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Scott exhaled, shoulders slumping in visible relief. “Thanks… Again.” He jotted down Phil’s address.
Max gave a little nod. “You bet.”
* * * * *
Max sat in his apartment in the early morning light, yet again watching Scott sleeping on his couch. It’d been a couple of months since Max first brought him home, yet at times it felt like only just yesterday. Sure, Max had initially offered a one-time sleepover, then temporary lodging until Scott could make other arrangements. But when all of Scott’s options proved less than savory, Max just hadn’t been able to ask Scott to go. Because he didn’t want Scott bunking with douchebags, yeah, but also because Max didn’t really want him to leave. He liked Scott there. It was strange, but he did.
And honestly, Scott had tried several times to leave sooner. Hell, he’d made it plain as day right off the bat that he didn’t want to overstay his welcome. A character trait, as it were, that Max respected the hell out of. Clearly Scott wasn’t a freeloader, nor a worthless lazy mooch living off of others’ hard-earned money.
Unfortunately, what Scott really was seemed a whole lot sadder, though. He was painfully self-conscious with self-esteem levels that dipped well into the negatives. Which kind of broke Max’s heart for the guy, because Scott was a good fucking kid. He wasn’t a dick. He wasn’t a bum. He wasn’t rude or conniving or a thief. Never once took any of Max’s stuff to hawk for drugs. Or whatever it was that had him looking so sickly.
Although, to Max’s credit, after crashing at his place for so long, Scott did look considerably healthier. His skin had more color, his body wasn’t so skinny, and his face no longer appeared quite so haggard. Most likely because Max had made sure from the start to get three meals down his throat every day.
At first Scott had resisted, a strange look on his face. Like the fact that someone was looking out for him felt intrinsically wrong. Which made Max feel sick just thinking about. Why was this kid so emotionally jaded? So intrinsically wary? So destitute? Even though Scott had been around now for months, Max still had yet to ask what his story was. Maybe he never would. He didn’t want to pry. But not just because that shit was nosey. He didn’t want to risk Scott posing the same questions to him, asking about things Max didn’t want to talk about.
Max sighed, muscles easing against his arm chair’s thick cushions, studying Scott’s sleeping face. Such thick, dark lashes atop high, youthful cheeks. A dark brown mane even shaggier than Max’s. Soft full lips curved perpetually downward, and a strong jaw that boasted “almost a man.” At least in the sense of facial hair, or lack thereof, as it were. Although, technically, Scott was an adult by definition. From what he’d told Max, he’d turned eighteen in November. Which meant only two small years actually separated them.
Funny how in some ways their age gap felt larger, like Scott was still just a big lost kid. Yet, with those dark, guarded eyes, Scott felt like an old soul, too, in the same way Max felt about himself. Like Scott had been through more in his eighteen years than he was ever intended to go through in his whole life. Shit that had forced him to grow up way too fast. Tragedies that had molded him, forging him in their fires, into something he was never supposed to be. But he was, nevertheless, because he’d gone through his hell while he’d still been emotionally forming. Max didn’t know what exactly it was Scott had endured, but on some fundamental level, he couldn’t help feeling like the two of them were somehow kindred spirits.
Not to be mistaken with soul mates and shit. Scott just wasn’t Max’s type. For one, he wasn’t blond, but he was also too tall. Easily an inch or two over six feet. Which made him taller than Max by a least an inch. And Max liked his fucks to be shorter than him. Aka his one night stands since he didn’t ever date.
In truth, this unexpected thing with Scott felt strangely kind of perfect. Because even though Max wasn’t attracted to him, in a very real sense he was endeared to him. In the way Max would imagine a little brother would feel, compelling Max to want to take care of him. Like Max had that first night when he’d rescued Scott from those sleaze balls. Like he’d felt every day since, when he’d housed, fed and clothed him. Those feelings never really went away. Instead, they just grew stronger. Just a couple months in and Max had never in his life felt so protective of another.
