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“Seventeen was a long time ago.”
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“Max. Are you still there? Answer me, please.”
His hands are shaking so badly, so he stands up abruptly–
“Max, say something,” Charles begs. “Why aren’t you saying anything?”
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All he remembers is that his friend had looked prettier that night, his dimples deeper. And Max had been curious what his lips would feel like against his because sometimes when he’s a little bored and alone he -
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And it’s wishful thinking– that maybe Charles, the one looking fixedly right at him now, doesn’t remember him because he’s in his work attire and he doesn’t think he looks the same as he did back then–
“Max?”
“Oh,” is his very intelligent response.
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Max is on his way to work when he sees his past on the backlit billboard. -
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