MAX: Buzzing
Hello! I offer a Max and platonic caretaking fun emotional turmoil disaster of a fic :)
I was kind of trying a new narrative style - instead of focusing on a particular character, I was trying to do more exposition and be more action focused, so if it feels different, that's why, but hey it was fun
Oh and this does fit in the current plot timeline
Disclaimer: I do not experience gender dysphoria, and nothing in this fic is based on personal experience, so do with that as you will (feedback always appreciated!)
CW: gender dysphoria, mentions of misgendering/wrong pronouns being used (not by my people!)
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Let's set the scene. It's 2:00 in the afternoon, sunlight filtering in through the living room window. Colin's shift ended an hour ago, this session's schedule granting him a rare afternoon off. Novel Idea's only open in the evenings on Mondays, meaning Jamie has another few hours before he has to go to work. They are having a calm afternoon, relaxing in the living room, Jamie with a book, and Colin with a sit-com playing on the TV.
Their afternoon is interrupted when the front door opens and closes suddenly.
Colin perks up, craning his neck to look at the entryway.
"Max!" he greets, vaulting off the couch and running towards them. A quick glance tells him something is wrong.
Max has their back to the front door, face ashen as though by holding the door closed they can stop demons from trying to tear down their walls.
"What's up Maxi?" Colin asks, attracting Jamie's attention and drawing him out of the living room.
They don't answer, breath leaving them in a shuddering sigh. Their eyes close, and they lean their head back against the door, trying to calm their racing heart.
"Ooookay," Colin mutters, drawing out the word, sharing a glance with Jamie, "Something wrong dude?" he asks, and Jamie shoots him an incredulous look and he shrugs - it might seem obvious, but sometimes leaving it open-ended is helpful.
This time though, it's the opposite of helpful; Max wants to climb out of their skin. Everything feels WRONG today. They flinch away, the term cutting into their increasingly fragile control.
They can't catch their breath.
"Max?" Jamie asks, creeping closer, but Max feels miles away.
They shake their head, breath coming in gasps as their fingers twitch at their sides, wanting to claw their hair out of their head, their skin off their body, their thoughts from their head.
Attuned to the phsyical side of things and trained for quick responses, Colin understands what's happening, and reacts instinctively. Jamie on the other hand, is rapidly understanding why it's happening.
Colin crouches down next to where Max has slowly slumped down the door, one knee propped up from habit.
"You're home, Max, you're safe. Try and take deep breaths, in through your nose, out through your mouth," he instructs gently, "Like you're breathing through a straw." ABCs, always the first step.
When Max, too far in their head, mind running over all the instances that led them here, doesn't hear him, he tries his next favourite technique - physical prompting.
"Here," he says, reaching for Max's hand, "Follow my breathing," he continues, but his hand barely brushes Max's before they're shrinking in on themself, fingers pulling in against their chest.
They've never pulled away from him like this. It's like he scared them.
They recoil even further, their whole body writhing with the motion, fingers clawing at each other as they shove them back out, away from their body. They look uncomfortable in every possible way, and their breathing is as unsteady as ever, little gasping sobs leaving their mouth.
He suddenly feels way out of his depth, looking at Jamie, expecting to see the same confusion and anxiety that he's feeling reflected on his face. Instead, he wears a look of realization and sympathy.
Jamie sits on the floor a good few feet away, gesturing for Colin to back up. He inches backward, every lifeguard instinct screaming at him not to be out of reach of them, but his friend instincts trusting Jamie.
Jamie was watching Max's body language, his experiences with Keegan helping him recognize that Max is holding themself in a way laced with fear and apprehension, but something niggled at the back of his brain. It doesn't make sense. Max doesn't have challenges with touch the way Keegan does, and they shouldn't be afraid of them…
But they do have a difficult relationship with their own body.
"Max," he says gently, "Colin's going to go find your hoodie, okay?" He turns to Colin, "You know, the big black one they like sometimes?" He finally seems to understand, nodding quickly, and telling Max, "I'll be right back Maxi."
"Keep breathing Max, you're doing great." Jamie's seen panic attacks before, and he has seen Max deal with dysphoria in a variety of ways, but this is the most visceral reaction he's witnessed.
Colin comes back, intentionally slowing his pace and relaxing his body language before he drops down with them. He glances from Jamie to Max, unusually hesitant, before passing Max the hoodie, sliding it close enough that they can feel it without being close enough to touch them.
Max stills when the fabric touches their hand, screaming SAFE at them. They pull the hoodie into their lap, then slip it over their head, letting the familiar heaviness settle on their shoulders and the shapelessness wash away some of the desire to leave their body behind.
It's a cloak against the world, but not from their brain or body. Their breathing is still shaky, and their hands are still shaky, and when they try to form words, their voice catches in their throat.
Jamie intterupts the ragged quiet, "Do you think you can move to the couch?" he asks gently, voice overwhelmingly soft.
"Yeah," they gasp, the idea of being away from the door, more distance, more barriers is tempting, even if moving feels like a bad idea at the moment. Their voice, even in that one word, feels wrong, a reminder that they're born into a body that doesn't know who they are.
They stumble to their feet, Colin scrambling out of their way and Jamie leads them with a wave of his hand.
Lightheaded and uncoordinated, they wander to the living room, and beeline to the couch, catching the edge of the coffee table with their knee. The pain doesn't even register, too wrapped up in every other bad feeling.
They curl up in the corner of the couch, small and let the hoodie cover most of their body.
Jamie settles next to them. Colin moves around like a restless hurricane, setting a glass of water down on the table, and eyeing their leg where they nicked the table. He intones, "Breathe, Max," his own breaths loud in the room as he tries to encourage Max into a healthier breathing pattern.
Unconsciously, Max starts following the rhythm of Colin's breathing, the immediate panic slowly receding as their breathing slows and their heart rate calms.
It doesn't erase the dysphoria or the intensity of wrongness in their body, but it makes it a bit more manageable, the world sharpening at the corners in a way Max hadn't realized they were missing.
"That's good, you're doing great," Jamie praises from beside them.
Colin nudges the glass of water towards them, and they reach for it, fingers trembling and making the glass vibrate in their hand. They take a sip, the cool water settling heavily in their stomach.
"Max?" checks Jamie, "How're you doing?"
"I don't…" they start, then trail off, hardly recognizing their own voice. They try again, forcing it a little deeper, trying to find something comfortable, "Nothing feels-" Nope. That's worse. They grimace, then try the opposite direction, pushing the air up towards their head, making their voice higher, "I feel wrong." I sound wrong! they scream to themself.
How can their voice, the one they grew up with, be so unfamiliar and clunky in their mouth, betraying their very identity?
Their voice might betray them, feeling too gendered and not them, but their hands… well, their hands have no gender. So they express themselves the best way they know, fingers flickering through signs known as well as English, words finally flowing.
It's only after a minute that they remember; No one here can understand them. Sure, Jamie might pick up a few signs here and there, and they can probably understand the emotion coating the gestures, but they don't understand.
And not just the signing, they don't understand what they're feeling.
"-axi," they hear, their name catching their attention, and they look up to find both Colin and Jamie looking at them worriedly.
"Can I check your leg?" Colin asks carefully, as if he's not sure what the answer will be.
Normally, the concern would be soothing, a reminder that people care enough about them to be worried, but right now, it lights their skin on fire and makes their eyes prickle with tears.
Suddenly they want nothing more than to hide in the dark and not be perceived — by themself or anyone else.
They lurch to their feet, trying to remember how they usually stand. Their shoulders rise to their ears, and they murmur something about needing a minute, staggering down the hallway.
Do they usually swing their arms when they walk? Do they usually step toe first or heel first? How is it possible that in one hour they completely forget how they usually exist as a human?
They stumble into the bathroom, swinging the door shut behind them and slumping down with their back against it, reminiscent of the way they'd crashed through the front door not long ago. This time, tears are already dripping down their face, collecting along the bottom of their jaw.
Colin and Jamie look after them as they rush out of the living room, wobbling a bit too much for them to be okay.
They look at each other, then Colin follows Max down the hall as the bathroom door slides shut.
Jamie stays sitting on the couch, trying to figure out how to approach this. It doesn't feel okay to leave Max alone in a room when it's so clear they're not doing well, but he also appreciates that they're overwhelmed and that pushing too hard could upset them more.
He can hear Colin knocking on the door, quietly asking questions and trying to reassure them.
After a minute, he follow Colin, putting a hand on his shoulder and shaking his head slightly, trying a different approach.
"Max, knock once on the door for 'no', and twice for 'yes', yeah?" he requests, softening his voice as much as possible.
After a good 30 seconds of quiet, the only sound being Max's small stifled sobs, and then two small taps come from inside.
Jamie sighs, relieved. "Okay, that's good. Do you want us to call Ellie for you?"
Immediately, one knock.
"Maybe… um, Leo?"
One knock.
Colin asks quietly, "Is there anything we can do to help you right now?"
There's a longer pause before the single knock rings out in the quiet hallway.
Jamie sighs gently, then offers to Max, "That's okay. We'll be right here if you need us, okay?" He doesn't really need an answer; there's no way they're going anywhere else right now, but it's still a relief when a gentle two taps announce Max's agreement.
This is a kind of comfort that Max can appreciate, with a door separating them from any real perception, and their friends' quiet support.
They hear, from the other side of the door, Colin ask quietly, "How did you think of that?" and Jamie's answer, "I saw Alix do something like that," and they can picture the easy shrug that accompanies the words.
In the dark and quiet of the bathroom, it's almost possible to forget the buzzing under their skin. They sniff quietly, tears continuing to flow from their eyes as they finally release the tension they've held for the last few hours.
It's hard, because they know who they are, and realistically pronouns don't change that. And they have a surprisingly positive relationship with their body, and they love their style. They love their purple hair, and wearing makeup, and having short hair, and they're usually very comfortable.
But there's always that whisper of How will I be perceived? Of how people will interpret their gender. And it's getting better, people correct themselves more often when they notice their They/Them pronoun pin. Sometimes it's even funny when people mess up, especially when it happens in both directions.
But at the end of the day, something in their soul shrinks away everytime someone uses pronouns that aren't theirs or calls them something that feels wrong.
It's fine though. You can't change other people, they remind themself, something they and Ellie both learned early. Maybe they should call her. Later, though.
Outside the bathroom, Jamie is glancing at his watch, realizing that he has to leave in a few minutes if he wants to make it to work on time.
He winces, frustrated that he has to leave when his best friend is so uncomfortable.
"Max," he starts softly, "I have to go to work now. Are you going to be okay?" He doesn't doubt that Max can handle themself if necessary, but they shouldn't have to, and he needs the reassurance anyway.
A hesitation, then two knocks. Yes.
"Text me if you need to, I'll have my phone with me. I love you Max," he continues, but three knocks interrupt whatever he was going to say next, and he smiles, understanding that the sentiment is returned.
He glances at Colin, who mouths "Go, we'll be fine," with a thumbs-up, and a smile. Jamie smiles back, eyes still hazy with worry, gathering his things, and leaving the flat with one last look down the hall at the bathroom, where Colin still sits scrolling through something on his phone.
"Text me updates, please," was his final request, as the door closes behind him.
Colin stays sitting on the hallway floor after Jamie leaves, but without Jamie sitting with him, it doesn't take long for him to start itching for movement. He was not built for sitting still. He shifts, trying to be subtle, but it's only a few minutes later when he knocks softly on the door.
"Hey Max?" he starts, voice falling into the caretaking timber that rounds out his words, warm and soft.
"If this is what you need right now, that's okay," he continues, trying to let them know they can set boundaries, "But I also want you to know that you don't have to hide. I'm here to help, however I can…" he trails off, feeling a little too unfamiliar with the situation to properly take control the way he might in other times of distress.
There's no answering knocks, and he starts to think his little speech went in one ear and out the other.
There's a sound like… a tremble. Like a fragile release of… something.
And then the door cracks open.
Just enough that Colin can see Max's eye glowing from the hallway light.
"You doin' okay?" he asks, an easy smile filling his face as he looks at his friend.
Max's face stays controlled, and they shrug.
The door inches wider, and Max is bathed in the hallway light, eyes fixed on the ground. Their hair is dishevelled as if their hands have been tugging on it, and their face still sparkles with tear tracks they didn't quite rub away, eyes red and smeared with the remains of their makeup.
They creep past Colin, aware of his eyes following them. Every move is calculated, thought through as only someone who has spent years crafting their persona can do.
They fold themself into the corner of the couch, pulling a blanket over their form, and settling another piece of their soul back in place.
Without the active panic, they start to put words to how they're feeling, work with Ellie and at Rainbow has taught them that it's helpful to connect feelings and words.
It's like they're made of stained glass - usually soldered together by bands of metal, but on days like today, the pieces came loose. Fractured pieces of glass in every colour poke at them and somehow they have to figure out how the picture fits together again.
Colin moves into their periphery, disrupting their thoughts and reminding them that they aren't alone right now.
"D'you think I can touch you now?" Colin asks, and they almost want to laugh at the sheer difference between Jamie and Colin's approach to things like this.
Colin clearly hopes the answer is yes, practically vibrating, and they almost agree from habit, but the buzzing under their own skin forces them to actually consider the question.
Part of them wants to scream NO, but the other part of them wants to settle back into their body and back into normalcy as fast as possible. And Colin restraining himself is not particularly normal.
So they nod, hesitant. They still avoid their voice knowing it won't feel familiar yet. Pieces of their being are starting to settle back into place, but the stained glass won't hold itself together until all the pieces settled right.
They fully expected Colin to flop onto the couch next to them, so they look up in surprise when, instead, he drops to his knees in front of them.
"I just wanna check," he murmurs, reaching for their leg, and they frown, before they hazily remember bumping into the coffee table, and they soften. Of course Colin would remember that even though they hardly did.
He lifts their pantleg so carefelly, just enough to scan their knee and lower leg and he sighs, informing them gently, "It actually didn't break skin, but it's definitaly going to bruise."
They nod at him, head leaning back against the couch.
Now that his duty's done, Colin drops down next to them just as they predicted earlier, tugging them into his side, cautious but not controlled. It is nice, to know that Colin doesn't see them differently, and isn't treating them like they're made of glass, but it still feels too personal, and after a minute, they shimmy out of his hold, pressing their back into the arm of the couch.
He lets them go easily, relieved that they're not drawing away out of fear or panic this time. He reassures them quickly, then grabs a water bottle from the kitchen. "You need anything else?" Colin questions quietly, handing them the water, and letting Max decide how they want to handle the situation moving forward.
They shake their head, ignoring the pulse of Wrong that still itches from under their ribs, letting out a sigh as they shift next to Colin.
They don't feel settled enough to sleep, but they're too tired to think anymore, letting Colin's ramblings distract them.
— — —
Later, when Colin is showing them some skit on TikTok, Rowyn walks through the front door, home from a day of classes and studying.
He hangs up his jacket and takes off his shoes, then walks over to them in the living room, and immediately asks, "Whoa, what happened here?"
Colin huffs a laugh, but Max wants to shrink in on themself, until they realize that Rowyn's directing that at Colin, not them.
Colin slides off the couch, pulling Rowyn in for a soft hug. They can see them lean towards each other, and hears Colin murmur something that's probably about them. Colin tucks his head down so it's closer to Rowyn's ear, and its a nice glimpse of them being on the same team.
When Colin tells him that Max is having a bad time with their dysphoria, triggered by something panic attack inducing, his heart breaks for their friend.
He turns to them and quickly glances them over. It's a gaze that Max actually doesn't mind, analytical and assessing, but not too emotional or personal.
Rowyn sees the tension, the way Max's shoulders are up to their ears and they're shrunk back in the corner of the couch, like a cat that doesn't want to be pet.
"Colin, come here," he mutters, gesturing towards the kitchen, and they both retreat, Max's eyes tracking them warily.
"What's the plan?" Rowyn asks in a whisper, turning to him as soon as they're out of Max's sightline.
"What do you mean?" he answers defensively.
Rowyn sighs, rolling his eyes, "The plan, to get them comfortable again."
Colin frowns, "I don't know… They said they didn't need anything else," he shrugs, "I figured it was something time would help with?"
Rowyn sighs, mind turning over ideas, "Decisions might be hard for them right now." They turn away walking back towards Max.
"Wait, what?!" Colin hisses, grabbing his arm to stop him from walking away, "What does that mean?"
"It means you're not always right!" Rowyn exclaims, eyes flashing as he turns back to him.
"Or, maybe you just need to be in control of everything, huh?" Colin counters, frowning now, annoyance rushing in full force.
A soft raspy whisper interrupts, "Stop. Please."
They both whip their heads around, realizing they migrated to the opening between kitchen and living room, Max looking at them with bright eyes and a face pulled tight with some unnamed emotion.
"Shit, sorry," Colin mutters immediately, moving towards them, but Rowyn knows the apology was not directed at him.
"Okay," he nods to Max, easily agreeing to release the anger in favour of helping them.
"Come on Max," he instructs, ignoring Colin who stands off to the side still clearly bothered.
Max glances between them once, but still slips off the couch, moving quietly but still controlled. They pull their hoodie sleeves over their hands.
He silently leads them into their room, matching their volume level, pointing at the bed and waiting for them to sit down. Rowyn opens their drawer and quickly pulls out a pair of shapeless sweatpants and a t-shirt, setting them on the bed next to Max.
He leaves, knocking on the door after only a few seconds and reentering with a bottle of makeup remover and a damp washcloth.
He crouches on the floor, looking up at them, and instructs them gently, "Here, I'll be back in a bit. You get changed, get comfortable, okay?"
They nod quickly, eyes turning sparkly as they fill with tears, and he smiles gently, patting their hand once before leaving.
They whisper "Thank you," and he nods, latching the door behind them with a soft click.
It makes sense, in a way, that because their brain is overthinking the *gender* of everything, that it would make decisions weigh more heavily, and they needed help getting out of the loop.
Rowyn handed them a clear path, giving them the tools and privacy to settle back into themself.
Rowyn gives them a full ten minutes before trying to return, enough time to explain his plan to Colin, and decide on some next steps.
When he knocks on Max's door, he's relieved to hear their voice inviting him in, and he finds a Max who looks much more comfortable, discarded clothes in a small pile on the floor, with their hoodie still draped over them, their face clean and they seem calmer.
"Alright, decision time," he says, and Max's face settles warily, before Rowyn grins, "Do you want the cat or the guinea pig? Can't guarantee Apple will stay, but Sage might pee on you, so pick your poison."
Max laughs, but then asks confusedly, "Why?"
Rowyn pauses, sorting through the words in his heads first, "Animals are easy. They don't care about sexuality, and they don't care about gender. They still love you anyway."
Max softens, seeming to understand exactly what Rowyn's getting at, "Apple then, I think."
"Good answer," he teases, going on a cat-retrieval mission.
He comes back, a sleepy and disgruntled cat curled up in his arms, and he sets her gently on Max's bed, crouching down to be face level with her.
"Okay missy, you stay here and look after Max, alright?" he whispers, voice soft as he pets her. She stands and glares at him for a second, before huffing and flopping back down. Max reaches over, hand hesitating in front of her nose until she nudges them.
They grin, fingers running through her coat, smoothing the furs. Their chest fills with warmth as her purrs rumble through their hand, filling the room.
"Thanks," they murmur, still looking at Apple.
"No problem," Rowyn answers softly. He hesitates before leaving, then asks, "Do you want to talk about anything?"
The thing is, people don't usually ask them that. They're so used to collectling everyone else's stories, that when Rowyn asks them, they find words spilling from their mouth before they can overthink anything.
"I'm just so sick of being misgendered. It doesn't feel like it should matter this much because I can't control other people and it doesn't matter what strangers think of me. But it still feels so wrong, like my insides are squirming. And the names are worse, being called "sir" or "ma'am" makes me want to peel my skin off."
Rowyn doesn't answer, just lowers himself into their desk chair, listening intently.
"I had a few errands to run, and it would've been fine, but people just… it was all day, Ro. I guess the tipping point was, um, they used the wrong pronouns, and then the person in line behind me corrected them (I guess they saw my pin), and then they were arguing about it while I was standing right there and I just felt so disconnected from my body."
They curl into themself a little, fingers pausing in Apple's fur, "It was like… everything stacked on top of each other, and all I could think about was what people were seeing, how they were seeing me and why they all see me wrong, and then it was like I was wrong."
Apple mews, stretching under their hand, and they blink out of their thoughts, resuming their pets. They glance at Rowyn, and see his eyes fixed on the floor.
After a moment, he looks up and meets their eyes.
"That sounds really tough," is all he says, and they nod.
Rowyn looks thoughful now, and Max is can't help but ask the question they've been wondering about.
"How did you know how to help?"
Rowyn's eyes flick to them, then land on Apple, and he watches her breathe, purrs still rumbling softly, as he formulates an answer.
"I guess… Growing up and being told you're something that you're not is awful. I remember being stuck, and what it was like to realize I didn't need to be scared of that part of myself anymore. But it was hard to get past that point. I know it's not the same, but I thought you needed help getting back to that space, or maybe remembering who you are in this space."
Max nods, a smile spreading across their face. He's right, it's not quite the same, but Rowyn understands better than most people, and it's nice to not feel so alone in their battle, even if the reason is Rowyn's homophobic parents.
They take a deep breath, releasing the last of the tension with the exhale, body sinking into the bed.
"Can you go find Colin?" they ask, eyes starting to droop, as Rowyn stands to leave, "Without fighting," they tack on, and Rowyn rolls their eyes fondly.
After a minute Colin peers around the doorframe, finding an almost-asleep Max, curled around Apple.
"How're you doing?" he asks gently, and Max's eyes flutter open again.
"Better," they promise, reaching for him, and he smiles sitting next to them.
"I'm sorry about before," he apologizes, "I didn't know how to help."
Max shrugs, "It's okay, you tried." They can see that that didn't help, Colin's brows furrowing more as he opens his mouth to argue, so they add, "I didn't know what I needed either."
He acquiesces with a nod. "Oh, and Jamie mentioned that maybe I should stop calling you "dude"...?" he asks worriedly, "I don't want to make things worse."
Max frowns, pushing themself up a little so they can look at Colin properly.
"Nah, that's okay. Charlie says it's like your version of a forehead kiss, I don't usually care. It was a bad day - that's not your fault."
"A forehead kiss?" Colin mumbles, sounding so innocently confused, that Max smiles and drops back down and mumbles, "Shush, I'm sleeping," flapping a hand in his direction, relieved when Colin laughs.
"Okay," Colin says, standing, but Max whines, and asks, "Stay?" so he flops back down, warm weight settling around them as they drift off, panic gone, and the buzzing finally quiet enough.
Max is awake and mostly revived by the time Charlie gets home, and then Jamie returns, and they're relieved to find that they remember how they like to walk, and their body feels familiar again. The buzzing isn't fully gone, still humming under their skin when they find someone looking at them, but that'll go away too.
Later, they do call Ellie, just chatting for a bit and managing to forget about their disaster of an afternoon for awhile.