Archive of Our Own

The first thing you do when you wake up is reach over and grab your phone, only to instantly regret it, because now you're blind. The screen is too bright against the dark background that is your room, save for the few spots of moonlight that comes in through the window. The spots flashing behind your eyes do nothing but add to the experience. Your head is aching, your throat is dry, and you feel like trash.

Nothing new—just the guilt of taking a nap in the afternoon.

Although guilt quickly turns into regret, now that your eyes are able to handle light again, and you make the second attempt at checking your phone. That was definitely not an afternoon nap you just took. Nine o'clock has always been your strict bedtime ever since you were a kid. It stayed that way even after you moved away from your parents and into Blackwell.

It's 11:17pm. You're waking up two hours after your bedtime. You had slept for about twelve hours.

You sigh and rub the palms of your hands into your eyes until you see more spots. You don't miss the notification of an unread message from your mother, but you choose to ignore it for now. She only ever texts you when you've upset her in some way. You already know that she's just asking why your perfect attendance has been dropping recently.

After locking your phone and dropping it somewhere to the side—you don't really have the energy to care—you find yourself back in the dark. You're still processing the fact that the end of the day is now the start of yours. In the past, your mother, unsurprisingly, would scold you for doing this. The lack of sunlight, food and human interaction was unhealthy apparently.

You've discovered that you can live without the sun or (healthy) food, but you can't call your mother a liar just yet, because she's absolutely right about the human interaction thing. You can't imagine doing this everyday by yourself without losing your sanity.

As you lay in your bed, alone with your thoughts and your only form of human interaction, your sense of hearing and feeling wakes up along with the rest of your body. You're aware of the quiet breaths that aren't coming from you. You're aware of the second pair of arms that are wrapped around you. You're aware of the mop of brown hair that is tucked underneath your chin.

You're aware that you are cuddling with Max Caulfield.

If this were a few months ago, you would have shrieked and had the mind to push her off of your bed. Now, you don't mind sleeping in the same bed with the other girl because, really, you just don't. With how close her body is to yours, you should be a blushing, red mess, but you aren't.

Again, it's nothing new at this point.

She's soft, comfortable, warm, and your arms are already wrapped around her in return, so you shut your eyes and will yourself back to sleep, not caring that you've been doing so for a dozen hours. Maybe you care a little bit, because you never sleep for that long. You've always thought of yourself as a busy and productive person, but twelve hours naps are the exact opposite of what a busy or productive person does.

You have to remind yourself of one of your sleeping habits—that you usually wake up every hour or so whenever you nap. Your room had only gotten darker and darker once five, six and seven in the afternoon passed. You checked the clock every time with heavy eyes, wondering if you should just get up already. Max was still there every time you awoke, arms wrapped firmly around your own arm, then under your arms, then around your waist, and you had absolutely no problem with going back to sleep.

Now, you're restless. Your brain is wide awake, and your eyes refuse to stay closed.

And you haven't even started your homework.

God, I hate Mondays, you realize is something that Max would say. It's definitely not Monday, but it's definitely far from Saturday. The voice in your head has been sounding a lot like Max's recently. It must be the fact that as your only form of human interaction, her voice is the only one you ever hear nowadays.

You sit up with a small groan, causing the bed to dip and sheets to rustle. The girl wrapped around you mumbles incoherently, arms leaving you as she eventually sits up along with you. You would've apologized for waking her up, but you know that she hasn't started her homework yet either. Going back to sleep just sounds disastrous for the both of you.

"Good morning," you softly say to her. It isn't morning, far from it, but it's always been more fitting in this scenario.

Max responds by yawning into the back of her hand and stretching. Her head of brown hair is a tangled mess, even more so than it usually is, and you can't help but find it adorable. She's still in her grey hoodie and jeans, which is when you realize that you're still in your cardigan, white button-up and skirt. You're suddenly self conscious of your hair that is still up in a bun. It must be a horrible mess.

"What time is it?" she mumbles, starting the usual exchange you and her share every time this happens.

"Eleven," you reply.

She pauses mid stretch, blinking rapidly to clear the sleep out of her eyes. "Seriously?" You watch as she reaches for her own phone, shielding her eyes from the screen much like you did, and laughs, "Wow. Rest in peace, sleep schedule."

That always gets a giggle out of you. She's such a dork.

"We should really get this straightened out." Max looks at you for the first time since you had both woken up and smiles. "This can't be healthy."

You agree with her completely. You miss being the first one awake to claim the showers for yourself, and it's been so long since you last played your violin before class or just sat in your favorite spot outside and fed the squirrels some of your breakfast.

But the thing is... "How, exactly?"

She just grins at you and shrugs. "No clue."

... But the thing is that it's always been difficult for you to break out of a routine. It's especially hard to break out of a routine that you and Max both enjoy.

Max blanches at the mention of homework, but you hand over her messenger bag anyway. It was already sitting next to your own bag at the foot of your bed, alongside two different pairs of shoes. Midnight passes, and you and Max spend the new morning as if it is the afternoon.

You start your homework at your desk. Max does hers on your bed, surrounded by papers and notebooks.

Alice is fed, who seemed grumpy that you had to wake her up to do so. Refusing to go back into her cage, she stuck with Max instead. It was an adorable sight, until the bunny started gnawing on the corners of calculus work and you had to swiftly put her back.

One in the morning.

You take a sip of chamomile tea. It was pretty much a requirement. It's what sparked the bond between you and her in the first place.

Max softly swears under her breath from across the room as she takes a sip that must have been too hot on her tongue. Even with tea in hand, pinky out, she has the poise and elegance of a baby deer. Of course, you like that about her.

Two in the morning.

Max's phone rings. You can't help but pay extra attention when she answers with a "What's up, Warren?"

He must be pulling another all-nighter. Whether he's studying for the upcoming physics test, playing League, or using either of those as an excuse to talk to his crush, you don't know. She promises that they'll hang out soon. They haven't done so in a while, as she's been busy sleeping her free time away in your bed.

Sorry, Warren.

You don't miss the tired sigh Max lets out before she mutters into her phone, "Yes, I'm okay, Warren." A pause and another sigh, this time more exasperated. "Yes, I'm sure. Don't worry about me."

After that, the only noise to fill the room is the sound of pencil on paper. You and Max don't speak, as you and her have done this enough to talk about everything there is to talk about.

You've already talked about Victoria and how passive-aggressively nicer she has become. You've already talked about the new photography teacher and how much of an incredible bore he is. Max already asked you about your family and if they're treating you any better. You already asked about Joyce and David and if they're still holding up.

It's almost everything. You and her both know that some topics don't usually end well, and that's not what you and Max are here for.

Three in the morning.

You shut your notebook and turn to the brunette. "Are you done with your homework?"

Max looks up at you from her pile of pages. "I, um..." She fakes a cough. "Nope."

Of course she isn't.

"How about you? Are you done?" she asks, a knowing smile on her face.

"What do you think?" you laugh.

"No?"

"Nope."

"Perfect." She shuts her notebook as well, stuffing everything back into her bag. "You ready to go?"

Of course you are.

In the past, you've never left Blackwell past curfew, or had the thought or the guts to even try, but here you are, tiptoeing out of the girls' dormitory with someone that would never do the same. Now, it's just another part of the routine. It isn't until you feel the cool mid-November air that the rush of breaking the rules hits you.

You have been quite the rebel recently—staying up past nine, ignoring your mother's texts, not finishing your homework and sneaking out of school past curfew. Sleeping with another girl—literally, not figuratively—is one you choose to leave out. It's silly and elementary compared to what every other high school senior does on a daily basis.

But, God, does it feel good.

You regret not bringing a warmer jacket with you after a cold breeze brushes against your skin. Pulling your cardigan closer to your body, you don't even notice that you're taking a step closer to the familiar source of warmth next to you. Max must have noticed, as she proceeds to take another step closer until your shoulders are touching. Fingers brush occasionally as you walk. In a way, it helps fight against the cold, but it does nothing to help your shivering.

You send a smile her way as thanks anyway.

It takes no time to reach and cross the parking lot. Once you leave the school grounds behind you, you and Max walk. You cross empty streets and turn corners with no destination in mind. You just walk. When you look back, Blackwell becomes smaller and smaller in the distance, now something that neither of you have to worry about.

The first time you did this with Max, it was to get away from Blackwell. For you and her, it was as if the academy's walls were closing in on you both, and you both needed to get out of there. The air was thick and stuffy, even in class where you were paranoid for anything and everything. The moment you left, you found that you preferred the fresh, salty air that the bay provided with much more.

October had felt like a lifetime ago, but it's only been about a month since then. It's still fresh in your mind, but you're doing your best to forget.

You realize that trying to forget is just making you remember more, so you focus on your surroundings as to not run into any street lights. You focus on walking, breathing in and out the fresh air, the relaxing sound of crickets chirping, the amazing amount of stars in the sky, and fingers brushing against yours for the umpteenth time. You kind of lost count.

As fresh as you want and believe Arcadia Bay's air to be, you're aware that it's still tainted in some way. It doesn't take a genius to tell that two defenseless, young girls walking around alone in the dark isn't safe, but if you were never safe in your own school, where else could you be?

Your answer is with Max. For all you know, you could be walking into your own death right now, but as long as you turn to see the brunette at your side, you know that you're safe. You can tell that October has changed her—that she's a much stronger person than the shy, introverted hipster that you met before the semester started. Max can, and will, keep you safe.

Still, you can say the same thing about her even before the semester started. She saw more to you than the weird Christian girl that everyone else saw. She never judged you. She never looked away when you'd quote one of your favorite verses. She'd look at you with a kind face full of approval, and that's all you could have ever asked for.

You take a quick glance at her, unable to wipe the small smile off of your face. Her skin almost glows under the moonlight. You can see the stars reflecting off of her eyes. Her hair remains tangled and tousled, as she had attempted to fix her bed-head with her fingers instead of a proper brush. It fits her so well. She can be so endearing without even trying.

She glances back at you, and a knowing smirk grows on her face, one that you've become so familiar with.

Here we go. You always dread this moment, but you look forward to it just as much. It's impossible to make up your mind. It's been growing on you.

"The sky is pretty, right, Kate?" she asks, and her smirk changes from subtle to shit-eating in an instant.

"Max..." you mutter through your teeth, bracing for impact.

"But what about me? I don't know why you're star-ing so much."

You sigh, groan, and cover your face. You can't even be embarrassed that you were caught staring after hearing a pun that bad.

Still, you're smiling—albeit, behind a hand, not wanting to give her the satisfaction. You've heard plenty of her worse puns during these walks, and today will be no different. It's as if they get worse every night.

The rest of the walk remains this way. Mostly in the middle of conversation, just to throw you off as much as possible. Max can be devious like that.

"Are you hungry, Kate?"

"Mmm, yeah, I guess. I mean we haven't eaten in..." You do the math in your head, and the results are actually a bit concerning. "Over sixteen hours."

"Do you wanna go to Two Whales?"

You raise your eyebrows at her. "Max, Two Whales is closed at this time. You know that." You almost ask if she's even comfortable talking to Joyce yet until—

"Whale that sucks," she sighs.

You're already sighing.

After walking out of a twenty-four hour gas station for anything cheap to eat, you watch as Max downs an energy drink.

"Do those even work?" you ask out of curiosity. You've never dared to touch the stuff and their neon-colored cans. Even if you preferred coffee over tea, which you don't, you'd still take the coffee over an energy drink any day.

"Oh, this?" She points at the can in her hand. You nod. "Not if you're, like, super tired or something. I'd drink one then literally pass out an hour later."

"That doesn't sound fun." You grimace. "I think I'll stick with tea."

"Yeah, you should." And there's that grin again. "In other words, it's just a bunch of bull."

She presents the can to you like a commercial trying to sell you something, and you read the brand name of the drink in her hand.

"Maaaaax..."

"What? I'm not a Monster or anything!"

Oh my—

"See look, Kate! I can see you snickering over there!"

"Huh?" You pause in the middle of a bite you just took of the candy bar you bought from the gas station. You read the brand name. You're forced to swallow down chocolate, peanuts and caramel before you can groan again. Unfortunately, it goes down the wrong pipe and now you're coughing.

"Kate! Are you okay?" She reaches over and rubs your back until the coughs subside.

"Yeah, I'm fi—"

"Don't you die on me, Kate!" She suddenly wraps her arms around you. You're stiff, and as much as you want to, you decide not to hug her back. "I'd be chock-full o' grief over your late body!"

"Max!"

"What?"

You squeeze out of her grip and huff in her direction, walking ahead of her faster than usual so that she doesn't catch up.

"Okaaay, I'm done!" she whines, running after you. "I promise!"

It's no secret that Max adores your smile and your laugh. She tells you all of the time, and, personally, you think she's giving you too much credit.

It takes several bad puns for you to finally understand. It's as if the crickets had silenced themselves for you to hear Max's addicting laughter better, and when you peek behind you, her smile nearly blinds you.

Four in the morning.

There's usually no destination in mind when it comes to these walks, but by the end of them, you and the brunette always end up making the trek into the forest—"Four-est in the morning," Max giggled—following the same familiar path that has been etched into your memory.

Your tired feet scream in relief after you weave passed the bushes and trees, walk up the slope, and the wooden bench comes into view. It's even better when you take a seat, and the ever-present feelings of stress and discomfort leaves your system completely.

This has always been one of your favorite parts of the routine.

In front of you, the bay literally sparkles underneath the night sky, the stars and the moon. Even after the very first night, the sight never fails to take your breath away. Max had grinned in satisfaction, pleased to introduce her favorite person to her favorite spot in town. She silently takes a seat to your left, and to your right, the lighthouse watches over you both.

You've never realized the significance of the lighthouse until recently. Every time you saw it, whether you drove passed it or just spotted in the distance, it always felt like it held some air of importance. Even if the sight of it left you uneasy on days that were particularly grey and damp. Still, it was Max's refuge, and now it's yours as well. You understand now. Like the girl next to you, you feel safe in its presence.

You have to remember to pay your respects, though. The lighthouse was plenty of others' refuge as well—most notably from people that are no longer around, who also wanted to get away.

Folding your hands closed upon your lap, you close your eyes and offer a quick prayer.

You didn't know Chloe well. She was just a name that you'd hear of and a face that walked passed you. You've seen her tag along with Joyce when she would volunteer to feed the hungry. It never took long for arguments to stir, and you'd watch as Chloe stomped away into her beaten up truck.

You saw her more often around Blackwell, putting up countless posters of Rachel—another prayer—onto every available corner.

She had always looked so sad doing so, but one wrong look from a bystander and the punk puts her tough face back on. You'd see the tall, seething woman with dyed hair, tattoos and a leather jacket and never even think of associating her with someone like Max.

But from the hundreds of stories that you've heard since the past month, that's all they ever have been. Max and Chloe. Chloe and Max. The dynamic duo, partners in crime, pirates of Arcadia Bay—Max and Chloe.

You wonder if Max and Kate even sounds right in your head.

It is Max and Kate now, and you feel bad for thinking that. You're not proud of the fact that jealousy was something that you used to feel at the thought of what she and Max used to have. You feel even worse knowing that what they used to have is now yours.

Of course, Max denied all of that when you told her.

You've replaced your best friend's best friend, but that was never your intention. It was almost natural how quickly you and the brunette sought each other out after what had been the worst week of your lives.

So whether you truly replaced Chloe or not, you can't feel any worse than the one who misses her the most.

Turning to Max, she stares ahead at the sparkling ocean with a smile. Her smile is tiny and distant and you can't read it. No matter how much time you've been spending with her, getting better and better at noticing her body language and reading her expressions, you just can't seem to do it right now.

Some days, she wants to share every story she knows with you. Some days, she just sobs in your arms, destroying herself over something that was out of her control.

Even without having to hear it out loud, you can still take a guess. Simply because it's always this way whenever you sit together at the foot of the lighthouse. You both got away, but now is where you deal with it, without the presence of a horrible school and the memories it holds.

"Hey, Kate?" Max suddenly speaks, pulling you out of your thoughts. She doesn't turn to you, so you hum in her direction, letting her know that you're listening. "I just... wanted to say thanks."

"For what?" you ask.

She flashes a smile toward you, her blue eyes meeting yours. "Just for, you know... being here. With me."

You return the smile but shake your head. "You don't have to thank me for that, Max."

"No, I really do. You stuck by my side ever since, putting up with me—" she lets out a self-deprecating chuckle "—letting me ruin your clothes whenever I need a shoulder to cry on. I... don't even think about the fact that I'm not the only one here who's having a hard time."

'Putting up with her' is definitely not what you'd call it, but she continues before you can say otherwise, placing a gentle hand over your own.

"You've been through so much. You didn't deserve any of it."

Their names linger on the tip of her tongue, but she quickly catches herself. She doesn't want to bring it up or make you uncomfortable. You appreciate the gesture, and how much she cares, but your mind is already finishing her thoughts for her—Nathan and Jefferson.

"I'm sorry," she says sadly. "I know what you went through isn't something you can forget."

You know that. "I know that," because of course you do. You know that better than anyone else.

Whenever the dark thoughts went away, they would just come back and fall on you like a pile of bricks. There were days where you went to class, talked to your friends, drew pictures that you were happy with, then when night fell and you had to sleep alone, you were suddenly back at that party, accepting a drink from Nathan, a syringe in your neck, wrists bound by duct tape and Jefferson standing over you with a camera.

You have to live with those thoughts for the rest of your life, but... "Don't be sorry. It was never your fault, and... I'm trying." You smile. "I'm getting better."

She smiles back at you. Her hand leaves yours to return to her side, but you find yourself scooting closer to her, wanting to keep her contact.

"You're the reason why, Max, so I guess I have to thank you, too." The nightmares and dark thoughts disappear every time you woke up and she was there with you. "You stuck with me, too, despite what you have went through. That's not something you can forget either."

Modest and humble as ever, she looks away shyly, tucking hair behind her ear. She looks content, but you're aware that you've just brought up the topic of what's been hurting her.

You hate to ask. You really freaking hate to ask, but you don't know what goes through the brunette's mind when she's being happy and forgetful, sleeping half a day away with you or making awful puns.

"Are you getting better, Max?"

Max tries to keep her smile, but it ends up slipping from her face. You're able to read it now, because you've seen it plenty of times already. It's no longer tiny or distant, just sad and empty. Her gaze on the ocean falls to her lap.

"I, um... I don't know..." She shrugs, wringing her fingers together. You already regret bringing it up. "I miss her."

"I'm sorry," you can't stop yourself from saying.

"It's like you said, Kate, it's not your fault," she laughs, but you can hear the slight crack in her voice. "I fucked up."

You and her start the usual exchange whenever this happens.

"No, you didn't, Max."

"Yes, I did."

"How?"

"I let her die."

"There was nothing you could do," you try to reassure.

"You..." she pauses, her face going through many different expressions at once, all of them indecipherable. "You wouldn't understand," is what she leaves you with, and that always kind of hurt.

Once again, it's nothing new—just another part of the routine yet again. Except this part is one that you actually do want to break out of.

You've tried, of course, but it's as if Max has heard it all. Your words just fall on deaf ears every time. She's already heard the common sayings like 'I'm sorry for your loss' or 'She's in a better place' enough to the point that they are nothing to her.

So you keep trying, with varying results all unsuccessful, but in the end, it remains the one thing about her where she refuses to let you in.

"He had a gun," you try some more. Nothing.

"You could have been hurt, too." Still, nothing. She must have heard this spiel already. It's not that you're blindly trying to convince her otherwise. You'll always speak from your heart when it comes to Max, but you just want her to get better.

"Chloe wouldn't have wanted that to happen, right?"

She looks at you. You finally got something, but it's not what you were hoping for. Her breath quivers as she attempts to put words together. Her shoulders are stiff, she bites her lip to hold in any pitiful noises, struggling to keep any false optimism on her face.

An apology nearly slips out of your mouth, but that's the opposite of what she would want to hear right now, so you take her hand instead and say, "Am I wrong?"

Her voice cracks so badly that she has to clear her throat and try again. "No..." she utters. "No, y-you're right, Kate. Chloe wouldn't have wanted that. It's just... The thing is... You just guessed that, right?" She lets out a dry, hollow laugh. "Because I do know what Chloe would have wanted."

Her blue eyes staring into yours almost makes you reel back. They're no longer the soft, kind eyes that you know so well. They could only be described as cold and dead. She smiles, but it's hard and forced, and you struggle to keep eye contact.

"Chloe would have wanted me to stay here and support her after her father died. She would have wanted me to keep in touch with her instead of staying silent for five years," she starts slowly, her voice laced with regret.

Your gaze avoids her entirely for anywhere else, listening to the distraught in her voice grow and grow until it becomes borderline hysterical.

"She would have liked to hear from her best friend when she comes back, but her best friend was too... too scared to even face her!"

One look at her was enough to see tears prickling at the corners of her eyes. "Max—"

"She definitely didn't want to die, bleeding out on a fucking bathroom floor!" She tears her hand away from yours to hold her head in her hands. "She would have liked to die knowing that she wasn't abandoned by her father, or Rachel, or—" Fists clench angrily into brown hair "—some shit friend who actually loved her!"

"Max, that's enough."

"I couldn't do a fucking thing, Kate! No matter what I tried, nothing fucking worked!"

"MAX!"

She flinches as if she had been struck. Blue, glazed over eyes blink, softening back to their preferred state, and the tears finally fall.

"I... shit, Kate, I-I'm..." She quickly turns away from you, much like a child would, ashamed after being scolded. She curls into herself, hugging her knees to her chest with her head down. "I'm sorry-I shouldn't have yelled at you."

"It's okay." You reach out to touch her arm, her shoulder, even hold her—anything to see the poor girl return to her charming, pun-telling self and not the shaking mess in front of you—but you don't miss the way she slightly recoils away from you.

"Please don't... I'm sorry... just..." She clenches her eyes shut. Her fists look ready to tear clumps of hair out of her own head. "It's been a month... Everything's fine, but... What do I know? I'll just lose everything when I'm least expecting it again."

You watch as she fruitlessly wipes at her face, only for more tears to fall. It's as if her world is falling apart in front of her. You recognize the look on her face, because you've been there before. You've had your world fall apart in front of you. You've lost hope before. You'd even go as far as to say that you've reached a time in your life where you found it not worth living before.

So it's strange that you can't relate to Max right now. You don't get it. What she said does nothing but confuse you. Whenever she cried and you held her in your room, you could at least understand that she's not the only one who had been through something awful. You would cry along with her.

Now, she's sobbing about things that you just don't understand, in the very place that you and her use to get away from those things.

"Max... What's going on?" you ask quietly and slowly, not wanting to push her away even farther than she already is. "It's like there's something you're not telling me."

You already know Max and Chloe had drifted apart for five years, only to reunite upon the latter's death. Max talks about her as if they had been together for weeks before it even happened.

"Like there's more to the story."

When she slowly turns to you, she suddenly looks afraid. Her mouth hesitates to open, but she still struggles to say the same thing that you've already heard from her over and over again.

"You wouldn't understand."

"You keep saying that, Max. What if I want to understand?"

She hugs her knees closer to her chest and almost scoffs, "You wouldn't believe me."

Something about that stirs something within you. It almost feels like anger, but you can't place a better word for what you're feeling. Whatever it is, Max had shown it to you in the past, and now you want to do the same for her.

"Why wouldn't I believe you?" You fire back at her. "Everything you've ever told me, I believed."

She stubbornly looks away, holding her head on top of her folded arms and her knees.

"I believed you when you came to me after class, telling me that I'm not alone—that you and many others care. Remember?"

"I... yeah," she mumbles.

"I stopped believing before, but what did I do when you told me to keep believing? Believe, right?"

"Of course," she breathes out.

"And whenever I was ready to give up, my turn to have a mental breakdown and your turn to hold me as I cried, you would tell me that everything will be okay." You can feel your heart quivering at the thought of her strong hold on you and soft-spoken words in your ears.

"I believed in you and I still do. Even if you were full of crap," you laugh with a bright smile. "That's for me to find out."

You watch as Max unfurls from her spot on the bench, planting her feet into the ground, stretching out the sleeves of her hoodie like she always does when she's nervous. She stares off into the bay again, remaining silent as she attempts to put her words together for you. It takes a bit longer than you anticipate, but you wait patiently, much like she would for you.

"It's a long... fucked up story," she chuckles.

"I'll be here all morning," you laugh with her.

She goes back to fidgeting with her hands, less tense and more relaxed than she was a few moments ago. "It's hard to talk about..." she starts nervously. "I don't know."

"Whenever you're ready, Max."

A few more silent minutes pass, until in the end, she shuts her eyes and shakes her head sadly. "I don't think I am," she lets out with a shaky sigh. "I don't want to get into it. I'll tell you some day, Kate. Maybe... I'm sorry."

You nod. "I understand." Maybe you're a little disappointed, but at the same time, you're patient. You'll wait until she's ready, no matter how long it takes, even if you're both old women, rocking back and forth on wooden chairs by the time that happens.

The thought of that makes you giggle to yourself, wondering if you and Max will even stick together for that long. You hope so. You can't imagine your life without her at this point.

"But I can tell you that..." Max says suddenly. She makes the effort to fully turn towards you and hold eye contact, even if it's a bit shaky. "Despite everything that happened, you were the only constant there for me to hold onto."

You look at her questioningly, waiting for her to continue.

"You stayed the same, good old Kate Marsh that we all know and..." She smiles softly. "Love."

You can't do a thing but smile back and let out a small laugh at how Max's face warms up a bit.

"I may be full of all these regrets, some of them for you, but I never lost you. I'm glad I didn't fuck that up." Her face is sad, but full of care and adoration for you. "I'm glad that you and me can be together like this."

"Oh..." Now it's your turn to struggle to put words together. "Max..." You try, but they all end up falling short of what you really feel.

You end up letting out a soft chuckle. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Max," is all you can say, but you're still smiling. "Why would you lose me?"

That gets a laugh out of her. "I told you it's hard to understand."

"But I still believe you." You grin in her direction. "I'm glad that we're together, too."

She closes her eyes, shaking her head in amusement, and to your surprise, tears fall down her cheeks, but her smile remains on her face.

You have never been, or even considered yourself as a touchy-feely kind of person, and neither was Max when you first met her a semester ago. Now, you and her share long hugs like they are nothing, hold hands, sleep and cuddle together like best friends definitely don't do.

So it feels only natural when you reach over and cup Max's face. You brush her shed tears away with a thumb until they're all gone. You can't help yourself as you brush brown, disheveled hair behind her ear, then her other ear, away from her eyes, just running your fingers through her soft head of hair.

She leans into your touch, letting out a relaxed sigh through her nose as your fingers brush against her scalp in a soothing rhythm.

"Tears of happiness." She beams. "Don't worry."

"Okay, I won't," you say.

You don't pay any mind to how close your faces have become. You're just thinking about how pretty she is instead, eyes shining with stars, her freckled face pale and glowing from the moonlight.

Her gaze falls downward. You can't tell, but you swear that it's on your lips. When your eyes do the same thing to hers, you find yourself unable to look away. You feel her taking hold of your wrists, and when your hand grasps for hers, it's as if her hand was already there waiting for yours.

You have absolutely no idea what any of this means, but when she leans closer into you, you find yourself meeting her halfway.

It takes a few seconds to process that you're kissing Max Caulfield. The softness you feel upon your lips and the way you suddenly forget how to breathe confirms it for you.

A small part of you believes that this doesn't mean anything—that you and her were just caught up in the moment. It's nothing special, just two friends randomly deciding to press their lips together. It's chaste, completely innocent, and doesn't last long.

But you can feel that spark that people claim they feel whenever they kiss someone special to them, except it's multiple sparks that can ignite a bomb, ready to explode. The stars you see behind your eyes are comparable to fireworks. Butterflies aren't fluttering around your stomach, for they are causing a rampage in there instead.

Her lips part from yours with a soft, satisfying sound. Neither of you pull away. Your faces remain together as she lets out a shaky breath, while you just replay the moment in your head over and over.

"Um..." she mutters. "Sorry. Maybe I shouldn't have done that."

You lick your lips, unable to put a flavor to whatever it is that you're tasting, but it's definitely amazing. "Why not?"

"Last time I kissed someone, I lost them right after."

Oh. Last time you had kissed someone, you went viral, but that's a terrible thing to bring up after experiencing something so special. And was she talking about Chloe? She kissed Chloe?

"Way to ruin the moment, Max."

"What? N-No!" She darts away from you, waving her hands around defensively. "I-I liked it! It was really good! K-Kissing you, I mean—"

"I'm joking." Her awkwardness never fails to make you laugh, along with the increasing blush on her face. In fact, the blush you feel growing on your own face is nothing to be excused. With a smile, you sit closer to her until your head falls on her shoulder. "I'm not going anywhere, Max."

Some time after Max finally relaxes, she leans into you, nestling her head onto yours. You and her stay in that position, hands held with your head on her shoulder, for what feels like forever. You honestly wouldn't mind if that were true, but the moon has to go down eventually. Stars fade out of sight, and the sky changes from black to a dull purple.

As pleasing—and romantic—as it sounds to watch the sunrise with Max, you and her both know that the rising sun means class starts in less than an hour, with the walk back to Blackwell taking up almost half of that hour.

Max shifts, her cheek leaving the top of your head, but that doesn't signal you to move. You've discovered that her shoulder is more comfortable than any pillow. She stretches her arm over her head with a sigh, as her other arm is still trapped in your grip.

"You ready to go?" she asks with a yawn.

Of course not. You don't want to go back. You want to stay here with Max. You stubbornly nuzzle yourself closer into her neck, shutting your eyes as if it'll will your responsibilities away.

Her body shakes with a chuckle against you. "Tired already? We still have six hours of school to go."

That just makes you whine out loud, mumbling under your breath as you hesitantly remove yourself from the other girl. When you stand to your feet, it's as if your vision had blacked out for a second and your ankles buckled underneath you. You're definitely tired, and you definitely want nothing more than to collapse onto a bed—preferably with Max.

She reads you like an open book, but your hands are still together and that keeps you from falling. "You okay?" You wipe the concern off of her face with a nod and a careless wave of your hand, but that just gives her an excuse to tease you more. "Should I give you a piggyback ride?"

For a second, you're considering the offer. It's not like you're completely unfamiliar with the feeling of her back pressed against your chest anyway. The tired part of your brain screams yes. The logical part of your brain has to remind you that though you're not heavy at all, Max is nearly identical to you when it comes to size and physical strength. It's not the best idea.

Which is why you're already wrapping your arms around her neck from behind. You don't miss the way she tenses and lets out an um.

"You brought this onto yourself, Max."

She looks back at you with a confident grin. "You think I can't handle this? What are you, like seventy pounds?"

You pout, because you're definitely a solid hundred, but your pout changes to your own version of a smug grin when Max lifts you off of the ground from underneath your legs. She's already shaking after her first step.

"Is eighty where you cross the line?" you laugh, and you can almost feel the embarrassment radiating off of her face.

Not wanting to hurt the girl physically more than her pride, you slacken you arms to get off, but your grip turns into a borderline chokehold, a squeak escaping your lips, when Max straightens her spine, puffs her chest out, and walks into the forest with ease.

"Consider this my workout for the day," she remarks. "Just kidding—for the month."

If Max was trying to impress you with her sudden feat, it must have worked. You rest your tired head on her shoulder, right where it belongs, with a sigh of relief.

From here on out, the rest of the day is a blur.

Seven in the morning.

You're suddenly sitting in the desk of your first period, back at Blackwell. The noise of students chatting and rushing about tunes into the background as your eyelids already start to grow heavier.

You remember the slow walk through the forest together, reveling in the feeling of being carried and Max's extra care to not jostle you around on her back too much. She gave up by the time dirt and soil turned into stone and concrete. Although, she took your hand the moment your feet returned to the ground.

You remember getting a quick coffee together, thinking that it would last you two through the day. You remember walking passed the gas station, turning corners into now busier streets, and making it back to the dreaded school grounds. The sun had come up sometime between then and there, but you hadn't noticed.

You remember returning to your room to gather your things together, taking a quick shower together—figuratively, not literally!—now blushing at your own thoughts and blaming it on your exhaustion. You showered separately, in separate stalls, of course.

You remember Max walking you to your first class, which she definitely did not have to do. You and her were already running late, and Max's class was somewhere far from yours.

You remember Dana commenting on how cute you two were, and you have no idea why.

Now, you and Max are separated for the first time in what feels like forever. As you're sitting there with no Max, you're suddenly aware of the lack of another hand in your own and fingers curled into yours.

You're blushing again, because you realize just what the cheerleader was talking about. You and Max had been holding hands the whole time. It was almost second nature at this point. You had barely noticed, but now you miss it.

Is it bad to miss someone after you've spent hours together and only five minutes separated? You don't know. You also don't care. You miss Max.

Eight in the morning. Nine in the morning. Ten in the morning.

Classes come and go, and you meet her again in English. However, no tearful reunion takes place, as her assigned seat is all the way across the room from yours.

Your vision had started swimming long ago, words blending together with the page as you attempt to read, so you content yourself with watching Max stare blankly into her textbook. She occasionally nods off, much like what you're doing right now, and you want nothing more than to cross the room and rest your head on her shoulder again.

Eleven in the morning.

You give up by Photography.

Your head is planted on the desk, and you're pretty sure a few snores have already escaped you. It doesn't help that the lights were switched off in favor for the projector and that the classroom is the perfect temperature for passing out. Added with the fact that you had no idea the replacement for Jefferson could get even more boring than he already was yesterday.

Not that you want the sick bastard back.

Buzzing in your pocket suddenly jolts you awake. You cautiously look around to see if anyone had noticed, which no one seemed to have. As tired as you are, and annoyed for being bothered, the name you read upon an unread text message still makes you smile. She's literally sitting only a few feet away from you.

Max:

If I have to sit through this, then so do you.

When you look over at the desk across from you, the brunette sits with a hand on her chin and her eyes on the lesson, noticeably more awake than you are. You can tell that she's trying her best not to glance back at you.

You:

Too late

You might havr to carry me to my next class

Typos are the least of your worries at the moment. You just want to put your head back down as soon as possible, but Max doesn't let that happen. Her reply comes faster than the speed of sound, making your phone vibrate mercilessly, so much that the other two blondes from across the room look over, rushing you to put it on silent.

Max:

Wake up

Wake up

Wake up

Wake uo

Wake up

You:

Leave me aloooone

How are u still wide awake?

Max:

I actually don't know...

i'm actually quite imp-rest with myself

You:

...

When you look over, Max is already flashing you that smug grin of hers, raising her eyebrows up and down. You try to glare at her, but you can't stop the giggle that escapes your lips.

Max:

(^_^)

You:

Shouldn't you be worried about being caught texting during class?

Max:

Ouch.

Fine then. I'll just go back to nerding over photography or something :(

i don't need all this negativity

what a bunch of crop

let me know when you snap out of it, kate

You:

Max please I can't stop groaning

Max:

Okay okay fine.

these things come faster to me than Victoria can Chase them

You:

.........

I've heard worse lol

Max:

I see what you mean

Chloe used to say puns are the lowest form of comedy.

idk i think they're Priceless

You:

I liked that one :)

Max:

Good one, right?

Speaking of prices, I should be getting paid for these.

i'll make DaCosta 'bout one dollar each

You:

Nooo don't drag Daniel into this!!!

Max:

I've got my entire life figured out, Kate.

don't Stell' or Tayl' anyone okay?

Justin case

certified punster Graham has to Warren't his approval first

Brooke will get involved and she won't let me off Scott-free

i'll still win at the end of the Dana

or just get thrown into a crazy Ward

don't you Swamp me with praise yet, Marsh

these puns aren't even at their Max

You were never ready for the onslaught of horrible puns on your phone or the giggles and groans that come out of your mouth. Max is no better, snickering to herself at her own desk.

It takes a few seconds and a stern clearing of someone's throat for you to remember that you're still in class, on your phone and giggling out loud like a little girl. You turn to see the disapproving glare on the new teacher's face.

"Max, Kate, would you two like to share what it is that's so funny with the rest of the class?" he asks, boringly with his boring voice.

You can feel the curious eyes of the entire class on you, because who wouldn't want to watch the two quietest girls in the school get chewed out? If anything, you've done a better job at holding everyone's attention in a second than the half hour that the new teacher has been lecturing.

For some reason, you don't feel your everyday high school anxieties crawling up your spine and into your chest, but when you look back at Max, she had completely shriveled up at all of the attention on her, face burning and shoulders hunched, much like anyone else would ever expect from her.

You have absolutely no idea what comes over you. Whether it's strength or courage from seeing the strongest person you know turn small and weak, or just simply comedic timing, you take it into your own hands to speak for the both of you.

"I'm sorry, sir. It won't happen again," you mutter softly. He gives an unconvinced nod and returns to his lesson, but you're not done yet.

"After all, I'm the one here to be edu-Kate-ed."

Max snorts loudly behind you. Her shoulders tremble with silent laughter as she covers her face with both of her hands.

You can't stop the stupid smile from forming on your face after you hear quiet chuckles from Stella and Alyssa. Hayden, as high as ever, completely laughs out loud. Taylor giggles behind her hand as Victoria rolls her eyes, but you don't miss the look of amusement on her face.

The teacher sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. "Or you two can step out of the room until you both decide to act like adults again."

Max wastes no time hauling her bag over her shoulder and rushing out of the door. You follow after her, just now feeling the embarrassment of doing something as stupid as telling a pun to your teacher and in front of your class. Your mother will probably never let you hear the end of this if she were to find out, but you'll probably just ignore her anyway.

But that all goes away the moment the door shuts behind you. Max finally lets out all of her pent-up laughter before pulling you into a crushing hug.

"Oh, my God, Kate! That was amazing!" She jumps up and down with you in her arms. Her laugh and her smile have never been so contagious before, now that you're laughing along with her. "I'm so fucking proud of you!"

You find that you're unable to respond with anything other than more laughs. She just looks so happy, and you've never felt more happy. She praises you as if you had just achieved God's blessing.

Not to sound corny or anything, but it's beautiful. It's a beautiful moment. You feel beautiful, and Max is beautiful.

"Come on, Kate, let's get out of here." She grabs your hand and is already dragging you towards the exit of the school.

"Wait..." You manage to get out, still recovering. "Are we ditching again?"

"Unless you're feeling like an adult again—which I'm definitely not." She comes to a stop before she turns back to you, all smiles and hand holding. "Aren't you tired?"

You're definitely still tired. You feel as if you could pass out on the spot, but right now with Max, you've never felt so alive.

"Yeah," you sigh happily. "I guess I am."

You and her retreat back into your room and the safety of each other's presence. Shoes are kicked off and bags are dumped by the side of the bed. Homework is long forgotten and pajamas aren't changed into.

When Max climbs into bed with you, she doesn't hesitate to fully take you into her arms this time. You've already lost the ability to think clearly by the time you nestle your head back into her shoulder, and you swear you feel a kiss being planted onto your forehead.

"Is this okay?" she asks you.

You mumble your approval, leaning in closer to return a kiss of your own. Whether it landed on her lips or somewhere else on her face, you don't know, but she smiles and shuts her eyes anyway, holding you closer into her warmth if that were even possible.

Before you know it, you're waking up with one hour until midnight again, arms and legs a tangled mess wrapped around one another, ready to start the routine over again.