Chapter Text
two weeks after moving in
It was a normal Saturday morning. The kind of mornings Max still wasn’t used to — loud, busy, yet soft around the edges.
George was sulking over arts homework at the table — he had forgotten the day before — muttering to himself. Kimi was trying to butter toast one-handed while keeping his Switch balanced on his knee. Lewis wandered in half-dressed, yawning, and stole a piece of bacon straight from the pan. Toto was out on a run with friends and would join them later.
Susie was at the counter with the kettle. “Oi, hands off,” she scolded Lewis without turning, “And Kimi, put your switch away. We're eating.”
“Sorry, Mum,” Lewis and Kimi said simultaneously, lightly, Lewis even grinning as he ducked out of reach.
As if sorry was a word to smile around.
Max shuddered.
He sat at the corner, hoodie pulled up despite the kitchen’s warmth. He had his toast, his juice, and he was doing his best not to take up too much space. It was easier in the mornings — if he stayed quiet, no one noticed the nerves under his skin.
He reached for the butter again, trying to spread a second slice, when his elbow clipped his glass.
The orange juice toppled. A bright wave spread across the table, seeping under George’s papers, running towards the edge.
The noise stopped.
Max froze.
His heart skipped in the scariest way possible, breath catching sharp. He scrambled up so fast his chair legs screeched.
“I’m sorry,” he blurted, voice high, panicked, “I didn’t do it on purpose, I’ll clean it, I’ll clean—”
His hands were already fumbling at the table, useless without a cloth. His chest was tight, ears ringing, the words tumbling out like a shield. Sorry, sorry, I’ll fix it, don’t be angry, please don’t—
And then, without warning, the kitchen blurred into another one.
He remembered the glass tipping and the orange exploding across the tabletop like a bright accusation. Before he could even move, Jos was there, right beside him. Too close.
A hand clamped the back of his neck and forced his head down until the wood of the table was biting into his cheek. Stars burst across his vision.
“You stupid little shit!” Jos barked directly into his ear, his voice so loud and close that it hurt. “You can’t sit at the table for one meal without ruining it.”
“I’m sorry,” Max gasped, words mashed against the wood, “I’ll clean it up—”
“That's the least you can do,” Jos snapped, pressing harder one last time before finally letting go.
Max staggered upright, face wet with juice, cheeks burning, and scrubbed at the spill with trembling hands, juice dripping onto the floorboards. Nobody helped. Nobody even dared to look. The kitchen carried on as though nothing had happened.
After that, he wasn’t allowed at the table for the following week.
“Max.”
The voice snapped him back.
Not sharp. Not angry. Just Susie’s voice. Calm, steady.
He blinked hard, chest still heaving. The juice was still on the table, spreading sticky around the plates. George had lifted his homework clear with a groan, muttering, “Brilliant.”
But Susie was already reaching for the tea towel, not even frowning. “It’s just juice, love. Grab some kitchen roll, will you?”
Max froze, staring at her. Waiting for the rest. Waiting for the shouting. Waiting for the hands on him.
“Go on,” she prompted gently, “In the drawer by the sink.”
His hands shook as he obeyed, every step stiff and mechanical. He ripped off half a wad and pressed it to the table, heart still thudding too loud in his ears.
Susie worked alongside him, calm as ever, wiping at the puddle. “See? No harm done.”
George groaned again, waving his damp worksheets. “Tell that to my homework.”
“You were only starting on it,” Susie said calmly, “It’s not the end of the world, George, it happens, it wasn't on purpose.”
Kimi snickered. “It looks like the world ended on your homework.”
George threw a soggy scrap of paper at him.
The morning moved on. Just like that.
But Max stayed quiet, silent, pressing the paper towel into the table long after the juice was gone. His throat was tight, hands clammy. He couldn’t quite believe it. That was it? No shouting? No slap? Just… clean it up?
Susie noticed, of course. She took the crumpled paper from his hand, tossed it into the bin, and gave his arm a light squeeze. “Accidents happen. You’re fine.”
Her voice was matter-of-fact, not indulgent. But it landed like something heavy loosening in his chest.
He nodded, jerky, pulling his sleeves back down over his fists.
“Toast’s getting cold,” Lewis said, leaning over to nudge the rack towards him.
Max sat again, slowly, cautiously, as if the chair might collapse. He picked at his toast in silence. He didn’t trust the peace.
It only took a moment until the kitchen noise rose again — Kimi pretending to write a song about George’s homework, George complaining about Kimi’s singing, Lewis sneaking another strip of bacon from his mum's plate before Susie smacked his hand away. She was laughing while she did it.
Normal noise.
And Max sat in the middle of it, still trying to reconcile the two worlds in his head: the juice that earned a slap, and the juice that earned a tea towel.
After breakfast, when the others scattered—Kimi off to his room, George still complaining about homework, Lewis settling down on the couch—Susie found Max in the hallway, hovering near the stairs. He looked caught when she approached him.
“You alright, love?” She asked gently.
“I'm really sorry,” he said — again.
“I know, Max, I can see that,” she smiled sadly, “But you really don't have to be.”
He shrugged, staring at his socks. Finally, in a low voice, he muttered, “And I didn’t know if I was allowed to stay.”
Susie tilted her head. “Stay for breakfast?”
He nodded. “Or… go upstairs, to my room. I didn’t know what I was meant to do.” His fingers twisted in the hem of his sleeve. “Back… back home, I wouldn’t be allowed at the table after that.”
“Oh, Max.” Her voice softened. “You don’t ever need to eat in your room. Meals are for all of us, together. Even if something spills. It really doesn't matter.”
He swallowed, still doubtful. “You’re not mad?”
“No,” she said firmly. “I’m not mad. Not even close. It was just juice. These things happen every day in this house. You belong at that table, Max. Always.”
His shoulders sagged, the adrenalin slowly draining out of him. “Okay,” he whispered, though it sounded more like testing the word than believing it.
Susie reached across the space between them, resting her hand lightly over his. “Not okay just because I said it, but okay because it’s true. You’re safe here. No punishments for spilled juice. Never.”
For the first time that morning, he looked up, his eyes searching her face. “You promise?”
“I promise,” she said. “And if you forget, I’ll remind you as many times as you need.”
He went back to the kitchen once more before going upstairs, fingers brushing the edge of the table where the juice had spilled.
It was clean.
He was still allowed to be there.
Nothing had happened.
He was probably lucky that Toto wasn't there this morning.