Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s been a few weeks since Max had won the X-Games.

He was kinda popular before fluking at the opening, but man, after he actually did the impossible, the unattainable — beating Bradley and his sorority crew as a mere freshman hotshot — everyone couldn’t get enough of him!

It’s been great, but honestly, Max had gotten bored. Especially since Brad had gone MIA doing who knows what. It was nice to have peace, but the lack of drama had gotten too calm. Plus P.J. been focused on his new girlfriend, Vicki, and Bobby was finding himself lost in the sauce a little too frequently. Bobby had gotten good at hiding behind those shades. Who knows what’s going through his head right now — you know, other than that 420 crap.

No friends, no dick to ruin my non-existent fun, and still. No girlfriend.

So what to do as a popular boy in college? Maybe it’s a tad cliche, but Cincinnati University is a hell of a party school after all.

If Max still was with Roxanne maybe it wouldn’t matter, but Roxanne was on the other side of the state. He could always give her a friendly video call from time to time but apparently it doesn’t cut it. Besides she needed to “figure things out” a year ago and hasn’t even checked back.

Go figures. Not even friends? Honestly who knows what they are, the lack of communication makes Max’s head spin. So he just tries not to think of it.

Max quickly gets himself ready in the den.

Even though it’s getting late no ones in the room with him.

After throwing on a pair of his deep denim blue chunky jeans with his signature black long sleep undershirt and an over-sized red shirt combo (today Max was feeling the vibe of a Powerline Vans shirt, he was planning on popping, just like he did on his last day of Freshman year in high school.) He goes back and fourth between the Stevie Williams Pros and the Vans. He eventually leans into the Pros just to class up his outfit a bit.

‘Not trying too hard, but not looking like garbage,’ Max thinks as he looks into his simple mirror. Just the right mix for a college party. ‘I wonder what Rox would thi–'

Oh.

Yeah, well whatever. He'd never been to a college party before but how bad could it be?

…

It was hard for Max to resist the urge to skate over, but god he didn’t want to have any drunk dude snap it in half somehow. He’d had it since Christmas when he was 12. He tries not show that he cares, but he knows how his dad waited in the cold in front of some store for an hour just to see his son happy when he got the exact model he begged Santa for. And well, in the end Max really does care, you know, the faded print and odd collection of stickers he’s been adding to from the start.

His shoes sloftly hit the pavement. The air was brisk. Cold. And soundless, until it wasn’t. Until he could here the roar of a crowd. A crowd he would have to talk to. A crowd that wouldn’t just watch him, but one he’d have to talk to. As he walked through the door and into the dim yet colorful frat house, he finds his feet still underneath him somehow, slapping the ground as if they were flippers wadinging into a pool of water, he just hoped it was at least half as clumsily.

He felt like he was searching for something but he didn’t know what.

He took a drink, but it didn’t do anything. He set it down having only drunk about half of it.

Chatted to a couple guys he’d only dreamed about talking to, nothing.

Checked the the pool, turned out to just be a bunch of dumbasses making out. Yep, nothing here.

He even talked to a few hot girls, but it didn’t do anything. Like really hot, and it still didn’t do a thing.

He took another tender sip of a drink but a thought popped in his head. And fuck it, maybe it’s worth a shot. Afterall, Max likes a good competition.

…

He made his way to an especially large crowd, and from the loud the cheers, he figured it had to be a party game.

Someones hyping up a crowd to loud music — right now it sounds like ‘Roxanne’, which makes his fist clench a bit, but he deals. There’s people chanting the lyrics and then suddenly there’s a thump, Max could barely hear over the crowd.

“Knockout!” someone shouts through a shitty microphone meant for karaoke, stopping the music. “Alright any requests for the next song?” As Max makes his way deeper into the crowd, sliding through people he tries to listen to the garbled crowd. “Oh? I think I heard ‘Teenage Dirbag’! That’s new too right?” And Max has to say, he definitely did NOT hear ‘Teenage Dirtbag’ but how was he going to complain over the symphony of voices. “Any next contenders?” A hush fell over the crowd.

Max raised his hand high. He felt a push as the crowd pushed him forward, with lots of whispers until, he was face to face with him.

All blue eyes and prestinely manicured auburn mullet. Plus that large cocky grin.

Max’s skin burns. It was getting pretty hot in the cramped space surrounded by his peers.

Bradley.

Max was floundering for sure. Not even clumsily wading in, he was belly flopping.

Bradley with that stupid look on his face like he’d done this a thousand times, like he had so many thoughts behind those eyes, probably preparing a scheme to beat Max.

Well. He wanted a challenge, didn’t he?

…

As Bradley stared at Max he wondered if he could look any hotter in the flashing lights with that determined look on his face.

And well, fuck.

With Max’s furrowed brow and cute pout, he was sure he despised him.

Well whatever. He wanted his attention somehow, didn’t he? 'Here we are again.'

Chapter Text

Bradley couldn’t stand to see that look on Max’s face, but he caused it and deserved it. For months Bradley had slowly built a fire and fueled the flames, until this rivalry became an unstoppable force that he now found raging on in Max’s eyes.

‘Should I be scared?’

“You’ve been skipping class, Brad,” Max spits the words out, as if they don’t taste good. “Really are all bark and no bite.”

‘Attention seeking.’ No one notices as Bradley’s face goes cold, as he shoves his unwanted thoughts from his mind.

“You’re acting as if I’m your pet, Max,” Bradley continues to fuel the fire as Max’s face turns bright red, Even the skin around his gauges are turning pink. Cute. “You want me to bark for you? I will. I’m not a pussy.”

What he can only assume are the gammas start barking behind him.

‘Hostile.’

“Guys guys, cool it,” he says calmly, yet has an ice cold glare directed at his crew. After a minute he turns back to the X-Games Champion, still staring back with a fire behind his eyes, as well as his cheeks now. “Let’s get this over with, Champ.” He articulated the nickname snarkily. And—

‘I swear to god, is he’s growling?!’ No one else could hear it but Bradley, but Max really did. He fucking growled at him, teeth clenched and made an angry little “grrrr” sound.

Bradley smirks, coyly whispering, “Who’s the dog now? Bitch.”

As Max gave him a confused face, Bradley huffed, disappointed that Max didn’t enjoy his perfectly malicious pun.

The announcer is some second year, a cool guy but Bradley never really met him formally. Don’t know his name, honestly, he has no need to. They’re cool, but just acquaintances, not even on a name to name basis.

Nonetheless, the kid has personality as he explains the keywords to take a swig are “she” and “teenage dirtbag.”

As the kid explains the game more Max’s eyes glazes over. ‘God can he try to pay attention for once?’

The sophomore suddenly shouts to the crowd as he places a CD of teenage dirtbag on his player, “3… 2… 1… GO!”

For a minute there’s silence charged with the energy of angsty young adults, and suddenly…

“Her name is Noelle…”

Max stares out into space, determined, waiting for the first cue word. ‘Does he always bite his snake bites when he’s concentrating? He did that in X-Games too, huh—’

“She rings my bell…”

Bradley takes a swig.

“Oh, now she rocks…”

'Fuck, this one might be extra tricky.' He glances up at Max, who’s sweating a bit, but otherwise taking it like a champ—

“But she doesn’t know who I am… And she doesn’t give a damn about me…”

Drink. Drink.

‘It’s not so bad if you take less. Being cool comes after being safe— and oh my god Max just chugged it!’

“'Cause I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby…”

Sip.

“Yeah I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby…”

Knock back.

Bradley hisses under his breath, “What the hell are you doing, Goof?!”

“Playing the game dumbass!” he whisper-screams back, but it’s not quite right. It’s slurred. Too slurred.

“No you’re not! You’re going to get yourself hurt! No one wants that!”

“Yeah, well maybe you’re just cheating again. Plus everyone was pretty hyped when that guy was ‘knocked out.’” His eyebrows raised, Bradley might have taken him a bit more seriously if Max didn’t add on, “God, you’re such a cheater!” to the end of it.

“You’re not used to this, I can tell.”

“'Cause I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby… Yeah I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby…”

Sip, knock back.

“Used to this? Really, Bradley? As if you know me.”

“You know I almost feel like I do,” he mumbles.

“What?”

“Nothing, idiot.”

“'Cause I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby…”

Sip.

Bradley takes a peak at Max—

“Yeah I’m just a teenage dirtbag, baby…”

Knock back.

—who taking every shot rather gracefully, besides being, you know, shitfaced.

“Oh, yeah, dirtbag…”

Knock back.

“No, she doesn’t know what she’s missin’...”

‘Fuck. I didn’t expect it to say anything this soon.’

Sip sip.

“Oh, yeah, dirbag…”

Eventually they made it to the end of the song, but only after saying the keywords about 15 more times.

Max holds his cup up, everyone shouts and cheers. No one else notices his shakiness like Bradley.

Bradley softens a moment, but proceeds to chug his drink. As the crowd goes wild he thinks to himself, ‘God, this song will be the death of me.’ He slams it down.

Even after those small sips, Bradley still ended up messed up.

“Guess we both won, huh?” Bradley says with his hand outstretched and his best smile.

Max smacks it, “Dick.”

“Oooooo…” the crowd exclaims.

Bradley doesn’t need to calculate his moves anymore, he’s been doing this for three years, he knows the crowd and how to play into his stereotype. Might be douche, but well, at least it’s fun. “Hey hey, no need to be a sore loser!” He exclaims.

“What?” Max asks, his eyes pleading for answers. “But you just said—"

“Max—”

“Oh what is it, Brad?” he practically shouts. By the way, he says ‘Brad’ like its a slur.

‘Easily agitated loser—  Shut up, this isn’t the time.’

Bradley doesn’t want to say it. He knows what to say: ‘Look at yourself, Goof, you’re a mess. Go lick your wounds and have fun in last place next X-Games season.’ It’s what everyone’s expecting — no, it’s what everyone wants — but he just couldn’t bring himself to say it.

So he just turns and walks away with an eye roll. “Whatever, Max.”

…

It hit Max worse than a slap, “Brad? Bradley!”

He tries to stumble after him but, yeah no. His legs are screwed.

“Need some help, little bud?”

“What?”

Max’s eyes fly around in his eye sockets, he’s having trouble focusing. It should be easy, especially with his 19 years of ADHD, but this was different, this was head splitting .

“Fuckkk,” Max groans as he’s pulled up by his new, rather large friend he met at the X-Games.

“Gotcha, babe,” Tank smiles as he places Max down.

“Tank?”

“Yep. So where are we headed? Home?”

“Nooope,” Max exhales. “I need to find Brad first.”

“You’re sounding worse and worse, Max.” And they’re moving, Tank guiding him. What’s Tank doing? It’s hard to focus like this.

“Where—”

“You wanted to see that idiot Bradley, right?”

“Y-yeah.”

“Then we’re going to find Bradley.”

“Aw thanks, man!” Max can’t quite make out Tank’s face, but he assumes it’s some sort of unhappy face with way too much thought for a jock like Tank. “You know,” Max sighs, “I think you two can work it out at some point.” He tries to flash his best smile, but who knows what that looks like when Max is in this drunken stupor.

As Tank lets out a husky laugh, Max is sure his smile is nothing less than goofy for sure.

Tank seems to sober up a bit to say, “Yeah, I’m sure we will soon. Just not yet, the prick still let me down.” He sighs, but his face shifts. Max squints and makes out Tank’s fuzzy smile, he mumbles, “I was rooting for you, you know.”

“What?”

“At the drinking games, dude.”

“Oooh.”

“Hey, I’m gonna set you down for a minute,” Tank explains. “He’s not in his usual spots.”

Sure enough, Max is gently placed on the cool wood flooring.

He waited for a few minutes, but when Max suddenly got the need to vomit, there was no way he was going to wait for Tank.

He stumbled towards the nearest bathroom. His support? The wall.

Max felt oddly lame without his balance. He often felt it was his best feature.

A few people passed him. Finally he asked, “Hey ladies, do you know where the bathroom is?” To add onto it Max gave a smile which he hoped was hot or cute or even just Max. He didn’t really care as long as it wasn’t a “I’m going to throw up everywhere, please run, I beg of you” smile.

“Yeah sure! It’s two doors down on your right!”

“Awesome!” Max said sliding across the wall with some totally sick finger guns.

The girls giggled. And he heard them whisper stuff like, “Did you see those dorky finger guns? Cute!” and “Wow Max really parties hard, I’m not going to lie, it’s kind of hot.”

‘The fuck?’ Max thought to himself. He was sure he couldn’t be any less attractive right now, but Max was too wobbly truely to care at the moment.

He stumbles to the bathroom and grapples at the door handle, before sliding in.

There’s a figure mumbling as they splash water on their face.

Max could recognize that figure anywhere, even with blurred vision. Slim build dressed in casual prep. But that auburn mullet now was messy, and his face was disgruntled as he stared into the mirror.

“Brad.”

Chapter Text

Max looks like he might as well keel over any second now, and Bradley’s going out of his ever loving mind, because Max is oddly a beautiful mess. His freckles on his broad nose were highlighted by a blush on his warm caramel brown skin. His deep mocha colored eyes were shining. His normally messy hair was even more rugged than usual. He was fiddling with his piercings even more than usual.

‘Adorable.’

Max says apologetically over a wobbly voice, “Oh uh, sorry I walked in, but can I use this for a minute?” All while pointing to the toilet.

“Sure, knock yourself out,” Bradley says, running his fingers through his hair. He splashes his face with a little more water and grabs a towel and soaks it up. “What are you doing, Freshman?” Max hurls. “The hell, Max! How much beer have you had?”

Max lifts his head, “Too much.”

“Man, this is what a drinking game does to you?” Bradley asks. “I mean Max, that was one thing of beer.”

Max slow blinks at Bradley before spitting more of his guts into the toilet.

“I don’t know, Brad,” there Max goes again, saying his name like it’s something that tastes like shit so he has to spit it out. Maybe it tastes worse than the vomit he’s drowning in. “I’ve never really done this before. I’m trying, I haven’t even had beer or any of that crap before. I’m just–” he sighs, “–trying.”

“Well,” Bradley shook his head, locked the door, and took a seat next to Max on the floor, saying, “it makes sense now why you kept knocking it back like that.”

Which just makes Max just bury his face into his legs, like a sad little cocoon.

“You know,” Bradley breathes, “I honestly was trying to help you out back there.”

“Really? Why?” Max asks, lifting his face back up and looking up at Bradley with these wide eyes with a sparkle with wonder.

‘God he’s giving me puppy dog eyes. The Maximilian Goof is giving me puppy dog eyes.’

“Well… um,” Bradley starts, his throat dry, his fist clenched as if he can fight the answer head on. Bradley has liked to fight everything that scares him since the start of time, and nothing scares him more than Max. “You’re not going to remember any of this are you?”

So Bradley lets go. He says exactly what he has been thinking since he laid eyes on Max, feelings he has only grown into. “You know… well, no. You don’t know any of this.”

He’s stuttered, he doesn’t know what in the world to say. He desperately looks over at Max, who’s still looking at him with those big eyes, brow now raised.

“You see, Max,” Bradley says with a gulp, taking his hand in his own. They’re rugged and scratched, skater hands. Bradley slides his fingertips across them. “I tried to help you out back there, because I’m your number one fan boy, I have been since day one. And I know that’s a surprise, cause I treat you like shit, but that’s how I act when I’m scared.”

“Scared?”

“Yeah.”

“Of what?”

Bradley looks back up at Max taking in everything, all of Max. Even how his pupils began getting bigger as he looked at Bradley, deeper than he ever has before, for the first time. Finally Bradley says, “Of how I’m in love with you. I’ve never loved anyone like I love you, Max.”

“Oh,” Max looks like a lightbult just lit up until it shattered, blinking away right over his head. Bradley could practically read it in morse code saying something like, ‘Man this dick likes me? What a fa–’ “Honestly, I don’t know what I think of you. I haven’t really thought of it before, because you’re like, off limits and you’re— well, I thought you were straight and despised me and all that. ”

‘Yeah, I expected that–’ “But I do think you’re hot for sure,” Max says with a bit of a dorky smile plastered on his face. Bradley had seen it before, but never directed towards him. He could almost get used to it.

“No way. I’m losing my mind.”

“You heard me right, I think you’re hot, Brad,” Max says it with his normal sass, but not like he usually does. This time he says it with charm and a playful look in his eyes.

“There’s no way you know what you’re saying right now, you’re drunk and on your ass in front of a toliet seat,” Bradley points out.

“Yeah sure,” he rolls his eyes, “but I know how I feel.” And he plants a gentle kiss on Bradley’s cheek. And Bradley swears it’s burning. ‘No way. Max made me blush. No one makes me blush.’

in the heat of the moment who knows what got into Bradley. He suddenly grabs Max’s collar and pulls his lips into his own. Max was a good kisser, he had done this before, Bradley could tell. He placed his hand gently on Bradley’s hip and his other hand is on Bradley’s face sliding his thumb up and down his jawline. Bradley’s lips part slightly and Max rushes in.

‘Oh my god, he’s good. He has to be good at everything, except holding his beer. Wait. holding his beer. Holding his… shit!’

Bradley scooches back a bit, holding Max at arms length, “You’re drunk! We can’t… I can’t… Max we can’t do this right here right now. We can’t do this!”

“Why?” Max asks placing his hand on Bradley’s. ‘His skin feels warm and soft and—’

Bradley pulls his hands away resting them at his knees. “You’re drunk, Max. I’m not going to take advantage of you.”

“Okay, Brad,” Max says, looking a bit away.

Bradley gets up, dusts himself off a bit, and holds out his hand to Max, remarking, “You done vomiting? It’s about time for you to get home, freshman.”

“Yeah, I think I’m good.”

He struggles to lift himself up, refusing to take Bradley’s hand.

‘Idiot. I want to help you.’

As Max tries to stumble out the door, Bradley grabs his waist and his shoulder whispering in his ear firmly, “You’re not going alone. It’s really not safe. It doesn’t matter how experienced you are with this stuff, you should never go home all by yourself while wasted.”

…

It was all a blur to Max.

Making his way back to the den with Bradley.

Unlocking the door to find PJ and Bobby passed out.

But it was easy to focus on Bradley whispering, “Which bed is yours?”, softly placing Max in it and pulling the covers around him. He stood there bent over Max a moment, brushing his messy hair out of his face, all the while Bradley kept glancing at his forehead, contemplating whether to do something more, before eventually stalking away, only looking back once.

After that, there was nothing. Max must have just phased out until his eyes must have closed.

…

When Max woke up that morning, he was left with a head splitting headache and something else.

Max shoved his face into his pillows and groaned as the previous night flooded back to him.

Max remembered Bradley kissing him on the bathroom floor. Just after he had vomited everything out back at the frat house.

‘This is bad. This is very bad.’

Plus, like Max had said, he didn’t know how he even felt about Bradley, and the little bit he knew of what they were, had been turned on its head.

‘Ugh,” he groaned as the alcohol in his system from the night before bashed his head in.

Max was somehow left with a nearly perfect memory of his first party, even though Bradley thought he was blackout drunk.

‘What should I do?’

Chapter Text

Max sat on the bed, face covered in sheer horror.

‘What should I do?’

Max was black out drunk. He had to be black out drunk. He thought he was, Brad thought he was—

‘Brad…’ Max’s face went red. ‘I kissed a hot guy at a party. A hot guy who doesn’t know I remember. Do I even remember? Maybe it was all a dream!’ Max frantically pinches himself, he even slaps his own face, assuming it just wasn’t hard enough to snap him out of it.

‘Not a dream. Not. A. Dream.’

And, well, Max kinda sorta starts hyperventilating. The frantic breathing awoke both PJ and Bobby from their slumber.

Bobby groans a lot, which Max knows Bobby fully thought were words. When PJ responds as if Bobby really did just said something, it makes Max a little sad that he’s clearly out of the shared friend brain-wave thing that their group has. “Yeah, Max,” PJ sighs, eyes nearly closed in a tight squint and drool dripping down his chin, “why are you up? Also what’s with the freak out, its really not like you to get this in your head about stuff.”

Max swears he can barely make out the next nearly inaudible groan Bobby lets out, “Duuuuude, you usually don’t think this much about stuff. My mannnn, just fight it off alreadyyyy…” (Who know’s maybe Max’s tele-bro-nesis was working again.)

“I just—”

It was hard to say. Really hard to say, but god they were his best friends.

“I went to my first frat party last night…”

“Ohhh, you just did some embarrassing stuff,” PJ says happily but in an ‘Oh? I don’t have to handle this right now and can just sleep? Great!’ way, all while laying his sleepy head back onto the pillow.

Max winces, “If an intimate conversation and,” Max sucks in a breath, “a kiss aren’t too embarrassing?” No reaction? Really? Does he really need to tell them? No, but he really misses his friends, and Max was desperate for some help here. “It was with Bradley.”

PJ nearly jumps out of his skin, he practically looks like a cat with all the hairs on hairy arms standing on end. And Bobby simply falls out of his bed, eyes wide. (A frequent enough experience that Max had to take the top bunk for the sake of Bobby missing out on the inevitable medical bills.)

“Bradley?” Bobby parrots, dazed.

“Bradley.” Max confirms, nodding solemnly.

“T-the King of the Cincinnati Uni? The Bradley?” PJ stutters.

“Yes. ‘The’ Bradley.” Max huffs. 'Is it really that hard to believe?'

“Really? Bradle—”

Max pulls himself up, shouting exasperated, “For the love of god! Yes! I kissed Bradley.”

“No... flippin’... way,” was all Bobby could say as he plopped himself on their nice desk chair the school gave them, and spun himself around.

Max made his way down the latter somberly before sitting criss-cross apple-sauce on the floor. He gently placed his head in his hands.

“Hey, Max?” PJ voiced as he slid himself off his bed, down next to him, and nudged him. “What are you thinkin’, Max?”

Max mutters, “What would he expect from me if he knew I remember?”

“Well, what happened exactly?”

Max sighs again, dragging his hands down across his face in utter exasperation, “Well, I didn’t really do anything until I played a drinking game, where Bradley and I bantered. But I kinda got angry when he tried to help me—”

PJ snorted, “Help? Bradley?”

“Yeah,” Max spoke, chuckling a bit as well at the thought of Brad helping him. But quickly, it faded, and he continued, “What was even weirder was that I could tell it made him sad. He was like an entirely different person half the time. It made me realize that his brutal scare tactics were almost fake.”

“What do you mean, Max?” PJ inquired, brow raised.

“I mean that it’s like the Bradley we’ve known has been a character he’s been using to play off of the crowd this whole time,” Max paused dramatically to let it sink in. PJ looked puzzled, as if the pieces of the puzzle were slowly moving until— he got it! “And I think I might’ve met the real Bradley last night. And I think that he has feelings for me.”

“Holy shit!” PJ yelps.

“Holy shit,” Max mutters, astounded by himself.

“H-holy shit!”

The pair of childhood friends jump, forgetting about Bobby who was laying face down on the floor like the zombie that he always was in the morning, and flopped onto the floor a few minutes ago.

"You know, from the sounds of it, he doesn't seem to want anything from you," PJ states. "I mean, do you remember anything to back that up?"

"I mean," Max's cheeks flush as he remembers their moment in the bathroom. "He confessed to me cause he thought I was blackout drunk, didn't mind kissing me on a bathroom floor after I threw up all three meals into the toilet, and walked me all the way back to here from the frat houses just to go back after..."

"With every word you say I wonder who the fuck Bradley is more and more," Pj divulges. After a moment he asks, “So what are you going to do about it?”

“Um,” Max slowly looks to the two boys he considered his closest friends. He hadn’t really though that far ahead, ‘What do I want to do about it?’ And so it came to him, a classic strategy for a game. Max looks back and forth between his two teammates and explains, “I’m going to size up the enemy. Duh.”

Chapter Text

Bradley could barely compute after the night before.

He performs his usual morning tasks methodically: making his bed, getting himself a cup of tea, and of course after a night out he takes a nice hot shower to, ironically, cool off and to think things through, cause no one interrupts you if you’re in the bathroom. That is unless you’re the drunken goofball who walked in on Bradley in the bathroom just a few hours ago.

It was a nice shower, with no bad thoughts, but now as he stood in the cold bathroom air drying himself off, he begins to think.

‘Did that really happen? No way that happened,’ he thinks to himself, brushing his lips with his own fingertips, imagining the tender kiss of someone on them.

However, Max was probably on the other side of the campus, having the best morning without a care in the world because he didn’t remember the he had made the mistake to kiss a— Bradley sighs, ‘Kiss a what? A loser? An asshole? A guy?’ Bradley swallows, despite his dry mouth.

He makes his way over to the counter next to the sink, where he reaches for his tea. He takes deep a sip from his thermos as if it’s a flask.

‘No, it was a mistake to kiss an Uppercrust.’

And so he’s fading in and out again. Almost mirroring the night before, once again finding himself repeatedly splashing ice cold water on his face as if it were a torture method to derail his fickle thoughts.

As he breathes heavily, he uses the tiny waves hitting his face to calm the raging storm of thoughts behind his eyes. Yes, he uses tiny splashes of sink-water over and over, in hopes that the chilled water would snap him out of his trance and confusing thoughts.

Briefly he has now stopped, his breathing calm. Bradley wraps his fingers tight around the sides of the sink. Knuckles white.

Yet his mind still races as he envisions how Max’s baggy, familiar fit would have looked if it was skin tight, and god, his head suddenly thought deeper, and his face went bright red. His jaw clenches and his bros furrow as he closes his eyes to pull the image from his mind, but it only ebbs deeper into his minds eye.

Bradley lets out of soft groan pulling a hand to squeeze the bridge of his nose, ‘If only dear old mom and pops saw me now.’

And suddenly he finds himself thinking of another time, and holding porcelain cups that his mother would fill with some ice cold sparkling beverages that she loved to buy. He always wished to spit it out, like the words he was taught to say. Bradley despised his snobby existence for a while, however, in time he began to enjoy playing the caricature his parents wanted, pompous and power-hungry.

Bradley looks up at himself in the mirror. His hair was disheveled and all he could see were small imperfections.

‘Even now you still look better than everyone else.’

Sometimes it was hard to discern what was really him and what was his parents echoing voices, resonating from within him.

As he clenched his fists tighter, they began to shake. In his minds eye he could see him using his fist to smash through the mirror and maybe he would find himself looking at someone else, someone different. But as always he ignored the stupid thoughts rushing through his head. 

Still. He had Max.

In his own twisted way he had Max.

Bradley may hurt him over and over, but this idiotic rivalry was the only way he knew he could keep Max here. Max didn’t want to be apart of the Gammas, he didn’t want to be friends, and he sure as fuck couldn’t be Bradley’s boyfriend, so he had to be his sworn enemy.

Bradley looks back up at himself in the mirror and sees tear stains and his wet hair mostly pushed back aside from a few strands pulled the front. And despite it all, all he can think is about how stupid it is that he’s like an asshole in some Shakspearean play.

As he turns the knob, the sink slowly turns off until there’s just a repetitive infuriating drip.

Maybe he was just right as the Tybalt in 'Romeo and Juliet'. Maybe all Max needed was a rival, and god, if Bradley didn’t want to be all Max wanted.

A knock interrupted Bradley’s thoughts.

“Hey, uh, Bradley?”A deep raspy voice questioned.

“Yeah? What is it, Tank?” Bradley spat out. He wasn’t in the mood for this shit. But he sighed, Tank probably wasn’t either, “Sorry, just– what’s up?”

All he was faced with was silence.

Bradley smooths his hair out and wraps the towel around his waist before opening the door and leaning haughtily on the door frame. “I really can’t beat around the bush, Tank. What are you here for, messenger boy? Mad you got the short end of the stick?”

Tank’s face scrunches for a moment, brows furrowing, lips forming a hard frown. Suddenly he turns his back and stomps away.

“We’re heading to breakfast your highness.”

Oddly it almost stings a bit, but he’s right after all, ‘Whatever, I’m still royalty in this shithole.’

…

And so Bradley arrived at the dining hall as royalty. To get his shitty meal and think his shitty thoughts about everyone he may or may not like sitting around him.

But suddenly he’s faced with a rugged boy, with the most beautiful fucking bed head, and his typical baggy clothes, but this time it’s so mismatched it’s laughable. He’s wearing one checkered sock and one solid black one clearly shown off by his black cargo shorts, a tight tan hoodie, and maybe the biggest red graphic tee with a gloved hand in a peace sign Bradley's ever seen on top of it.

It was laughable.

Simply laughable.

So why was Bradley turning bright red.

So why did Bradley find him attractive.

So why had the only person on the team who knew Bradley was gay made an odd face as if he was confused about what was happening.

Why did Tank have to look back and forth between the two as if there was something there, while the rest of the morons looked at Max as if he was going to try to assassinate their King.

And after causing quite a commotion, the only thing that mess of a Goof had to say was, “Lets talk.”

Chapter Text

“Lets talk.”

Max really tried to look serious, but he was pretty sure he was fucking it up. All he could see was Bradley, which was honestly disorienting. ‘How could Bradley do this whole rivalry crap while in—’ Max gulped and put so much effort into looking at Bradley's eyes instead of his lips. Max took a deep breath, ‘–in… love.’ Max sucked in a sharp breath, ‘It fucking sucks.’

“Awwww, you nervous or something? Tough guy over here lost his swagger,” Bradley snickered, before announcing, “I thought you crushed me at the, Fag-Games, Champ. Whoops, I meant X-Games, Freudian slip.” That fucking stung. Not just after the stunt he pulled last night, but because it was too damn close to home after everything Max went through in high school.

“Knock it the fuck off, Bradley.” Max was on the table now, grabbing Bradley by his stupid collar, all the while his fingers grazing his stupid neck that Max didn’t know whether he wanted to ring or kiss. Everything was a blur, shit was about to go down.

“Woah! You coming in for a smooch, Goof? I was just joking about the gay boy thing, no need to make a scene.”

“As if you weren’t begging last night—” Max watched in slow motion as Bradley’s eyes went wide – his whole body reacted for Christ’s sake: his chest deflated and his arms sagged, fists loose at his side. A total surrender? His lips were even parted in an “O”, for a moment Max thought he was going to kiss him, that is until Bradley grabbed his shoulders and slammed him backwards onto the table. In a fight it was smart, but in their situation it was fucking idiotic. Max could still see that look in his gorgeous blue eyes, but deeper than that he could see how dumbfounded Bradley was as he stared at him underneath him, one hand was placed on Max’s chest to pin him down, all while his legs were pressed to Max’s sides to keep him in place for something like a punch or a slap – which, he really looked like he might for a second, but his inaction spoke volumes. Instead Bradley fisted the baggy shirt right bellow Max’s Adam’s apple and pulled him up to whisper in his ear, “You remember?”

The silence felt like it stretched on for hours, days, years. But really that moment was so short that no one gave a shit (yep, totally nothing homoerotic going on here.) Bradley pulled back and must’ve realized from the look on Max’s face, after all his sapphire blue eyes changed. Had they melted or hardened? Max couldn’t tell.

Bradley let go, pretending to lose interest in “the wimp” and began to regally stalk off.

No, not yet. He wouldn’t ever get Bradly back now, he’d avoid him for life. Max knew it, he knew would– “You know, Brad,” Max’s voice was husky, as if it refused to speak, but it had to. Bradley was unfazed, but Max wouldn’t be the coward today. “We still have that deal, y’know, Brad–” God, he must have been in a masochist mood to take this route, but it sucked much more for Bradley and maybe that’s what Max really needed right now, “–or should I call you, Towel Boy?”

Bradley stopped in his tracks and the crowd roared. It was like it was a game. Maybe that’s what it is after all, it was all a game.

“Fine. You, me, court, seven,” Bradley boomed. There was a buzz in the cafeteria, all hushed whispers until Bradley added, “–alone.” Everyone groaned. Bradley never looked back but Max swore he could hear his soft voice whispering, “Nice play, Max.”