Disclaimer: Nothing.
-The Director's Son-
Mizuhara, Max was director Judy's son. Besides the boss, the little blonde American was the next in charge, even if he did not look like he was capable of doing so. His bubbly and ambitious smile was contagious and always spread to the other mouths of his all-star team. His eyes were so cheery, full of life, curved with the utmost nostalgia, clear like the ocean, and tinted a marine, bright like the waters on a sunny day.
Max was a radiant beam of life and rarely did this welcoming beacon of happiness ever shine so dimly.
Everyone took notice on the flight home. Max just was not his typical self. There was a content smile gracing his face and yet, it looked so pitiful and sad. His mother ruffled his golden hair and looked down at him lovingly, as shades of sympathy darkened her comforting features. It was a mother's natural instinct to know when something ailed her child.
As did Michael, sitting in the back row of their private plane. The only other female on board sat in front with her mentor, the women she gazed at and listened to for knowledge and with too much admiration. His closest friends sat together and conversed idly, the only chatter to be heard, until the captain announced smooth gliding ahead.
The captain of the team unbuckled his restraints and stood, walking down the narrow aisles a few benches forward and then dropped down beside Max's seat. The blonde addressed with him with his saddened face and nodded faintly, choosing to avoid words as he turned back to watching the clouds pass by. The sky looked almost as blue as his distressed eyes and there was not a chance of rain that day.
''Hey, Maxie…'' Michael started gently, trying to stay quiet. ''Is there something wrong?''
It took a moment for the reply to come. ''It's nothing…'' Max spoke in a wavering tone.
There was an unbelieving chuckle. ''Seriously Max…You should talk and…let it out.''
Max felt his chest tighten and his fingers dug into the armrest. He bit his quivering lip and shut his eyes. He did not want to speak but his mouth betrayed him and breathed one harsh and painful name.
''Takao…''
America was so far away from Japan. The distance amid them, separating them, would always hurt. Yet, he refused to cry and sniffled back the threatening drops blurring his vision. He then felt a hand rubbing his shoulder. Michael smiled sadly as well and embraced his friend that so desperately needed a hug.
He felt proud to be the only, helping his friend during his lowest moments, the one's that tugged at the heartstrings, so fine and fragile. His pride in doing the right thing allowed him to be gentle, soothing, like a good companion, one caring, and devoted to listening.
When the blonde pulled back, he looked up at the comforting face, contoured by haphazard orange bangs, the fingers once on his back, brushed along his ivory chin. Michael leaned forward and chastely kissed the rose lips, marred by nervous teeth marks and left Max surprised, with wide aqua orbs.
''For you…I can be so much better than Takao…''
-EndE-
Notes: This is set in season 1. Michael did not fight with Takao, in a serious one on one combat. He is never given the opportunity to battle and thus, I believe his pride is bruised. He would, undoubtedly loose and of course, Michael would know this…but since he cannot prove his skills in blading, without them being completely pointless, he would want Takao to recognize his force and can do so, through the boy he hurt, Max.