With what little time they'd spent together, Max was certain there'd be zero reciprocated feelings on Roman's end. After all, this was just another Wednesday, back to the grind after some time off. He sauntered around the comfort of his hotel, getting ready and dressed to head into the arena.
It isn't until he's clipping his silver watch around his wrist that he feels Roman's hand clutch around his wrist as he's seconds away from heading out. Max's eyebrows heighten at the desperation in the other man's grip and, for a second, Max isn't sure what to say.
The New Yorker remains quiet for a few seconds before delving into the first thought that comes to his mind. Instead of getting all sentimental, he takes the joking route, "Someone has to go to work around here," He pauses for a second to straighten out the front of his dress shirt as he straightens his stance, "I'm pretty sure there's a pool in this hotel so you can preoccupy yourself until I get back." / @egotstical
there's a problem with how his fingers twitch against max's pulse. situated in a place where he's hard-pressed not to commit the rhythm to memory, roman's a steady figure, jaw working and his grip uncertain. unsure whether the want to tighten stems from an ever-swelling reluctance to let go ? or a fear for what'd come if he did. how far this one would get.. if he could catch him again. if he wanted to. what it said about him that he did.
" if i wanted a pool i'd have stayed at home. " where the water wasn't polluted with piss and strangers. where a high fence made for an all-over tan. roman's still squeezing when the delivery makes its first round and, mercifully, he grants the leave max is after. permission in the simplest form ; to go out and do what he does best. well.. one of the things he does best. " you need me to make myself clear ? "
up from the bed, he's unclear where the creaks come from. if it's an old spring he'd felt all night.. a floorboard whining under carpet. roman doesn't know if its the light overhead, dim and smothering, or how he blots it out and bathe's maxwell in his shadow instead. in a place where he's able to touch and be touched and no eyes may pry save the darkened set that does so, now. catches as pointed and deliberate as a hand, there, at a jaw he plays with a want to throttle, or not. " i'm here for you. " not this arena. not this show or these fans who've shunned him for years. the only attention roman's starved for, this evening, and most others of late, is the one too near a door not to blanche at the fear of it shutting for good.
" don't keep me waiting.. "
