17. Isaac’s Gonna Kill Me
Isaac's Gonna Kill Me
LEO
I'm still inside Max when I realize I'm in love with him.
Not the best timing for a life-altering epiphany, but my brain's never had great timing.
Max is draped over me, warm and solid and perfect, both of us still catching our breath.
Still connected. My hands are hovering awkwardly out to the sides because I don't know where to put them anymore.
"That was…" Max lifts his head, and his eyes are bright. Happy. "Wow. I mean, I knew it would be good with you, but that was really good. Like, exceeded all expectations, good."
Heat spreads through my ribs. Then everything constricts. Can't breathe right.
"You were right about the prep thing. Really thorough. A+."
What is Max saying?
"You should teach classes or something," Max continues, grinning. "Introduction to Not Being A Virgin 101. You'd be great at it."
An awkward laugh bursts past my lips, and Max's head tilts to the side as he looks at me. "So, yeah… Thank you."
Oh no. He's thanking me like I fixed his robot. Like I helped him with a homework problem. Like I did him a favor. When Max sits up and starts to move off of me, I grab the condom, and he winces. "Sorry. umm, Sorry if you are sore?"
Max settles on the bed beside me. "No, I'm fine. It's strange, but a good strange."
Strange but good. No, we should do this again. Just… successful first-time favor. Which is exactly what this was. A favor. For a friend. Max wanted someone safe for his first time, and I was available and willing, and now it's done. Mission accomplished. Check that box. Move on to the next thing.
Except I don't want to move on. I want…
"Leo?" Max is looking at me, head tilted slightly. "You okay?"
"Yeah." My voice sounds normal. That's good. "Yeah, I'm good."
Max smiles again, that full, rare smile that makes my chest hurt, and leans in. For a kiss, I think. On my cheek. A thank-you kiss. I lean back instinctively. Too far back and I fall off the bed entirely, landing on my ass on the floor with a thud that rattles my teeth.
"I'm fine," I announce to the ceiling. "Totally fine."
Max's face appears over the edge of the bed, eyes wide. "…Did you fall off your own bed?"
"Yep." I stare up at him. At his messy hair and kiss-swollen lips and the crease of worry between his brows. "That happened."
"Are you hurt?"
Only emotionally. "No. Just… gravity. It's a thing."
Max climbs off the bed, more gracefully than my exit, and offers me a hand.
I take it. Let him pull me up. Try not to think about how his hand fits in mine.
We're both standing now. Naked. In my room.
After having sex. This should feel natural.
We've been friends for years. We've changed in front of each other.
This shouldn't be weird. Except it's weird. So very weird.
"We okay?" Max asks quietly.
"Yes." The word comes out too fast. "Always… Anyway, let's go shower."
Max studies my face for a second longer, then nods. "Okay. I'll use the one across the hall?"
"Yeah. Good. That's good."
He grabs his clothes off the floor: boxers, jeans, and his robot T-shirt. Max starts getting dressed while I stand here.
Do I watch him? Is that weird now? We've changed in front of each other hundreds of times, but this feels different.
Looking away seems weirder, though. Like I'm making it a thing.
Max pulls on his boxers like this is completely normal.
Because for him, maybe it is. I grab my own pajama pants and hold them in front of me while Max tugs his shirt over his head.
He bundles the rest of his clothes in his arms and heads for the door. Pauses with his hand on the handle.
"Thanks again, Leo. For making it perfect."
Then he's gone. I stand there in the middle of my room, naked, the air cool against my skin, staring at the closed door like it might open again and give me some kind of answer.
"You're welcome," I say to the empty space.
Right. Shower. I should shower. That's what people do after sex.
Clean up. Be normal. I grab a towel from my closet and head into the ensuite.
Turn the water on hot. Step under the spray.
The shower helps. Sort of. The hot water's good.
The steam's good. The way I can't hear my own thoughts over the spray, that's good too.
Except then I bang my forehead against the tile.
"What am I doing?" The words echo off the walls. "He thanked me." Another gentle thunk of my head against the cool surface. "He's my best friend." Thunk. "And if I screw this up now—" Thunk. "—by being weird—" Thunk. "—I could lose my best friend too."
The water runs down my face. I close my eyes.
The sex didn't change anything… For Max, anyway.
That's the problem. Max is exactly the same, bright-eyed, grateful, utterly oblivious, and I'm the one standing here with water running down my face, realizing I went and fell completely in love with my best friend like the world's biggest idiot.
But I can do this. I can act normal. Max doesn't need to know. I need to… Keep it together. Don't make it weird. Pretend everything's fine. I can do that. Probably. There's at least a 40% chance I can pull this off. Maybe 35%.
When I finish showering, I get dressed in clean pajama pants and a T-shirt. My room feels too quiet when I get back, so I pace. Four steps to the window. Four steps back. I hear voices in the hallway; the other guys must be home now. Footsteps pass my door.
I should sleep. It's late. I have finals in two days.
Instead, I end up in the kitchen. Max is already there because of course, he is.
He's standing at the microwave, watching it count down.
The kitchen smells amazing, JP's bulgogi and noodles.
The scent hits me, and drool pools in my mouth.
JP's cooking always does that. Delicious comfort food in the most literal sense.
I must make a sound because Max turns around. "Oh! Hey!" His face lights up. "Couldn't sleep either?"
I do an awkward shuffle in the doorway. Step in. Step back. Step in again.
Max's smile falters slightly. “You good?"
"Yeah. Fine. Just—" I gesture vaguely at the fridge. "Hungry."
"Same. JP's leftovers are calling to me." The microwave beeps, and Max pulls out the container. "Want some? There's plenty."
"Sure." I make my way to the fridge. Open it. Stare at the contents without seeing them. What was I getting? Food. Right. I should get food.
"Leo?"
"Hm?"
"You've been staring at the food for like thirty seconds. Did you want some of this?"
I close the fridge. Get a fork from the drawer. We sit at the small kitchen table. Max splits the bulgogi and noodles onto two plates and hands them to me with a strange look on his face. Shit, I'm being weird already. What do I normally do?
"So," Max says, twirling noodles around his fork. "Christmas. We're still good to leave Friday after my last final, right?"
Friday. Christmas. Max's family farm. The place I've been going for the past two years because Max invited me and I had nowhere else to go, and his mom makes those cookies I like and—
"Isaac asked about you," Max continues. "Wanted to make sure you're coming. I think he's planning to put you to work. You know how he gets."
Isaac, Max's giant mountain of a protective older brother, who definitely would not approve of me sleeping with his baby brother. He's gonna kill me if he finds out.
"Leo?"
"Yeah," I manage. "Friday still works."
Max grins and takes a bite of bulgogi. "Mom's so excited. She's already planning the menu. I told her you'd help with the Christmas lights again. You're better at the light placement than I am."
Christmas lights. With Max. While pretending I'm not in love with him. In front of his protective older brother, who could snap me in half. There's a 0% chance this ends well.
"Sounds good," I say.
Max is watching me now. Really watching. "Do you have any finals left?"
"Two. Wednesday and Thursday."
"What subjects?"
"Quantum Mechanics and Probability Theory."
"The percentage one," Max says, smiling. "That explains so much about you."
I try to smile back. Probably looks like a grimace.
We eat in silence for a moment. Max seems to be searching for something to talk about.
I should help. I should be normal. This is Max.
My best friend. We talk all the time. Except now all I can think about is the sounds he made.
The way he looked riding me. The feeling of him clenching around my cock when he came.
I drop my fork. It clatters against the table.
"Sorry," I mutter, picking it up.
Max is definitely watching me weirdly now. "Are you sure you're okay?"
"Fine."
"You seem… I don't know. Off."
Off. That's one way to put it. I take a bite of beef, but I don't taste it.
"So," Max says slowly. "Should we… talk about it? What we did?" My hand freezes halfway to my mouth. "I mean," Max continues, "should we tell the guys? About… us? What just happened?"
Tell the guys. That we had sex. That I took Max's virginity. That I'm in love with him, and he wanted a safe first time.
I must make a face because Max rushes on. "Or… I mean, we don't have to! We can keep it between us for now. If you want. That's probably better anyway."
Keep it between us. A secret. Because Max doesn't want people to know. Doesn't want the guys asking questions. Doesn't want to explain why he chose me.
"Right," I say quietly. "Between us."
Max nods, looking relieved. "Cool. Yeah. That's… good." I reach for my water glass and knock it over instead. Water floods across the table, dripping onto my lap. I jump up, but it’s too late; water is spreading across the front of my pajama pants, cold and uncomfortable.
"Shit!"
"Here—" Max is up, too, grabbing paper towels and helping mop up the mess. Our hands brush as we reach for the same spot. I jerk back like I've been burned. Max stops, puts down the paper towels, and really looks at me.
"Leo," he says carefully. "You're being weird."
"I'm not—"
"You fell off your bed. You did a weird dance in the doorway. You've been staring at your food instead of eating it. And you dumped water all over yourself."
I look down at my soaked pajamas. "That was an accident."
"I know." Max's voice is gentle. "But you're being weird. Is it…" He hesitates. "Do you regret it? The s-e-x? Because if you do, that's okay, we can just—"
"No." The word bursts out of me too loud, too fast. "No, I don't regret it. I'm happy we had sex. I mean—" Why is speaking so hard? "—I took your virginity. I mean, your first time was—"
I stop, breathe, and look at Max. At his concerned blue eyes and his messy blue hair and the way he's standing there in the kitchen where we've shared a hundred late-night conversations, and I need to know.
“Max, I—” My brain presents me with three options simultaneously. Option A: Tell him. Option B: Say nothing. Option C: Ask him if he wants to play Mario Kart. “—do you want to play Mario Kart?” I ask.
Max stares at me. In wet pajamas. At midnight. After sex. “Mario Kart,” Max repeats.
“Or not. We don’t have to.” I’m already nodding like this is a totally normal offer. “It’s late. Forget I said—”
“Leo.” His voice is careful. Confused. A little alarmed. “What did you actually want to ask me?”
Everything, I want to ask so many things. "It was good… right?" My voice comes out smaller than I intended. Vulnerable.
Max blinks at me. The kitchen is quiet except for the hum of the refrigerator. I'm standing here in wet pajamas, asking my best friend… the person I just realized I'm in love with… if I did okay. If his first time was everything he wanted. If I was enough.
Max looks at me for a long moment. The confusion fades. Something softer takes its place. He crosses the kitchen, cups my face in both hands the way I did to him earlier, and focuses on me. "Yeah," he says quietly. "It was perfect."
I breathe. It's not everything I want. But it's something. It's enough. It has to be.