Something Written - Ch 1
OKAY I had this idea eating at me for a while so I'll just put this here and see the response it gets. Essentially this is just a Maxiel University au, Max is studying mechanical engineering at MIT, blah blah blah, enjoy :)
1.5k (unedited) under the cut, very brief allusions to abus3
Next Part, or read on AO3!
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Max isn't sure how he is passing this class, in reality his paper is filled margin to margin with blue ink. It's all smeared under his hand, a slight inconvenience that slurs the letters into each other. The lecture seems to be punctuated by the ticking of the overhead clock, the large kind you only ever see in corporate offices or lecture halls.
The professor is sliding up the next blackboard, it moves on tracks to reveal another black blank space waiting to be written on. Max doesn't have the energy to flip his page. There are almost 250 people in this room and Max is convinced none of them actually give a shit about whatever the professor is going to write.
Max can smell the burnt coffee in the air, hear the shifting of bodies weighted with exhaustion and collective boredom. He hears the overhead lights buzz, and feels the air remain unmoving. He thinks 2 hour lectures should be illegal.
-
Max takes the bus home, it's gotten too cold this time of year for him to just walk, and the trains never run well this time of year anyways. Small flakes of snow press into the glass as the bus rumbles along. The heater competes with the rushes of cold air as they make each required stop and Max thinks the T might have been a better choice by the time he reaches Westgate.
He counts each stop on the way, it's nothing clinical, he has ridden this route hundreds of times and yet he clings to the routine of it.
8 stops, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, one.
The building looms over the nearby courtyard as he steps off onto the street pulling his jacket tighter around him as he quickens his pace to the entrance hall.
His apartment, floor 3, room 33, is on the left side of the complex, so he turns the moment he steps past the iron gate. It's unhistorical compared to the buildings around it, but Max can't help but exhale an icy breath watching as the air swirls around him with each step he takes up the metal stairway.
He slows his pace up the steps, he’s eaten shit on them too many times to rush them like he used to. The air is crisp and it smells faintly of the same minty gum it always has. The Christmas tree of room 34 greets him through the window as he approaches his door.
It's only 5 pm, but the night has already permeated his surroundings, the overhead light flickering like it always has.
The door has a small wreath around the number, it's the only outwardly distinguishable part of the apartment, and that had only been by Charles’s request.
Max doesn't understand the mass hysteria around holidays, but it has shut Charles up and he really finds it doesn't bother him too much as he fumbles around for his keys. Once the door is opened Max steps inside with a breath of relief. He lets his messenger bag slip from his shoulder to the ground with an unceremonious thud, it seems to coincide with a sigh.
The livingroom light is off and Max is sure that Charles is most likely staying at Carlos’s this weekend. He is partially grateful for the silence as he hangs his coat from the peg located adjacent to the window. The only light comes from their little tree, nestled in the corner of the room between the sofas. Its lights cast a warm glow across the interior space of the living area, 4 wrapped boxes of varied size sit nestled beneath the branches.
His phone dings in his pocket prompting an annoyed sound from Max as he thumbs over the notification. He feels guilty when he sees the contact name highlighted against his homescreen.
GP: Get home safe? Let me know when you are so I can bring over some dinner, love you!
His heart softens a bit at the message and he feels the slightest bit guilty telling him that he is all set for the night, but he knows Lando has left some curry in the fridge and so he thanks him regardless.
He does however open his chat with Kimi, intending to offer any assistance with homework. He knows the likelihood of George being with Kimi is high and therefore he also knows his assistance isn't needed, but he figures asking won't help.
Part of him wishes Kimi hadn't taken to Russell so much, and he takes to telling Kimi that often. Max finds he can't stand the guy, and he is surprised they haven't killed each other yet if he is being honest. George and him had done their undergrad together, and Max can remember many times he thought the Brit wouldn't have made it to the morning.
When Kimi doesn't respond right away Max shuffles to the kitchen, heating the last of the remaining curry in the microwave before settling at his desk to eat.
His room is nothing special, some posters dot the walls but the majority of the space is dedicated to drawings. Different engines and technical diagrams line the space, his desk area itself is less bland. He has two monitors, one of the keyboards that makes too much noise when he types and a navy mouse pad beside it. He has a picture of Charles and him, and then one of him, Victoria and GP to the left. Above them both is a crude drawing of a cat from Lando and then a desklap.
The floor by the desk houses his shoe rack, two pairs of sneakers, one pair of dressier shoes, beneath the metal bars there are two iphone chargers (one is held together with copious amounts of electrical tape). They stretch equal distances to his desk and bed and Max refuses to buy another one.
Everything is just as it should be in his space and it provides an equal amount of calm. His closet is at the foot of his bed, a small walk in that houses the same sets of navy tees he has always worn, and an even smaller bathroom positioned to the right just past the entry way. Its a lot larger than the undergrad rooms, and he has a window this year, a commodity he was neglected of previously, but the space remains stale in the winter months.
He likes this, likes how every notebook and pen has a space, a place it will never run away from. It's a stark contrast to houses of his past, homes filled with things being thrown and broken. Order is a sense of safety, a sense of control, a sense of ease.
It's home.
-
Max starts everyday the same, set the electric kettle, then cold shower. It takes 17 minutes on the timer for his water to be ready and so he makes the shower 10. By the time he is dry and dressed the water is ready for tea, and so he brews the same strawberry blend before checking his bag is packed.
The only variable part of his day is the transportation, often he prefers the train, but the winter months turn him to the bus almost exclusively.
But regardless he goes to class, comes home, does his work, showers and then settles in for bed at 9.
Max doesn't have eventful days.
He likes it that way.
-
He shifts his desk chair so the leg of it lines with the rug just so before getting up to tuck himself into bed. He doesn't have to glance at the clock to know his bedtime is rapidly approaching, he closes his applied mechanics textbook with a sigh. His body has barely touched the sheets of his bed before a knock seems to disturb the silence.
Max doesn't think too much of it, the likelihood of Charles locking himself out again is high even though Max swears Charles told him he would be with Carlos for another 2 days?
Whatever Max expects it isn't Daniel Ricciardo, especially not Daniel Ricciardo with two duffle bags and a backpack.
Daniel offers him a lopsided grin before seemingly waiting for Max to step aside, and Max feels a wave of confusion settle over him.
“Can I help you?”
He knows Daniel by proxy, knows him as the party boy, the boy who ends up on every Frat’s instagram page. It's safe to say he isn't someone who floats in Max’s circles.
But Daniel just seems to look around sheepishly, and Max questions why Daniel is in shorts and without a coat in this weather?
“Ah, I'm Dan, sorry, Charles said I could stay here for a bit?”
And Max feels his entire mind go blank. Because of course Charles forgot to tell Max this. After some time Daniel seems to awkwardly slide past Max in favor of the warmer insides but Max feels a sick sense of invasion as he shuts the door behind him.
Dan settles his things on the sofa and Max can't help the scrutiny that crosses his face.
“You are staying here?”
Dan doesn't waste a beat,
“Well, if you wanted me to sleep with you instead then lead the way Maxy”
Max feels a heat rise in his cheeks as he grinds his teeth together. Oh he hates this guy.
“Dont call me that.”