Max was seething, slamming the door of the locker room shut behind him once he saw you were inside, his fists twitching and his chest heaving.

He didn't take loss very well, and losing to the Sycamore Timberwolves was the ultimate loss, in his eyes.

"Fucking 'Timberwolves,'" Max sat down on the bench, rubbing his face before he punched his gym bag out of frustration. "I just—fuck,"

You both know he would've punched some more if you weren't there to ground him, and a frown settled on his face. "Can't believe we lost," he muttered, "To Sycamore! Can you believe it? Sycamore, babe, Suck-amore."

He was upset, and he didn't know how to process it.