lumax deserves the world, in my humble opinion.
lucas gives max his biggest, brownest, shiniest puppy dog eyes when he wants a kiss.
they’ll be hanging out in her room, backs pressed against the headboard of her bed. his arm is slung over her shoulder while she flicks through a magazine, and the radio’s fizzing static in their ears because there’s a summer storm rattling on outside, but it’s okay, because she’s listening to him amble on about—whatever. something science-y, or sporty or lovey-dovey (really, his words become background noise sometimes, but she likes it when he talks because his voice calms her) and it’s nice and comfortable and perfect.
she doesn’t realise he’s gone quiet until she flips the page of her magazine— this one’s about how to dress for your colours, whatever that means— and she turns her head to peer at him, pale eyebrows scrunched. usually, it’s impossible to get her boyfriend to quiet down when she wants him to. it’d be concerning, if she didn’t immediately recognise the pretty face being turned up at her.
“hi,” he says, in that solemn, love-sick tone that she secretly adores.
“what do you want?” max asks curtly, even though she’s been through this a hundred times before. it’s just routine now; instinctual to pretend to be surprised by it.
lucas doesn’t say anything. just flutters his curly lashes at her and leans in slightly and crinkles his nose and looks disarmingly adorable. it makes her feel sick. it makes her feel warm, and fuzzy, and she wants to bash her skull against the wall because when did she get so mushy, anyway?
she rolls her eyes. “oh my god.” lucas furrows his brow and makes himself look demure and lovely. the light from her side table glows in his hair; against his skin, all golden and celestial and sweet. “you’re so stupid. like, really. you look ridiculous,” she smooths her fingers over the glossy paper in her hands, “seriously, sinclair?”
lucas smiles with all of his perfect teeth and it makes her stomach swoop. “maxie,” he says and his voice sounds like honey around her name. she could listen to him all day. “may i please have a kiss?”
melodramatically, she sighs because she’s embarrassed (they’ve been dating for like, two years now and his antics haven’t subsided one bit) and lucas smiles sweeter and she thinks she’s in love with an idiot. “oh my god,” she repeats, though gentleness is creeping up into her tone. “fine, if it’ll get you to stop.”
he cheers and she ignores it and pulls him in sagely by the collar of his denim jacket; presses her mouth to his. he’s warm. tastes a bit like coke and lasagna and the fruit roll-ups they’d eaten for dessert. he doesn’t stop smiling.
it’s absurd. it’s perfect.
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