35. The Semi-Private Room
The Semi-Private Room
LEO
Max is holding my hand. That's the next thing my brain registers. Not the beeping monitors, not the scratchy hospital gown, not the weird chemical smell of antiseptic. Max's fingers wrapped around mine.
"Hi," he says again, softer this time.
"Hi," I rasp back. My voice sounds terrible. Like I've been gargling gravel. But Max smiles at me anyway, this wobbly little grin that makes my heart ache.
For fuck's sake, brain. Work. Right now, you need to be clear with Max.
The grogginess is trying to pull me back under, heavy like a weighted blanket, but I fight it.
This is too important. I've been a coward for months, and I almost died eating shrimp crackers like an idiot, and if that isn't a sign from the universe that I need to get my shit together, I don't know what is.
"Leo," Max starts, and his voice is doing that thing where it goes high and fast when he's worried. "I'm so sorry, I should have checked the bag, I should have been paying attention, I had your EpiPen, and I didn't even think to tell you where it was, and then you collapsed, and I thought—"
"Max."
"—you were going to die, and it would have been my fault because I was the one who got the snacks and I didn't even look at the labels—"
"Max."
"—and I stabbed you with the EpiPen, but I didn't know if I did it right because I've never actually used one before, I watched a YouTube video once when you told me you carried one around with you, and—"
"Max."
He stops. Blinks at me. His eyes are red-rimmed, and his blue hair is sticking up in so many directions, and there's make-up smudged under his eyes, and he's still the most beautiful man I've ever seen.
"Stop," I say. "I need to tell you something."
"But—"
"Water first. Please." Max practically lunges for the plastic cup on the side table, holding the straw to my lips with hands that shake slightly. I don't want to seem sick; I want to seem coherent, but fuck, the water tastes amazing. Cool and clean and exactly what my raw throat needed.
"Thanks," I say. My voice sounds wheezy but my throat is beginning to feel better. The water helped.
"Of course." Max sets the cup down but doesn't let go of my hand. His thumb is rubbing little circles on my knuckles, probably without realizing he's doing it. "Leo, what do you need to tell me? Is it about the shrimp? Because I swear I didn't know—"
"It's not about the shrimp."
"Oh." He looks confused. Scared, maybe. "Okay."
Say it. Just say it. You almost died, you coward.
What are you waiting for? I take a breath.
It hurts a little; my throat still feels swollen and wrong, but I push through.
"I wasn't paying attention to the snacks," I say slowly, forcing each word out, "because I was too busy watching people flirt with you. "
Max's eyebrows scrunch together, a crease forming between them. His mouth opens, closes, opens again. He looks like how I imagine a computer looks inside, when it's trying to process an input that doesn't match any known file. "What?"
"At the con. All those people. The Misa cosplayer.
That girl with the Death Note. Everyone who looked at you in that costume and…
" I stop and swallow, though my throat protests.
"I was jealous. I've been jealous. For months.
And I was so busy being upset about it that I shoved food in my mouth without looking. "
"Leo…" Max shakes his head slowly. "I don't understand. You wanted to be friends. You said that. After we…" He glances at the curtain and lowers his voice. "After we had s-e-x again, you said we couldn't confuse things anymore. You said we should be friends."
The words hit me like a punch to the balls. Because he's right. I did say that. I said it because I'm a fucking coward who was too scared to admit the truth. "I know," I say. "I know I said that."
"So what are you talking about? What do you mean you were jealous? You can't, you don't get to be jealous when you're the one who—"
"I don't want to be friends." Max's mouth snaps shut. His whole face crumbles, actually crumbles, like I've told him something devastating.
Shit, that came out wrong!
"What?" His voice cracks. "Leo, you don't, you can't just—"
"No, Max, I—" I squeeze his hand, hard. "That's not what I meant. I mean, I don't want to be just friends. I don't want to be friends because I'm in love with you."
The silence that follows is deafening. Max stares at me. His mouth is hanging open slightly, blue eyes wide and unblinking, and I can't tell if he's about to cry or laugh or run away.
"I'm in love with you," I say again, because apparently my mouth has decided to keep going without permission from my brain.
"I've been in love with you for months. Since before Christmas.
Probably since before we slept together the first time.
I woke up when you were in my arms and realized I never wanted to wake up any other way. "
Max makes a small sound. I don't know what it means. "And then we did it again last week, and it was… fuck, Max, it was everything. You're—" My throat seizes. I start to wheeze, the words catching on sandpaper, and before I can even reach for the cup, Max has the straw at my lips.
"Drink," he says softly. I drink. My eyes don't leave his face.
"You're everything," I continue, voice raw but steadier.
"And I knew I couldn't do it again because watching you go date other people after having you was too much.
" The words are pouring out now, unstoppable.
"I thought you didn't feel the same way.
I thought I'd ruined everything by catching feelings, so I tried to put us back in the friend box, but I can't. I don't want to. "
He's still not saying anything. He's staring at me with those big blue eyes.
Say something. Please. Anything.
"We're best friends," I continue, because apparently I've lost all control of my own mouth.
"We already know everything about each other.
I know your drink orders, and yes, the fancy rainbow monstrosities count.
I know every anime character you secretly have a crush on.
I know when you need to snuggle after a tough day.
I know the sound you make when you're frustrated with a project and the face you make when you're about to have a breakthrough. "
Max's lower lip is trembling. I might be hallucinating. The meds are still doing weird things to my head. "We know we can sleep in the same bed without fighting," I add. "We've already done that. Multiple times. And the sex was… I mean, you know. You were there. It was—"
"No, actually, you don't know." I stare at him, the realization hitting me mid-ramble.
I run a hand through my hair, wincing when I forget about the IV and it tugs.
"I was your first. You had literally zero frame of reference.
I think you have… Not the point. Max, I need you to understand…
That's not what sex is like. Not normally.
I've hooked up with people before, and it's fine, it's whatever, you get off, and you move on, and you don't think about it three weeks later at 2 AM when you can't sleep. "
My voice cracks again, and this time it's not my throat.
"But with you, I think about it all the time. I think about the sounds you made and the way you looked at me and how you laughed when we bumped noses and…" I'm spiraling. I know I'm spiraling. "That's not normal. That's not how it works with other people. That's us. That's good—"
"Leo."
"—really good, like really good, and I think we could—"
"Leo." I stop talking. Max is looking at me with an expression I can't quite read. His eyes are shiny, definitely shiny, not a hallucination, and his chest is heaving like he's been running.
"Yeah?" I ask, but he doesn't answer. Instead, he jumps up on me. One second he's sitting in the chair beside my bed, and the next he's on me, climbing onto the hospital gurney, throwing one leg over my hips, grabbing my face with both hands, and kissing me like his life depends on it.
I make a sound that's probably embarrassing, some kind of groan or whimper or both, and then my hands are in his hair, cradling his head, pulling him closer.
The angle is awkward, and the IV tugs at my arm, and the monitors are probably going crazy, but I don't care.
I don't care about anything except that Max's mouth is finally on mine.
We've kissed before. Obviously. But this is different. This is Max, knowing how I feel and kissing me anyway. This is Max choosing me.
The kiss slows down, goes lazy. I'm still groggy, and my coordination isn't great, but it doesn't matter.
Max hums against my lips, and I feel it vibrate through my whole body.
His hands have moved from my face to my torso, gripping the thin hospital gown like he's afraid I'll disappear.
My thumbs trace his cheekbones, the soft skin behind his ears.
We stay like that for a while. Minutes, maybe longer.
Time doesn't really exist when you're kissing the person you love.
Max pulls back far enough to breathe. His lips are pink and swollen, and he's grinning at me, this big stupid grin that makes my heart do some dangerous gymnastics.
The beeping on the monitor is going crazy.
"I love you too," he says. "In case that wasn't clear."
"It was pretty clear."
"Good." He kisses me again, quick and soft. "Because I've been in love with you for—"
The curtain rattles, and we both freeze. A grey-haired nurse in navy blue scrubs appears, squinting at a chart through reading glasses perched on her nose. "Curtain seven? I'm looking for a gentleman with broken toes from a—"
She looks up from the chart and sees us. Max straddling me on the hospital gurney, my hands still cupping his face, his hands fisted in my gown. She doesn't even blink.
"You're not the broken toes."
"No, ma'am," I manage, voice cracking.