Floorshow
Max stumbled into the living room, shuffling his feet and taking no notice of anything around him. As usual. As a result, he totally missed the fact that Jude was lying on the floor face-up, staring at the ceiling (for whatever reason: it had been a weird day), and he was sent toppling over, crashing onto the Brit with a smack.
Jude was quick to push Max off of him. 'Stupid tosser,' he muttered, and he went back into his own little world.
Max groaned, starting to stand up. Apparently he decided against it and he laid across Jude's stomach instead. The brunette wasn't wearing a shirt today, only a pair of indigo jeans that barely held onto his hips without the support of a belt, which he was without today, seeing as how Max had thrown his only fitting one out the window the day before.
Again, for reasons unknown.
Max found himself cursing his own dress sense for the day. He decided that day to actually wear a shirt, something he now regretted deeply, considering he was finding himself wanting to know what Jude's bare skin felt like against his own.
'What're you doin'?' Jude grumbled, slightly winded from the way Max was laying on him.
'What does it look like I'm doing?' Max crowed. 'I am resting across your perfectly toned abdomen, you fine specimen, you.'
Jude looked at Max as if he was completely insane, which wasn't exactly arguable. The boy did some things nobody could really explain. 'Um, your rocker...'
Max looked up at him, interested.
'You seem to have lost it.'
I think I've overdone the 'omg, Max, you is crayzay!' thing, no?
Oh well! Maybe Magill can sort me out. What do you say, Lil? Or is it Nancy?
