began to fade into early day; eventually, the conversation lulls.
Max hums, a gentle melody he remembers his father humming in his workshop, as his fingers play with the other's hair. They were laid out right next to each other, their legs touching. The warmth of the moment hangs comfortably between them, but he breaks the soft, comfortable silence with a question. “Have you thought about telling your mom about us?” Max almost regrets it as soon as it rushes out of his mouth, already cringing.
Luis turns his gaze away; the warmth in his eyes flickers with something fierce. His tone sharpens, making the atmosphere suddenly cold. “Have you thought about telling your friends or dad?” his words were biting; the intimate moment beginning to crumble.
Max pulls his hand away from the other's hair, a scowl threatening to overtake his face. “Don't start with that, Luis; you are the-”
But his words falter as warm, inviting lips press against his skin. “Then let's not start, yeah,” he feels each word mumbled into his neck, warmth starting to fill his body.
“We really should-” Max trails off again as the pair of lips move farther up his neck, moving up to his jawline while hands move under the fabric of his hoodie
“Do we?” comes a teasing reply, his words no longer cold and biting.
The Wonderlandian contemplates pushing on the issue, but knows that if he did, it would end in a fight. Instead, he shakes his head at the question and lets the other's lips meet his, letting the warmth fully take over.
Max jolted awake, drenched in sweat, the remnants of a dream clinging to him like a heavy fog. He flung his blanket aside in a hasty motion, the fabric sliding to the floor in a crumpled heap as he swung his legs over the side of the bed; his bare feet met the cool wooden floor, a stark contrast to the warmth of his restless sleep. He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart, and ran a hand through his tousled hair, feeling the strands sticking up at odd angles. Dreams had always been an enigma for him, often leaving him with more questions than answers. They were always so real, some pulling on memories. The others provided a mirrored, warped version of his life. The cruelest nights painted a picture of a father who was tender and devoted, wrapping his child in warmth and affection, creating the illusion of a blissful, ordinary childhood. These dreams, however, were shrouded in a haze, less vivid than the stark clarity of memories, offering only the faintest glimpses of a life that might have unfolded in a different reality.
He stumbles into the attached bathroom; he splashes himself with water to wake himself up from his stupor. He makes the mistake of catching his reflection. Without needing his glasses, he can see that his skin is starting to break out, with small red bumps littering his cheeks and faint shadows lingering underneath his tired eyes. He opened his mouth to try to unclench his jaw; the tension still never left.
It had been a couple of days since his small freak-out during dinner. His friends were treating him like he was fragile and close to breaking, sticking to his side no matter where he went. Hazel followed him, class to class, but she kept to her word, not pushing but present. Felix kept asking to see card tricks, claiming his sleight of hand was lacking; it was not. Speaking of Felix, he walks out of the bathroom, the dorm empty, his roommate's shoes gone, the bed made. Max thanks the gods for not having to explain why he was panicked.
He looks closer at their room, Felix’s side all put together, textbooks, vials, all put in specific spots. Max’s side was overrun with chaos, something he got from his father: clothes, wire, and other mechanical bits thrown about. It was all creeping over to the other side of the room, and he knew it was stressing Felix out, but the other would not say it. He picked at his cuticles, his nails freshly painted, all thanks to Hazel from the day prior. He then looked back at the mess of his side of the room, not wanting to be a loser roommate, and began picking it back up. The real challenge was finding an organized system to put all his shit into, which for him changed every time his side got this bad.
Finally, after what seemed like forever, music filled the room, keeping his wandering mind at bay; he could see the floor, which was a big accomplishment. Mechanical scrap shoved into a plastic bin under his workbench, his “lost” loupe goggles found and placed on the dresser, and clothes in the hamper, which he will probably forget to take to the laundry room, but it is the thought that counts, right?
During the cleaning spree, he found his favorite card deck, well, most of it. All found in various corners of the room, probably from practising throwing them; that is definitely what it was. He and Felix liked to throw them at the target that was attached to their large wardrobe. Counting them, missing an ace, he sighs, not really in the mood to find it, but knowing if he didn’t find it now it was never going to be found. The only place that was left untouched from the cleaning spree was under his bed, which was now made, thank you very much. He vaguely remembers Felix throwing a card in the direction of his bed; it was probably meant to hit the Wonderlandian.
He flops on the ground; the abyss that was under his bed was stuffed with suitcases, more clothes, and a couple of books he had never read. Shoving his hand to rummage around, he couldn't seem to find anything card-shaped. He keeps rummaging till his fingers brushed against something he could never truly forget. The music that had been breaking the silence began to drown out by the loud drum-like sound that was his racing heart.
“No way,” Max whispers, hand pulling the object out from under the bed.
A light green velvet top hat adorned with a delicate black ribbon mocks him from the tight grip his hand had on it. It was weird having it in his hands instead of high up on his father's prized hat shelf. Even weirder was why it was under his bed, something he would never have brought with him to school, wanting to separate the image of his father from himself, which obviously didn't work out. Pulling it closer, he could see the wear and tear of the old hat, having existed way before he was born, the brim beginning to fray.
With a deliberate motion, he turns the object over, his fingers brushing against the surface as he examines the intricate craftsmanship, hand-stitched patterns woven by his father long ago. It was one of his father's favorite hats. Though he never wore it, saying it had served its purpose, whatever that meant. As he inspects the interior, a sealed letter slips free from its confines, gracefully gliding through the air before landing softly on the hardwood floors of the dorm.
His brow furrows as he picks it up; the envelope was not addressed, nor did he expect it to be. He knew actually who this letter was for; otherwise, this hat, which he never took with him, would not be located where it was. He stares at it, face devoid of emotion; there is nothing in there that would be worth his time if he read it, but the quieter and more desperate part of himself told him maybe. Maybe this was his father finally reaching out first. Finally being there in his own way, and if that meant sending an old hat to deliver messages, then he would take it. His fingers toy with the seal; back and forth his mind went.
Deciding, he pops the seal, then pulls out the parchment tucked inside. Unfolding it, was the familiar looping cursive of his name written in his father's handwriting.
“Maxence,” he begins, reading out loud to an empty room, “Sorry for the hat; it is the quickest way to reach you most days.” Max rolls his eyes at this; his father might be an inventor but refuses to use something as simple as a phone.
“I know you never had much faith in my pursuit,” he continues, “But I have found it- what I have been missing most in this world.” Max’s voice gets sharper the more he reads, the handwriting getting more erratic. “Soon, they’ll all pay for what they did; they’ll all see how wrong they all were. I hope you will be by my side when the time comes.”
That is where it ends: no endearment or love, just as Max should have known it would be. Just more ramblings of a madman, not a father. He wipes away a tear he doesn't even realize has fallen, unsure why he is even crying. He is used to this and therefore shouldn’t allow it to affect him, but it does, and that makes it even worse. The piece of paper falls to the ground as he tries to steel away his emotions. Looking at it one more time, he stands quickly, almost making himself lightheaded in the process. He throws open one of the drawers on Felix’s side of the room, rooting through the neatly folded clothes until he wraps his fingers around a cold metal cylinder. He returns to the paper on the ground, snatching it up with much vigor, his clasp tight on it, turning his hand a pasty white. He unlatches the old creaky window with enough force; if it were any other moment, he would have feared he broke it. The winter chill welcomes him, quickly seeping into the room.
He holds the folded paper in front of his face, then brings the metal cylinder, which was really Felix’s lighter, up to it. He fiddles with the lighter, which he wasn't sure was being fueled by actual fluid or his own anger, as a small flame emits from it. He brings the paper closer till the flame catches; it engulfs quickly. He holds it out the window, watching the ash catch the wind. He can barely feel the scolding heat as it dissipates in front of his eyes. Disappearing as quickly as he found it, vanishing like the fragile hope that he had for his father. Disappointment settles deep within Max’s chest again, a familiar feeling he keeps allowing to happen when it comes to his only parent.
Turning to deal with his father’s hat, that too had also vanished.