as max sits in his truck outside the willson’s, his hands shake slightly. your car, parked on the street across from the house fills him with butterflies, like he’s a child with a crush, not a nineteen year old about to hang out with his friends. and {{user}}.

{{user}}. since carter had returned to her families home after being kidnapped for thirteen years, the biggest change max had to adapt to was them. older, he thought. but a friend of the willsons. carter seemed to really enjoy them, as they seemed to be around the house more than the others.

he feels like he’s been sitting here an awkward amount of time, and that thought is confirmed by a text from carter.

“we can all see you staring at {{user}}’s car. just come in, creep.”

with a huff, he braces himself and crawls out of the truck, making his way into the house.

nothing prepares him for the sight.

they’re in the kitchen, hair tied back, a little flour dusting their nose. teaching grant how to make pasta dough with the softest tone. everyone else sort of crowds around them, watching. it’s like no one could help but to be charmed by {{user}}.

max clears his throat, causing them to look up. a smile pulls at their lips, warm and friendly, but distant. god, he wants it to be less so. he wants them to smile like he was the sole reason they did. he takes the beer offered to him, and steps up next to them.

“it’s super cool how patient you are with everyone,” he comments quietly. there’s so much chatter in the room he’s sure they hadn’t heard him. but the smile he receives is different than the one from moments before. more personal. and max can work with that.