Snippet for the next chapter of "Please Be Rude"
“What?” It comes out a little too sharp, but the apology for it gets stuck at the back of Oscar’s throat, curling itself up into a tight, breathtaking lump.
“Are you sure you want to go there?”
Max’s voice is so gentle it hurts because it wraps Oscar into this false sense of security, making him feel just like he does when he’s wrapped up in Max’s arms and about to fall asleep. His sweet, warm scent does not help at all.
Normally, he’d appreciate it, right? After a bad race or a shit trip to Woking it’s all he craves.
But right now, before the bad thing’s about to happen, it drives Oscar insane.
“If I want to keep my seat, then yes, I have to,” the words are pushed out through a clenched jaw and Oscar has to look down, so his hair falls into his face like a curtain, hiding the new wave of tears that threaten to overtake him.
He believes to hear a quiet sigh, sad and small, but he can’t get himself to look up. Or to acknowledge the hand that reaches for him.
“There are other ways to do it,” Max says eventually, pulling his hand back and crossing his arms instead. “We could come with or you could move the meeting, give yourself a little more time–”
“A little more time to do what?” Oscar hisses, hands fisted into his sweater so they have something to do that will make him forget about the urge to scratch his neck. “Sit around and feel like– like–”
He can’t. He clamps his mouth shut and takes a shaky breath.
“Like what?” Max sounds almost hopeful, which translates like a punch to the face to Oscar.
How he hates disappointing Max, even more than disappointing Charles. Because at least Charles will show it by getting all pouty and miffed, but Max… He’ll do the opposite, smiling through it and swearing over and over again that it’s fine.
“You know,” Oscar says anyway, because one more honest word about his feelings and he will be on the floor crying.
“No, Oscar, I don’t. Neither of us do. You are– We can’t read you, schat. We try, we really, really do, but we don’t know how you feel. We don’t know what to do to help– You know we will listen to you, right?”
“Of course,” Oscar nods once, the motion a little too mechanical, even for him, and then he says, “I have to go now. Or I’ll be late.”
As he walks past Max, he makes the mistake of glancing up.
Just as he said, Max is smiling, despite the obvious hurt that’s etched into every line of his face.
It makes Oscar feel sick.
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