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There’s a knock on the door. Some part of Steve manages to dimly realize that it’s Tuesday, so Max is meant to be coming over after school. He can’t stand up. He’s pretty sure that even if he did manage it he’d pass out as soon as he took a step. Every knock feels like a knife twisted into his skull. Steve makes a sound that’s kind of like a whimper, and he can’t bring himself to feel as ashamed about it as he should.
The door is pulled open. The creak of the wood is like a gunshot. Steve wants to be sick. Max’s voice fills the room, and it’s harsh and grating against Steve’s brain, and he’s pretty sure he should be dead by now because nothing should hurt this fucking much.
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