"Little dude! How was the party? Did you groove on down?"
"It was fine," I called back. "I'm going to bed now."
"Hold your horses!" Suddenly, Grandpa was in front of me, tilting my face up to the light. Was it that obvious I'd been crying? I looked away.
"Tyson, my man…"
Cringing, I waited for the Spanish Inquisition to begin.
"Did you get mixed up in a rumble tonight?"
The fight. I'd forgotten all about that. Looking back, I realised Max's face had been cut and scraped, so mine probably was as well. Only a little, but that's more than enough for the Grandpa-radar. "Well... kinda," I said as nonchalantly as possible.
He jumped back and whipped out his training lance. "Where are they?" he snarled, waving that thing around like a madman. "Who's the sucker that's done this to my grandson? Ooh, he'll be sorry when he sees my mean moves!"
I wondered what his reaction would be if I told him the culprit was Max. "It really doesn't matter, Grandpa," I said instead, avoiding his eyes, "It's over now."
Over.
I turned around quickly before he could see my face screw up. "I'm going to bed, okay?" I called back lightly, hoping my voice didn't sound as girl-pitched to Grandpa as it did to me.
"You want some ice or something little dude? Maybe a steak for that eye?"
Stop talking to me! "No, I'm fine, I just need some sleep!" I began to rush my words as I realised I was on the verge of breaking.
"Okay, I dig, you just-"
I slammed my bedroom door shut and threw myself on my bed.
It's kind of hard to admit how difficult that night was. I'd like to say I was a little down about it then picked myself up in no time flat… but that's not what happened.
There was this dull, drilling ache right in the centre of my head that just wouldn't shift no matter what. I buried my face in a pillow, hoping just to cry it away - but I gave up when the lump in my throat began to choke me and my vocal chords started getting in on the act. The last thing I wanted was my grandpa figuring out there was more going on here than a black eye and cuts.
But the lump in my throat was nothing compared to the lump in my mind. Whether I wanted to or not, all I could think of was Max. A million and one memories slammed to the front of my mind, bulldozering any walls I tried to stick in the way. Let's face it: by that point, there just wasn't anything important in my life that Max wasn't a part of in some way. Changing the subject wasn't an option.
I wanted to see him. I wanted to see him so badly it hurt. I don't know when Max dug his nails into my heart, but they stuck there, twisting and pressing until I could barely breathe, I was crying so hard. Every now and then, my tears would slow down and I'd breathe more deeply, sure I'd gotten rid of all of them - but it turns out there's no such thing. I was crying all night.
I told my grandpa I was still sick the next day, and stayed in bed the whole time. With nothing to do (and no hankering to do anything anyway) I slept for most of the day - which was great for getting my mind off things and convincing Grandpa that I was actually sick, but not so good every time I woke up and my head throbbed angrily at me until I went back to sleep.
I woke up properly so early next morning that it still felt like night. Grandpa was asleep, all the lights were off and the street outside was quiet. Me? It suddenly felt like I was being suffocated. I jumped out of bed and instantly felt better for it.
Better - and very, very hungry.
I snuck outside my bedroom, tiptoed down the hall to the kitchen, and tucked in to the leftovers from dinner the night before. As I shovelled in mouthful after mouthful, it was impossible to keep a lid on the thoughts and memories I'd been pushing aside for the past day, and they came back in a big, mixed-up rush.
"Tyson, this is hard for me to talk about..."
"There's nothing to talk about."
"One person finds out about us... and you just give up."
"Get out!"
"So you and Max are pretty good friends?"
"I told her I was in love with someone else!"
"It really doesn't bother me if you're-"
I'm not.
Am I?
I chewed more slowly and gazed out into space. I wondered if maybe, just maybe, there was a chance that I could be wrong.
That afternoon, I went out to make an apology.
Kenny seemed a little guarded when he saw me - and I don't blame him - but he let me in anyway. I'd known he would; the Chief couldn't hold a grudge if his laptop depended on it.
"I'm sorry." The moment I said it, I felt myself relax.
Kenny let himself smile a little. "It's okay," he said, sounding relieved. "I should have expected that you'd be angry; it was thoughtless of me to just come out with it like that."
Even though that's exactly what I'd spent three days thinking, hearing him say it made me realise how stupid that was. "Kenny, are you kidding?" He looked at me apprehensively. "No, I'm not mad!" I clarified hastily. "It's just, well... That took a lot of guts, you know? Coming to my house when you could've just stayed quiet - I don't think I could do that."
"You're here now," he pointed out, but I noticed a faint reddening of his cheeks and ears, the Chief's usual reaction to a compliment, which is generally followed by a quick change of subject. Sure enough...
"How did you get that cut on your face?"
I winced. Apparently out of sight, out of mind; it was easy to forget that the signs of my argument with Max were visible to everyone but me. "I... Well, I got into a fight," I said reluctantly.
"Did you win?"
I was surprised by the question, expecting a violence-solves-nothing lecture, but said cautiously, "No."
"I guess Max is stronger than he lets on, huh?"
I looked up sharply - and he faced me head-on. It was something I wasn't expecting, having spent so much time dodging eye contact with Max on the train, but Kenny looked straight back at me with a neutral expression, as totally unintimidated by me as anyone who really knows me is. I sighed. "Yeah, I'll say."
"Was it over me coming to see you?"
"Yeah," I mumbled, wishing the Chief wasn't quite so smart.
"So I... I was right?"
That was it. My chance. All I had to do was think of a good enough lie, say it convincingly enough, back it up with "If you don't believe me..." statements, tell Max, make sure he stuck to it too, write it down so I wouldn't forget it...
"It's okay."
I looked up in surprise. Kenny was smiling. Not triumphantly or smugly or anything like that; it was more... sympathetic.
"You don't have to say anything. I'm sorry, I shouldn't even have asked. Do you want something to drink?"
And that was that. He'd taken one look at me falling apart, and brushed it under the carpet. He'd basically just told me I didn't have to talk about it ever again, and like Max had said, there was no way Kenny would tell anyone. I was free and clear.
"You were right."
He almost dropped the glass he was holding. I diverted my gaze quickly, no keener to make eye contact now than I had been on the train.
"Tyson, it's okay, you don't have to-"
"This is stupid!" I burst out, as much to myself as to Kenny. "You're my friend, I know that! You aren't just going to write me off, so why am I so bothered about telling you that you were right?"
I hadn't even realised that I was afraid of that in the first place; but I guess sometimes speaking without thinking is a good idea after all.
So I carried on doing it. I didn't filter anything I was saying, didn't think about it at all. I just talked.
That afternoon, I told Kenny all about me and Max, from the very start right up to the very end. I didn't look at him the whole time, but I knew he was there. Sometimes, this was really... I don't know, comforting, I guess, to know that he was listening, that it was okay, and that I wouldn't have to hide this anymore. On the other hand, sometimes it was really embarrassing, and I hoped I wasn't as red as I felt.
But he didn't say a word. Not a word. He sat, he listened, and he said precisely nothing.
As I kept on talking, and he kept on not talking, I felt something drain out of me. Soon, even the embarrassment faded, and I just had to deal with not sweetening my side of the fight - telling the story once was hard enough, I didn't want to have to go back and make amendments for accuracy.
But finally, it was finished. I'd gotten over my worries, gotten over my ego, and for the first time I'd told someone absolutely everything that was going on in my life. And you know what? It wasn't so bad.
"Thank you for telling me, Tyson," Kenny said, sounding genuinely pleased. "You didn't have to, and I appreciate it."
"I had to tell someone," I muttered, now pretty much eager to let it drop. "It's been driving me insane for the past couple of days, I couldn't deal with it on my own anymore."
"Even so, I'm glad I'm the one you picked to tell."
Why did he still sound so grateful? I couldn't figure it out. All I'd done was to treat him the way I should have months before, the way I would have done if I were any kind of real friend. It was nothing to be grateful for. But I didn't know how to tell him that, so instead I said, "What do you think I should do?"
I only said it as a way to stop feeling so awkward, but once it was said, I realised how much sense it made to ask the Chief for advice. After all, he knew us both but was still completely objective, and it's his job to find solutions to things. Why hadn't I thought of this before?
"Don't talk to Max."
Not quite what I'd expected. "Say what?" I asked blankly, more than a little confused.
"I don't mean ever again, but you have a habit of saying things you don't mean when you're being rash, and I don't think you should speak to Max until you know exactly what you want to say," he explained. "And I don't mean just that you have an idea; I mean that you know beyond the shadow of a doubt, with every fibre of your being, in the very core of-"
"Okay, okay, I get it," I said grouchily. "Now tell me why!"
"Because Max already does," he said simply. "If you're not as certain as you say you are, you're going to hurt him, and that'll hurt you. And, by the looks of it," he added, glancing again at my bruised cheekbone, "You've both hurt each other enough already."
I left Kenny's house feeling better, but still not good. Up until then, I'd thought that telling Kenny anything would cement everything for me, and there'd be no turning back - but now I'd told him everything, and nothing was cemented. He hadn't judged me; he hadn't labelled me. Instead, he'd done what he always does: listened, offered advice, and left me to it. Why had I been putting it off?
It struck me that if I'd figured that out forty-eight hours before, none of this would ever have happened.
I've said before that I don't normally regret things, but trust me, this I regretted. My problems with Kenny were finally resolved - but if I'd just resolved them that bit quicker, there wouldn't have been any problems with Max in the first place! I felt like banging my head against the nearest brick wall.
I'd been so happy when I thought Max and I could work out a lie on the way home, and I'd been so sure Max would be just as happy, perfectly happy to go along with my plans, perfectly happy to lie to our friend…
Way to make assumptions, Tyson.
In the absence of any brick walls, I found a stone and kicked it, thinking about what Kenny had said to me about figuring out what I wanted. Well, that was great and all, but I honestly didn't know what I wanted. What I wanted or didn't want, what I was or what I wasn't; it was just one big mess in my mind.
I knew that I didn't want anyone else to know. Well, that's what I thought, anyway, but I'd been wrong about Kenny, so was I wrong about everyone else I knew as well? Would Kai even notice? Would Rei even care? How about my dad and my grandpa? I didn't know, but the thought of finding out was still terrifying; if I was wrong, if I made a mistake, it'd be impossible to undo and make right.
But Max had said he didn't want to tell the world, just Kenny. And now Kenny was told, the world was none the wiser - and here was me. Also none the wiser.
Kenny was right. I had to take some serious time to think about what I really wanted, only talking to Max when I was completely certain. I felt totally calm and reassured: I finally had a plan.
Imagine my surprise when I turned the corner and saw him sitting on my doorstep.
I stood in the driveway for a moment, well into default stare mode and not sure what to do.
He looked terrible. All the scrapes and grazes I'd seen on him a couple of days before had scabbed over, making it look as if someone had shoved him into a brick wall. Cut, bruised and pale is most definitely not a good look for Max, but he probably could have pulled it off if he'd been smiling in some way. Instead, even though he was the one waiting on my doorstep, he just looked surprised to see me.
In that moment, right there, while Max was being about as un-Maxish as possible, I was suddenly aware that he wasn't sure what to do either.
That made me feel better.
He stood up and brushed the dust off his clothes, jolting me back to action mode. I picked up my jaw and walked forward, still with no idea what I was going to do, but pretty sure doing something was better than doing nothing.
"Hey," he said, with this tentative smile. Another friend who thought I was going to yell at him.
"Hey," I echoed. "Have you... been here long?"
He shrugged. "Maybe. I don't know. I figured you or your grandpa would be home soon enough though."
"He's out on the-"
"Town, with his homies," Max finished, a smile edging across his face. "I thought he might be."
Remembering we were still outside, I fumbled in my pocket for the door key. "You want to come in?"
The words felt thick and uncomfortable when used on Max, but he didn't bat an eyelid. "If that's okay," he said politely, and I wondered if he could feel just how strange this was as well.
Inside, I tossed my keys on the kitchen table. "You want something to eat?" I offered. "I'm going to make a snack, if you want anything."
"No, thank you, that's okay," he replied, and I thought I saw him pinken a little. Apparently he did get just how weird this was.
I pulled out bread, spreads, meats and sweets as I put together the perfect snack. What can I say? Stress makes me hungry.
As I hunted for pickle and a way to open the conversation, Max said suddenly, "My dad knows."
Two days, or even a day before, that would have merited a couple of smashed plates worth of shock. At that point, I figure I was pretty near immune. I just nodded.
"Not about you, I don't think so anyway," he said, blushing a little more. "Just me."
It crossed my mind to clarify once again that I wasn't like him - but honestly, by that time I was so unsure about anything that I couldn't even open my mouth.
"I was... Well, he didn't actually say so, but I know he worked it out somehow."
I wondered what had happened. It wasn't like Max to be cagey about something like that, so I figured it must have been really intense.
Or maybe he just didn't want to tell me things like that anymore. I felt my head begin to throb.
He put his elbow on the table and rested his head on his hand, looking out of the window. "And you know what? It's okay. I didn't think it would be, didn't know it could be, but… it really is."
I abandoned my sandwich-to-be and leaned forward, folding my arms on the counter. "I know," I said, adding hesitantly, "I just saw Kenny."
"You did?" He looked up at me, and I got a full three seconds of diversion when I saw how impressed he looked. Yeah, it was slightly tainted by how totally surprised he looked… But that's not important. He was impressed.
I nodded. "Yeah, I did. I really was out of line, I owed him an apology."
I take a deep breath. "And… I owe you one too."
He shakes his head. "Tyson, you don't have to-"
"Yeah, I really do," I cut him off. "I was being unreasonable the whole time, and I completely took you for granted. I'm pretty selfish, I know that-"
"You're not-"
"I am!" I insist, determined to clear my conscience once and for all. "I told you I didn't stop thinking about you, and that's true, but it was always you from my point of view. I never thought about how it must have been hard for you too, and I think that was pretty obvious. So I'm sorry."
Max seems dumbstruck, and I can't blame him. Let's face it, me apologising for anything is pretty rare, but to apologise to quite such a degree is pretty much unheard of. "Can I talk now?" he says finally. I nod. "I should never have been so pushy, and-"
"No, you should!" I interject. "If you hadn't, I-"
"Hey, what is this?" he says, the familiar good-natured grin spreading across his face. "You got to apologise for hours, now it's my turn!"
"Don't exaggerate, blondie, we've only been here five minutes," I point out, feeling a grin of my own show up.
"Then stop changing the subject so I can get this over with and get out of your hair!" he says amiably, continuing hastily before I can jump in again. "Look, Tyson, I told you that you were a child, but that's not true, and it wasn't fair of me to say it was. I've been avoiding Kenny, but you just got it all sorted out, just like that, while I was hiding out at home! And I thought you'd yell at me or something for hitting you at least - by the way, I'm sorry about that too - but you've been... Well, you. And you're not a kid, and I shouldn't have tried to force a decision out of you."
Once the air is clear, so completely clear that we'll never question each other again, a lot of other things become clear for me as well. I can't believe I haven't noticed them before.
Max gets to his feet, the chair scraping on the linoleum floor. "Well, that's all I wanted to say."
"Please don't go."
He stops and turns, looking startled. I stand up, trying to gather the words I need. "I don't want you out of my hair," I say carefully. "I never did. I thought it'd be easier if you weren't around, but I was wrong." I recall the last couple of long, difficult days and pull a face. "Really, really wrong."
His hand is where it always was, on the end of his arm and right by his leg. I reach out and take it in mine. Then I tell him completely and honestly how much I care about him, and he tells me that he feels exactly the same about me. Then we kiss, and it's like nothing bad ever happened.
That's the way it should have gone, right?
Well, it did. Right up until I told him I'd visited the Chief to apologise (and that includes him being impressed that I visited Kenny at all, by the way). But the rest of it is just the version I've come up with since then, the version I sort of wish had actually happened. Yeah, it would have been corny, and I could never come out with half that stuff in real life - but it would have been done. Resolved.
When I told him I'd owed Kenny an apology, he just said, "Oh," then slipped into silence. Not just any silence, oh no; this was awkward silence, something shiny and new for us.
I felt the ache spread to behind my eyes.
A few uncomfortable moments later, Max stood up, stared straight at the floor and said, "Well, I'd better get back home, I'm supposed to be helping Dad with a stock take this afternoon."
It was obvious he was lying. Not completely lying, I don't think Max is capable of completely lying - but he probably had hours before he had to help his dad.
I nodded, but all I could think was how stupid this all was! Max waiting by the front door, me offering to make him something to eat, him making excuses to leave early - it was all wrong, in what could have been a really funny way. I wanted to laugh, to share the joke with him, to have him agree that we were being morons and ask him to stay. We could have played video games, watched a movie, ordered in takeaway and stayed up till dawn, my grandpa would never have known!
But that was all wrong too, now. Everything was wrong and we both knew it, so when Max said "Later, Tyson," and headed for the door, I didn't move an inch or say anything but, "Yeah, later."
I went back to the bread, spooning out pickle and spreading it around. I stayed calm for about thirty-seven seconds before I burst into tears over the lettuce.
We'd go back to being friends. Even when I was cross-legged and crying on the kitchen floor, I knew we'd go back to being friends. That's the way it started and that was the way it would finish, and while I'd miss what it had been like in the past, it just wasn't right anymore. And that was okay.
Well… no, it wasn't. It really wasn't.
But it would be.
I'd sort of expected that if Max was ever out of the picture, I'd start hanging out with Andrew some more, or maybe Billy - but every time I hung out with any of them I just ended up getting annoyed. They didn't get me at all, and I sure didn't get them! Everything they did got on my nerves and I did nothing to hide it from them. After losing my temper yet again, it was kind of suggested that I take some time to myself then give them a call when I'd cooled off.
About the only person I could stand to be around was Kenny, but with Max out of the equation all we ever seemed to talk about was beyblading. Sounds stupid, doesn't it? I say beyblading's my favourite thing in the whole world, then I don't want to talk about it with the only friend I have left. I used to think that I lived and breathed the sport, but somewhere along the line, I kind of got attached to talking about other things besides. I don't know how it happened, and I couldn't tell you what things, just that they never came up in conversation with Kenny.
So I crossed off my friends one by one, and soon figured out that I'd actually rather be on my own than with any of them. So that's what I did.
"TYSON!"
Even though I jumped out of the way just in time, I still found myself flat on my face a second later. "What was that for?" I demanded, rubbing my head and glaring at my grandpa.
"Your training, of course! Simple surprise attack, little dude!" He stood back and folded his arms, looking vaguely disapproving. "It's something you should have been ready for!"
"C'mon, Grandpa!" I protested, indicating my beyblade. "I've been working with Dragoon all morning, you know that!"
"Yeah, I know," he growled, "And it's all you've been doing for too long!"
"Huh?"
A few minutes later, I was out on the street with a shopping list and money.
"Great," I muttered as I trudged down the road. "How'd I get stuck with supermarket duty?"
The list was written on a couple of perfect squares; Grandpa had probably taken then from the notepad block by the telephone. Absentmindedly, I began to fold one of them, matching edge to edge and corner to corner as my fingers remembered my mother's words.
"Tyson?"
I glanced up automatically.
Max wore the same expression of slight surprise that I'd seen on him when he last visited my house. It was only a moment before it disappeared, replaced by the grin I knew so well. He held out what looked like a red tissue. "You want some cake?"
And just like that.
"Sure!" I said enthusiastically and reached out.
But something had happened. Max's eyes were fixed on my other hand, the one holding the shopping list. "I didn't know you did origami."
I looked down - straight at the perfectly formed turtle in my hand. I crushed it in my fist. "My mom taught me," I said quickly, stuffing it in my pocket. "I only know a little. Just a few things. Only one or two, actually."
"Your mom?" He offered me the cake again and I tore off a hunk.
"Yeah." It was sponge, iced with sugar and filled with jam. Sugary sweet, just the way I like it. "She could make all kinds of things; you name it, my mom could fold it! So where did you get this cake?" I said, steamrolling over whatever he'd been about to say. "It's really good."
"This? Oh, my family came over and we threw my cousin a birthday party. You know, we've got a whole bunch of leftovers; why don't you come over and help us get rid of them?"
My heart stopped.
Well, I thought rationally, if we could act normally on the street, we could act normally at his house too, right? Besides, this was something I had to do if I wanted things to go back to being Max's friend. I had to make an effort if I wanted things to get better.
"Sorry, I can't." The words fell out of my mouth before I could catch them. "Maybe some other day?"
It was painfully obvious exactly how not fooled Max was by that. He nodded. "Anytime," he said softly, then turned and walked away. I watched him go for a moment, half hoping he'd look back.
What had just happened?
I cursed as I wandered into the park. I could have been eating chips and sandwiches by now, playing video games with Max and talking about my blade with his dad! But wait, that wasn't a good thing - Max's dad knew about Max, and maybe me too.
I stopped walking.
Knew what about me? What the hell was I so afraid of? I'd already gone through this with Kenny, just as Max must have gone through it with his dad! How could talking to Max - or even his dad - be any harder than that?
Why was I acting like I had something to be afraid of?
I smashed my fist against a tree - and yelled as I realised I'd just squashed some kind of caterpillar. As I wiped my hand on the grass and hunted in my pockets for a tissue or something, I found the origami shape I'd crushed so quickly.
I'd lied to Max, for the first time in a long time. Before she died, my mother had taught much more than 'just a few things'. How to fold a turtle was one of my earliest memories.
Suddenly I realised that my folded turtle was made out of a shopping list. A list for shopping I hadn't done at a store that closed in twenty minutes. With a yelp, I jumped up and began to run.
"Tyson!"
"Yeah, yeah, I know," I called, dumping the shopping bags on the linoleum. "I'm late."
"Not just that, little dude; you've got a visitor!"
I froze.
It was too late to pretend I hadn't come home, or that I had things to do! Max had trapped me here, like he must've known he would. Maybe I could pretend I was sick?
I practically collapsed with relief when Kenny walked into the room. "Kenny!" I hissed as my relief turned into annoyance. "What's with skulking around like that? Do you know what you just did?"
Kenny looked startled. I grabbed his arm and dragged him outside where my grandpa couldn't hear.
"...So that's the story," I finished, watching his face intently. "What do you think?"
"I think you're being an idiot."
My jaw dropped. "Kenny!" I whined. "That's not what I need to hear right now!"
He shrugged. "I'm sorry, Tyson, but it's true. Going to Max's house is simple; it was talking to him that was the hard bit, and you've already done that. Why couldn't you do this?"
"Hey, I didn't say I couldn't!" I protested hotly. "I just... didn't want to. That's all."
"Tyson, you ran away. From dip."
Well, I couldn't let him think that, could I? For the second time I grabbed his arm, and I yanked him all the way down my street to Max's house.
Well, half of the way. About five minutes in, I began to sweat. "Hey, uh, Kenny?"
"Yes?"
"We only have to stay for a minute, right? Or we could just hang out at the front door, I'm sure he's real-"
"No, Tyson," he said firmly, taking my arm in an unexpectedly strong grip - I guess all that typing does something after all - and pulling me down the road.
As I began to drag my feet, Kenny clicked his tongue with frustration. "Nice try, Tyson, but not even you could be this heavy," he puffed. "Besides, Max is right there!"
I straightened up instantly when I saw that he was right; Max was in his front yard, taking down some balloons. I could feel myself going red.
When Max saw us, his eyes widened. He looked from me to Kenny and back to me again.
I felt myself go even redder.
He cleared his throat. "Uh, you guys... want some party food?"
Things were a lot easier with Kenny around; it was actually an awesome idea of mine to bring him along. The three of us talked like nothing had ever happened, making everything that had happened nice and easy to forget. I'd pretty near convinced myself that everything was fine when Max said:
"So, you guys want to stay over tonight?"
I almost choked. "Uh, actually..." I began awkwardly.
"Sorry, Max, I have to go home tonight," Kenny said smoothly. "My, uh, Great Aunt Theresa's coming over tomorrow, and I promised my parents I'd be home."
I frowned. "But Kenny, you don't have a- ow!"
I rubbed my shin as Kenny coughed and Max tried to hide a smile. "Like I was saying, I have to go tonight. But Tyson was just saying that he had nothing planned!"
As my ex-friend beamed at me, I tried very hard to control the urge to strangle him with his necktie and turned to Max, ready to give some lame excuse.
Max had been so calm the whole day, acting like nothing had happened; I figured he'd gotten over everything a long time ago. Suddenly though, his nothing-happened face was gone. He looked completely and totally like he wanted me to stay.
"Sure," I heard myself say. "Sounds like... fun."
That night, I was more proud of myself than I had been for a while.
All day. I'd spent almost all day with Max - and not once had I slipped up. I'd not even twitched, and neither had Max. The transition was perfect: finally, everything really was over.
Max was asleep, lying on his side with his back to me. His breathing was deep and even; it made me think of waves at night. I watched his shoulder rise and fall, feeling totally peaceful and serene and all the things Grandpa tries to get me to feel when we're training (I don't think he has any idea how hard it is to feel serene when you're about to be hit on the head with a stick).
Suddenly I caught the scent of something in the air. It was sort of sweet, something I could instantly connect to Max. As I shuffled closer, I realised it had to be his shampoo or something; his hair had always smelled just like that.
Slowly, totally not wanting to believe I was doing this, I reached out and rested my hand on his side. I remembered the days when I could do that while he was awake, when he'd turn around and hug me loosely as we lay there. This time though, I had to force myself to take my hand back and shuffle away again, in case he woke up and got the wrong idea.
Only...
I swallowed.
Only... maybe it wasn't.
Maybe the wrong idea... wasn't so wrong.
My hands were shaking. Clenching them into fists, I watched the movement of his shoulder as it rose and fell, letting this 'maybe' work its way into my mind.
Maybe it wasn't so wrong. Maybe it wasn't wrong at all. In that room that night, with Max right beside me, I didn't care about Kenny or Grandpa or Max's dad. All I could think about was that I wanted those days back, more than anything.
So why couldn't I have them?
I wracked my brains - but there was nothing. Any reason there might have been had vanished long before. I would have given anything, everything, to be able to get back on that train and yell, "Yes!" before my stupid side kicked in. People are always telling me to shut up; well, I tried that once, and look where it got me.
That settled it. I hate regretting something I've done, hate it - but regretting something I didn't do is much, much worse.
In that room that night, with Max right beside me, I decided I was going to get those days back, no matter what.
Even more thanks than usual go to diamond dew for her beta-reading; tonight, in true helpline fashion, she's been working through the final drafts of this with me over email and in a chatroom, helping me iron out absolutely everything I wanted to change.
So here it is: the fourth installment of Senses. Fourth - but not final.
When I went to visit the lovely and wonderful Ishshi in Canada, I flipped through about six pages of pencilly smudges and told her it was the end of Senses. Only three of those pages are actually written above. I know I said this would be the last chapter, but that was back when their relationship was wrapped up in a two minute burst of simple happiness (see the present tense section above? That was my first draft for the absolute ending. Disappointing, isn't it?) Now I'm answering a few more of the questions that are asked in chapters one to three and I'm resolving their relationship in a way that makes their evolution into Background Music territory feasible, if not immediately obvious.
This fic has been... very difficult. Ordinarily I can depend on a first draft that just flows then only needs to be edited. Well, my first draft was the present tense section you see above. Cheesy and unsatisfying. A rewrite was definitely in order - but this one I'd have to work for.
Nothing has flowed. Nothing has been easy. This fic hasn't come naturally to me at all in any way. Even the pencilly, smudged synopsis that Ishshi glanced at took me months and months to write, with a wake of rejected plans left decorating rubbish bins in England, France, Germany and Canada. This fic has been hard, and I can't in good conscience make any promises about updates for the next one. All I can tell you is that with absolute certainty I will finish this fic; this is my pride and joy and the best example of my writing ability that I can give anyone. That may not say too much about my writing ability, but this fic is incredibly important to me, and I'm glad that so many people like it.