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Max is tired. So tired. He's been tired for so long, he can't even remember what it was like not to be tired. It's as if the tiredness has always been a part of him, seeped into his bones and settled there, like a layer of grime on his skin.
He wakes up every morning, staring up at the ceiling. His bedroom is small and dim, and the curtains are always drawn. Sometimes, he can't bring himself to get out of bed. It's not like there's anywhere he needs to be anyway. Not anymore. On good days, Max can drag himself into the bathroom and splash water on his face. He can make himself a cup of coffee and sit out on his balcony, watching the sun rise over the water. On good days, he can feel the ghost of a thrill at the familiar sight, at the memories of all the races he's won, of another championship that could have been his.
On bad days, Max can't even get out of bed. He can't even force himself to eat or drink anything. He just lays there, curled up in a ball, wishing that he could fall asleep and never wake up. A bottle of painkillers sits on his nightstand and Max takes a couple every few hours to ease the throbbing pain that starts in his back and moves to his hips, travelling down his leg.
He's had enough surgeries to know that this pain will never really go away. His doctors have tried everything. But Max knows, deep down, that no amount of drugs or rest will ever fully take the pain away. The damage was too great. And his career is over. He can't drive a car anymore, not a Formula 1 car, not even a road car. His team and his sponsors have moved on, leaving him behind. And there's nothing he can do about it. So he spends his days alone in his apartment, barely functioning.
He should have a carer, or a nurse. He should go to physical therapy. He should get his strength and endurance back. That's what his mother had told him anyway, it's what Daniel had told him too, before he'd left. But the thought of having a stranger in his home, taking care of him, is too much for Max to handle. He'd rather be alone.
He's not sure how long he can last like this because he can barely look after himself anymore. He can't get around without a walking frame, and sometimes his pain is so bad, he can't even do that. He hasn't washed his sheets or his clothes in over a month, and the apartment is littered with takeout containers and empty bottles of painkillers. He can't stand to see himself like this, to see his life like this. But he doesn't know how to change it. So he keeps taking the painkillers, and he sleeps. And when he wakes up in pain and the cycle repeats.
When Max wakes up, the sun is already high in the sky. He doesn't know what time it is, or what day it is, but he doesn't really care. All he cares about is getting more painkillers. His body aches, his legs throb, and he knows the pills will take away the pain, if only for a few hours. He grabs the bottle off the nightstand and pops two pills into his mouth. They're bitter and dry on his tongue, but he doesn't care. Anything is better than the pain. He swallows them down, chasing them with a glass of water. He feels slightly better already. The pain is still there, but it's muted, dulled. He sighs in relief.
He can't stand the thought of getting out of bed today, of making himself food, or showering, so he doesn't. Instead, he rolls over and tries to go back to sleep. But the painkillers don't help with that. They just make him sleepy and sluggish, but not tired enough to actually fall asleep. So he lays there, feeling numb and exhausted, wishing for a release.
After what feels like hours, Max finally gives up on trying to sleep. He sits up, running a hand through his messy hair. He really should shower, wash the grime and the pain and the exhaustion off his skin. But he can't bring himself to move, can't even get out of bed so he just lies there, staring at the wall. His mind feels foggy and slow, and the only thing he can think about is the pain in his legs. It's still there, despite the pills, and Max can't escape it, can't outrun it, no matter how hard he tries. His eyes sting with tears, and he brushes them away angrily. He hates this, hates how weak and helpless he feels, how trapped in his own body. But he can't change it, can't do anything but try to survive. So he stays in bed for the rest of the day, the pills numbing his body and his mind, until the pain in his bladder is so bad, he has no choice but to get up and use the toilet.
His body is shaky and uncoordinated, as he stands up, leaning heavily on the walker by his bed. He shuffles to the bathroom, hissing in pain with every step. His legs ache, his hips throb, and he's pretty sure the pain is worse than usual. But he ignores it, pushing through until he can collapse on the toilet.
He relieves himself, then washes his hands. The cold water is a shock to his system, and he can't help but think about how long it's been since he's had a proper shower. The thought of standing up under the spray, holding himself up for so long, is too much for him.
He's trying to get back to bed, to get under the covers and hide from the world, when his foot catches on the edge of a throw rug, and he goes down, landing hard on the floor. The impact sends a jolt of pain through his entire body, and Max can't help but cry out, tears pricking his eyes. His legs ache, his hip throbbing, and his breath comes in shallow gasps.
He can't move, can't do anything but lay there, trying to catch his breath. His heart is racing, his hands trembling, and he feels utterly helpless and hopeless. After what feels like an eternity, Max manages to push himself up into a sitting position. His body is shaking, and he feels like he might pass out. He reaches for his walker, trying to pull himself up, but his arm is weak and trembling, and he can't get a grip on it.
His heart is starting to race now, panic rising in his throat. He's gasping for breath, his eyes stinging with unshed tears. He tries again, pulling on the walker, but he can't get enough leverage to stand up.
He's going to have to crawl to get back to his bed. He can't let himself dwell on that, can't think about how pathetic and helpless he must look right now. Max forces himself to take a deep breath, steadying his nerves. He clings to his determination, his need to get back to bed. Slowly, carefully, he begins to crawl, pulling himself forward with his arms. It's agonizingly slow, and his legs are screaming in protest, but he refuses to give up.
After what feels like an eternity, he makes it to the side of his bed. He wraps his hands around the sheets, trying to stand. It takes all his strength, all his willpower, but somehow he manages to pull himself up.
He's breathing hard, his body trembling from the exertion, but he manages to climb into bed. He collapses onto the sheets, closing his eyes and letting his exhaustion wash over him.
His whole body is aching, and in crushing pain. But somehow, he made it back to bed with not a shred of dignity left.
He curls up on his side, pulling the covers up around him. He's safe now, and he lets that thought wash over him, sinking into the comfort of the warmth and the safety. He stares at the painkillers on his bedside table. They're calling him, their promise of temporary relief, and he's tempted to take more. He's so tired, so drained, and the pain is still there, lingering at the edges and ready to pounce. He knows he'll regret it and even with that thought, he tips two more pills out of the bottle and puts them in his mouth.
They're hard to swallow without water to help him but he does it anyway. He welcomes the numbness that spreads through his body, his mind. He lays there, closing his eyes, not thinking about anything. Not thinking about the pain, or the disappointment, or the destruction of everything he once was. He just lays there, mind hazy and body numb, until sleep claims him once more.
Max wakes up to the sun streaming in through the window. It's morning, though he's not sure what day it is. His body feels heavy, his mind sluggish. He rubs his eyes, blinking in the bright light. The painkillers haven't worn off yet. He can tell from the dull ache in his legs, instead of sharp pain. He reaches for the bottle, a little shocked when there's only a couple of pills left.
He must be taking more than he realises because this script should have lasted the whole month. That thought should scare him, but he just feels numb. He knows he should be more careful, should try to stay in control of this, but it's the only thing that keeps him sane, the only thing that makes his miserable life, bearable.
He rolls over, trying to block out the sun. He doesn't want to face the day, doesn't want to face the emptiness of his life. He's contemplating taking another pill, when there's a loud noise from the kitchen, like a cupboard door slamming shut.
Max's breath catches in his throat, and his body tenses. What the fuck was that? There's silence for a few moments, but he knows he heard something.
"Hello?" He calls out, his voice shaking. No one ever comes over to visit him. Even his family keeps their distance. He's no use to his father now. There's no answer, but the back of his neck prickles with fear. He feels goosebumps rising on his skin, and he slowly sits up, reaching for his walker. It's just out of reach, so he awkwardly slides out of bed, moving to stand. His legs are stiff and unsteady, and the pain returns with full force. His breathing is shallow and rapid, and he swallows hard, trying to fight back the panic.
The room feels too small, the air thick and oppressive. He limps to the door, opening it slowly. There's no one in sight, but the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Someone is here. He can feel it. He grips his walker tighter, trying to steady himself. He can feel his heart racing, his palms sweating.
He leaves his room, making his way down the hall towards the kitchen. He's moving slowly, each step painful, but he can't stop now. He needs to know who's here, what they want. The living room is silent, empty, but when he rounds the corner to the kitchen, there's someone standing at the sink, tan skin and thick curls. It only takes him a second to realise who it is.
"Daniel?" Max's voice is barely above a whisper, his eyes wide with shock. It's been so long since he's seen Daniel, so long since they've talked. Daniel turns around, and the expression on his face is impossible to read.
"What are you doing here?" Max manages to ask, his mind reeling. He feels like he must be dreaming, or high from the painkillers or something because this doesn't make any sense. Daniel doesn't answer him, just steps closer, his gaze roaming over Max's body. Max flinches back, self conscious. He knows he looks like shit, his hair matted and greasy, his clothes stained, his body thin and frail.
"Fuck Max." Daniel's voice is hoarse, and Max knows he's judging him, can see the disappointment in his eyes. It hurts, but Max doesn't know what to say.
"Why are you here?" Max presses, hands gripping around the walking frame. He feels vulnerable like this.
"Your mum...she's....she's pretty worried Max," Daniel says after a pause. "She asked me to come and check on you."
"She sent you?" Max questions, taking a minute step back, pain flaring in his joints. "Why did she not come herself," Max presses, feeling hurt. "Why would she send you? You could not even look me in the eyes when you fucked off last year and now you want to pretend like you care about me?"
"Max -" Daniel moves closer, concern furrowing his brow, hands twitching like he wants to offer help.
"I do not want you to help," Max whispers. To his horror, it comes out cracked and he feels tears prickling in his eyes. He sniffs roughly, anger masking the vulnerability, even as his hands tremble and he leans heavily on the metal crutch. "Do not act like you care." Max spits, "You left me when I could not even walk." He doesn't mean to add another pain-filled crack at the end but he's only human and his emotions are all over the place. He straightens his spine, head held high, staring at the man that was once the love of his life, until Max's accident left him crippled. "You left and I needed you so please Daniel, do not pretend to care now."
"Max, please, I didn't leave you because of what happened," Daniel says, rubbing a hand over his eyes and Max wants to believe him. Daniel's eyes are pleading when he finally pulls his hand away and Max has always been weak for him but the hole the betrayal has left in him is still deep, still raw. "I wasn't strong enough, I was scared so I- I left and I regret it, every day." Daniel keeps going, and Max wants to listen but all he hears is a mix of excuses and apologies. "When you woke up and you couldn't talk and shit, it was too much to take and-"
"To take?" Max interrupts him, rage overtaking him, his arms wobbling under his weight. "I had brain damage and you could not handle it. That is what you are saying, no?"
"No, Max, please, you don't understand" Daniel answers, eyes desperate and a little guilty but Max isn't listening anymore.
"What am I supposed to understand? When I needed you the most, you were not there and I was alone, I had no one to help me. My legs were broken and I could not even move and- and-" Max sucks in a harsh breath, his lungs and heart hurt like they want to explode and he has to swallow back the sob that crawls up his throat. He fights it off, pushes it down, until he is cold and numb again.
"Max-"
"I cried myself to sleep every night waiting for you to come, praying for you to come but you never did."
"I'm sorry baby" Daniel whispers and Max trembles, feels the urge to curl into Daniel's arms, inhale the comforting scent that's always followed him. "It's gonna be ok, let's get you back into bed yeah? Let me-" Daniel moves closer and lifts a hand towards Max.
"NO!" Max screams before Daniel can reach him. The man freezes, curls tumbling over his forehead and all Max wants to do is brush them away.
"Max-"
"I do not need you, so leave."
"You...do Max," Daniel says, expression pained. "You don't look like you've left the flat in months and, Christ, babe, you're so thin."
Max winces, looking away. He knows it's the truth, that he hasn't been taking good care of himself, but it's hard to do it on his own.
"Let me help you please? I know you're upset, I know but please let me help," Daniel is frowning, brown eyes filled with concern and Max doesn't want to get wrapped up in that, doesn't want to give in to Daniel's pull but he's so tired of being alone, so lonely. "I didn't want to hurt you Max," and fuck, why do Daniel's eyes have to be so soft, like melting chocolate.
Maybe it would be nice to have someone to take care of him, to make sure he eats and showers and takes his pills and maybe then, maybe he would actually start to feel human again. He swallows, trying to stand his ground, to tell Daniel to leave but as he goes to speak, his body falters, knees giving way, and he stumbles. Pain shoots through his legs and he bites back a cry, leaning over his walker to relieve some of the tension.
He feels it the second Daniel moves forward, the moment he breaks. "Daniel," He says, the words rushing out of him in a flood of fear and pain, a sob ripping out of his throat.
"It's okay, I've got you"
"Dan..."
"Come here," The older man whispers, and he wraps his arms around Max in the warmest hug he's had in months and it's everything he's missed and he wants to hold on and never let go. He clutches at the loose shirt the Aussie is wearing, buried his face into Daniel's neck.
They just stand there, in the middle of the kitchen, and Max feels himself relax for the first time in a long time. Daniel smells so familiar, a hint of cologne and soap, and Max presses closer, his eyes burning with tears.
"You okay?" Daniel murmurs, his cheek resting against Max's head. His voice is so gentle, so soft, and Max wants to cry at the way it makes him feel. Max nods against his chest. "Alright...you got something you take for the pain?" Daniel asks, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Max's back.
Max lets out a shuddering breath. He can't tell Daniel that he's gone through a months supply in less than a week, can't tell him that he spends most of the day high on painkillers so he can function, so he just nods. "Uh next to the bed," He manages, voice catching in his throat.
"Alright mate," Daniel says. Mate. It's too casual and Max feels something clench in his chest. "I'll get them for you, just have a seat here," Daniel says, helping Max to the couch.
Max can't meet his eyes, but he sits down slowly, limbs heavy and aching. He watches as Daniel goes into the bedroom, watches his broad back and lean body and tanned skin. It's too much, and Max looks away, blinking back tears. He looks over at the kitchen. The stack of dirty dishes in the sink is gone and so are the empty takeout boxes that usually litter the counter and table.
"Here ya go," Daniel says, appearing in front of him, handing over the pills "Looks like you've only got a few left. I'll head down to the pharmacy later and get some more," he says, adjusting his shorts on his hips. "Water?"
Max shakes his head, swallowing down the two pills dry, he swallows down the tears along with them. Daniel is frowning at him, but Max doesn't meet his eyes, just focuses on breathing steadily, in and out, until the pain ebbs away.
The silence is uncomfortable, and Max shifts in his seat, looking anywhere but at Daniel. The minutes tick by, and Daniel is just standing there, staring at him, a look of pity on his face, and Max can't stand it anymore.
"How about a shower huh? You'll feel so much better." Daniel finally asks like Max is a kid. Max sinks further into the couch cushions, not wanting to admit that it's a good idea. Daniel dives right into action, clearing his throat as he looks around for a minute before turning back towards the bedroom. "Got any clean clothes?"
Max nods, "Top left drawer," He mumbles out, not wanting to get back up on his feet.
"Alright, good," Daniel says, going off to collect his clothes. Minutes later Daniel returns, fresh clothes in hand and Max lets his eyes fall down Daniel's body. His soft thighs and tanned skin, the blue shorts snug on his hip bones. His white shirt hangs loosely off his shoulders, open neck showing off a gold chain, against his skin.
He lifts his gaze up to Daniel's face, those beautiful deep brown eyes watching him intently, gaze heavy and oh...Max had been caught. "What?" Max manages to whisper out, he feels trapped under the intense brown gaze.
“Let's get you in the shower, come on," Daniel holds out a hand. Max hesitates, even though his skin is grimy and he reeks. "It's okay, I won't let you fall." Daniel's hand is warm and firm, his grasp gentle, and Max allows himself to be guided into the bathroom. “Just sit here alright?” Daniel says gently, guiding Max to sit on the closed toilet. “I’m gonna get your clothes and your uh…walker and stuff.”
Max nods, jaw clenched and body tense. He's unbelievably humiliated right now. Daniel disappears, returning a few moments later, Max’s clothes, a clean towel, and his walking frame in hand.
“Do ya need a hand?” Daniel asks, turning the water on, Max can see him eyeing the safety along the walls, in the shower, and next to the toilet.
“I…I can do it,” Max grits out, even though he feels like he might pass out and sink to the floor.
“Alright…well I'll stay close in case you need anything ok?" Daniel nods at him before exiting the bathroom and closing the door.
Daniel leaves, and Max is finally alone. For a moment he just sits on the toilet, clutching his folded clothes to his chest. Then he slowly starts to undress, wincing as he moves. First his shirt, then his shorts. He pauses, just in his boxers, before taking a deep breath and pushing them off. His thighs are aching, the joints stiff and painful. His shoulders are sore from the effort, and he carefully stands up, gripping tightly onto the safety rails. His body is shaking as he steps into the shower, supporting himself with the railing along the side. He slowly sits down on the floor knees weak, but the hot water feels so good, streaming over his aching shoulders and back.
A sob works its way free from his throat, and he feels tears joining the water on his cheeks. He closes his eyes, and just lets himself cry. The sound of his sobs echo off the tiled walls, and he leans his forehead on the wet tiles, hating himself for needing help, hating himself for how lonely he was, hating himself for letting Daniel stay when he'd broken Max's heart,
"Max? Is everything alright?" Daniel knocks on the door, voice concerned.
Max nods, swallowing another sob. "I am fine, thank you," he manages to croak out, loud enough for Daniel to hear him. He tries to pull himself up, but his arms shake with the effort, and he falls back against the wall of the shower. He grinds his jaw, fingers tightening around the cold metal bar, his stomach twisting with shame and anger.
"Do you need help?" Daniel asks from the other side of the door.
"No" Max hisses, closing his eyes, fighting the panic. He tries to stand again, holding on to the rail with white knuckles. He manages to put one foot on the ground, pulling himself up as he leans heavily against the cold tile, but his joints won't cooperate, too sore and tender from lying down for too long, and his leg gives out.
"Fuck" he spits, crumbling on the shower floor. He tries to move, hands burning, scraping, body shaking.
"Max!" Daniel's voice is urgent, on the edge of panicked. "Can I come in?"
Max is shaking, trembling uncontrollably in the heat of the shower, tears mixing with the water and he's so fucking angry at himself. "Daniel," he chokes out, one more try to push himself to his feet, his muscles screaming in protest. He can hear the door open. He's too focused on the searing fire surging up his legs to try and cover himself so just sits there, naked and pathetic in the falling water.
"Fuck Max," Daniel whispers, and Max wants to scream. The feeling of sharp regret slices through his mind and body at his vulnerability and embarrassment. Daniel is kneeling in the shower next to him large hands cradling his head. "Hey, hey you're okay, just a bit of blood yeah?"
When Max looks down, the water circling the drain is pink. "What" he manages to get out, words sticking on his tongue like syrup. Warm touches, warmth surrounding him, coolness against the back of his skull. He closes his eyes, swaying on the spot as gentle fingers card through his wet hair.
Next thing he knows he's lying in bed, still naked except for the towel covering his body. Daniel is nowhere in sight, but he can hear sounds from the kitchen. Exhausted and drowsy he manages to sit up and get dressed in the pajamas Daniel laid on the end of the bed. It's not easy, the sweatpants take a few tries, but he manages. It's nice wearing clean clothes, instead of something he's been wearing for weeks. The sheets are fresh as well, cool against his warm skin and he's left wondering when Daniel found the time to change them. The thought is followed by a rush of embarrassment, flaring so strongly he has to close his eyes and focus on taking deep breaths. He can't imagine what Daniel was thinking when he'd changed the filthy sheets Max has been sleeping in for over a month. Max lies there and takes deep breaths, fingers curled around the starchy sheets.
His walker is next to the bed, no doubt Daniel brought it in. He doesn't remember anything after his shower. Just the sensation of cold tiles and warm touches.
Max manages to push himself into a sitting position, biting his lip at the stab of pain that shoots up his lower back. His legs feel stiff, even after the hot water of the shower loosening the muscles. The painkillers are wearing off and the knowledge that he's run out has his mood plummeting. Maybe he can convince Daniel to walk down and get him some before he loses his mind.
He swings his legs over the side of the bed, having some difficulty getting his still sleeping legs to move. He reaches for his walker, and pulls himself up slowly, legs shaking, stomach clenching at the pain he knows is about to happen. It all feels like too much. Every day, trying to get out of bed and eat and live and get to the toilet, it's all too much.
He almost wishes they'd amputated them instead of sending him through five different surgeries and a future filled with chronic pain. It had been an option with how badly they had been broken but funnily enough, it had been Daniel who had to make the decision while Max was in a coma clinging to life. Daniel got to make the decision, fucked off a week later and left Max to deal with his broken body. At least if they had amputated his legs, he could get prosthetics or something, anything other than the constant pain, irritation and stiffness.
He shuffles slowly out of the bedroom, stomach twisting with each step as he listens to Daniel pottering around in the kitchen, humming a tune Max doesn't recognise. He pauses in the doorway, seeing Daniel standing at the stove, fluffy, hair falling in his face as he bops his head, to his hums. He's so painfully beautiful.
Max hates himself so much because he can still love the man. He tells himself he hates Daniel, has replayed every detail of their past in his mind so many times yet he's dreamt up endless scenarios in which Daniel never walks away, when Max is back in the car, racing, and Daniel is by his side. He hates Daniel and still loves him and sometimes it's enough to make him wish he was dead.
Daniel turns, catching his eye and, oh, fuck his smile is so bright, dimples so deep and Max isn't prepared. "You hungry?" Daniel asks, reaching to grab a plate from the side. Max nods silently as he makes his way over to the table, legs and hips screaming with each step.
"You're one of the few people I know who will eat my cooking" Daniel laughs, pushing what looks like scrambled eggs from the pan onto a plate. He looks over his shoulder again, and those brown eyes melt Max's insides.
"You are not that bad," Max manages, sitting at the table with a grunt.
"Thanks, Maxy" Daniel grins, flicking the hob off and then bringing the two plates over to the table, setting one down in front of Max. "Think it's gonna rain later," he mumbles, going back to the bench to grab some cutlery. it feels domestic and it hurts so much because all of this could have been their future had it been done differently. "I'm guessing you don't wanna come down to pick up your meds?" Daniel says gently. Max shakes his head mutely. He's hasn't been shopping since the accident, every aspect of it overwhelming and the stares and pointing even more embarrassing. He swallows a mouthful of too salty, too chewy eggs a bit self consciously, keeping his eyes down on his plate.
"So..." Daniel starts, obviously uncomfortable. It's not something Daniel is, ever. "You got a support worker or someone to come in? Like to help you get stuff done around here or go shopping or whatever?" Daniel asks.
Max tenses slightly. He hates those women, desperate, young girls pretending to care about his bullshit so they can look good on their job description and get a good paycheck at the end of the month. Besides, Max doesn't need or want a babysitter. "No." He says shortly.
"Oh. well...ok," Daniel replies. "I'll make sure to get some groceries and stuff after I go to the pharmacy, alright? I mean you don't keep much in the way of food about. I'm surprised you haven't starved in here." It's probably meant to be a joke, meant to be funny and light but comes out all sad and heavy.
Max's shoulders creep up around his ears. He feels useless and ugly and exposed under Daniel's gaze. He pushes his mostly full plate away from him, the heaviness in his stomach making him feel sick. He wants more painkillers. Like really needs them right now or he's not going to be able to last the day. His head is starting to pound and he leans back, closing his eyes tightly against the stabs of pain.
"You okay?" Daniel asks, his knee brushing against Max's under the table. A warm and solid weight next to him. Max forces himself to open his eyes and blink as he looks up, Daniel's leaning forward. "Maybe, I don't know," Max mutters, spots dancing in his vision, and he digs his teeth into his bottom lip as waves of pain course through his body, now radiating from his head. He raises a hand to rub at the bridge of his nose, pushing the heel of his palm against his eyes.
Daniel swallows and Max sees his adam's apple bob, but he can't say anything over the pain that's taking over his brain. It's like a tidal wave, washing over him, darkening his eyesight. He closes his eyes against the increasing pain. He feels fingers brushing his cheek and manages to force his eyes open again. "It's okay." Daniel's voice is low and soft. "What's hurting?"
"Head" he whispers. His fingers clutch at his hair. Daniel frowns, hand still resting on Max's cheek. His hands are hot and Max wishes he could lean into the heat and warmth.
"Fuck," Daniel says, a hand now in Max's hair. "Cos you hit it?"
"What?" Max asks, frowning as he clutches his head.
"In the shower, when you fell," Daniel says gently, big brown eyes worried.
Max shakes his head, words stuck in his throat. It feels like someone took a sledgehammer to his skull, right between his eyes. He lifts a hand to the back of his head, and sure enough, there's a lump and a small scab on his scalp, the hair around it is clumpy and matted. It probably has something to do with why he's having a migraine this bad. Usually, he has a couple of hours to prepare when they are coming on so he can put himself to bed and endure them alone. Without painkillers, it's pure hell to exist.
"Do you need to see a doctor?" Daniel asks,brow creased as he looks Max over, hands cradling his head
"Mmmm, just a migraine," Max manages. "Ah," he whimpers, shuffling closer to the touch. Daniel cups his jaw, thumb rubbing circles on his cheekbone. Max melts into it, he missed the touch so much, having not had anyone touch him like this in years and now it's too much, the shame and embarrassment overwhelming him.
"What can I do to help?" Daniel pleads. Max bites his lip, blinking tears out of his eyes. His head feels so fuzzy. Fuck everything hurts so badly.
"I need painkillers," he grinds out, nails pressing into his palm. "I took all I had and I...I" he cries, trying to clear his head, "Please get them for me," he finishes quietly, he needs the pain gone, he can't think. He feels sick. He takes deep breaths, teeth pressed together against the rush of pain. Another tear escapes and slides down his face, and Max can't bring himself to wipe it away, to hide it from Daniel. He feels Daniel's hand move to press on his chest, the fingers of his free hand wrapping around Max's wrist and holding tightly.
"Can I carry you back to bed? Or the couch?" Daniel's voice is soft and low, right by his ear. It's funny, Max feels himself wanting to fight, not wanting Daniel to hold him, but also needing it so badly and he loses the internal battle with himself, nodding slightly. Daniel carefully pulls Max's arms around his neck and lifts him, so his head is pressed against Daniel's shoulder. "We're just gonna go to the couch," he says quietly. "So you're closer to the bathroom, does that sound okay?"
"Yeah," Max murmurs into the side of Daniel's neck, unable to keep his eyes open. He lets out a sob as a fresh wave of pain strikes him, gripping at the back of Daniel's shirt desperately. Daniel doesn't seem fazed by the closeness, walking as steady as he can back toward the living room. He can feel Daniel's pace slow, then he's sinking down onto a soft sofa. "Fuck" he chokes out with the pressure the pillow put on his head.
"I'll get the painkillers," Daniel says gently. Max whimpers when the warm hands leave him. it feels like he's been doused in icy water, goosebumps prickle up the sides of his body. The world is spinning and blurring in and out of focus and there's a hot knife point pressing directly into his brain. Even the slightest sound is too much, enough to make tears form in his eyes. "Where's the script" Daniel's voice is distant. "I'll need it when I pick them up."
"In the bathroom." Max's voice comes out as a faint croak, dry and throaty.
"I'll grab a blanket too. Try to breathe, Maxy." Daniel disappears again, and Max can't help but let out a sob, so overwhelmed and in pain. Max starts to feel sick, stomach churning uncomfortably, enough to force him onto his side, curling in on himself even further. He feels the warm weight of a blanket settle over him. and wants to cry. Instead, he just stays there, desperately clinging to the darkness on the edge of his consciousness. He can hear Daniel back in the bathroom, opening drawers and rifling through them looking for the prescription, the noises all loud and muffled, only adding to the agony of his migraine.
"Daniel," he cries, eyes squeezing shut.
"I know, I'm sorry I know I'm being too loud. Just a minute, I can't find the script," Daniel says from the bathroom, sounding a little panicked. Max can't feel his fingers. All he can feel is the pain of his migraine so badly it's choking him. His throat feels blocked and he can't breathe. Daniel appears in front of him looking panicky, a half scrunched piece of paper in hand.
"Hurts" Max manages to croak out. Daniel's hand is warm as it finds Max's face, the thumb resting just under Max's eye and pressing lightly. "Fuck, Max," he breathes out. Max tries to answer but finds he can't, like all the air and words in his lungs have been sucked out.
"I'll be quick okay? Just take some deep breaths," Daniel says softly, and then he's gone again, footsteps growing distant as he runs to the front door and then a slam of the apartment door and Daniel is gone and the pain is the only thing in Max's existence. Everything is horrible and wrong and he curls even further into a ball as he cries silently, so painfully aware of everything at once but most of all aware of the fact his Daniel is gone and won't be back for a while and he's in so much pain. He realises he has no idea how he's going to deal with the waves of pain coming. He reaches for the edge of the blanket and tries his best to cocoon himself in it, the fabric soft and comforting against his skin.
He tries to think about anything besides the crushing emptiness filling his mind, willing himself not to throw up all over the blanket, fighting down the nausea that's threatening to overtake him. He's never done this without painkillers, alone and miserable. He can't focus, everything feels wrong and hollow and there is no escape. Hot tears spill down his cheeks and pool at his temple. Each breath is ragged and uneven, sending spikes of pain shooting down his spine and legs pulsing with each heartbeat.
When Daniel appears a while later, Max barely registers his presence until he feels the hand back in his hair. He gasps, twisting, eyes flying open, and Daniel holds him as he throws up over the sofa.
"It's okay," Daniel shushes him, smoothing a cool hand down his sweaty hair. He sounds calm and steady, even as Max is choking up everything in his stomach. He cracks open his eyes, sees the blue bucket Daniel used to use when he was hungover sitting next to the couch. "I'm here. Just get it all out."
Daniel pulls him up by his armpits once he's sure Max is finished, tugging him off the couch and settling him on the ground. It takes Max's eyes a moment to adjust to the dimmer light, before he can see Daniel crouching down beside him, the strong, thick fingers closing around his shaking shoulders.
His vision is all fuzzy. He blinks and blinks and blinks but everything is still fuzzy and blurry and he lets out another groan, tears leaking from his eyes, blurring it more. "You're okay, " Daniel whispers, cupping Max's jaw, thumb brushing gently against the tears.
"My head," Max says, desperately pressing his fingertips to his forehead, digging into his skin. “Did you get them?" He tries to look up at Daniel, but the light has intensified, his whole body aching, and when he tries to pull himself upright, the whole world seems to spin, colourful patterns flashing in his eyes. When his vision clears a few moments later, he can see Daniel crouching next to the couch, a strange expression on his face.
"No,” Daniel whispers, his grip on Max's shoulders tightening slightly, his face pale. "How many have you been taking?”
“I…I don’t know," Max answers slowly, his voice wavering as the question hits him, guilt surging up from the pit of his stomach. He forces himself to keep his voice steady as he speaks.
"Max," Dan starts, voice a little shrill, "Please you can tell me, have you been taking-"
"No," Max snaps. "I haven't-" His head feels like it's caught in a vice, his ears are ringing. He wants so badly to stop this conversation and take something for the pain.
“When I was down there, they wouldn’t refill it, said you’d refilled it last week…I-did you lose some?" Daniel swallows hard and forces himself to take deep breaths and stares into Max's eyes. Max can't handle his gaze, looking anywhere but at Daniel. His mouth goes dry. He shakes his head, his eyes filling with tears as he finally manages to meet Dan's eyes. “They were not working as well as they used to, I-I need more now." He feels shame burn on his cheeks.
"Shit," Daniel mutters. "Why-shit Max." he buries his face in his hands for a moment, blowing out a breath.
Max licks his lips, his throat raw. He closes his eyes, shutting the tears out as he tries to defend himself. "It is the only way I can sleep." It sounds pathetic, even to his own ears.
Daniel nods, understanding. "Okay, we'll figure something out, I mean, fuck, you're just gonna have to go without for a bit, they won't give you any more until next month," Daniel says, sounding exasperated. His fingers are in Max's hair, lightly scratching at his scalp, a tingly, relaxing feeling, even with the pain it brings.
"I need them," Max protests feebly, seeing spots again, green and blue, and orange floating in the corner of his vision.
"Yeah, I know," Daniel murmurs, "We'll figure it out okay? How...how often do you get the migraines?" He's speaking quietly, a thumb running over the soft skin behind Max's ear, a touch so kind and gentle it makes Max melt even more. Max closes his eyes and just focuses on breathing, on letting the touch soothe him.
"A few times a week, I am too not sure." Max murmurs, tears in his eyes as he opens them again, rubbing at his throbbing temples. He aches everywhere. He whines softly as his headache pulses fiercely. The lights are too bright, no matter how much he wants to be around Daniel it's just too much right now. His world is in constant turmoil. He wants to lie in a dark room, alone.
"Fuck, that's a lot," Daniel says, his voice strained. "We'll figure it out," he says again, running his hand through his curls before he's patting down his pockets and pulling out a box. "These are the strongest ones you can have without a prescription," Daniel pops two tablets out of the blister and hands them to Max. "You need water?"
Max shakes his head, he just needs something, anything to stop the pain. He takes them and puts them in his mouth, swallowing quickly. He lets out a soft moan as he does, curling into himself.
"There, it'll work soon, just try to keep breathing," Daniel says, voice a bit urgent. Max cracks open his eyes a bit to watch Daniel and finds him nervously looking him over, fidgeting slightly. "What do you need Maxy, what can I do ?"
"Just" Max wants him to stop talking, just hold him, but he doesn't know how to say that. He doesn't even think he can, not without making Daniel uncomfortable. Before he can even speak, Daniel disappears back into the kitchen, only reappearing with a damp towel.
"I might have to stay here for a few days, make sure you're good you know?" Daniel suggests as he sets the damp cloth against Max's forehead. Max just whimpers in response, his world going blurry and muffled. It hurts, it fucking hurts so badly he doesn't even care if Daniel is being nice to him or if it's just pity, he's just so happy to have someone who isn't leaving.
"Please, please, don't leave " Max begs, as he melts at the warmth of the towel, moaning loudly at the contact against his skin. He finally looks at Daniel after a moment, whose eyes are red rimmed, and he's biting at his lip, looking almost sheepish.
Daniel shifts his body, face lighting up with guilt as he runs a hand through his curly hair. "Fuck I just...should've been here, taken care of you, God I'm so sorry Maxy, but I'm here, I'll take care of you don't worry." His voice is thin, and Max can feel himself being lulled to sleep by the words, the pain slowly ebbing away.
"Daniel" Max murmurs, and Daniel runs a hand through his hair.
"Mmm?"
"Please don't leave again," Max pleads, clinging to the edge of the blanket, to the only thing keeping him together. Daniel doesn't say anything but he sits on the floor next to Max's head, gathering his head into his lap. Max can feel the brush of a thumb against the line of his jaw, the touch soothing him.
"I won't" Daniel eventually says, whispering it in the hollow of Max's ear, like a promise.
The pressure behind Max's eyes gets worse but head sinks into the curve of Daniel's lap, the softness of his thigh and abdomen almost too much for his overtired brain to take. He hasn't felt this kind of touch in forever and all of a sudden he's crying into Daniel's thigh. There are a few moments where he doesn't think he can take it, it's all so intense. But as soon as he surrenders, the storm starts to fade, the world sliding away into something easier, softer, and quieter.