Chapter Text
Max stood in the middle of the LEGO store, one hand in his pocket, the other holding his phone up as Oscar’s tired voice crackled through the video call. He shifted his weight from one leg to the other, eyes scanning the endless walls of colour-coded boxes. “Okay, this one,” Max said, turning the camera toward a detailed Formula 1 LEGO set, the car’s design crisp in its miniature plastic glory.
Oscar’s face blinked into focus on-screen. He was slouched in his desk chair back at the house, hoodie half-zipped, hair a mess. “Ehh, it’s nice,” Oscar muttered, squinting. “But I already have something similar. Show me the next one.”
Max sighed quietly, moving two steps to the left, angling the camera to the next shelf. “This is the botanical set. Plants. Leaves. You can pretend you have a green thumb.”
“Max,” Oscar said flatly, “do I look like I want to build fake plants?”
“You don’t want to build a car either, apparently.”
“I said I already have that car!” Oscar grumbled. “Come on, next.”
Max didn’t bother responding. He turned, finding another box with bright comic-book art splashed across the front. “This is the Avengers Tower. Superheroes. Stark Tech. Bits that’ll probably get lost in the carpet.”
Oscar leaned closer to his screen. “Ooh... wait—no. That looks like too many pieces. I don’t have time to build something that big.”
“You are literally on semester break.”
“Semester break is for research and sleep,” Oscar replied with mock dignity. “Also, I hate the blue bricks. Next.”
“Blue bricks. Okay,” Max muttered, moving again. His patience had long since drained, now running on autopilot sarcasm. “Here, something bold—bike set. Looks complicated. Might even break your brain.”
Oscar squinted again. “Hmm… tempting…”
Max raised an eyebrow. “You say ‘next,’ I swear to God—”
“Next.”
Max let out a laugh that sounded more like a groan. “You’ve rejected four sets, Oscar. This is LEGO. You’re not designing your thesis model in here.”
“I’m just saying,” Oscar said defensively, “if I’m going to spend hours assembling hundreds of pieces, I should at least enjoy the theme. The process is meditative.”
“Right,” Max said dryly, eyeing another corner of the store. “Meditation via clicking plastic together and cursing when the last piece is missing.”
Oscar pointed at him through the screen. “Exactly. That’s why the set has to be perfect. Now, can you show the Creator Expert sets? Maybe the architecture line?”
Max narrowed his eyes. “Are you doing this to test my patience or is this just your natural decision-making process?”
Oscar gave him a smug smile. “Max, I’m a structural designer. Choosing the right build is critical.”
“You’re choosing a LEGO set. Not a bridge.”
“Same thing if you squint,” Oscar replied.
Max stared at the screen in disbelief for a few seconds. “I'm picking one at random. If you hate it, you can go buy your own.”
“Nooo, wait—at least show me the Vespa set first. You know, the blue one—”
“Oh, now you want blue bricks?”
“Different shade. And it’s a bike. There’s aesthetic.”
Max pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. “Oscar, I will hang up on you.”
“Okay, okay! One more. Go to the left, bottom shelf. I think they had the NASA one.”
Max walked over, already mourning the minutes he was never getting back. “Next time, I’m sending Daniel. He’ll bring back whatever’s brightest and you’ll be too polite to complain.”
“Please. Daniel would get me a LEGO pineapple and call it a day.”
“Exactly. Be grateful I have taste.”
Oscar smiled, cheek resting in his palm now. “I am grateful. Deeply. Emotionally.”
Max rolled his eyes but there was a tiny smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You’re lucky I don’t block your number.”
“I know, and I treasure our friendship,” Oscar said sweetly, batting his lashes through the screen.
“Right,” Max muttered, crouching slightly as he angled the camera to the lowest shelf. “Here. NASA set. Big rocket, tiny astronauts, overpriced moon base. Happy?”
Oscar's eyes lit up instantly. “Wait—wait—zoom in. That one! That’s the one I was talking about! The Saturn V. Holy hell, there’s only one left!”
Max groaned under his breath. “Of course there is.”
“I’m serious, get it. I need that one.”
“You need?”
Oscar nodded, his expression suddenly intense. “Max, I’ve been trying to find that one for months. It’s sold out online everywhere. That’s the last piece of the collection. I built the shuttle last winter. I have the rover. I even bought the overpriced display stand. You have to get that.”
“Even if I do, it won’t fit in your room. Remember that tiny plastic jungle you built last year?”
Oscar didn’t miss a beat. “I'll make it fit. I'll get rid of the lamp.”
Max was still crouching, staring at the solitary box sitting slightly sideways on the bottom shelf like it knew it was special. “You’re insane.”
“And you’re my best friend,” Oscar shot back. “Now grab it.”
Max reached forward slowly, only for his hand to hover mid-air.
A small pair of hands reached out at the same time.
Max blinked.
A kid—maybe seven years old, all cheeks and excitement, wearing a Buzz Lightyear t-shirt—plucked the box off the shelf like it was Excalibur. He hugged it to his chest like he'd just been crowned.
“No no no no no,” Oscar’s voice screamed through the phone. “Max. MAX. Do not let that happen. You saw it first!”
“I’m not wrestling a child in the LEGO store,” Max deadpanned.
“Bribe him!”
“He’s seven!”
“Seven-year-olds love candy. Or money. Or iPads. I don’t care. Buy him another set. Offer him that Avengers thing you showed earlier.”
Max stood slowly, watching the kid bounce over to what was presumably a very tired-looking mother who didn’t seem ready to survive another toy aisle argument. “Oscar. He’s literally hugging it like it’s his childhood dream.”
“Then crush it.”
Max snorted. “You’re unwell.”
Oscar was pacing now, visibly distressed. “I’m being reasonable. That set is worth emotional investment. And he probably doesn’t even know what Saturn V means. Ask him who Neil Armstrong is!”
“I’m not quizzing a child on American space history.”
“Then distract him. Drop something. Knock over a box. Cause a scene.”
“I’m not causing a LEGO avalanche.”
Oscar threw his hands up. “Max, if you were ever going to use your Verstappen competitiveness, this is the time.”
Max stared at the ceiling, exhaling loudly. “I cannot believe this is the conversation I’m having right now.”
“I can,” Oscar replied. “Because deep down you know I deserve that set more than that kid.”
“You say that out loud in public, someone’s gonna report you.”
Oscar was now fully animated, pacing in a circle in his room. “Just—walk up to the mom. Be like, ‘Hey, I’ll pay for any other set he wants, but I need that one.’ It’s a totally normal adult thing to do.”
“You are the furthest thing from normal.”
“Max, please. If I see it get scanned at the checkout counter by someone else, I will never recover.”
“I don’t even know where he went now—”
“He’s headed for the cash counter, I see the signs in the background. RUN!”
Max hung up.
He didn’t say anything, didn’t warn Oscar, didn’t wait for another comment. He just pressed the red button, sighed deeply, and tucked the phone into his hoodie pocket as if this entire ordeal had sucked out part of his soul.
All for a rocket. A plastic one. With 1,969 pieces.
He stared at the ceiling again.
And then, reluctantly… started walking.
Max weaved through the store with the quiet resignation of a man being sent into battle for a war he didn’t enlist in. He passed the Creator sets, sidestepped a couple of kids crouched over a Harry Potter display, and spotted the little Buzz Lightyear-shirted gremlin just ahead, practically vibrating with joy at the checkout queue.
The boy was holding the Saturn V box like it was his first-born child, and beside him, his mother looked half-alive, clutching a coffee cup that had probably gone cold an hour ago.
Max stopped a few feet behind them, arms crossed, debating internally whether to turn around and pretend this never happened—or be the unhinged college student who negotiates LEGO trades with children.
He reached for his phone, hesitated, then pulled it back out and called Oscar again.
Oscar picked up immediately. “Tell me you got it.”
Max leaned against a display. “No, the kid is standing at checkout and your beloved Saturn V is still very much in his arms.”
Oscar made a noise that sounded like a dying cat. “Max. You promised.”
“I never promised. You just guilt-tripped me with your designer brain and weird attachment issues to space plastic.”
“You don’t understand,” Oscar said, eyes wide with stress. “That set completes the whole corner of my shelf. You’ve seen the shelf! It has a theme!”
“Theme or not, I’m not shoving a seven-year-old for it.”
“Okay okay okay—don’t shove. Just… ask the mom if you can buy it off them. Like, double price. Kids don’t care. You offer them LEGO cash and they’ll trade it for any blinking light brick. I’ll pay you back. Promise.”
Max pinched the bridge of his nose. “Oscar. You want me to buy off a child.”
“For art.”
“It’s a LEGO rocket.”
“It’s a legacy build.”
“I hate you.”
Oscar beamed. “You’ll do it.”
“Only because if I don’t, you’ll whine for three weeks and then passive-aggressively build the Millennium Falcon at the dining table just to make a point.”
Oscar nodded solemnly. “And I will take up all the space.”
Max groaned again and ended the call without a goodbye.
He took a deep breath, plastered on what he hoped was a non-threatening, “I’m-not-about-to-mug-your-child” smile, and approached the mother.
“Hi, sorry,” Max started, scratching the back of his neck. “Weird request, I know. But, uh… that Saturn V set your kid’s holding? Any chance I could buy it off you?”
The mom blinked, clearly waiting for the punchline.
Max gestured quickly. “Not in a creepy way! I swear. It’s for my friend. He’s—he’s kind of emotionally invested. He’s the one who dragged me here on video call. He’s an engineering student. He has a whole display thing going on. It’s… it’s weird, I know.”
The mom raised an eyebrow. The kid turned to look at Max, eyeing him with suspicion. He hugged the box tighter.
“Tell you what,” Max said quickly, “I’ll buy any other set he wants. Two, even. The Tower of Avengers? That botanical one? You name it.”
The kid looked up at his mom.
The mom took a sip of her coffee, then asked, “Is your friend cute?”
Max choked. “What?”
“I mean, he sounds passionate.”
Max blinked. “I—what—yes? I don’t know. I guess? In a nerdy kind of—Ma’am, do you want the LEGO set or not?”
She laughed and turned to her son. “What do you think, buddy? Want two new sets instead of that one?”
The boy considered this, very seriously. Then he pointed to the Avengers Tower and an formula 1 ferrari set. “That.”
Max nodded. “Deal.”
Five minutes later, Max was walking out of the store carrying one very long Saturn V LEGO box under his arm, a receipt much longer than it should’ve been, and a text from Oscar that simply read in all caps:
I OWE YOU MY LIFE (and probably snacks).
Max typed back:
You owe me two years of peace and quiet.
Oscar responded:
One month. Final offer.
Max didn’t reply. But the slight smirk on his face said it all.
Max was finally free.
The LEGO set was in the bag—literally. He adjusted the paper handle over his wrist and strolled out of the store like a man who had just conquered something far greater than plastic engineering: Oscar’s expectations. The mall’s air conditioning hit him in waves, and for a moment, all he wanted was caffeine and five minutes of absolute silence.
His eyes locked onto the glowing sign of the nearby café. It was quiet, dimly lit, the kind of place where even the espresso machines spoke in whispers. He was just about to step in when his phone buzzed. Again.
He glanced at the screen.
Chili Calling...
Max closed his eyes for a full second. “If this is about grout sealant or concrete density ratios, I swear to God…”
He answered anyway. “Yes, Carlos.”
“Where are you?”
“Mall. Escaped Oscar’s psychological LEGO maze. About to reward myself with coffee.”
“Perfect. Since you’re still there, can you do me a favour?”
Max didn’t even answer—just stood there, one eyebrow already halfway up his forehead.
Carlos took that as a yes. “Can you go to the bookstore on the second floor and check if they have Fundamentals of Quantity Surveying? The new edition. The one with the orange spine, not the green.”
“Carlos.”
“Yes?”
“Do you know how close I am to pouring hot coffee directly into my ears just so I don’t have to hear the words quantity or surveying again?”
Carlos didn’t even flinch. “You promised you'd help with this coursework if I helped you with structural load equations last semester.”
“I never said that—”
“You nodded, Max. It was implied.”
“That was in the middle of a pizza bite and a FIFA rematch. I was not in a state of legal consent.”
“Textbook. Orange spine. Go. Also, see if there’s more than one copy—Lando still hasn’t bought his and will probably cry if it’s sold out.”
Max stared up at the ceiling like the answers to life’s miseries were hidden in the overhead lights. “Anything else? Want me to check if they have your favourite pens in stock while I’m at it?”
Carlos sounded amused. “Now that you mention it…”
“Carlos.”
“Fine. Just the book.”
Max sighed and turned around. “You people are lucky I’m naturally passive and too tired to argue properly.”
“Your loyalty is noted and deeply appreciated. Bye, Max.”
The call ended before Max could curse him out in two languages.
Still muttering under his breath, Max dragged himself toward the escalator. The LEGO bag bumped against his leg with every step like a smug reminder of the mini-mission he’d just barely survived.
He reached the bookstore and pushed open the glass doors, immediately greeted by the oddly nostalgic scent of fresh paper, cheap air freshener, and distant overachieving. The academic section was tucked toward the back—of course—and Max wove through aisles of planners, stationery, and people who looked far too enthusiastic about highlighters.
He reached the engineering shelf and scanned for the orange spine.
One copy.
One. Singular. Absolutely not enough to avoid drama.
Max pulled it out and called Carlos.
“Found it.”
“Nice! How many copies?”
“One.”
“…You’re kidding.”
“I don’t joke about textbooks. Unlike some people who assign missions in the middle of my caffeine crisis.”
Carlos paused. “Okay. Grab it. I’ll tell Lando to check a different store. Or emotionally prepare him. Not sure which will be harder.”
Max chuckled quietly. “Good luck with that.”
“Oh—one more thing.”
Max groaned. “Carlos—”
“Check if they have structural analysis. Blue cover. Should be right beside it.”
“I’m putting you on mute.”
“Max—”
Click. Mute on.
Max stared at the shelf, pretending not to see the blue-covered book sitting smugly right beside the orange one. He grabbed that too—because deep down, he did care. Even if he’d never admit it out loud.
He made his way to the checkout, phone still buzzing with Carlos’s follow-up messages:
“Don’t forget the blue one.”
“Take a pic and send if unsure.”
“Maybe see if they have it in hardcover?”
Max didn’t unmute. He simply texted back:
You owe me one coffee, one nap, and the right to insult your handwriting for the rest of the year.
Carlos responded instantly:
Deal. Throw in a cookie and you can insult my dating choices too.
Max smirked.
Then, with books in hand and sanity slightly frayed, he finally turned toward the coffee shop again.
Second attempt’s the charm. Maybe.
*****
Max finally had his coffee. Not just in hand—but sipped, savoured, earned. He sank into the café’s worn leather chair like it was a throne, the LEGO bag and bookstore haul dropped beside him with all the reverence of war trophies. The mug was warm between his fingers, the espresso strong, bitter, and healing.
And the cake?
A decadent slice of chocolate hazelnut heaven that was currently halfway gone, fork in hand, crumbs on the table, and a satisfied sigh on his lips. For a blissful three minutes, the world was perfect. Silent. Peaceful.
Naturally, it didn’t last.
His phone started vibrating again—this time with a video call.
Max groaned as he glanced at the screen: Dan💥 calling…
“Of course,” he muttered, jabbing at the green button with the reflexes of a man ready for war.
Daniel’s grinning face filled the screen instantly, curls a chaotic mess, sunglasses perched on top of his head despite being indoors. Lando was beside him, barely in frame, clearly trying to elbow Daniel out of the way. Max didn’t even give them a chance.
“Whatever it is,” Max said, deadpan, “it’s a fucking no.”
Daniel gasped theatrically, grabbing his heart like he’d been shot. “How dare you! I am the love of your life!”
Max didn’t blink. “You are the pain in my ass.”
Lando popped fully into the frame now, looking personally offended. “What about me? I’m the love of your life too!”
“No,” Max replied immediately, taking a slow sip of his coffee. “You’re more like… the entertainment puppy. Loud. Untrained. Barks at random things.”
Lando let out an offended whine. “That’s just rude!”
Daniel cackled. “You do bark during Mario Kart, mate.”
“Once! That banana placement was evil!” Lando cried.
Max sighed, flicking a crumb off his plate. “Can you both just tell me what you want so I can finish this cake in peace?”
Daniel leaned forward like he was about to drop the most important announcement of the year. “There’s a new game.”
Max stared. “I am not buying another anime cooking simulator.”
Daniel rolled his eyes. “Not that. The one. The new open world zombie apocalypse meets time-travel space opera with dragons one. You know which one.”
Lando nodded rapidly. “We watched all the trailers. We’ve emotionally bonded with the main character and we haven’t even played it yet.”
Max blinked. “You bonded with a character who doesn't even have a name yet.”
“Exactly,” Daniel said, voice urgent. “That’s how strong the narrative is.”
“You two need real hobbies.”
“This is a hobby,” Lando defended. “And a coping mechanism.”
“For what?”
Daniel answered without missing a beat. “The trauma of knowing you don’t love us enough to preorder it for us.”
Max stared at them for a long beat, then set his coffee down, rubbing his temple. “So, you’re telling me you video-called me… interrupted my peaceful dessert… just to guilt-trip me into buying another game for our house collection?”
Daniel and Lando spoke in unison: “Yes.”
Max sighed like Atlas holding the sky. “Fine. I’ll get it.”
Lando whooped. Daniel made a heart with his hands.
Max pointed at the screen. “But I swear, if the two of you leave me to do all the side quests again while you build campfires and flirt with NPCs, I’m deleting your save files.”
Daniel grinned. “We’d never.”
Lando winked. “No promises.”
Max ended the call.
No goodbye. No final comment. Just silence.
He shoved his phone screen-down on the table, leaned back in the chair again, and stabbed another bite of cake like it had wronged him personally.
And yet, somehow, his smile came back when he took another bite of his cake.
*****
Max dusted the last few cake crumbs off his hoodie, took the final swig of his coffee, and pushed himself up from the café chair with the reluctant energy of someone who knew peace never lasted long in his world.
The LEGO set? Secured.
Textbooks? Bought.
Oscar? Emotionally settled.
Carlos? Satisfied.
Lando and Daniel? Placated with a promise of pixelated violence and drama.
All that was left now was the final errand—pick up the game. The one Daniel had dramatized like it was an endangered species and Lando had romanticized like he was marrying the protagonist. Max didn’t even argue anymore. His resistance had been worn down to dust hours ago.
He entered the gaming store, gave the cashier a small, exhausted smile, and pointed at the poster behind them. “That one. The zombie-dragon-time-travel thing.”
The cashier grinned knowingly. “Everyone’s been coming in for that today.”
“I believe it,” Max muttered, sliding his card across.
A few minutes later, with the game in hand, he walked to the escalator. The escalators were quieter, the chatter a dull background hum, and the light from the skylights above painted a golden wash across the tiles. Max made his way toward the parking lot, his boots tapping softly with each step, plastic bag rustling against his jeans.
He was halfway across the corridor toward the exit when it happened.
A blur of motion. A sudden impact. The unmistakable splutch of liquid.
Cold, sticky, sweet liquid.
Max jolted back, blinking down at the sudden wet sensation seeping into his shirt—his white shirt. The one Daniel had called “the only clean thing in your wardrobe.” The one Max had specifically picked because it was, in his words, “low risk” for the day.
Now?
Now it looked like abstract art.
All thanks to the large plastic cup of boba tea that had spilled entirely down the front of it, leaving a splash of brown, milky chaos and rogue tapioca pearls clinging to the fabric like clingy regrets.
The guy who’d collided with him was still standing there—mid-step, phone still pressed to his ear, sunglasses too oversized for indoor use, and an expression that was very much not apologetic.
“Watch it,” the guy muttered, as if Max had appeared out of thin air and chosen violence.
Max blinked. Once. Twice. Did he just—?
Before Max could say a word, the voice on the guy’s phone yelled through the speaker: “Charles? Are you there? Charlessssss!”
The man—Charles, apparently—groaned and pulled the phone from his ear. “I’ll call you later. Some dumb guy just bumped into me.” Then he tapped the screen and ended the call like he was the victim.
Max stood there in stunned silence for a solid two seconds.
Then
“Dumb guy?”
Charles glanced at him briefly. “What?”
“You bumped into me,” Max said slowly, dangerously calm, like a volcano doing a pre-eruption stretch.
Charles scoffed, gesturing lazily with his now half-empty boba cup. “You weren’t looking where you were going.”
“I was literally walking straight in a straight line.”
“And I was on a call. You could’ve moved.”
Max stared at him, as if trying to process whether he’d actually heard that or if the sugar fumes were making him hallucinate. “Did you seriously just say that out loud?”
Charles looked unbothered, even vaguely annoyed, like Max was the interruption to his day. “Look, it’s not that big a deal. It’s just a shirt.”
Max took a slow step forward, standing just a little taller now. “It’s a shirt that wasn’t soaked in lactose and tapioca balls thirty seconds ago.”
Charles raised an eyebrow. “You allergic or something?”
“No,” Max said with a smile that was anything but friendly, “but if I were, I’d already be on the floor choking because of you.”
Charles opened his mouth, probably to say something equally dismissive, but Max cut him off.
“You didn’t even apologise.”
“What do you want? An essay?”
“I want basic human decency,” Max snapped. “A ‘sorry,’ maybe even a napkin. Or—wild idea—you take responsibility for your own boba-blasting recklessness.”
Charles tilted his head. “You really that pressed over a drink?”
Max let out a dry laugh. “Do you know how much I’ve been through today? I fought a child—a child—for a Saturn V LEGO set. I walked three miles in this mall doing errands for people who treat me like their personal courier. I just sat down for five minutes of peace with a cake that I earned, and now I’m sticky, stained, and listening to some jackass call me dumb for his mistake.”
Charles blinked at him.
Max was not done.
“You're lucky I’m not the type to throw hands in public. Because if I were, you’d be the first guy to get knocked out by someone in a chocolate-soaked shirt.”
There was a beat of silence between them.
Charles looked him up and down. Then, almost amused, he raised one perfectly groomed eyebrow.
“…You’re kinda dramatic.”
Max let out a laugh—short, sarcastic, dangerously edged. “Right. Says the guy walking around with dessert in a cup like it’s a weapon.”
Charles took a leisurely sip of what was left of his boba, completely unbothered. “It’s not a weapon. It’s Thai milk tea. And you walked into it.”
Max’s jaw tensed. “You bumped into me. I was literally walking like a normal person. You were too busy playing ‘Top Ten Most Condescending Phone Calls of 2025.’”
“I told you,” Charles said with an infuriatingly neutral tone, “you should’ve moved.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Max replied, voice dripping with sarcasm, “next time I’ll carry a megaphone and announce my movements like, ‘HELLO, I AM A PEDESTRIAN WALKING STRAIGHT. PLEASE DON’T LAUNCH A BEVERAGE AT ME.’”
Charles tilted his head slightly, the faintest smile playing at his lips like Max’s outrage was somehow entertaining. “Do you always get this worked up over accidents?”
Max took a step closer, eyes narrowed. “I don’t know, do you always go around gaslighting strangers and calling them dumb for standing in a public walkway?”
“‘Gaslighting’ feels dramatic again.”
“You called me dumb while you were the one who spilled your drink.”
“You’re not letting that go, huh?”
“Oh, I’ll let it go,” Max snapped, “when my shirt stops looking like it’s been in a tea-based murder scene.”
Charles glanced at it, finally, and let out a hum. “White was a bold choice. Now it looks… textured.”
“It looks like I lost a food fight.”
“Still a good fit though,” Charles added casually, eyes dragging from Max’s shoulders down like he was inspecting a piece of structural architecture. “Even soaked.”
Max blinked.
The sheer audacity of this man.
“…Are you flirting with me?”
Charles shrugged. “Is it working?”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then no.”
Max stared at him, baffled into silence.
This guy. This man who had just boba-bombed him in the middle of a public walkway, insulted him twice, and was now somehow trying to flirt with a straight face—he had the nerve to smirk like this was just a fun little afternoon skit.
Charles, meanwhile, tapped his phone screen again and glanced at it. “Anyway, I really do have to go. Meeting in ten.”
“Oh no, please—don’t let me keep you,” Max said flatly.
Charles turned slightly, then paused.
“I’m Charles, by the way.”
Max blinked. “Why would I want to know that?”
“Because,” Charles said with a slow, amused grin, “you’ll probably be yelling it next time we run into each other.”
Max scoffed. “Next time I see you, I’m walking in the opposite direction.”
Charles only raised that maddening eyebrow again. “Sure you are.”
And just like that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the mall crowd like some smug, boba-stained fever dream.
Max stood there for a moment, utterly speechless. He glanced down at his shirt again—sticky, stained, and smelling faintly of sweet tea—and shook his head.
“What the hell was that?” Max muttered to himself, blinking down at the sticky chaos on his once-beautiful white shirt like it had personally betrayed him. The tea was already starting to dry, darkening the fabric in awkward, blotchy patches. Tapioca pearls clung to his side like he’d rolled through a dessert cart.
He cursed under his breath. Then again. Louder this time.
“Kinda dramatic, my ass—dumb guy, seriously?!” he hissed as he stormed toward the parking garage, weaving through shoppers who wisely gave him space.
He jabbed the unlock button on his key fob like it had offended him, the sleek black G-Wagon flashing its lights in response. The doors unlocked with a satisfying click, and Max yanked the handle of the trunk open. The hydraulic lift made a soft whirr, and he tossed the LEGO bag and the two textbooks inside with far less grace than he’d normally allow. They landed with a dull thunk on the carpeted interior.
“Unbelievable. Unbelievable.” Max muttered, hands already pulling at the hem of his shirt to peel it slightly away from his skin. “You spill your weird dessert soup all over me and then act like I committed the war crime?”
He grabbed a half-empty water bottle from the side storage compartment and took a swig—then immediately poured a little into his hand and started patting the mess on his shirt like he was trying to perform some kind of minor cleansing ritual.
It didn’t work.
“Sticky and smug. That’s a dangerous combination,” he continued under his breath. “I’ll call you later, some dumb guy bumped into me—dumb guy, seriously? Like I was just a coffee shop ghost?!”
He slammed the trunk shut with a little too much force.
“God, and who even says that? You bump into someone, ruin their shirt, and your first instinct is to insult them? Who raised you, a Bond villain?!”
Still muttering, Max yanked the driver’s door open, slid into the leather seat, and then slammed the door shut with a sharp thud. The echo bounced in the empty space of the parking garage like punctuation to his rage.
The G-Wagon's interior was calm, clean, and smelled faintly of Lando’s air freshener obsession—something citrusy and obnoxiously “energizing.” It only annoyed Max more in that moment. He threw his phone into the passenger seat, chest rising and falling with still-burning frustration.
“I should’ve said something better,” he snapped to no one in particular, gripping the wheel. “Should’ve made him feel like a damn idiot. Like—‘Oh no, I’m sorry, let me dive out of your high-and-mighty path next time you walk like a phone-zoned idiot in designer sunglasses indoors.’”
He blinked.
“And then he flirted with me?” he said, voice cracking with disbelief. “What—what was that? Some messed-up reverse psychology tactic? Slap a guy and then wink at him? Is that even a thing?”
Max leaned his head back against the headrest, eyes closed for a beat, groaning like the mall had physically drained his will to live.
“And Charles,” he muttered, like saying the name alone was enough to bring down his blood pressure another notch. “Of course it’s a Charles. It couldn’t be like... a Josh. Or a Ben. No. It had to be Charles—with the perfectly styled hair and the stupid calm voice and that face. Ugh.”
He punched the steering wheel lightly, then immediately regretted it and shook his hand out.
“Next time I see him, I’m turning around. I’m running. Full sprint. Away.”
But a tiny, evil part of his brain piped up anyway, the one that remembered the way Charles had looked him over with that annoyingly amused expression… the way his lips had curled just slightly… the fact that even after the boba bombing, his was so damm handsome.
Max shut that part of his brain down like a faulty machine.
“Nope. Absolutely not. Denied. Access revoked.”
He reached over to the glove compartment, pulled out an old, clean hoodie, and yanked it over his ruined shirt in record time.
“Focus. Drive. Go home. Tell Oscar what happened. Let Daniel mock me. Let Lando be dramatic about how I should’ve thrown the boba back at him.”
He started the engine. The G-Wagon purred to life, its low rumble somehow calming the rage just a little.
But still, as Max pulled out of the parking spot and headed for the exit, one thought lingered stubbornly in the back of his mind
Who the hell spills boba tea, insults you, flirts, and then walks away like it’s just another Tuesday?
*****
Max’s car pulled into the driveway just as the sun started dipping below the horizon, casting a soft amber glow across the front yard and making the house look warm and too peaceful for the day he’d just had.
The moment he stepped through the door, arms full with books, game case, and Oscar’s stupidly oversized LEGO bag, chaos descended like a pack of wolves.
“Oh my God—is that it?!” Oscar shrieked, practically sliding down the hallway in socks. He latched onto the LEGO bag like a man reuniting with a long-lost relative.
Max staggered under the sudden weight redistribution. “Can I get in the house first before you rob me?”
Oscar ignored him entirely, already inspecting the set like it was made of gold and dreams. “There’s only one left, do you know how—”
“I know, Oscar, I was there,” Max groaned, tossing the game case in Lando’s general direction, and placing the two heavy textbooks on the kitchen island.
Carlos walked over with a purposeful calm that contrasted the surrounding madness. He picked up the books, flipping through them to check the edition and print details. “Nice. These are the latest ones. Good job.”
Max blinked. “Thanks... I guess?”
Lando had the game open within seconds, already running commentary. “YES! Okay, this is the one where you can kill lots of zombies. It’s totally unethical, I love it.”
“You would love it,” Carlos said without looking up.
Daniel finally walked in, drying his hands with a dish towel like he had been somewhere responsible—unlike the rest. He stopped in his tracks when he saw Max. “Uh, what the hell happened to your shirt?”
The room stilled for a second as everyone finally noticed the half-dried tea stains peeking out from underneath Max’s hoodie.
“Oh.” Oscar gasped with wide eyes. “Max. Maximus. What happened to you?”
Max sighed deeply, like the heavens themselves had burdened him with this tale. He pulled off the hoodie slowly, revealing the full sticky crime scene. “Some idiot—absolute menace of society—spilled boba tea all over me at the mall.”
Lando looked personally offended. “Not the shirt I got you for your birthday!”
“Yes. That one.”
Oscar looked horrified. “Was it on purpose? Was it malicious? Was it a tea-based hate crime?!”
“He bumped into me,” Max started, clearly gearing up for a vent session. “Didn’t even apologize. Told me to watch it. Then—get this—on the phone, the guy on the other end starts yelling, ‘Charles, are you there?’ and he goes, ‘I’ll call you later, some dumb guy bumped into me,’ and then just hangs up. Like I didn’t exist.”
Daniel’s mouth fell open. “He spilled his drink on you, called you dumb, and then walked off?”
“YES!” Max threw his hands up. “I was just standing there! I didn’t do anything! I was minding my own damn business with all my shopping bag and my mental health, and suddenly—bam, bubble tea war zone.”
Lando threw himself onto the couch dramatically. “You should’ve thrown something back at him. Like—something bigger. Like a trash can. Or Oscar.”
“I had Lego, 2 damm books and new game in my hand,” Max said. “I had weapons. I held back.”
Oscar gasped. “You could’ve used the LEGO box! Do you know how many corners that thing has?!”
Carlos, always the voice of reason, raised a brow. “Violence is not the answer. Unless it’s verbal. What did you say to him?”
Max paused. “Never mind.”
Lando tilted his head. “Wait—This Charles guy? Was he like… hot?”
Max blinked. “What does that have to do with anything?”
Oscar leaned in like he was preparing to take notes. “You sure he didn’t flirt with you?”
“I—what?” Max’s voice pitched up. “No! He was a jerk. He spilled tea on me!”
Oscar held up a hand like a defense attorney. “But... did he say something flirty?”
Max hesitated. Then sighed. “He... said I was kinda dramatic and said something like "Still a good fit though Even soaked."
The room erupted.
“OH MY GOD,” Lando shouted. “That’s such a flirt line.”
“Right?!” Oscar chimed in. “He totally smirked when he said it, didn’t he?”
Max opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. “It wasn’t a smirk. It was more of a—like—stupid smug curve of his lips. Doesn’t mean anything.”
Carlos looked up from his phone. “Was he well-dressed?”
Max gave him a flat look. “Yes. He was probably born in tailored clothes.”
“And he just... walked away?” Daniel asked, leaning on the kitchen island.
“Yep. Like it was just another Tuesday in his beautiful, chaotic, narcissistic world.”
Oscar blinked. “Max… what if that was your villain origin story?”
“It better not be,” Max muttered, reaching for a slice of the cake he'd originally brought home to enjoy in peace.
“Or your love story,” Lando said, grinning.
Max froze mid-bite. “No.”
“YES.”
Max turned to the group, deadpan. “I hate all of you.”
Daniel grinned. “But you love us more.”
Max looked Daniel like he had wronged him, but that slight blush on his ears didn’t go unnoticed
Especially not by Oscar.
Who immediately texted Lando under the table:
“WE’RE FINDING THIS CHARLES DUDE.”