The finer details of how it happens don't matter, not to Max. Really, they don't. Every part of the process is complex and it makes his head hurt whenever anyone attempts to break it down for him. All that matters is this: his parents don't pick him up from camp, and a year later, still having received no word from said parents, David is officially his foster parent for the foreseeable future.
David's house isn't as picturesque as Max imagined it would be. In his mind, David lived in dense woodland, surrounded by nature as he seemed so keen to be. The reality is his house is small, the exterior of it an ugly grey. Identical houses are all that seem to be around them.
"Now, I know it doesn't look like much -" David starts, but he's quickly cut off.
"David. You've said the same thing every time I've visited," Max says firmly. "I get it, okay? Your house isn't an LA mansion. It's better than nothing, right?" he prompts.
A nervous smile spreads across David's face. Max rolls his eyes and pushes by him, heading for the front door. It's black and the paint is flaking in places. He can hear David hurrying up behind him, fumbling with his keys as he pulls them from his pocket. His hands are shaking and his expression is worried, probably scared that Max will make fun of him. He decides not to; after all, David has worked hard to actually get him here.
With a roll of his eyes, he reaches up and plucks the keys from David's hands. Telling the difference between a car key and a house key isn't difficult and seconds later, he's unlocking the door. The lock is a little stiff. Max's tongue pokes out as he wiggles the key. Eventually, the door begins to swing open and Max heads inside, letting David follow him, as if it's his own house rather than David's. He supposes it is partly his house now.
"Do you want to go put your stuff away in your room?" David asks, wringing his hands together. Max wishes he'd just relax.
He shrugs nonchalantly, hoping to ease some of the tension that's starting to clog the tiny hallway. "Sure," he says, kicking off his shoes and then using the side of his foot to nudge them into a neater position. "Up the stairs, first door on the left," he adds quickly, seeing David's mouth open. "I know. Relax, David. Seriously."
David doesn't follow him up the stairs, which Max is grateful for. Honestly, he needs the time to himself, even if it's just a few minutes. The entire car journey, David has had a nervous energy about him, like he's worried that if he does the slightest thing wrong, Max will throw a tantrum and walk out of the door. And yeah, okay, Max isn't an angelic child. He's fully aware that he probably will end up acting like a little shit at some point, but not today. Not on his first day really living with somebody who actually gives a damn about him.
As soon as Max opens the door to his bedroom, he feels his small, bitter heart warm in his chest. It's clear David has poured a lot of time and effort into decorating the tiny box room, making it as homely as possible. Three of the walls are a light blue – Max's favourite colour, which he'd told David many months ago – but the fourth, to the left of the door, is painted to look like a forest. The carpet is a lush green and soft beneath Max's socked feet. Obviously, David has gone for the theme of nature, and Max loves it, even if he usually complains about the outdoors.
Despite the size of the room, David's tried to cram a lot in. There's the single bed, dressed in green bedding, and with wood that matches the desk and large chest of drawers that also occupy the space. Max takes a deep breath and empties his backpack out onto the bed. He makes sure Mr Honey Nuts is comfortable first of all. Then, carefully, he starts to fold his clothes up and put them away.
There's a light knock on the door. Max turns and looks at David, who is stood in the doorway. "You can come in," he says, turning his attention back to his clothes.
"You like the room?" David asks, stepping inside and watching Max tidy away his clothing. "I would've bought some more clothes for you, too, but I thought – maybe you'd want to choose your own? We can go shopping tomorrow," he suggests.
"Yeah, the room's alright. I like it," Max tells him, shrugging. He doesn't look at David. "I can make do with clothes. I know you're not loaded or anything."
David makes a noise of – disappointment, maybe? Max isn't really sure. "No, Max, of course I'll buy you some new clothes," he says. "I've been saving up to make sure I can. Need to fill those drawers somehow, right?"
"I guess, yeah," Max allows. Shoving the only drawer he'd been able to fill shut, Max turns to look at David. "Tomorrow."
"And we'll go out for something to eat afterwards, if you want," David says, beaming at him. "What would you like to eat tonight?" he asks.
Max rocks on the balls of his feet and pushes his hands into the pocket of his hoodie, thinking. Then he shrugs again. "I'm not sure," he says truthfully. He hasn't really ever been given a choice in what he wants to eat. Whatever gets put on his plate is what he's used to eating, or he'd sneak to the kitchen after dark to feed himself some snacks, if he really didn't enjoy his meals.
"Well, that's okay too. Why don't we go downstairs and see what's in the fridge?" David suggests.
That sounds okay to Max. "Sure," he agrees.
So the two of them head downstairs, David humming a merry tune under his breath.
It isn't as annoying as Max found it at camp.
They end up having chicken and rice and it's actually really good.
"How come you don't cook at camp?" Max blurts out, when they're sat in the living room, meals settling nicely in their belly. "I mean, why let Quartermaster almost kill us daily, when you can cook real food?" he presses.
David chuckles. "There's a big difference between preparing food for that amount of people and just the two of us," he points out.
"That's fair, I suppose," Max says. He's curled himself up into the corner of the sofa and has his eyes glued to the television screen. It's an old rerun of The Simpsons, and though he's seen it before, he can't help but still laugh at it.
Not being subtle at all, David keeps glancing over at him. The sixth time he does it, Max stares back at him and raises his eyebrows. "Sorry. Just...glad you're happy here," David says. "You are happy, aren't you?" he asks quickly.
A soft snort escapes Max. "Yeah, David. I'm happy," he says. "You actually brought me home from camp. That gives you about a thousand more points than my parents."
With a relieved sigh, David melts back into the sofa. "Okay. That's good to hear."
It's good to be here, Max thinks. But he doesn't say anything else, keeping his attention on the TV instead.
At ten, David cuts him off, saying, "That's enough Simpsons for one night."
Despite being tired – it's been a rather long day – Max tries his luck staying up a little longer. It doesn't work and after saying goodnight to David, he heads upstairs. He brushes his teeth, changes into one of only two sets of pyjamas he has with him, and then tucks himself into his amazingly comfortable bed.
It's only when he's lying on his back, staring up at the ceiling, that he realises David has stuck more than a dozen glow-in-the-dark stars to it.
Smiling to himself, he closes his eyes.
Falling asleep isn't as hard as he usually finds it.
Probably, Max thinks, because I'm safe at home.