Chapter Text
They eat, talk minimally and Max would like to write it down to just being too engrossed in the food, having not eaten since the day before, but he knows it’s not the case. The tension from earlier is still there, bubbling, and Max catches Lewis staring more than once, but Lewis never looks away, always just stares ahead, as if looking hard enough will get him the answers he seems to be looking for.
Still, it’s not necessarily unenjoyable, just tense, but Max doesn’t think either of them would like the next few days to stay that way, so, his mind supplies an excellent idea: getting absolutely hammered.
He brings the idea of going to a club pretty close to their hotel up to Lewis when they’re back in the hotel and the older man, surprisingly, agrees without a second thought.
-
The club is everything Max needs and expects it to be - loud, crowded, and dark. He can barely hear anything, and he just finds himself clinging to Lewis for navigation through the crowd - Lewis pulls him along wordlessly, before finally settling at a secluded table, and that’s how the entire thing begins.
They drink, a lot , and Lewis seems to hold his alcohol pretty well but Max, even if he seems to be functioning properly, is rapidly losing all his rationale, his words become slurred and he sways a lot more than he normally would. At some point, he finds his entire body leaning into Lewis’, and he can feel a possessive hand around his waist, steadying him.
“You wanna go back?”, Lewis’ voice is distant, and he strongly (and stubbornly) shakes his head, to which he can hear Lewis chuckle.
“I like it here”, the nightclub really isn’t all that special, but here means Lewis and him freely talking again, without the previous tension, Max can feel the bass vibrating through him, loves it, and now that he’s leaning against Lewis, he can inhale his scent and he smells so good, they both smell like alcohol and smoke- Max can’t get enough, doesn’t ever want to leave.
“Okay, Maxy, but no more drinking for you, at least not until you come back to yourself a bit, yeah?”, he can feel Lewis’ breath on his cheek, and Max finds himself wanting .
When he tilts his head up to look Lewis in the eyes, their noses are touching again, and it’s intoxicating, much more than the alcohol. They’ve not been closer in months, Max thinks if he just leans ahead slightly, they’ll kiss and-
“ Please ”, the word comes out like a prayer, he can’t stop himself from asking, begging for anything and everything in the moment, but it seems to snap Lewis out of the moment, and he pulls back as if burned, and Max feels the sinking pit of disappointment in his stomach again- this time, he can’t stop the whine that leaves him, and Lewis slightly smiles at that.
“Max, you’re drunk”, Lewis’ hand is still on the side of his body, running up and down comfortingly, but Max doesn’t hear his words, his brain tunes them out, and he feels desperate and ugly and unlovable-
“Maxy, baby, hey, it’s okay, you’re panicking sweetheart, look at me”, and he does, and Lewis, despite very obviously also being intoxicated, is the spitting image of beauty somehow, and is also collected enough to try and pull Max back from the place he started spiraling into. There’s a hand on his cheek now, and he puts his own hand over Lewis’, then on Lewis’ neck, his arms, just kind of confirming he’s there.
It’s not anything necessarily new to Lewis, but Max thinks he never did get used to seeing him like this, thinking back to a scene only a few months into their relationship, when it first happened.
-
He awakens to something - someone, shaking him, but before noticing anything around him, Max feels the familiar wet of tears on his entire face. He’s crying, with no idea why, or how, or where he is. It feels suffocating, and the next thing he notices is that he can barely breathe.
His eyes clear up, just slightly in the darkness, and he can see the person shaking him - Lewis? For a moment, Max’s brain completely erases the past few months and the first thing he thinks is - why the hell is Lewis here?
Then it clicks, only a second later, that Lewis is in his bed because they’re dating, they’re together, he can call Lewis his boyfriend - said boyfriend has been saying something ever since Max came to, probably even before, but he has no clue what exactly it is that he’s been saying.
“Breathe, Max, Maxy, remember to breathe, sweetheart”, he can hear Lewis’ voice in the distance now, and his mind thinks - that’s ridiculous, why would he forget to breathe - seconds before realizing he really is not breathing, which sends him into further panic. He feels like he’s going to die.
“Baby, can I touch you?”, Lewis’ voice is just barely closer, and Max nods despite himself, doesn’t even know he does it, and then he feels warm all over, Lewis is embracing him, and his voice gets even closer, almost as if Lewis is directly next to his ear (he is).
“Come on, breathe together with me, yeah?”, Max’s hand is placed on Lewis’ chest, and he feels the contortions when Lewis inhales and exhales deeply, tries to follow suit. It works, somewhat, and he opens his mouth to say something, before Lewis shushes him.
“Shh, sweetheart, don’t speak, just focus on breathing”, and so he does, following the shape of Lewis’ chest under his hands as a guide, following the silky voice in his mind like a lighthouse, “everything is okay, Maxy, you’re doing so well, so good, almost there.”
An undefined amount of time, in Max’s eyes at least, passes, before he notices he’s breathing on his own now, hand firmly intertwined with Lewis’, kisses being peppered all over his shoulders. His vision clears up completely, and for the first time since he woke up, he can see Lewis clearly.
The first thing he does is kiss him, deep and affectionate.
“Thank you”, his voice is soft, cracking when it comes out, and Lewis’ worried expression doesn’t go away with the words.
“Does this… does it happen often, baby?”, Lewis never stops touching him, noticing the effect his hands have on Max, grounding the Dutchman further from his panic. Max nods, embarrassed, and looks away. Lewis doesn’t let him - he’s immediately pulled into a sweet kiss, incredibly soft, as if Lewis put his entire being into it. Max feels like crying again - happy tears, this time.
“Nothing to be ashamed of, love”, there’s a smile on his face when he speaks, “you did so well, you’re okay now, yeah? I’m so proud of you, baby.”
It’s insane to Max that Lewis, despite only being with him for a few months, seems to always know exactly what Max needs in the given situation, always saying what Max needs to hear, and actually meaning it. Then again, Max supposes Lewis has always been that way, even before they shared a bed. Every tiny conversation amounted to something, every chat had some meaning.
It never feels like empty words with Lewis, it never feels empty anything.
Max chokes up again, goes to apologize, and he’s being interrupted again before he can finish the sentence.
“No”, it comes out a bit firmer than expected, and he gets another soft kiss before Lewis continues, “there’s nothing to apologize for. This is normal, it happens and it doesn’t make you any less… anything - and I’m here and if this happens to you, then it happens to me too, I’m here to help, or try to, at least”.
The entire thing leaves Max in shock - Lewis’ words, the emotion he feels at them, the love he feels from them.
“I- never, no one has ever-”, for the third, and final time that night, Lewis shuts him up with a searing kiss, not nearly as soft, but with all of the emotions in it.
“They should have”, Lewis speaks into his lips, “but I will, I’ll do my best, okay? I promise”, and Max believes him.
He doesn’t wake up in tears again that night.
-
Max slowly comes back to himself, just barely, just to see through the haze, and when he visibly takes his first proper inhale, Lewis’ shoulders slump in relief.
His panic attacks are a lot better now than when he and Lewis first started dating, and in no small part thanks to Lewis himself - he was always there when they happened, researched on the best way to approach someone having a panic attack, and most importantly - pushed Max to get some help himself, made him feel less ashamed about it, made him feel human.
Max supposes Lewis doesn’t know if the panic attacks have gotten worse since they broke up - which they have, but not by a lot - yet even then, Lewis was inadvertently helping - Max would curl up in a ball, rock back and fourth, trying to reminisce on every step Lewis guided him through, trying to remember the comforting words. They’re still true, even if Lewis isn’t here anymore , Max would tell himself.
Sometimes it helped - sometimes it didn’t.
“Hi”, Max looks at him when he speaks. The panic has, ironically, sobered him up slightly, enough so that the slur of his words is gone, so that he can stand on his own, his mind just barely cloudy.
Lewis runs a hand through Max’s hair, smoothing it back. “How are you feeling?”, the question is neutral, open, and Max could choose to describe every moment of the panic attack or just say he’s fine, Lewis leaves him the choice. Max chooses neither.
“Like I want to go back now”, is his answer, a sheepish smile dancing on his lips, and Lewis chuckles, makes a sort of motion with his head that obviously spells let’s go then , and when he grasps Max’s wrist again, gentle but firm, to not lose him in the crowd (or maybe just because he wanted to), Max’s own arm feels on fire.
-
They arrive at the hotel shortly, and Lewis, after making sure that Max feels okay enough on his own, pretty much forces him to shower, and when he says yell if you need me with a terribly unfair smile, Max’s mind goes to all the wrong places.
With the cold Dutch weather and the water hitting his face, Max sobers up almost completely, not that it helps with the state of his mind - he feels bad , and his thoughts are racing and so full of everything, of almost kissing Lewis, of the fact he did not kiss Lewis, mostly.
Exiting the shower, he finds the other man just standing around, looking through the window, something unreadable on his face.
Max, impulsive and almost desperate, leans against Lewis’ back, and he somehow doesn’t seem all that surprised, just turns slightly so that he can look at Max easily, doesn’t say anything. Max so desperately needs to know what Lewis is thinking when he looks at him like that, otherwise, he thinks he might just implode.
“How do you feel?”, is the question Lewis asks him, and Max has no idea what to say, so he just purses his lips together and looks back at Lewis meaningfully, hoping Lewis is still as good at reading him as he always was (spoiler alert: he is).
“C’mere, Maxy”, he’s pulled into a hug, and he feels so small, even when he’s a good bit taller than Lewis, he hides his face in the crook of Lewis’ neck, Lewis still smells like smoke and cologne and Max absolutely loves it.
There’s a hand in his hair, and another on his lower back, so firm, so comforting, and he can’t stop himself anymore.
“Why… why didn’t you…”, he lets the question trail off, still hidden, doesn’t think he could ask Lewis anything like that while looking at him - he’s shaking already, doesn’t even know why. Lewis’ voice is sharp but quiet when it reaches him.
“You were drunk, baby, and-”, Lewis seems to stop himself from going further, letting out a loud sigh, exasperated almost, and Max feels his hands on him tighten, if possible.
“And what?”, he needs to know.
“Let’s talk in the morning, you’re tired”, Lewis lifts his head with both his hands, and he’s wearing a smile that, as much as it is genuine, it’s also forced, and Max just wants to know what the fuck Lewis is thinking - when he doesn’t say anything, Lewis leads him to the bed, cuddles up next to him and holds him, intentional and secure.