for my darling Bliss. Merry Christmas, bb!
word count: 2559
It starts with breaking curfew.
Max doesn't want to be that guardian, the one who stays up all night, fretting and worrying because his cousin isn't home at eight. He tries not to. Really he does. When Piers doesn't show up at eight, he makes excuses and tells himself that's what kids do. Max still remembers being Piers' age and staying out late just because he could; that's just part of being thirteen.
By nine, he's more worried than he wants to admit. Ten, he calls Petunia, but she says she hasn't seen Piers since around seven, when he'd said he was going home for the night.
And that's when he knows he can't just sit around and wait. It's a short walk between Privet Drive and Magnolia Crescent, one that takes maybe half an hour. Both areas are good areas, safe and with a low crime rate, but Max doesn't know all his neighbors. Hell, maybe Mrs. Figg is a serial killer, using the guise of a sweet old cat lady to throw everyone off her trail. Anything could have happened to his cousin. The thought makes his chest tighten painfully, and Max has to force himself to breathe.
He's fought too hard to keep Piers, and he'll be damned if he lets anything or anyone take him away from him. Max pulls on his coat and grabs his car keys from the living room table. He's halfway to the door when it swings open and Piers steps inside. Relief floods Max's body as he rushes forward, gently gripping Pier's arms and examining him, checking for any signs that Piers is hurt.
"Where the hell were you?" Max throws his arms around Piers, wrapping him in a warm hug. Tears sting his eyes, and he blinks them away. He has to be the cool guardian, not the one who cries like an idiot.
Piers doesn't return the hug. He stands there, stiff and with his arms at his side. After several seconds, he pulls away, scowling. "Christ, Max, this is embarrassing," he snaps.
Max recoils like he's been slapped. He stares at Piers, uncertain. This isn't like him. This isn't his baby cousin who might blush and hide his face, but who always laughs off Max's awkwardness.
"What's going on with you?" he asks. "Did something happen at school?"
"Nothing happened at school. Are you trying to become a psychiatrist now? Want to dig deep and find the root of all my problems?" Piers demands, his voice sharp and angry, but Max can hear something beneath it, something softer and so full of pain. "Just leave me alone."
And with that, Piers turns on his heel and stalks off, stomping with each step. Max stares after him, jaw slack, trying to understand what's just happened. He's never seen Piers act like this before. In the early days, when Piers first came to live with him, Piers would act out. The social workers and counselors said it was normal and a lot of kids went through similar things when they were placed elsewhere.
That was over six years ago now. Piers has transitioned into his new life, and Max formally adopted him the year he turned nine. Surely he knows how loved he is.
Max massages his temples and sinks to the floor, sliding against the wall as he goes. He takes a deep breath, counts to three, exhales.
It's going to be okay. It's just one missed curfew. Piers lashing out is definitely something new, but he decides not to dwell on that for now. For now, he thinks it's best to just get some rest. Everything will be better in the morning.
…
Everything, it turns out, is not better in the morning.
Max has breakfast ready, all of Piers' favorites. He's even added waffles to the table, a rare treat he usually saves for Piers' birthday, or Christmas morning. Maybe it's silly to do all these extra things just because Piers seems to be pulling away, but Max thinks Piers might need it. The kid has been through so much, and Max needs to make sure he knows, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he is loved and wanted.
Piers hurries into the kitchen, dressed for school. His uniform is a little untidy, and Max is sure he'll get a call about that, but at least Piers is dressed and ready without any complaints. When he was a teenager, Max was the king of just five more minutes, Mum.
"Pull up a chair," Max says, beaming. "I made waffles."
"Not hungry." Piers mutters.
That definitely isn't like him. Piers has one hell of an appetite. He'd been skin and bones the day he arrived at Max's house, the results of years of neglect and abuse by Piers' parents. Sometimes Piers still eats like he's afraid he won't have food again any time soon, like Max might decide to stop feeding him.
"Do we need to talk?" Max asks. "You know you can tell me anything, right?"
Piers scoffs. "Right. Because you're a bloody saint," he says with a sneer, eyes narrowing. "I'm fine, Max. Leave me alone."
Before Max can say anything else, Piers is out the door, and Max stares after him, blinking and confused.
Maybe it is time to worry. Piers isn't like this. Sure, he likes to act tough to fit in with his friends, but it's just that. It's an act, and he's always his usual bright self by the time he returns home.
With a heavy sigh, Max sits down, fixing his own plate. He's suddenly not very hungry, the stress and nerves stripping away his appetite. Still, he eats just so it doesn't go to waste, just so he has something to do because right now he thinks he might actually lose his mind.
…
Petunia stops by for lunch, as she often does whenever Max has the day off. She isn't the sort of person he would usually be friends with, but Max has always been grateful for her company; she and Vernon have been such a huge part of Piers' life, and Max doesn't think he could ever thank them enough.
"I trust Piers made it home last night?"
He always has to be careful with her. Max can never tell when she's being sincere, or when she's trying to snoop into his life.
"Yes, thank you."
She purses her lips, like she's trying to find a delicate way to say something. Max braces himself. Petunia Dursley has so many opinions on how things should be done, and he's sat through his fair share of unsolicited advice. Most of it had been rubbish, but some had actually helped.
"I think there really needs to be a Mrs. Polkiss in the picture," she says.
Max blinks slow, trying to understand. "Er… My mother is dead."
Her cheeks flush a soft pink, and she waves a dismissive hand. "No, dear. No." She chuckles. "I meant perhaps if you had a special someone. Children who come from a home with only one guardian… Well, they tend to have problems."
He bites the inside of her cheek. Has she ever paid attention to her own son? Dudley is hardly a saint, and last time Max checked, he had two parents.
"I'm not saying you aren't doing your best, but he needs a mother figure too."
Max takes a deep breath. That's never going to happen. He's known he's gay since he was Piers' age, and he has no intention of living that sort of lie. "While I appreciate your concern, I'm not sure that's the solution."
He doesn't tell her why. It isn't that he's ashamed of who and what he is, but rather that he is afraid she will take Dudley from Piers if she declares Max abnormal, some vile thing that doesn't fit into her perception of what life should be like.
"I'm sure you'll figure it out," she says, and her voice is a little too sweet.
Max takes another deep breath. Confrontation has never been his strong point, and he's grateful when the phone rings, interrupting the tension in the room. He jumps to feet, excusing himself to the living room where he picks up the phone.
"Polkiss residence," he says. "This is Max speaking."
"Yes, Mr. Polkiss, this is Elaine Jeffries," the all-too-familiar voice says.
Piers is, overall, a good kid, but Max has still gotten called to school more times than he can count. It seems like Piers has a habit of attracting trouble sometimes. Hopefully it won't be anything too bad.
"I just wanted to check in. You said Piers had the flu this morning? Will you be stopping by to pick his assignments up, or would you like us to send them home with Malcolm?"
Max clenches his jaw. What the hell is going on with Piers lately? It's like it's all happening at once, like he turned thirteen and decided that means he has to be a rebellious little shit.
In the end, Max will always look out for his little cousin. He isn't about to get Piers in trouble with the school, although it is definitely tempting to tell them the truth and let Piers deal with the consequences of his own actions. "I appreciate your concern, . Thank you. I'll swing by after work tomorrow to pick up his assignments for the week."
"Okay! Tell Piers we hope he feels better soon."
He hangs up the phone, rubbing his temples. "Oh, Piers," he sighs. "What am I going to do with you?"
…
Max knows his cousin. Piers may not realize exactly how much Max pays attention, but it isn't hard to track him down. There are only a few places he and his gang hang out, and even fewer whenever they don't want to be caught.
There's a little stream beyond the fence that encases the park. Piers and his friends probably think they're the ones who discovered it, but Max remembers sneaking out to parties here when he was younger. He's pretty sure he can still find the exact tree he slumped against the night he was certain he was dying from alcohol poisoning (which had turned out to be nothing more than drinking too much on an empty stomach; the hangover the next morning had been an absolute nightmare).
Sure enough, Piers is near the stream, his long, skinny legs drawn to his chest. A cigarette dangles from his lip.
"You know that's a terrible habit," Max says softly.
Piers jumps, looking up. When he sees Max, he relaxes ever so slightly. "The school rang?" he guesses.
Max nods his confirmation. "You're up and about pretty well for a bloke who has the flu," he says. "You had it two years ago, and you were bedridden." He sits next to Piers. "You gonna tell me what's going on, or are we going to keep playing this game?"
"Maybe you should just send me back," Piers says.
Max blinks, brows knitting together. "Send… what?"
"Are you stupid? Why the hell would you even want me?" Piers demands, and although he sounds so very angry, Max can hear the way his voice trembles. "Your life would be so much better!"
"What is this all about?" Max asks.
He's never seen Piers like this. His cousin has always been so happy. Even the bad days were never really that bad. For the first time in years, Max begins to wonder if he's in over his head. Raising a kid was difficult. Is he really suited to raise a teenager?
Except he knows he is. He loves Piers, and he has had the joy of watching him go from a shaking, scrawny, scared child covered in scars and bruises to the happy and healthy boy he sees now. It doesn't matter how rough things get; he isn't giving up on Piers.
"Look at you. You haven't had a boyfriend since you took me in. Hell, Jeremy left because you took me in."
"And you mean so much more to me than Jeremy did," Max tells him. "More than any man in this world."
"And your dreams? You were on your way to owning your own bakery, and now…" Piers gestures vaguely. He takes a drag from his cigarette, exhaling a cloud of smoke. "How can you sit here and tell me you're really happy?"
"Because you're family. Because I love you, and you mean the world to me." Max picks up a rock, tossing it into the stream. "It isn't always easy. I won't lie to you and say that. I was close to finishing school. I thought Jeremy and I were going to be together forever. You changed that."
Piers scoffs, as if to say told you so.
"But you changed my life for the better," Max adds before Piers can say anything. "I'm happy with you in my life, and I would not trade you for a chain of my own bakeries, or a harem of handsome men who adore me. I would rather have my favorite little cousin."
"I'm not little."
"Please. Thirteen. You're basically a fetus."
Piers plucks the cigarette from his mouth, crushing it against the ground. "I haven't been very nice to you," he says, and there's a tone of defeat in his words.
"No," Max agrees, "you haven't. But that's okay. I forgive you."
Piers looks up at him, dark eyes wide and hopeful, like he can barely dare to believe Max would still love him. Poor kid. It's been years since his parents died, but they really did a number on Piers. Sometimes it seems like he's always waiting for Max to turn on him, for the world to go back to the hellscape of pain and abuse he knew as a kid.
It won't. As long as Max is alive, he's going to look out for Piers because that's what family does.
Max climbs to his feet, dusting the dirt from his jeans before holding out his hand for Piers. "But you are on dish duty for the next month," he says.
Piers groans but allows Max to help him up. "What if I say I'm really, really sorry, and I love you very much?" he asks, offering Max a sheepish smile.
Shaking his head, Max snorts. "Ya know, that might have worked if you hadn't called the school and taken the week off," he says. "As it stands, you're doing dishes."
"But you bake so much!"
Max wraps his arm around Piers, pulling his little cousin closer as they walk. He's glad he got to the bottom of this before it could spiral out of control. The thought of Piers hurting is enough to break his heart, and Max wants to make sure that never happens again. At the very least, he will never hurt Piers, and he will always be a safe space for him.
"Speaking of baking. Coffee and muffins at that cafe you like?" Max suggests.
"I think the bloke there fancies you," Piers says. "You should get his number."
Max can't resist a smile. Maybe things aren't always perfect, and there will always be bad days. But right now, here with Piers, the world still looks bright and promising, and he thinks they're going to be okay.