I've Got It Bad (And You'll Never Know) (BXB)

xii.

Max knocked on Julian's door at a quarter past seven. Jules found his hands shaking as he went to let Max in. Why was he freaking out? What was this formal air? When he opened the door, Max looked oddly stiff as well. He was dressed in a nice blue turtleneck with khakis, thankfully the same level of formality as the maroon button-down and dark slacks Julian selected.

"Hey." Jules ventured.

Max cleared his throat. "Yvonne's."

Julian choked. "No fuckin' way."

Max shrugged. "Don't worry. I'm payin'."

"How did you even— I don't—"

"I reserved the table on Tuesday." Max blurted. "And I'm gonna use my dad's credit card."

Jules sighed. "Fuck, dude. Are you gonna tell me I have cancer, or somethin'? Am I about to die? I didn't think I'd ever fuckin' eat at— at fuckin Yvonne's. Jesus. Should— Should I put on a suit jacket?"

Max giggled. "Dude, relax, I eat there with my family, like, every couple months."

"You people got money money, huh?"

Max playfully smacked Julian's shoulder. The tension slipped away. "Shut up, bitch. I didn't choose this life."

They began to walk down the hallway, still exchanging banter. Julian put on an affected "rich boy" accent. "Oh, poor me, I shall never know the woes of poverty. What a tragedy to wake up each morning in my lavish robe, tended on hand and foot by my loyal manservant—"

Max laughed sharply. "The fuck is a manservant?!"

"You tell me, Richie McRich!"

~~~

Before that Friday, Julian had never had a reservation at a restaurant. His family's idea of fine dining was... well... Chinese takeout. Or cooking at home. And while watching his mother cook meat from the Jewish deli a block away gave Jules an irreplaceable sense of bliss and belonging, he couldn't lie, this reservation shit was tight.

The waitress knew Max's name.

"Please don't call me Mr. Dane, I feel like my old man." Max laughed.

"Of course, Maxwell." She replied with a smile.

Jules sat in stunned silence. College is the great equalizer: Everyone is poor, getting no sleep, burning out, failing classes. Taking the T to Yvonne's, it still didn't feel real. But Julian saw it now; the different worlds in which he and Max resided when off campus. It took his breath away.

The waitress left after a brief conversation with Max about his family's health and when she'd be seeing them again. Max turned to Julian with an apologetic smile. "Sorry. Jesus. They all treat me like that. Freaks me the fuck out."

"Max." Julian began. "You're rich."

Max looked confused and slightly embarrassed. "Um, yeah, I guess I sorta am."

"Really rich."

"I mean, I dunno, you don't have to play it up—"

"The waitress knows your first name."

"Well, I mean, I see that waitress a lot— I mean, I'm sure there's somewhere you eat a lot, somewhere they know you, right?"

Julian scoffed. "Sure, yeah, the fuckin' Jewish deli by my house."

Max messed with his hair. The formal air had returned. "I didn't bring you here to like, brag."

Julian sat back in his chair (But not too far. Sitting in this restaurant, he noticed his posture had suddenly improved). "What did you bring me here to do?"