[AN: This was written before episode five came out and was written as a test to see if I could actually write Max and Chloe well, which is apparently apparent considering the success with Fury in Her Head and Ghost in Her Head respectively. This obviously takes place in an AU, what that AU is, I dunno. Just read and enjoy. Oh, and there will be another, more Pricefield shippy version of this soon, I just like the way this version is, honestly.]
Max felt lightheaded. Groggy and tired, she rolled over on her side, opening her blue hues to... A mess of stark blue in her face. Alarmed, she scoots back till her body falls off what she assumes to be a bed... Welp, now the poor photographer was awake. The thunk awoke her apparent sleeping partner as well, as that mess of blue rises and turns over with a low, sleepy groan.
"What the fuck, Max? I've got a hangover..." Chloe's voice is annoyed, but gentle enough. Max slowly rises to get up from the clutter that is her punk rock pal's floor and back upon the bed.
"I don't remember anything from last night... Ugh. Never going drinking with you and Warren again..." Max groaned, her fingers reaching up to sooth a throbbing temple. Chloe lazily placed her hand upon Max's back, rubbing it.
"Oh, yeah, you got hella drunk. You're such a lightweight, Super Max... But hey, you aren't as bad as Warren." Max looked at her over her shoulder. Chloe's face was slightly flushed, bags underneath her also blue irises. She looked as if she have had a long night last night. She gave her usual sly smile. "Warren drank half a beer and totally vomited in the hallway to your dorm. Have fun going back to that." Max groaned and laid herself back down, staring up at the white sun speckled ceiling above them. A question arises to her mind...
This is Chloe's house. How did they end up here...? "Chloe... How'd we get to your place?" The blue haired girl sat herself up, looked around her messy room, and then furrowed her brow. She looked to be in serious thought for a moment before replying.
"Hm... Shit. Dunno... I think I wasn't as drunk as you. I probably drove us here... Man, I'm never getting plastered again... I need a joint." The photographer shook her head as she watched her best friend get up and stumble across the room, giggling when she almost trips over her own boots next to the bed.
"Careful, or am I going to have to save you?" A snort was heard followed by the punk reaching her stash at her desk.
"Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Bat-Max. Your trusty sidekick Robin-Chloe is gonna beat your ass." A chuckle was heard again, a glare met the chuckle before Chloe grinned slightly. "You know, I'm surprised you drank with me last night, hell, got Warren's ass to drink too."
"Well, exams just ended. We all needed a little break, I guess... Probably never doing it again, though." The sound of a chair being pulled out was heard as the punk lackadaisically sat down, going through a drawer to find rolling papers.
"You say that... But c'mon, a little under age drinking never hurt anyone!" Max was very unsure about that statement, but left her friend to roll a joint for herself. In the meantime, she felt around on her jeans pockets to try and find her cell phone, only to find it on the nightstand nearby. Checking through her messages, she stumbled upon a rather odd message from Warren:
"Sorry bout last night, Max. Won't happen again."
... Abrupt end there, she thought. She went to instantly respond, even though Warren's text was apparently from two in the morning. "Chloe told me u upchucked in the dorm floor... They probably cleaned it up by now." She sent the message and silently waited. In seconds, the smell of marijuana filled the air, but Max didn't bother to get up, she had been used to it at this point from hanging out with Chloe so much as of late.
"Did Sir Graham reply to thy text message?" Chloe questioned, taking a small toke from her newly rolled joint. Tapping the back of the phone within her hands, Max shook her dome.
"Nada, sister. He's probably hung over worse than you and I." She then shrugged, sat her phone down, and turned her body to face Chloe. She was more awake now, so she finally took in the other's full on current appearance. Chloe's punkish locks were disheveled and in her paled features, eyes of blue fixated upon the half open window in front of her. Her Black Flag shirt was awfully baggy on her petite frame, just enough to show her right bra strap... It was black, apparently, just like the shirt. Covering her legs was a pair of white sleeping shorts... Max guessed that she had changed clothes in her drunken stupor, unlike her who was still dressed in her previous day attire.
"So..." Max had started before pausing. Ah! The phone vibrated... There was the awaited text from Warren. It was a lazily spelt reply, but a reply none the less.
"Wasn't about me throwin up... I already helped Samuel clean that up." Warren's reply didn't help her disposition. She proceeded to text back.
"What happened then?" She waited, then, buzz buzz in her palm. The reply made her eyes go wide.
" I guess I grew a pair and asked you out… Chloe punched me in the face, told me you were too good for me… She's right. But dang." Slowly, her gaze traveled to that fucking punk girl across the way from her, who was merrily toking away at her morning joint. She eventually noticed, and raised her brows.
"What? Can't a girl smoke a little, get the munchies, and wait for her mom to make waffles to nosh on?"
"You punched Warren, Chloe. In his face… For asking me out." Max retorted, making Chloe grin so wide, it filled her face full of mischievous light.
"My hand musta slipped, sista." She replied simply, flicking the ashes into a nearby ashtray on the desk.
Goddamnit, Chloe.