Chapter Text
Max and his two friends, P.J. and Bobby, sat in the dining hall eating a late lunch (or, technically, breakfast, for they woke up during the afternoon and were only eating their first meal). Their schedules were clear that day—no classes, no homework to catch up on, no parties to attend—so after they finished up, they planned to spend the rest of their day in the skatepark, skating away the little daylight hours they had left.
"I just can't believe it, man," Bobby said, commenting on the conversation they had been discussing their entire time in the hall.
What Bobby couldn't believe was the fact Bradley Uppercrust III, previous "king" of the college and now exposed cheater of the X-Games, had been accepted back into his Gamma clan despite his betrayal to all his friends, mainly Tank.
It didn't surprise Max much, and he could very well believe what Bobby couldn't. Ever since his arrival at college, it was obvious to him that the Gammas simply could not function without Bradley. He told them what to do and he pointed his finger at where they needed to go, and they bent over backwards and every which way to please him. With, presumably, a weak apology from Bradley, accompanied with a pitiful face and hands clasped together in a beg, he was sure to be accepted back in with open arms, and that's exactly what took place. The Gammas were helpless without Bradley's commands, and Bradley was helpless without his brainless idiots to control.
"I mean, really," Bobby continued, lips smacking as he chewed on the sandwich he just bit. "No one should be taken back like that! You know what I'm saying? Like, Gammas, come on! How is Bradley ever supposed to learn and, like, be a better man if he's never really punished for his bullshit?" Bobby was strangely worked up over the matter as if he himself was a Gamma and he had no say in Bradley's return.
Max snickered. "I don't think it's in his nature to be a better man," he said, taking a sip of his water. "But, like I said before, they just need someone to listen to. It's all they ever know. But, I admit, Tank I just can't understand. He's not as dumb as he looks, you know, and Bradley literally left him to die. That's the only thing I can't understand."
Bobby shot out his arms towards Max, pointing at him as if he had solved the very question of life. "Exactly, man! He's, like, the voice of reason. They all should've listened to him. If not Bradley, they could've at least grown, you know? I at least liked them more than Upperfuck."
They all laughed and the conversation finally dropped as they finished their meals. P.J. suddenly perked up, though, his eyes looking off in the distance somewhere behind Max. "It's as if he was summoned," the man whispered, somewhat in fright.
Max cocked a brow at his friend and turned around, and the source of his friend's amazement soon made itself known, standing at the entrance of the dining hall. Truly, as if he were summoned, Bradley Uppercrust III stood in the doorway with his arms crossed and his eyes scanning the room like a lighthouse overlooking the sea. He wore his usual attire—a burgundy sweatshirt over a light blue bottom-up, all tucked into sleek (and probably ironed, the snob) khaki pants that flowed over his light-grey tennis shoes. His hair was combed and part down the middle in its normal fashion. The only detail about his appearance that was out of place was the yellow and blue bruises that clouded his left eye, remnants of a black eye gained from the X-Games.
"We have our own gravitational pull, man, I swear to it," Bobby said. "He's damn near everywhere we turn!"
Max kept his eyes on Bradley. He expected his minions to come clambering through the doors behind him, but no one ever came, besides some blonde girl that politely asked Bradley to move. "I wonder what he's doing?" Max thought aloud. "He's obviously not going to eat, standing there like an idiot and all."
"Well, he's clearly looking for someone, and it's giving me the creeps," Bobby said, shuddering as he popped some potato chips into his mouth. "He's like that old man we all had in sixth grade. The English teacher, I think. Ugh, those eyes still haunt me."
P.J. hummed. "They even dress the same."
Bobby crunched his food through his laughs. "Holy shit, man, you're right! Bradley's his reincarnation or some shit."
At that moment, Bradley's eyes fell on to Max's, and the two stared at each other for a few moments, though it felt like an eternity to Max. When Bradley isn't glaring at him with a caustic sneer or outright laughing in his face, but rather looking at him with a neutral expression, maybe even recognition as he was now, Max couldn't help feeling like he was falling into a trance. He felt stuck waiting for Bradley's lips to curl into a mocking grin, but it never did. Bradley's face only grew more serious—his mouth bent slightly into a frown and his thick eyebrows furrowed in determination just above his emotionless blue eyes.
Max cleared his throat. "I think he found who he's looking for," he said, turning around to his friends' faces once again. He looked down at the tray before him and the little food he had left to eat, but his appetite was lost to him.
"Who?" P.J. asked. His eyes were still trained on Bradley, who, with his arms now folded behind his back, was walking towards their direction.
Max sighed. "Me."
"Oh man," Bobby huffed, staring at their visitor as intensely as P.J. was. "I swear, I'll pounce on him like a rabid animal, Max. He says one wrong thing to you and—" His fist collided with the table, his anger evident in the sudden outburst and in the new redness of his cheeks. "Hold me back, Pete! Hold me back!"
Max stared at him with bewildered amusement, and he couldn't help but laugh. "Calm down, Bobby, you're going to scare him off."
Bobby's eyes fell on him, and immediately his anger subsided as if it had all been an act in the first place. "Ain't that what you want, man? You don't want to talk to that douchebag, do you?"
Max shrugged. "Can you blame me for being curious?"
Bradley's presence finally arrived, and he stood at the end of the table on Max's left. His cologne, aromatic and manly with a hint of mint, clogged Max's nostrils almost instantly, but he couldn't say he was displeased. Whatever it was, it was expensive and smelled expensive, and he liked the way it expensively lingered in his nose.
Bradley's chin was lifted in a dignified manner, like one of those royal guards in England that litter the perimeter of the palace. He tilted his head downwards so he could look at Max face-to-face, and his eyes were half-lidded, as if he was brimming with indifference. It was a familiar look that he wore in every situation where he was acting "civil," and as he looked on at Max, Max could only guess he was forced to be there in that moment and speak to him.
"Goof," Bradley eventually greeted. He nodded his head once, and in return, Max nodded back.
"Brad," Max replied. A smirk was itching at his lips, and he almost caved in at the slight falter in Bradley's expression, but he managed to keep his mouth in a straight-set line.
White anger flashed through Bradley almost as spontaneously as Bobby's earlier outburst a few minutes ago. He kept his composure, though, and he even cracked his lips into a forced smile. "Ley. Brad-ley, Goof. But, um, say, do you have a minute? I'd like to speak to you, but," he stopped, and he briefly glanced at P.J. and Bobby who were consuming his every word, "with some privacy, perhaps?"
Max let the question simmer in his mind, and he weighed his options carefully, intricately, and he took his time doing so. He looked over to his friends—he'd have to abandon them for the time being, follow Bradley to God knows where, listen to him speak about God knows what, and risk missing valuable time at the skatepark, something he had been looking forward to ever since their plans were made. He then looked to Bradley and considered his other option—he could just tell him to fuck off, and he'd be able to have fun with his friends like he anticipated. But damn, the curiosity would surely gnaw at him.
Max had been silent for maybe three minutes by that point, patiently brooding over his choices, and Bradley's short fuse was almost at its end. "Jesus, Goof, I didn't ask you to give me an organ. It's a simple yes or no. I can also just talk to you some other time if you can't today." He then eyed Max up and down, an accusatory look in his icy eyes. "Or if you just don't want to, today."
Max smiled, a cocky grin that he hoped got under Bradley's skin, and he shook his head, waving his hands at the man's jab. "No, no, of course I'll speak with you, buddy." He stood up from his seat and looked to his friends before walking off. "Be a doll and take my trash, will you? I'll catch you guys later." He turned to Bradley again, noting the impatient look on the brunette's face and also noting how much he didn't care for said brunette's impatience. "Lead the way, Brad."
Bradley turned on his heels, Max in tow, and walked out of the dining hall, into the many long corridors of the college building, and then into the crisp October air outdoors. The sky was clear, but everything still looked dull and lifeless, as always was the case during the colder months. The sky's usual blue tint was now a light grey, the greenery that flourished during the summer and spring were now dead and stiff, and even the other students looked as colorless and drained of life as the scenery around them. Bradley continued on the paved path that curved around the campus, his destination set in mind, and Max followed behind aimlessly, taking in his surroundings like it was his first time there all over again.
They stepped down some stairs and were soon walking down the street that lead to all their fraternities. The oddly-painted buildings passed by, and they began approaching Max's dorm, and for a moment he thought that that's where Bradley was taking him. They trudged on past, though, and it was until then that Max began to question the location Bradley was leading him.
Only as soon as the question arose was it answered, and the two men now stood in the driveway of the Gamma Mu Mu fraternity. The porch of the house was deserted, as was the rest of the exterior and even the entire street they had been walking. There were cars parked in the garage-like area connected to the house, and a noise could be heard through the yellow walls of the building, something rhythmic like music along with the overlapping nonsense of voices. Max could only guess the Gammas were throwing a small party, or they were all being unnecessarily loud. He looked to Bradley, who, strangely enough, was not looking back at him. His eyes were on the house, squinted and searching for someone like he had in the dining hall. There was no one there, though, or at least no one that Max could see.
"So," Max finally said, earning Bradley's gaze, "are we just going to stand around and admire your house, or did you have something to say to me?"
Bradley's expression dropped, and a smile and kind eyes came forth. Max didn't know why he bothered with the stupid look, he knew it was a facade. "Yes," Bradley started, and he took a step closer to Max, "look, Goof. Max. I don't think I ever truly apologized to you for what happened."
Max crossed his arms. "That's right, you didn't. Because you weren't really sorry." He examined the other man's face. The mocking smile, the patronizing eyes, the condescending lift of his eyebrows. In every curve of his features was deceit, and luckily Max had known Bradley long enough to see right through him. "And you're not sorry now. So spare me the bullshit apology and tell me what you really wanted to speak about."
Bradley hadn't frowned or scoffed like Max had expected at the blunt confrontation, but he merely smiled more, only this time it was actually genuine.
"Freshie, how perceptive you are," Bradley muttered. He put an emphasis on "perceptive" as if Max was undeserving of such a title, and for that, Max couldn't take the compliment, if it could even count as that coming from someone like Bradley. "In a way, I'm grateful, but in another, I wish you were dumb enough to let me apologize anyways. Maybe then you'd easily help me without much trouble."
Max scoffed. "Help? That's what you needed? And you think I'd do anything like that for you?"
Bradley's dumb smile finally dropped, and that seriousness returned to his face once more. "Precisely my point," he grumbled, almost to himself but loud enough for Max to catch. He took another step towards Max, and the proximity they shared was now something Max was forced to notice. Bradley's face was only mere inches away from his own, and before Max could punch it away or just step back, the brunette's arm wrapped around his shoulder. They stood side-by-side, impossibly close and very reminiscent of their initial meeting in that strange cafe a few months ago. Max hadn't minded Bradley's odd familiarity back then because he had only known the guy barely five minutes, but now that he had known Bradley for enough time to consider him an enemy, the contact was unbearable.
"Look, Goof, I know you don't like me, and maybe you even hate me." Bradley's smooth voice flowed into Max's ear like he was sitting right next to a speaker, and the younger man turned his head slightly away to lessen the other's volume. "But open your heart," he continued, even placing his hand on Max's chest, "and allow in some sympathy for me, yeah?"
Max turned to Bradley again with utter disbelief plastered across his face. He finally shoved the man off him, which is what he should've done as soon as Bradley's arm touched his shoulders, and took at least ten steps back. "Sympathy? For you? I don't think I could ever feel such a way to someone so undeserving of it."
Bradley's face changed again, like it always seemed to in the presence of Max, as if he was always conflicted as to what to feel and indecisive as to what to express. He had landed on anger, passionate in his blazing eyes and red-hot in his burning cheeks—his most popular expression with his dear nemesis. "That's what you don't understand, Goof!" He cried out, voice cracking with his impulsive rage. For a split second his composure crumbled, but at the sound of his own voice, he glued his composure back together before it broke entirely. His anger was still eminent, but it was cool and controlled and hissed like an upset cat.
"I don't have a home, freshman," he continued, vehemently but almost painfully, as if it hurt to bring the confession out of his throat. "They won't let me back into the Gamma House unless- unless... I've been living in the backseat of my car for the better of three weeks. All my shit is in there, too." His hand flung out, gesturing towards his car that was parked by all the others. There were all kind of clothes and books and miscellaneous objects blocking the back window, and at least from that Max knew Bradley wasn't lying.
Still, he couldn't quite care.
"Unfortunately, that sounds like a problem reserved for you, Brad," Max sneered, glaring at Bradley as every word passed his lips. The brunette opened his mouth to speak, but, recalling the half-hour conversation he had with P.J. and Bobby in the dining hall, Max cut him off to ask, "I thought you and the Gammas were cool with each other?"
Bradley sighed, and for a moment his frustration settled as he too remembered what Max just mentioned. "We are, just, not cool enough to have my room back." The embers of his eyes then flared up again. "You're the reason I don't have it back yet."
Max was taken aback, and his mouth fell slightly open. For a man in dire need of help, Bradley sure as hell spoke like it was already guaranteed to him. The audacity of that prick—the absolute gall to drag Max all the way here, request his help, and all but insult him before he could even convince Max to lend his aid.
"Wow," was all he could muster due to the utter disbelief that stunned his speech.
Bradley, as if all at once conscious of what he just said, struggled for an elaboration. "Goof, oh, I didn't mean it like that!"
Max took a step backward towards the street, taking his leave. "Fuck you, Brad," he spat, turning around and ridding the brunette from his view.
"Wait, wait!" Bradley's footsteps scratched at the ground as he scrambled to stop Max. He ran in front of the younger man and placed his hands on his shoulders, keeping him still. Max shoved him off, but he remained where he was, glaring at Bradley expectantly.
"What I meant was, they're not letting me have my room back unless I can convince them we're on good terms. They made some kind of bet that I couldn't bring you back to the house, much less obtain your friendship," he spluttered, speaking so fast as if they were the last words he were to ever say again. "That's why I said you're the reason. I wasn't blaming you—Goof, fucking look at me, would you?"
Max's eyes had drifted off towards the other dorms in the distance, but as Bradley asked, he returned his gaze. "Sorry, Brad, I just couldn't help but notice the other diverse selection of dorms along this street." Sarcasm dripped off his voice like a bitter syrup, and Bradley could practically taste it on his tongue as Max pressed on in the same tone. "Take a gander for yourself. I know you're the pampered and spoiled kind, but contrary to what you might believe, Brad, there are other sufficient dorms besides the Gamma House."
Bradley rolled his eyes. "You wouldn't understand my connection to the Gamma House, freshman, and I'm not going to spoon feed the understanding of it to you either."
Max had enough. He's already had enough ever since the conversation began, but seriously, this was just too much. "Stop wasting my time, Uppercrust. I've already told you to fuck off, and if you didn't know, that's a simpler way to say 'no, I'm not going to help you.'"
Max began to move, but Bradley put his hands on him once more as an effort to stop him, and it worked, again. He pressed his hand to Max's chest which Max immediately pushed away, but his feet ceased to move nonetheless.
"Okay, okay. Listen, Goof," Bradley demanded. His demeanor was businesslike, but that didn't distract Max from the faint desperation between his words. "You already know what I need help with—to convince them we're buddy-buddy. You help me with that, and whatever you want, I'll make sure it's yours." There was something about the finality in his words that gave off the impression he had won, that this deal he was constructing was already agreed upon. Max wasn't going to give it to him so easily, not quite yet.
"'Whatever' as in... anything?" Max inquired, a glint flashing in his black eyes like a firefly in the dark of night.
Bradley clenched his teeth. "Within reason," he said, and reluctantly, ever so begrudgingly and hesitantly, he added, in almost a whisper, "anything."
There came a pause between the two men, a small break in conversation that allowed them to think. Bradley's intense eyes bore into Max's, internally pleading for Max to agree and help him, while also keeping his "anything" reasonable. He had a feeling, something deep in his gut that he ignored—but unconsciously listened to anyways—that Max would be unreasonable despite Bradley's wishes.
"Fine," Max said, breaking the tension. He brought out his hand and awaited Bradley's to grasp it. "I'll do it."
Bradley could've grabbed Max's hand and shook it right off, but he hesitated. Despite the relief and the excitement that bubbled in his chest at the thought of sleeping in his bed again, he hesitated. "What is it that you're wanting from me in return?"
Max smirked, venom laced on the very skin of his lips. "Do you want my help or not?"
Max nudged Bradley's arm with his extended hand, beckoning that handshake.
"Don't do this to me, man," Bradley grumbled, refusing to look at Max's hand. "You've got to tell me my end of the bargain before we shake on it, that's how a deal works."
"Not in my eyes," Max jeered. "In this particular case, anyways. You need this more than me, so I think I'll do what I want."
Bradley glared at Max, and if his room wasn't at stake, he would've tackled the younger man then and there. He thought of anything he could conceptualize that would bring Max to spit out his thoughts, but he couldn't think of anything persuasive enough.
Defeat lodged in his throat, he bit his lip and averted his gaze from Max's eyes, looking down at the man's hand before him. He brought up his own hand and was just about to shake, but Max suddenly dropped his.
"I'm just messing with you," he chuckled.
Bradley was not amused in the slightest, but it did feel like a weight being lifted off his shoulder at the sight of Max's teasing smile.
"For my compensation," Max started, "I firstly want it to last until the end of this school year. I decided initially that it'd last until your graduation, but I'm feeling generous." His smile had then grew quite toothy—he found himself unbelievably humorous and couldn't help laughing about it—and exposed to the eyes of Bradley was the gap between his two upper teeth.
Bradley huffed. "I would say that's a relief, but you haven't told me exactly what's lasting the rest of this school year."
"I'm getting there, big man," Max replied. "You remember how I revoked that bet back at the X-Games?"
Bradley already knew what Max had in mind, and he considered backing out on the deal altogether. What was worse—sleeping in his car for the rest of his time in college, or obliterating whatever reputation he had left by being Max's towel boy?
The bruises on his back from those long, sleepless nights in an uncomfortable car seat decided for him.
"The towel boy bet?" Bradley had asked, though it felt more like a dreadful statement once it slipped past his lips.
"Bingo," Max said, chuckling at the deadpan expression that occupied Bradley's face. "Except, I want to add a few more tweaks before we make it all official."
"And what would those possibly consist of, freshman?"
Max's smugness showed in his face and all the more leaked down into his words as he spoke, confident and mischievous. "Well, as you know, a towel boy is only relevant in sports, skating in our case. Other than providing water and carrying around equipment and washing all the clothes, et cetera, et cetera, a towel boy is pretty much useless outside of the skating realm."
Bradley's frown curled so fiercely, he could feel the muscles of his face burning. "Yeah, because even the towel boy has a life outside of skating, and he's not a personal assistant."
Max laughed, but it was anything but playful. It was dark, like the color of his eyes or hair, and it was full of pure malice. "Oh, but he is, Brad. He is a personal assistant. You will be a personal assistant. That's what I will get in return. I help you get your room back, and you help me with everything else for the rest of the school year."
"You are a cruel one," Bradley choked out through clenched teeth. He brought out his hand to meet Max's. "It pains me to say, but it's a deal."
Max smirked, and finally, with a soft slap of their hands connecting, the handshake was made. Firm and passive aggressive on both their sides, but it sealed the deal nonetheless.
"Great," Max said after they released each other of their holds. "So, when exactly are we going to do this buddy-buddy-convincing thing?"
Bradley answered immediately, as if he had already had an idea schemed out prematurely. Which, he sort of did. "Right now," he stated. He said this coolly and without much emotion. The making of the deal and the realization of his fate had exhausted him significantly, though physically he had only shaken Max's hand. It drained him, and he wanted nothing more but to settle the Gamma House ordeal right then and get his bedroom back. "We'll go in the house and devise some kind of story on our new friendship. It doesn't have to be much, they're all dumb as rocks and believe anything. Except for Tank maybe, but I don't think he cares much anymore."
"This should be fun," Max commented, already envisioning a story that he could share with the Gammas. "Let me do the talking," he said, and when he didn't get a response from Bradley, he could only assume the brunette had granted him the honor.
At least half an hour had passed since their arrival at the Gamma House, and the beginnings of dusk crept its way into the sky. The porch light of the house flickered on at the first sign of a shadow, and it caught the men's attention.
Max looked at the yellowish-glow of the lamp that sat perched above the wooden door of the house, and then he turned to the sky, taking note of the rapidly descending sun. "Well, let's get this over with, shall we? I still have to meet back up with my friends."
"Yes," Bradley agreed, staring at the silhouettes that danced in the glass of the window. Soon he'd be amongst them once more. "Let's go, but, one more thing, Goof." They had began to make their way towards the porch, but Bradley stopped them once again. "Don't mention any of this to your friends. You know, either of our parts. I can't risk the Gammas knowing we're not actually friends, and I certainly don't want your friends thinking I'm your towel boy."
"Thinking?" Max retorted, catching Bradley's incorrect phrasing of his situation. "Knowing, Brad. They'll be knowing you're my towel boy. Just because we're pretending to be friends for your side of the deal doesn't automatically mean you're pretending to be the towel boy on mine. That is what you are, and we just shook on it. Now do as I say and open the door for me, would you, boy?" A devilish smile contorted Max's face, and Bradley wanted nothing but to rip his lips clean off, but he didn't.
"I'll remind you, freshman, since you clearly can't grasp the concept of a deal, but neither of us have completed our end of the bargain." His words were quick and shot at Max like small bullets. The drowsiness he had felt only moments ago dissipated, and his frustration swelled up in his chest.
It was strange to Bradley, purely a damn wonder what Max did to him. Max had exhausted him to a state of emptiness, but it was Max again that caused Bradley to rejuvenate, filled with his passionate angers that he had previously been vacant of. It made his head spin, but most of all it made him irrationally furious.
"So," Bradley continued, picking up where he awkwardly broke off to ponder his sudden return of energy, "until I have my room back, I'm not doing shit for you."
Max thought to protest and bicker with Bradley some more, maybe even threaten the deal altogether. But his reward was quite too fruitful for him to call it all off, so with a condescending laugh, he walked away from Bradley and ascended the few stairs that led up the porch. "Whatever you say, Brad."
———————
Their plan had worked just as Bradley had suspected it would, and he was back in his room, splayed out on the bed and basking in the moonlight that seeped through his un-curtained windows. Max had remained downstairs and was taking part in whatever games the Gammas were playing, even though he had earlier told Bradley he was to meet up with his friends. Maybe his plans had changed, Bradley didn't care.
He had it all back—his room, his friends, his... Well, maybe not his status and reputation. He was still pretty well known as a cheater and a scumbag, and it would only get worse once word got out about him obligingly being Max Goof's towel boy.
Hell, what did he care? It was a bruise to the ego, but it was only for a couple of months. He had a place to sleep and a place to store all his belongings once again, and in that moment, where he felt as relaxed as could be on his bed, he didn't have it in him to care much about anything else.
There was a sudden stream of knocks on his door, and the only peace he's felt in weeks was disrupted. He wanted to tell the knocker to fuck off, and only a few weeks ago before everything came crashing down, he could've done just that. He couldn't quite be so comfortable with his Gamma peers that soon, though, so he sat up on his bed and called the visitor in.
It was Tank. Bradley couldn't see his face, but the familiar outline of his broad form in the hallway light gave him right away.
Bradley knew that Tank hadn't believed his and Max's story of their newfound friendship. The way Max was explaining the fabricated tale, Bradley was sure not a single Gamma would have believed it, but they were as dumb as they looked and took in his every word like it were a sacred text.
"Tank, baby," Bradley cooed, welcoming his friend in with a smile that couldn't be seen in the dark of his room.
He wasn't sure what Tank had planned to do about their obvious lie, if he had anything planned at all. There was a crippling sense of doom that sat in Bradley's gut, like Tank had a punishment awaiting him, but Tank had looked so indifferent about everything when he and Max were explaining themselves, so he couldn't be too sure about his friend's intentions. The only thing Bradley was certain of was that he was to play it safe, and being overly affectionate of the guy was his way of going about it.
"Bradley," Tank responded, his voice low and gravelly and the same it always has been. "Can I turn the light on? I can't see you."
"Of course, of course," Bradley assured. He shifted over to the corner of his bed, allowing enough room for Tank to sit. "Come on in, sit down."
Tank did just that, shuffling over the carpet of Bradley's room and planting himself right beside the brunette. The bed squeaked under the sudden weight, and he sunk his side slightly down while raising Bradley's corner slightly up.
Tank stared ahead with an unreadable expression. "I know you and Max aren't friends."
Direct and straight to the point. Bradley figured his affections wouldn't do much for him, and if Tank was going to be raw and honest about the situation, well, he might as well be too.
"I had a feeling you were going to say that," he coughed, also looking ahead as his companion did.
"I thought you said you changed, you know, when you were apologizing to us a few days ago," Tank continued. His tone was monotonous and he seemed to be speaking mechanically, and Bradley honestly couldn't blame him for being so straightforward as he was. "That was an apology, wasn't it? Or was it just another one of your fancy lies?"
Bradley rushed to speak. "Of course it was an apology!" That wasn't entirely a lie. He did apologize to his friends, saying the key phrases "I'm sorry" and "I've changed" and "please forgive me." There was just a lack of sincerity, and Tank had undoubtedly caught on to that like he did everything else. Ever since the aftermath of the X-Games, Tank had grown incredibly wary of Bradley and caught even the simplest of inconsistencies. Had Bradley known Tank was not as dense as he thought and actually had emotional depth to him, he would've thought twice about betraying him in the competition. "But, I guess I wasn't too honest about it."
There was a shift in Tank's demeanor at Bradley's admission, and the brunette quickly worked to lessen the severity of it. Why couldn't Tank be as brainless as the other fools that made up the Gammas? "Can you blame me, though? They're so easy to convince, and you guys were all I had. Did you really expect me to just leave without at least trying to get back in?"
"Maybe I did. You already left once before," Tank snapped, finally looking at Bradley. There was a mixture of anger and anguish that pinched his face into the expression that it was.
Bradley remained silent, unsure of what to say and how to say it. Tank kept his mouth shut, too. Tank had been the one to walk in the room and sit with Bradley, but he wasn't going to be the one to talk. He expected Bradley to do it, and Bradley knew of it, he just had to find his words and phrase them the right way. Maybe the punishment he had expected from Tank was this very conversation. He had to weigh everything he said carefully, and mean it wholeheartedly.
"Look, I'll be truthful with you now, Tank. I don't think it's physically possible for me to take those buffoons seriously, so when I apologize to you now, I hope you understand my sincerity." The words drifted off his tongue like sweet candy, and he was even surprised at the flow in which he spoke. "I fucked up back at the X-Games, and I continued to fuck up when I apologized to you guys, and I continued to even more with the bullshit that happened tonight with the freshman. I'm a cheater and I twist my words, but I never meant for everything to get so out of hand. I caused a lot of unintentional harm at the X-Games, and I never meant for any of it to happen. I didn't realize how at stake your life was, and I..."
Bradley took a second to breathe.
Jesus, this was intense.
"I thought you would understand if I just continued with the race, but I see now how cruel that was. I lied to you guys, I'm not a changed man. But, with you guys all back in my life and my room returned to me once more, I'll try my best to grow." At this point, Bradley began to hate the way he sounded. He meant every word he said, but it was exactly that that he hated. It all felt too cheesy and unnatural coming out of his mouth, but he hoped the authenticity of it convinced Tank, because it even convinced himself. "And I assure you, I have no intentions on betraying you again," he added hastily, snatching a glance at Tank, who was not looking at him at all. "I'll even pull back from the X-Games and not participate, if that's something you guys would want. I won't even show up- er, well, never mind, I might have to do that, but I won't participate."
Tank looked at him then, a hint of perplexity written on his face. "What do you mean you'd have to show up?"
Of all the things that Bradley had managed to spew out, that is what caught Tank's interest? Not the heartfelt apology or the sacrifice from the X-Games, but the small, useless comment he for some reason added at the end of his monologue? Seriously, he was sacrificing his participation in the X-Games. Ex-champion of the competitions, not participating! Maybe Tank was daft, because only a person with the numbest of brains would witness a legend make such a sacrifice as Bradley did and act as if it never mattered.
Bradley sighed, but he hoped it came off as any other breath he would take. "I made a deal with Goof and, well, if he were to, um, ask me to be at the X-Games, I would have to show up."
"Have to?" Tank questioned incredulously. "Why would he ask you to be there? You his damn towel boy after all?"
Bradley was shocked how quickly Tank connected the pieces together. Shit, maybe he wasn't so daft as he thought.
"What's with the influx of questions, Tank?" He asked, attempting to redirect the focus of the conversation. Bradley could not handle confessing the humiliating fact he was Max Goof's towel boy, with benefits. "Goof is the least of our concerns and therefore not worth discussing. Are you going to forgive me or not, Tank? You're really stressing me out here."
Whatever cool facade he had managed to wear during his apology gave away immediately, but in Tank's presence, he didn't feel the need to scramble and compose himself again like he would in front of Max. Instead, he buried his face in his hands and awaited Tank's response in despair.
"Sure, sweetheart, I forgive you."
The words drifted through Bradley's ears and sounded more beautiful than any piece of music he had ever heard before. He nearly leapt up from his bed and began jumping around his room, but only in his mind did he react such a way. In reality, he only took his hands away from his face and looked to Tank, who still had his face turned away. Tank didn't meet his eyes, but there was a slight grin on his lips that told Bradley he truly meant what he said. He was forgiven.
"Oh, Tank, baby, you mean that, really? I could start crying here, tell me you mean it." It was true, he could feel the slight sting at his eyes as salty tears lined the pink flesh of his eyelids. He kept them at bay, though, blinking them away the best he could.
"Yes," Tank assured. "I mean it. I can tell you're not lying, or at least I think you aren't. Besides, everyone deserves a second chance."
Relief, the best of pleasures Bradley has ever felt, coursed through his bloodstream and calmed down his high-strung nerves that had been piqued since his talk with Max. "Look at me, Tank. I can't believe a thing you say if you refuse to even look at me." His words were a demand, but they were soft and held no real authority to them.
Finally, Tank turned his head and they locked eyes, friends reunited once again. "Tank, life is suddenly worth living once again."
The hefty man shook his head, a playful mock glittering in his eyes. "Honey, you are flamboyant as hell."
Bradley had began to laugh, but the sudden outcry of somebody else's hearty laughter distracted him. It came from all the commotion downstairs, and even without a face to see and a crowd of people to discern from, Bradley knew the voice belonged to none other than Max.
He groaned, glaring at Tank what he wished he could direct towards Max. "I've had about enough of that damn kid, Tank." His lips then curled into one of his conniving smirks, those contagious smiles that seemed to spread to his peers like it did to Tank. "I want some real Gamma fun tonight, but we can't keep it pure with a 99 fucker in the house, can we?"
"No, baby, we can't," Tank purred.
The two men stood up at the same time with the same smile and the same idea in mind. Brains intertwined and thoughts combined, they clambered out of Bradley's room—not before Bradley briefly stopped by the door to switch off his ceiling fan light—and raced to the bottom floor, winner left to deal with the exiling of Max from Gamma premises.