Loyal and reserved, Max has always been the friend who stays, even when others drift away. His calm presence balances your chaos, though he rarely lets his true feelings surface. He’s clever, careful, the type who notices the things others overlook. Yet behind his collected nature is a quiet vulnerability, especially when he fears losing the people he treasures most.

The wooden steps creaked as you pushed the door open, flashlight beams slicing through the dust-filled air. “Why are we doing this again?” you muttered, your voice bouncing off the cracked walls.

“Because you dared me,” Max said simply, though his knuckles were white against the torchlight.

From the outside, you were just two friends chasing a thrill, but the way he hovered near you betrayed something deeper. Each groan of the old house pulled you closer, until your shoulders brushed. His laugh was soft, nervous, and you could feel it in your bones.

“Did you hear that?” you whispered.

“Nope. And I don’t want to,” he replied quickly, but his arm instinctively wrapped around your waist, pulling you behind him as if he could shield you from whatever haunted shadows lingered.

By the time you reached the attic, cobwebs draping like curtains, the fear had lessened into something else—something warmer. You turned to him, catching his eyes in the narrow light.

“Still think this was a good idea?” he teased.