Saturday, October 13th, 2018- Monte Carlo, Monaco
The Penthouse
Max won't lie, he hadn't actually thought you would agree to what he'd been suggesting but you just have and he can see no way around it now, especially because whether he likes it or not, the fault for where he'd ended up is entirely his own- serves him fucking right.
"Where do you want to start?" He asks lamely, feeling quite suddenly unsure of himself.
"Oh, I don't know," you respond sagely, "how about where all good explanations start- at the beginning."
"Yeah, that's probably best," Max agrees with chagrin, offering you a sheepish grin that you don't return, "I can do that."
"I should hope so."
"Cassandra and I aren't together anymore," he finds himself blurting out, "we weren't really even back together that night at Jimmy'z. It was a..." he casts his luck around in the hope of finding the best way possible to phrase it, "momentary lapse in judgement- a temporary mistake."
"Cut the bullshit, Max-" you see right through him, as always, he doesn't even know what he'd been thinking, he'd been a fool once again, stupidly believing that he could get away with jack shit right now, "it's pretty fucking simple.
Either she was your girlfriend or she wasn't. Whether or not you're still together is beside the point. That's not to say it doesn't matter if you're still a couple but it's only relevant once the primary facts have been established."
"Uh," Max mumbles, reluctant to elaborate any further than he already has but knowing he has little choice in what he has to say next, "she, uh, was my girlfriend at the time but only because she apparently doesn't listen to any of the several voicemails that I'd left her while she was in the air, on her way uninvited to Monaco."
"It's funny how that's exactly what I expected to hear and yet, the confirmation that I'm correct doesn't make me feel any better like it usually would," you say with a scathing laugh, "please, don't stop on my account."
"I fucked up, big time," he confesses, a self-deprecating smile now plastered on his face, "more than I normally do, which is saying something," the admission costs him very little to make but seems to make a bit of a difference if the flicker of amusement that glints in the corner of your eye is anything to go by, "but I handled it- it's over and done with now."
"I wish it was that easy of a fix, I really do," your voice is just barely above a whisper, "but it's not and we both know it."
"But it can be," he points out, unwilling to let it go quite that swiftly, "if you'll let it."
"Max, I-"
There's a knock at the front door, the sound sudden and jarring, though it seems to catch him more off guard than it does you, which gives Max reason to think you'd known it was coming. Not bothering to wait for an invitation to enter or for anyone to answer the door, there's the brief noise of someone fumbling to put a key in the lock, before Daniel comes tumbling into the apartment without a trace of shame to his features.
"By all means, come right on in," Max mutters with an unwaveringly deadpan delivery, "hello there, Daniel."
"Am I interrupting something?" Daniel asks cautiously, as if taken aback by the scene he'd just found in progress.
Max can tell in an instant that his teammate already knows the answer to that particular question and that he'd only actually voiced it since he'd been uncertain what else to do. There are a million different responses that he's tempted to give but won't, not because he has any interest in doing what's right but because he's more than well aware that the conversation you and he had been in the midst of having is done with.
A moment later, when you speak up, your voice only confirms what he'd already suspected to be the current state of affairs.
"No, you aren't," you say definitively, sparing a glance sideways at Max as if trying to ascertain if he intended upon objecting to your summation on the matter.
He did not- there seemed to be very little point in doing so.
"Well, if you're sure," Daniel responds with a shrug and moves forward into the room, skirting around where you still stand to prop himself up against the back of the sofa, leaning on the cushions that sit perpendicular to where Max currently still sits.
"I am," you confirm smoothly.
"It certainly seems like she is," Max adds snidely.
"Well... then," the Australian starts slowly, looking back and forth between the two of you slightly uncomfortably, "you ready to go?"
"I am," you answer quickly, letting the blanket that you'd previously held wrapped tightly around you fall, revealing not what he'd merely assumed you had on, ready for bed clothes, but rather what could only be described as going out attire.
"Seriously?" Max knows he shouldn't let his surprise show but he's beyond caring enough to actually even try to succeed at smothering it.
"Don't wait up," is all you offer him by way of an explanation as you gesture Daniel to follow you, spinning on one heel and heading towards the front door.
"Look, I shouldn't tell you this, she'd murder me if she knew what I was saying but between us, this was all her idea," Daniel reveals quietly, the words whispered in his ear, "it's killing her to sit in the same apartment as you but not- not actually be with you but... as far as she's concerned, I never said a thing."
"Understood," is all Max can think to say back, everything else just hurts too much to even consider, "thank you for that."
"Of course," his teammate replies succinctly, then in a more normal tone of voice calls out, "I'll see you when I see you!"
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And even though he knows that he shouldn't, that he really has no right to, Max still waits up for you to make your return, remaining exactly where he'd been when you'd left with Daniel earlier.
The only difference this time around is that when you sneak through the front door and tiptoe through the apartment, he pretends like he's not awake, instead feigning sleep as you slip into the living room.
It's a miracle that when you hesitate and then move closer to where he lies stretched out on the sofa, peering down at him with half lidded eyes and a curious expression, that Max doesn't give instantly himself away when, without any hint of forewarning, you pick the blanket you'd been wrapped in earlier up and lay it over him, gently spread it out to cover as much of his body as the fabric feasibly can.
Failing to catch the exact details of what you do next because he's so focused on maintaining the act of sleep, Max instead must get the gist of it from what little he actually manages to take note of. Letting out a heavy-hearted sigh, you brush your fingers across his forehead, your touch lingering momentarily, lasting a beat too long like you're reluctant to go but then it's over, as quickly as it had begun, and you're moving away, your footsteps sounding further and further away.
Only once he's absolutely certain you won't be returning, his confirmation coming as the definitive click of a bedroom door being pulled closed, does Max let his eyes flutter back open.
Max continues to lay on his back on the sofa for an interminable amount of time, staring up at the patch of living room ceiling directly overhead in complete silence until exhaustion finally sets in and he can resist the pull of slumber for not even a second longer, drifting off into an uneasy sleep as the light of the sun spills out over the distant horizon.
