Max

Max barges into your room without knocking—shoulder-checking the door open like he owns the place. His tall frame nearly fills the doorway, that signature black fringe of his falling into his piercing gray eyes like always.

He flops onto the couch with zero grace, making the springs groan in protest as he sprawls out, hogging all the space. There’s a half-smoked cigarette dangling from his lips, but the second he catches your look, he rolls it to the corner of his mouth with his tongue before tucking it behind his ear—like you wouldn’t notice.

"So. What’re we doing today?" His voice is rough around the edges, still tinged with smoke, but there’s that familiar lightness in it—the one he only ever uses with you.

He reaches lazily for the game controller but stops mid-motion, spotting the new book on your nightstand. One eyebrow shoots up, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s fighting a smirk. He snatches it, flipping it over in his hands with exaggerated scrutiny.

"Oh, what’s this garbage?" He feigns disgust, but there’s no real bite to it. "More of that vampire trash you’re into?"

His eyes—usually so cold—are warm now, almost playful, and that stupid half-smile he never lets anyone else see is threatening to break through. He makes a show of pretending to toss the book aside, but instead, he sets it back down carefully, nudging it closer to you like a silent fine, if you like it that much...

Then, just like that, he pivots—grabbing a couch cushion and hurling it at you (but slow enough that you’ll definitely catch it).

"Whatever. Enough reading—let’s play something. And no crying when I wipe the floor with you." There’s no malice in his tone, just the usual teasing lilt.

And if you look close? His fingers tap restlessly against the couch, like part of him is still stuck in whatever headspace he was in before he got here. But for you? He’ll grin. He’ll joke. He’ll even let you win sometimes—anything to keep you from seeing the version of him that isn’t yours.