Chapter Text
Wednesday morning, Max woke up to the alarm buzzing. Junior year. The one colleges pick apart. Already spiraling, and it wasn't even 7 AM.
SATs. College apps. What if I've already peaked? What if this is as good as I get?
That stupid coping-skills workbook sat on her desk with its neon sticky notes yelling at her: Acknowledge the thought. Let it go.
Yeah, no.
But also: Esme. A whole stupidly perfect year with Esme. Walking her girlfriend to school. Being publicly, obnoxiously in love.
I'm gonna be so annoying. Restraining-order levels of annoying. I cannot wait.
Her phone buzzed.
Esme:
ready?
Max:born ready
okay that's a lie
moderately ready
semi-functional
Esme:
same
see you in one hour
One hour. Shit. Max shot out of bed and stared at the outfit she'd so confidently chosen last night. The high-waisted black-and-white floral skirt that made her ass look great. Big gold buttons. A simple black crop top and the thin bright yellow belt Esme had insisted on. "The yellow makes the gold intentional," Esme had said. "The skirt does the work." She pulled it on, added a chunky hot pink necklace and bracelets, left her hair down. Checked the mirror.
Okay. Hot. Chaotic but hot. She could work with that.
Forty minutes later, she and Marcus stood outside the Viards' house. The black Victorian looked like a Victorian ghost story wrapped in a florist's fever dream. Max bounced on her toes. Marcus looked like he was holding himself together with duct tape. The door opened.
Oh my god.
Esme's hair was rose gold now, pulled into a half-up style. The cropped navy and white knit top with the signature 'GG' pattern, short puff sleeves. Simple cream high-waisted mini skirt ending mid-thigh. Chelsea boots. Red nail polish.
"Hi, Marcus! Maxine!" Esme twisted the strap of her bag.
The whiplash. The girl who pinned me down and fucked me yesterday while holding my gaze the entire time is standing on a porch in suburban Massachusetts with rose gold hair and a preppy Gucci top saying “Maxine” like we’re at a goddamn country club.
"Hi. You look—" Max's mouth operated independently of her brain. "Your hair! Es, oh my god, your HAIR. Call 911. My gay heart stopped."
Esme touched her collar, cheek flushing.
"I'm in love with you and it's actually a problem. Like, I need to be sedated."
Then Max blinked, the math finally hitting her. "Wait. You left my house at, like, eight last night. How did you even pull this off?"
"Went to bed at 2 AM," Esme admitted with a small, tired smile.
"On a school night? You're insane."
"I couldn't go to sleep until it was right." Esme shrugged. "I was committed to the vision."
Marcus cleared his throat. "I like it," he said, offering Esme a quick, genuine nod. "But bell's soon."
Right. School. The place we have to physically transport our bodies to.
Esme grabbed her bag and locked the door. When she turned back, her hands were trembling.
"You okay?"
"Yeah." Esme adjusted her bag strap.
Max grabbed her hand. "You're gonna kill it. Better than that. You're gonna be amazing and everyone's gonna wish they were you."
Esme huffed a tiny laugh, like she wasn't sure whether Max was ridiculous or perfect. "Max…"
"I'm serious! You're brilliant. You're hot." She gestured vaguely between them. "I mean, you picked me, so obviously you have terrible taste, but otherwise? Flawless."
Marcus made a noise. "Can we go before this gets worse?"
"It's already worse!"
They started walking. Late August air, summer-warm with fall lurking at the edges. Max's favorite time of year. Except Marcus was quiet. That rehab quiet. That I'm-not-spiraling-I-promise quiet.
Don't hover. He hates when you hover.
"So," Max said, aiming for casual. "Predictions for junior year? I'm failing Pre-Calc. Calling it now. Manifesting failure so I'm emotionally prepared."
"You haven't even started."
"Exactly! I'm being proactive about my inevitable academic collapse."
Marcus shrugged. "Trying to make it through the year."
The stuff they couldn't talk about hung there. Max's chest got weird. She bit back the thousand things she wanted to say. She'd learned this summer that Marcus hated that. So she said, "you've got Printmaking with Esme. That'll be good."
"Yeah." Marcus glanced at Esme. "Looking forward to it."
They turned onto Main Street. More people now. Students, cars, the noise building. Esme's eyes went wide, scanning the crowd, face pale. Her hand found Max's, lacing tight.
"You good?"
"Yeah. A lot of people.”
"We can slow down... “
"No. Don't stop." Esme took a breath. "I'm okay."
They kept walking, and Max tried not to catastrophize about the many ways today could go spectacularly wrong.
Wellsbury High came into view. Red brick, concrete, and that same fake-cheerful blue sign that mocked her every year.
Here we go. Into the beige-and-brick Hellmouth.
The Berry Tree spot was in the main hallway, with the two armchairs that somehow always stayed unclaimed except by their group. Hunter and Brodie were already there, mid-argument.
"—because Dune is literally about worms and religious trauma, not a love story."
"It's BOTH. Paul and Chani are—“
"Brodie. Worms."
Sam sat on the floor, scrolling her phone. Norah was tucked against Jordan in one armchair, his arm around her shoulders.
No Press. Thank god. After the Ginny thing and how he treated Abby, he's lucky he's only banned from Berry Tree.
Norah looked up when Max and Esme approached. "First day! Vibe check?"
"Norah's acting like she's in a pharmaceutical commercial. It's freaking me out." Jordan said.
Max laughed. "I'm here to provide the panic. You're welcome."
She squeezed Esme's hand and pulled her into the circle. "But look who I dragged into the madness. Everyone remembers Esme."
"The famous French girlfriend," Hunter said. "Welcome back."
Esme gave a small smile. "Thanks."
Sam looked up. "Oh. You're here."
Max's grip on Esme's hand tightened. "Yeah, she's here. Problem?"
"No problem." Sam's tone had that specific edge that made Max want to throw hands. "Surprised. Didn't think you'd come back."
Sam met Esme once at a party for five minutes and had somehow decided to have Opinions. Classic Sam energy.
"Well, I did," Esme said.
Ginny arrived then, bag half-open, looking frazzled. She spotted them and exhaled. "Thank god. Thought I was late."
"You're not late," Norah said. "You're exactly on time for chaos, which is basically our brand."
"I feel late."
And then, like a glitch in the atmosphere, Marcus.
The chatter died. Even Brodie went silent. The hallway noise seemed to fade, leaving their corner in sudden silence. He was there for Ginny. Only Ginny.
They locked eyes across the space. They'd seen each other two days ago, a brief "hey" in the hallway at Max's house, nothing more, but this was different. This was school. This was Ground Zero.
"Hey," Marcus said.
"Hey," Ginny whispered.
God, they're both dying. They're standing three feet apart and they're both actively dying.
Marcus gave a curt nod and walked away.
Ginny watched him go, her face broke.
No one moved. The entire group held its breath. Hunter frozen mid-sentence, Norah's hand stalled on Jordan's arm, even Brodie looking anywhere but at Ginny.
We're all watching her fall apart and pretending we're not.
Max opened her mouth, but Ginny bent down and fussed with her bag zipper. "It's nothing, I've got it."
The first block warning chime sounded. The group scattered toward classes, everyone suddenly fascinated by the floor tiles.
Max dropped Esme's hand and snatched Ginny's arm. "AP English first. We're late. Now." Max pulled Ginny with her. Ginny blinked, then let herself be steered toward Room 214. Max's free hand shot out, found Esme's elbow, and pulled her into pace, a silent anchor for Esme's first class.
Max, Esme, and Ginny walked into Room 214 together. Max pulled Ginny into the seat beside her. Esme took the seat in front of Max. Max leaned forward. "You okay?"
"Yeah."
The teacher walked in. Ms. Duvall, new this year. Black, mid-thirties, warm smile. She had actual 'I care about teaching' energy, which was refreshing after Mr. Gitten's 'I've given up on life' vibe. She wrote her name on the board.
"Welcome to AP English Language and Composition," she said. "I know some of you had Mr. Gitten last year. I'm not Mr. Gitten. We're going to do things differently."
Ginny's shoulders relaxed. Ms. Duvall started talking about the syllabus. James Baldwin, Audre Lorde, Roxane Gay, Maxine Hong Kingston, Toni Morrison, George Takei's They Called Us Enemy. Contemporary voices. Diverse voices.
Holy shit. This is actually different.
"And yes," Ms. Duvall said, "we're reading The Great Gatsby. But we're reading it as a rhetorical artifact. We're asking: whose American Dream is this? What voices does it erase? And we're pairing it with Langston Hughes and Zora Neale Hurston to see what was happening in Harlem while Fitzgerald was writing about white people's problems in Long Island."
Ginny sat up straighter. Relief. It washed over Ginny instantly.
This was what Ginny needed last year. What she fought for.
"Esme Delorme?" Ms. Duvall paused, looking at her roster. "I see you're from Paris. Have you studied American literature before?"
Esme straightened. "Some. We read The Crucible, mostly for the McCarthyism angle. And A Raisin in the Sun." She paused. "We also did Dickinson and Plath. For the modernism."
"Excellent. Thank you, Esme."
Max leaned forward. "You're brilliant," she whispered. "You're so stupidly brilliant it's actually unfair to everyone else in this room."
Esme glanced back. The look said: Stop.
Hunter, sitting across the aisle, leaned over. "Yo, your girlfriend's smart."
"I know," Max whispered. "She makes me look intellectually deficient by proximity."
When the bell rang, Max and Esme walked out together.
They split at the intersection of the hallways. Esme headed toward U.S. History, while Max turned toward the math wing.
Pre-Calc was forty minutes of static. Max stared at the whiteboard, but her mind kept replaying the hallway. Marcus looking at Ginny like he was trying to memorize a face he wasn't allowed to see anymore.
When the bell finally rang for snack break, Max shot out of her seat.
She found Esme at her locker, then spotted Marcus near the art wing, standing alone, trying to become one with the wall.
"Hold on," Max said. "I need to check on my brother."
She jogged over. Marcus looked up, saw her, and his shoulders dropped.
"You okay?" Max asked.
"Yeah." He glanced toward the Red area down the hall. "Silver's there."
Max stopped walking. Silver. Her ex-girlfriend. The one who'd been buying Marcus alcohol all spring with her fake ID. The one Max had broken up with backstage during Mousse, right after Sophie kissed her, right after everything exploded.
The one who enabled everything.
"You don't have to go over there," Max said.
"I know. I'm not." He adjusted his backpack. "I've got a free block next. Gonna go to the art room."
"Want company?"
"Max." His voice was gentle but firm. "I'm fine."
"I know. I'm—"
"I know." He squeezed her shoulder. "But I'm fine. Go to your next class."
Max hesitated, then hopped back to Esme. "You have a free block next, right?"
"Yeah."
"Marcus is going to the art room. Maybe…" Max hesitated. "Maybe you could hang out with him? So he's not alone?"
Esme looked toward the art wing, then back at Max. "You think he'd want that?"
"I think he'd be okay with it. He likes you."
"Okay." Esme touched Max's hand. "I'll go."
"Thank you." Max kissed her quickly. "See you in PE?"
"Yep."
They split off, and Max headed toward Chemistry, trying not to think about Esme and Marcus in the art room without her.
It's good. They should bond. They're both artists. So why does it feel like I'm being left out?
The morning classes were a wash of syllabus papers and teachers trying too hard. By the time the lunch bell rang, Max's leg was bouncing so hard the desk was shaking.
She met Esme outside the locker room. Esme was holding a hair tie between her teeth, twisting her hair up with one hand.
"Ready for volleyball?" Max asked.
Esme pulled the tie tight, looking wary. "I still don't understand the rotation rules. I'm just going to try not to get hit in the face."
Max grinned. "I will physically throw myself in front of the ball. I am your human shield. No one touches the face."
Esme played with a strange, dancer-like grace, moving fluidly to the ball and hitting it with perfect, accidental precision, then looking totally startled every time it actually went over the net. It was awkwardly brilliant, and Max found it distracting in the best way.
And then, finally, lunch.
They walked into the cafetorium together. It was loud, every sound carrying. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows onto the gray tables as forks clattered, someone laughed too loud, and a tray slammed down in the back, making the whole room vibrate.
Esme stuck close to Max's side, her shoulder brushing Max's as they moved through the crowd. Max shoved her hair out of her face. "PE before lunch should be illegal. I'm still sweating through my bra."
She nudged her way past a table of freshmen guarding their fries like tiny dragons, then past the theater kids already talking over each other. Half cafeteria, half stage, all noise. The cafetorium always bounced the noise back at you.
She scanned the room for Marcus. He wasn't there. Probably second lunch. Or hiding in the art room again. She tapped a rhythm on her tray, trying not to text him u eating? for the third time today.
He's fine. Stop hovering.
She spotted Abby and Tris near the food line.
Okay. Be a good friend. Abby said she wanted you to try harder, so here you are. Trying.
"Hey!" Max called, pulling Esme with her toward the line. "You guys wanna sit with us?"
Tris glanced at Abby. A quick, questioning look. Abby hesitated.
Oh. They don't want to sit with us.
Or they don't want Abby to sit with me.
"Yeah," Abby said finally. "Sure."
They grabbed food and found Norah and Jordan sitting by the windows. Ginny showed up after that. Max sat across from Tris and Abby, Esme beside her.
"Oh! Tris, this is Esme. My girlfriend." Max beamed. "Esme, this is Tris. They're dating Abby."
"Hey," Esme said.
Tris nodded. "Hey."
Max's attention snagged across the cafeteria. New girl. Short curly hair, confident laugh, obviously queer.
Oh. Hot.
Guilt hit her immediately. What the FUCK, Max? She looked away fast, finding Esme's wrist, but her brain had already logged it.
"Hey," Max said, turning to the table. "Anyone know who that is?"
Tris followed her gaze. "Zadie. She's new. Moved from New York. She's a senior."
"Oh," Max said. "Cool."
"So!" Max turned her full attention to Tris, cranking up the charm. "Senior year! You're basically royalty now."
"I'm just trying to graduate," Tris said evenly. "And we're trying to keep things stable. You know how it is."
They're clocking me. Every word lands wrong. Fuck fuck fuck. Say something. Anything. Make them laugh.
Max kicked off a story about last year's fall show. Voices raised, gestures flying. Norah snort-laughed. Jordan added commentary. Ginny grinned.
Tris didn't. They sat there, expression flat, watching Max.
Max tried to bring Abby in. "Hey, Abs, remember freshman year when we had to do that rope climb in gym and you almost took out the ceiling fan?"
Abby glanced up. "That was a long time ago, Max."
That was it.
Max turned to Esme, desperate to fill the silence. "Es was amazing in volleyball today."
Esme glanced at her, then at the table. "The sport is okay. The fact that they grade you on whether your shirt is tucked in is insane."
Tris's expression changed slightly. "Right? It's so stupid."
Oh my god, a connection. Finally.
Max opened her mouth, maybe to ask Tris about other stupid PE rules, to actually let them talk, but the silence stretched too long, and Max lost the thread completely. She turned to Norah instead, launching into some story about Hunter and a dodgeball incident, voices and gestures and full commitment.
Tris's shoulders tensed. They angled away from Max in their seat.
Max could feel the sweat under her bra. She was talking too fast, consonants popping, but she couldn’t stop. Trying to win Tris over. Trying to make Abby laugh. But the more she performed, the quieter Abby became. The more closed-off Tris looked.
Esme sat beside her, pushing food around her plate, watching everything.
When lunch ended, Tris stood immediately.
"I gotta go," they said, looking at Abby. "See you later?"
"Yeah," Abby said.
Tris left. Abby gave Max a small smile, then grabbed her tray and left too.
They walked away. Max slumped back. Cool. Nailed it. Crushed that social interaction. Gold star. Someone bury me, right now, under the linoleum.
Norah leaned back in her chair. "Well, that was awkward."
"What do you mean?" Max asked.
"Tris looked like they wanted to be literally anywhere else."
"I was trying to be friendly!"
"I know." Norah shrugged. "But I don't think Tris was feeling it."
Ginny stood, grabbed her tray. "See you guys later."
Norah followed.
Max sat there with Esme, staring at the empty seats across from them. "Tris hates me."
Esme stroked Max's arm. "I don't think they hate you."
Max grimaced. "They're definitely judging me though."
"I mean, yeah. Probably." Esme paused. "Abby probably told them stuff."
Max nodded, though the movement was stiff. "Yeah. Makes sense."
Esme studied her face. "You okay?"
"No." Max started gesturing with her hands. "I'm trying so hard. And every time I open my mouth it's like I'm making it worse."
"You were trying really hard at lunch," Esme said carefully.
"So?"
"Maybe too hard? You were…" Esme searched for the word. "You were vibrating, Max."
"Because I was panicking," Max said.
"I know. But you were drowning them. You didn't let anyone else breathe. Not for one second."
Max fell silent.
"I'm sorry," Esme said. "I don't know how to say it better."
"No, you're right." Max looked down. "I do that. I know I do that."
Esme touched her hand. "You don't do it with me. Or Marcus."
"Yeah, because you guys actually like me." Max swallowed. "I guess I'm waiting for everyone to change their mind."
"Hey, stop." Esme turned to face her fully, taking both of Max's hands. "Maybe that's why lunch was weird. You were so worried about messing up that you…" Esme trailed off.
"Fucked up anyway." Max looked away. Why do I always fuck this up?
"I didn't say that."
"You were thinking it."
"Max." Esme squeezed her hands. "I'm not trying to be a bitch. I'm just telling you the truth."
Max looked at her. "Yeah. I know."
Fuck. Did I do this all the time? Is this what I'm like?
Esme touched her face. "You don't have to win everyone over, Max. Some people are just… audience members."
The bell sounded. Max stood, stretched her arms overhead. "Back to the grind."
"At least you have theater last block," Esme said, studying Max's face. "That'll help."
"Yeah." She exhaled. "The only thing keeping me upright, actually."
Esme leaned in to embrace her. Max let herself be held. "See you after school?"
"Yeah. I'll meet you at your locker."
They headed out in different directions, and Max tried to shake off the feeling that she'd failed some test she didn't know she was taking.
By the time Max walked back into the cafetorium, she was barely upright. Her brain was running on static, looping through lunch like a scene she'd botched and couldn't fix. It was the exact same room she'd humiliated herself in an hour ago. Same tables. Same chairs left out at uneven angles. Nothing moved, nothing fixed, like the whole place had stayed frozen in her shame, but it felt like a completely different space.
Oxygen rushed back into her lungs. The static cleared.
Mr. Daniels was setting up at center stage, talking to himself and rearranging a stack of scripts.
It was perfect.
This was hers. The only place she didn't have to guess who she was supposed to be. It was the theater. And Max Baker was good here.
Bracia was sitting near the front. She spotted Max and waved her over. Max dropped into the seat beside her and pulled her into a hug. "Oh my god, I missed you."
"Missed you too. How was your summer?"
"Insane. Chaotic. So much happened."
"I heard rumors." Bracia grinned. "That you're dating a hot French girl who makes art and is way too cool for you."
Max laughed. "Okay, rude, but also yes. Extremely accurate."
"I want to meet her."
"You will. She's…" Max smiled like an idiot. "She's amazing, Brace. Illegally amazing."
"You're glowing. It's disgusting."
"I know!"
More students filtered in. The energy changed as people settled, that particular buzz of theater kids reuniting after summer. Max recognized the feeling in her bones. This was home. More than her actual house, more than anywhere else.
Mr. Daniels clapped his hands. "Alright, people! Welcome back. Welcome to junior year. Let's make it count."
Someone cheered. Max grinned.
"Fall show auditions are next week," he continued. "We're doing Heathers: Teen Edition. And yes, before you ask, it's the sanitized one. You can all calm down. If you don't know it, learn it. If you do know it, you know exactly what roles you want. Winter show TBD-we'll vote in October. And for those of you interested in the spring showcase…" He looked around the room. "I'm looking for original student work. Plays, musicals, one-acts. If you're writing something, let me know by October."
Max's heart jumped. I could do that. I should do that. But she hadn't written anything yet. Ideas. Fragments.
Later. I'll think about it later.
Heathers. Veronica. That was the role. The one Max wanted so badly it physically hurt to think about not getting it.
The rest of class was icebreakers and syllabus talk and vocal warm-ups that made Max remember why she loved this. The stage. The performance. The becoming someone else for a little while.
When class ended at 2:45, Max grabbed her bag and headed out, still buzzing but also exhausted.
Max found Esme at her locker. Esme was shoving books into her bag with more force than necessary.
"Hey," Max said. "How was the rest of your day?"
"It was… I'm still catching up." Esme closed her locker, turned to face her.
"Wanna get out of here?"
"God, yes."
They headed toward the exit. Outside, the late August air was still warm. Max spotted Marcus near the bike racks, sketchbook under his arm, trying to become invisible.
Marcus turned, waited for them to catch up.
"You walking home?" Max asked.
"Yeah."
"Did you draw anything today?"
Marcus hesitated, then held out his sketchbook. "Just messing around."
Max took it.
A pencil sketch of Ginny. Rough lines. She was curled in on herself, looking away from something outside the frame.
Max stared at it for a long moment, then handed it back without saying anything. What was there to say? Hey, your drawing of the girl you love is devastating, want to get ice cream and talk about our feelings?
Hard pass. Even for her.
"You're not messing around," she said.
Marcus shrugged.
"You miss her."
He didn't respond.
They walked together, the three of them, not saying much. Max kept glancing at Esme, trying to read her face.
She looks drained. They both do.
When they reached the Viards' house, Esme paused at the gate.
"You want to come in?" she asked Max.
Max glanced at Marcus. "I should probably-"
"Go," Marcus said. "I've got this."
"You sure?"
"Max." His voice was gentle. "I'm sure."
Max hesitated, then nodded. "Okay. Text me later?"
"Yeah."
She watched him walk away, her lungs doing that thing again.
He looks okay. He said he's okay. But he looked okay before, too. Right up until he wasn't.
Max didn't know how to do this anymore. Be the loud one when Marcus needed silence. Be the happy one when she didn't always feel happy. Be Max Baker, Professional Chaos Enthusiast, when some days she didn't know if that's who she actually was or who everyone expected.
If I'm too much, I hurt people. If I'm not enough, who even am I?
Esme squeezed her hand. "He's doing better."
"Yeah." Max forced herself to turn away. "I know."
Esme took her hand. "Come on."
Inside, the house was silent. Juliette was in the kitchen, arranging flowers. She looked up when they walked in and smiled.
"How was the first day?
"Long," Esme said.
"That good, huh?"
Esme took off her shoes, dropped her bag on the floor and headed upstairs. Max followed.
In Esme's room, Esme collapsed onto the bed face-first. Max sat beside her, hand finding Esme's back, rubbing small circles.
"Talk to me," Max said.
"I'm tired," Esme mumbled into the comforter.
She turned her head, hair spilling across the pillows. "It's so different. In Paris, we had longer classes, more time to think. Here, it's constant. Fifty minutes, switch. Fifty minutes, switch. I barely have time to process one thing before I'm supposed to move on to the next."
"That's how American school is."
"I know. But it's exhausting." Esme sat up. "And the day is so short. We're done by three. In Paris, I wouldn't get home until 6:30, sometimes seven. Here, I have the whole afternoon, and I don't know what to do with it."
Max's eyebrows shot up. "Wait. You were in school until 6:30?"
"Sometimes later. Eight to six was normal. Plus commute."
"ESME. That's TEN HOURS. That's insane."
"It's normal in France."
"It's INSANE IN FRANCE."
We had longer classes. Philosophy might be four hours, but only on Mondays."
Max shook her head. "Okay, but still. That's so much. But hey, there are after-school things here. Clubs, theater-"
"Maybe." Esme's voice was soft. "I need time to adjust."
Max reached for her hand. "You will. I promise."
Esme leaned into her. "How was your day?"
"Theater was amazing. Seeing Bracia again. But…" Max trailed off. "What you said at lunch. About me… doing too much. You're right. I do that. I don't know how to stop."
"I don't want you to stop." Esme turned to face her. "I love that you're… the way you are. But maybe… not all the time. Not with everyone."
Max was quiet. "I'll try."
Esme moved closer, cupping Max's face.
"Hey," Esme said softly. "Stop. You're in your head."
"I'm not-"
"You are." Esme's thumb brushed across her cheek. "You think you fucked up everything today."
Max held her breath. "Didn't I?"
"No." Esme moved to straddle Max's lap, hands framing Max's face. "You were being you."
"That's the problem-"
"Shut up." Esme kissed her, fingers tangling in Max's hair.
And Max let Esme take control.
Esme's mouth moved to Max's neck. "Fuck everything else. It's us right now."
Max pulled Esme closer, needing to feel her, needing the reassurance that this, them, was still real after a day that felt like everything was fracturing.
Esme's hands slipped under Max's shirt, fingertips tracing her ribs. Max leaned into the touch. Esme pulled back to look at her.
"Stop thinking," Esme said.
Max exhaled. "I don't know how."
"Then let me."
Esme kissed her again. Slower this time. Her hands lifted Max's shirt over her head. Max shivered. Esme leaned down, pressing kisses along Max's collarbone, her shoulder.
"Es." Max pulled at her top. "Take this off."
Esme pulled back, lifting her arms. Max tugged the knit top over Esme's head and had a split-second thought about the $1800 sweater about to hit the floor before her brain decided that was a problem for Future Max. She tossed it toward the chair. Missed.
Esme's hands moved to Max's waist, hooking into the waistband of her skirt.
"Yeah," Max whispered. "Please."
The skirt came off. Esme's hands returned to her hips, thumbs pressing into skin. The cool metal of her bracelet grazed Max's side. "You're here," Esme said softly. "With me."
Max nodded, fingers tightening in Esme's hair. Esme kissed her. Max felt her mind quieting, her body taking over. Esme's weight pressing her down into the comforter. The sound of their breathing.
Max reached for Esme's back, her shoulders, pulling her closer. Esme's mouth moved down Max's neck. Max tried to speak. "Es-"
Esme's hand came up and covered Max's mouth with steady pressure. "Shh." Esme's voice was low, her mouth moving against Max's skin. "Feel me."
The last of Max's clothes came off. Esme pulled back, eyes sweeping over her.
Esme stared for a second, then shook her head. "You look like a Caravaggio. Like, stupidly dramatic lighting and everything."
Max burst out laughing. "Did you just Art History me? While I'm naked?"
"I panicked!" Esme was laughing too. "I didn't know what to say!"
"You're such a nerd."
Esme kissed her, still smiling against Max's mouth. When she pulled back, her expression had shifted. Darker, more focused. "But I meant it."
Max's face flushed. Esme's hand was still over her mouth.
Esme kissed her again, slower now. Her mouth moved down Max's neck, across her collarbone.Max's hands found Esme's shoulders, tried to pull her closer. Esme caught her wrists.
"Let me," Esme said quietly.
Max went still. She let her hands fall to the bed.
Esme kissed and licked her way down her sternum, across her ribs. Max arched into the touch, body answering. Then Esme's hand moved lower, ghosting over her hip, her thigh. Please.
Esme pulled back to look at her, watching Max's face as she began to move. Max tried to speak again, but Esme's other hand came up and covered Max's mouth.
"Shhh. Feel this," Esme murmured.
Max surrendered completely. Let Esme control everything. Pace. Pressure. All of it. She stopped thinking. Only this.
Esme's fingers slid inside her, and Max's mouth opened against Esme's palm. A sound caught in her throat before it could escape.
"There," Esme murmured. "Look."
Max opened her eyes. Esme was watching her with complete focus.
Esme didn't hesitate. She moved with terrifying focus, finding the exact spot that made Max's hips lift. Max tried to stay quiet, tried to obey the hand over her mouth, but her body betrayed her. Small sounds against Esme’s palm, muffled but insistent. Esme's fingers curled inside Max, steady and relentless, and Max couldn't stop the sounds even if she wanted to. Each thrust pulled another whimper, trapped beneath Esme's hand.
Max wasn't quiet. Had never been quiet. But Esme's hand over her mouth made every sound more desperate, more raw. The feeling of needing to make noise and being stopped and held and controlled.
Esme inside her, Esme's hand anchoring her, Esme's eyes holding hers.
Max's whole body tensed, then released, and she shattered against Esme's hand, the scream trapped in her throat.
Esme didn't look away.
When it was over, Esme moved her hand from Max's mouth and kissed her. Max lay there, breathing hard.
Esme pulled her close. Max turned into her, face against Esme's neck.
"Better?" Esme asked.
Max made a small sound that wasn't quite a word.
"Good," Esme said.
They lay there. Max was actually present for the first time all day.
"The hand thing…" Max started.
"Was that okay?" Esme sounded uncertain.
"Yeah, that was extremely hot. We're definitely doing that again."
Esme laughed. "Okay. Good."
Max lifted her head. "How did you know I needed that?"
Esme was quiet for a second. "You were in your head. I wanted to pull you out."
"Yeah," Max said quietly. "It worked."
Max melted back into Esme's arms, breathing in the scent of orange blossom on her skin.
A little while later, they were still curled up on Esme's bed.
"So… what did you and Marcus do during your free?" Max asked.
Esme glanced over. "We sat next to each other."
Max blinked. "In silence?"
"Yeah." Esme tucked her legs under her. "He sketched. I journaled. It was… peaceful."
"You were quiet the whole time?"
Esme tilted her head. "Not completely." She lifted her hands and signed, a little clumsy cool drawing.
Max's eyebrows shot up. "He signed with you?"
"He didn't even think about it," Esme said. "Just… did it."
"Yeah." Max smiled, soft and surprised. "That's how we are with Dad. Even when he's not looking. Sometimes even when it's just us."
Esme was quiet a beat. "It was really nice. Not having to fill the silence."
Max nodded. "He likes you."
"I like him too," Esme said. "He's not trying to impress anyone. He simply exists."
"Yeah. That's Marcus."
They sat there for a moment, the quiet was easy. Esme turned toward her, hands lifting again. Slow, careful.
Thank you for today.
Max smiled and signed back. Don't mention it.
Then, I'm still the favorite sibling, though.
Esme groaned. "Obviously."