Probability of Friendship 100 #2
We spend the rest of the day together. Max shows me that Morgan Hall has the best pizza, but only after 6 PM. Where the quietest study spots are: the fourth floor of the science library, northeast corner. To tell which professors are approachable, look for the ones with plants in their offices.
By the time day orientation ends, I've learned that Max wants to build robots that can help people, that he's never been to an anime convention but really wants to go, that his older brother Isaac visits sometimes and is "basically a mountain of protectiveness," and that Max lives in the dorm right next to mine.
"We could study together," Max suggests as we're walking back. "If you want. No pressure. You're probably sick of me already—"
"I'm not sick of you." The words come out faster than I mean them to. "I'd like to study together. Or watch anime. I have a list of shows you need to see if you've never been to a Con."
Max's face lights up. "Really?"
"Really. Though I might need to process today at some point because my brain is very full."
"I can work with that," Max says, grinning.
We end up studying together. Every day, actually.
And we watch anime. Max has never seen half the classics, which feels like a crime I need to make up for immediately.
I make a list, okay, I make a spreadsheet, and we start with Cowboy Bebop.
Max sprawls across my dorm bed, eating popcorn and providing running commentary about the spacecraft designs.
Then Fullmetal Alchemist. Max cries during the ending and tries to hide it, turning his face into my pillow. I pretend not to notice, but I do.
Steins; Gate, the animated series, breaks both of us. It's so sad that Max needs tissues to watch it.
It's the spring semester when I learn Max has never been to a Con. We're talking about cosplay ideas, and he just... casually says it. Like it's not a crime against geekdom.
"Never?" I ask again, genuinely horrified. "Not even once?"
"I was sixteen and alone on a college campus, Leo. When exactly was I supposed to go?"
Fair point.
Max can't sleep the night before his first convention. He knocks on my door at 2 AM, vibrating with excitement. "What if I mess up the costume? What if people think it's bad? What if—"
"Max. It's going to be fine."
It's better than fine. Max loves every second, the panels, the artists, and the cosplayers. He takes about four hundred photos. I make our costumes because Max can almost build a functioning robot from spare parts, but can't sew a straight line to save his life.
That first year, we practically live in each other's dorms. My roommate, Tom, is fine with it.
Confused, maybe, he walks in on us sprawled across the floor with textbooks more than once, but fine.
Max's roommate bails second semester. "Transferring," he says.
Honestly? I think we drive him nuts. So we take over Max's room instead.
Two desks, two beds, twice the space for our organized chaos.
Second year is when Max finds the flyer: Roommates wanted. Geek-friendly household. "We should check it out," he says, bouncing on his heels in that way he does when he's excited about something.
"It's probably a disaster."
"Or it's perfect."
I'm skeptical, but we're going anyway. A guy answers the door, Asian, slight frame, dark eyes that scan us like he's running calculations. "You're here about the room?"
"Yeah, we—"
"How often do you clean? Do you game? Loud music? Parties?" He fires off questions like he's conducting a job interview. Max and I exchange glances. Another guy sits in the corner with headphones on. He barely looks up, just raises one hand in a small wave before going back to whatever he's doing.
"They're weird," Max whispers to me.
"But I think they're our kind of weird," I whisper back.
The guy at the door must hear because he smiles, this tiny, almost invisible thing.
"I'm JP. That's Elliot. You're hired. Move in at the beginning of next semester.
" Another guy moves in the same day as us, dark-haired, perpetually tired-looking, carrying a stack of medical textbooks that looks like it weighs more than he does.
"Sebastian," he says shortly, then disappears into his room.
"Friendly," Max mutters.
But later that night, Sebastian emerges for dinner and makes a completely deadpan comment about JP’s color-coded shelf system, which has all of us cracking up. Okay. Pre-med and funny. I can work with that.
Next, Haru shows up, a Japanese exchange student JP knows from class. He bows when he introduces himself, speaks like he learned English from textbooks, and, within a week, somehow fits into our chaos perfectly.
The geek house. Our house. And it all starts because Max decides we're going to be friends on day one of freshman orientation. I let him drag me along.
A grumpy noise pulls me back to the present. Max is stirring, his grip on my shirt loosening as he makes another one of those half-awake sounds that are somehow both annoyed and adorable. I slip out of bed carefully, and Max immediately curls into the spot where I was, face buried in my pillow.
The coffee maker itself is off-limits. I had to institute that rule last year after Max took it apart "just to see if I could make it brew faster" and left me with a counter full of wiring for three days.
We drank instant coffee from the microwave like heathens until I finally put it back together myself.
Now there's a strip of blue painter's tape on it that says "DO NOT IMPROVE" in my handwriting. Max still eyes it sometimes, like he's calculating angles of attack.
I make his usual: hot chocolate with way too much cream, whipped cream on top, and rainbow sprinkles because Max has the taste buds of a seven-year-old at a birthday party.
When I carry it back to the room, Max is sitting up, hair sticking in every direction, squinting at the morning light like he does every day.
"Your drink," I announce, handing it over. Max takes it with both hands, inhales the steam, and makes a sound that's probably inappropriate for 8 AM.
"You're the best," he mumbles into the mug.
I sit on the edge of the bed, watching him wake up slowly, and think about that day three years ago. The back row of orientation. Max asking if the seat was taken.
"Wanna be weird together?"