"please tell me you have a plan" with Griffin and Max. Platonic or romantic is your choice. And I know you might just make this angst so I'm gonna request you to make it soft. Please 🥺.
“All you talk about is your little brother,” Max says. He takes a drag on his cigarette. “He’s that important to you?”
“Yeah,” Griff breathes. “I’m all he has, you know? Our father is a fucking asshole. Especially to the kid. And god, my intentions were good, but—sometimes I regret leaving him.”
Griff sighs. “I left when he was six. Twelve months of AIT ... His seventh birthday was in August.” Griff resists the urge to let himself cry. He can’t. He can’t. Not here.
Max drops his cigarette and stomps it out. “You talk to him a lot, right? Letters?”
“Every chance I get. I just hope he knows I still care.”
“I’m sure he knows.” Max closes his eyes and tilts his head back. “Please tell me you have a plan. For him.”
Griff looks down. Fuck. What is the plan? “Get out of here. Get back to him.” He shakes his head. “I enlisted for him. To try to help him. He needs to get out of there, out of that situation. I send all of it—the base pay, the hazard pay—all back to our shithead dad. I can only hope he actually uses it for the kid. I wasn’t able to get separation pay since Aslan isn’t technically my dependent. Not that our dad does shit for him.”
Suddenly Max’s hand is on Griff’s chin, tilting his head up. These moments they get alone are so incredibly rare, but so ... intimate. In a way Griff is almost afraid of.
“Hey,” Max whispers. “It’ll be okay. He’ll be okay, as long as he has someone like you who loves him so much.”
“I do,” Griff agrees. His voice breaks. “But I’m afraid of the day that I won’t be able to respond to his letters. The day something happens out here, and—I won’t be there for him anymore. What if something goes wrong back home? What if something happens to him, and I’m not ...”
Max seems to hesitate. Then, “I’ll take care of you,” he resolves. “However I can.” His hand moves up to Griff’s cheek, cupping his face. “Okay? You’ll be okay.”
“Yeah,” Griff breathes. “I trust you.” And he can’t help it—can’t hold himself back—and he leans in, closing the gap between them until—
“Fuck,” Griff whispers. He pulls back. “I’m sorry. Maybe ... when we get out of here ... ?”
Max smiles. He doesn’t seem upset in the slightest. “Of course. I’ll wait for you. But that means that we both have to do our best to make it to then.”
“We will,” Griff promises. He knows he might not be able to keep that promise, but he’s damn well going to try. “We will.”
