sooo this is what I've been working on...
Charles freezes with his beer halfway to his mouth. He blinks heavily at the TV screen, where their latest race is on mute so they can dissect it without the commentary annoying them.
He repeats that in his head to make sure he heard it right.
Max said it so simply. So easily. Maybe he doesn’t mean it in the way Charles has immediately assumed.
He tries to unstick himself, letting an easy smile pull up his mouth.
“I love you, too, mate,” he says, even though he doesn’t think he’s ever actually said that to a friend before. Not like that, at least. Some casual love ya’s, maybe, though typically he shows his love in other ways.
He says it to his maman a lot, and to his brothers, but he can tell from the sad smile that Max gives him that he didn’t mean it in a brotherly way.
“No, Charles,” Max says gently.
Panic claws up Charles’ chest. If Max doesn’t say it, then nothing has to change. Charles really can’t have this hanging between them, can’t have this out in the open, because he can’t lose Max. He really, really can’t.
But if Max says this, if he admits that he feels for Charles in a way that Charles doesn’t, can’t, return, then what happens to them? What happens to the friendship that they’ve painstakingly created? They’ve worked so hard for this, for what feels like forever, and now Max is one of the best friends Charles has.
Maybe one of the best friends he’s ever had.
Max can’t ruin it like this.
Charles shoots up onto his feet. “Do you want another drink?”
Max sighs. Loudly. Then he stands, too. He hesitates before he reaches out to clasp his hand on Charles’ shoulder, which makes Charles’ heart thump erratically.
He never hesitates. Max always just touches, takes whatever he wants, and Charles has always loved that about him. Everything is easy between them, even these little touches.
This is exactly why Max can’t say anything.
“Charles. Please, just—I know you probably don’t want to hear it, but I’m so . . . I’m so tired, Charles. I’m tired of keeping it to myself. Please, just—can I please just say it, so that I can . . .”
Charles clenches his jaw. He doesn’t want to hear it, but he supposes he can understand why Max needs to say it anyway.
Max keeps talking before Charles says anything either way, bulldozing through like he does with everything. “I’m in love with you.”
Charles takes a deep breath. He’s let down a lot of people before, but none of them ever meant as much to him as Max does. He thinks he’s always been kind in the past, but as he thinks through all of his I’m sorry, I’m not interested’s and I’m flattered, but I’m not really looking for anything right now’s, he realises that none of it should be said to Max. Max deserves so much better than that.
“Max, I—” He clenches his jaw again, rubbing his sweaty palm against his jean. “You know I’m straight.”
Max nods once. “Yeah, I know. Believe me, I feel so fucking stupid.”
Charles shakes his head quickly, immediately, reaching up to curl his hand around the forearm of Max’s hand that’s still on his shoulder.
“You’re not stupid,” Charles says. His voice quivers.
“I am,” Max insists, rolling his eyes skyward. “Trust me, I’m well aware that I’m an idiot for falling in love with my straight best friend.”
Charles winces, then drops his hand. “I’m sorry,” he says, because there’s nothing else he can think of.
Max drops his hand too, then shoves both of them in his front pockets. Through the denim, Charles can tell his fists are clenched.
Charles doesn’t even know where this came from. He knows that people make fun of Max for how clingy he can be with Charles, that people online make jokes like get someone who looks at you like Max looks at Charles or no-one is taking Charles away from you Max. But Charles has never cared, never paid it much thought, because he likes having Max’s attention on him.
And since they became friends, he thought he was giving Max the attention back. Pierre jokes that they’ve become codependent, that he can never see Charles anymore without Max being one step behind him, but Charles’ response has always been the same: he and I are the same.
Charles doesn’t know where they fell out of lockstep, but clearly, somewhere along the way, they did. And Charles completely missed it.
Any why now, anyway? When they’ve just been watching a race, talking shit like they usually do? Nothing is different about tonight, so why is Max blowing up their friendship like this?
“It’s fine,” Max says, shrugging his shoulders. Charles doesn’t know how unrequited love can be fine. “It’s not like I thought this was going to go any differently.”
Charles’ heart pangs terribly in his chest. “I mean if I could—because you’re obviously—so if I was then I’m sure that I’d . . . you know?”
Max gives him another sad smile.
“Does that help?” Charles asks, a little desperately. He wants that sad smile to go away.
“Not really,” Max admits. “But I don’t think anything would. I just . . . need to get over it.”
Get over him. Max needs to move on to some other guy, because he’s currently in love with Charles and can’t have him. Charles has never liked breaking hearts, but this is by far the worst one yet.
“But we’re still okay, right?” Charles asks, so desperately that Max looks at him strangely. “This isn’t going to change anything?”
Max hesitates, lips pursed together. Charles feels like his stomach drops through his ass.
“Of course, Charlie,” Max says anyway, then sits back on the lounge. “Should we keep watching the race?”
Charles stares down at him, watches as Max leans forward to pick up his beer and take a sip.
It’s almost like nothing has changed.
Charles sits down beside him, exactly where he did before, and realises that there’s more space between them than usual. Their knees aren’t bumping together, there’s no warmth from Max’s thigh.
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