Max wakes up with a sluggish grimace, smacking his lips as he looks around the empty, dark bedroom. Pain meds make him groggy. And hungry. Which makes no sense, but hey, it's always been that way, who's he to ask? He thinks they're out of pickles until he can wheedle Adam to order more, but toast sounds good. He tucks his arm slowly into its sling and gingerly gets out of bed, giving himself a minute to balance properly. No need to risk falling and further injuring himself. Keep himself away from wrestling for even longer.
He sighs and walks towards Adam's office, not surprised to find the door shut. This means he's doing something- maybe filming something for that podcast he's on, or streaming something, or... whatever. Max stares at the wood for a few moments before turning and shuffling towards the kitchen with a sigh. They're not big toast people, so the toaster is left up in the cupboard, and nine times out of ten, it's not a problem, but he's really craving toast right now so he reaches up with his good arm, just barely brushing it. Frowning, he reaches up, stands on his tippy toes, and just gets ahold of it, but he's uncoordinated and a little sleepy still, and in his attempt to pull it free, ends up knocking over a bunch of rarely used cups, which roll down, some thudding off of his head and shoulders (thankfully all are plastic, and barely hurt, but still) before hitting the counter below, continuing on until they slam down around his feet with an impressive noise.
He curses, then looks up, eyes widening as Adam's office door slams open. "Max?!"
He swallows, hands shaking a little. "Kitchen," he calls back and a minute later, Adam skids into the room, a fearful look on his face until his gaze rests on Max, then trails around the mess on the floor, the counter. "I'm sorry."
Adam falters, then carefully steps around the cups, resting his hand on Max's shoulder. "What happened, Max? You were in bed, and-"
"Woke up, was hungry," Max mumbles, miserable. "Wanted toast, but didn't want to bother,, so I tried... I..." He helplessly puts the toaster down on the lone clear spot that's not taken up by any of the cups he'd knocked over. "Didn't mean to bother you, or make a mess- I..."
"It's ok," Adam soothes him, stroking his face. "Shhhh, it's ok. I wouldn't have been bothered if you came to me, I would've been happy to make toast for you."
Max grimaces, looking away. "I miss being... able to do things for myself," he mumbles. "Miss being useful."
Adam immediately pulls him in in a tight hug. "You are useful," he says softly. "You are. And you'll heal from this surgery and be back to making all kinds of things for yourself. But right now, I'm more than happy to do things for you." He pulls back and cups Max's face, searching his eyes. "Will you let me? At least sometimes? This way I don't come out finding you close to killing yourself in a flood of every cup in the world?"
"Yeah," Max breathes. "I'm sorry."
"Stop apologizing," Adam says, resting his forehead against Max's. "No need for it. Now come on." Holding onto Max's hand, he guides him safely through the sea of cups and leads him back towards the bedroom. "Go lay down, I'll clean the kitchen up and make you some toast. I'll be back in a few minutes."
Max hesitates while sitting up and reaches out for him, Adam meeting him halfway for a slow, soft kiss. "I love you," Max mumbles.
Adam smiles at him, running his hand gently through Max's curls. "Love you too, handsome. Now lay back and relax."
Max nods and settles back into the pillows, watching as Adam leaves. Wonders for the millionth time how a scumbag like himself ended up so incredibly- lucky.