Chapter Text
It was the first party of Max Goof's third semester in college, and drama has already found him. That is, if "drunk Bradley Uppercrust III" is to be understood by drama.
They'd arrived late, him PJ and Bobby, so it was no surprise people had already been drinking. The mere presence of Brad was perhaps more surprising than his state of drunkenness. After last year's shenanigans, it was unsure if Brad would even come back to finish his studies, much less attend parties. After all, Max and his friends weren't the only ones who harbored resentment. Max was quite certain that whatever negative feelings he might have had towards Brad, the remaining Gammas felt double or even triple that.
Every once in a while, Brad would pull out his phone to check the time, or pretend to send a text. To Max, it didn't even seem obvious why he was here in the first place, since no one would even look at him, let alone converse. Throughout the night, Goof would glance to where Brad was sitting - he barely moved, maybe went to the restroom once or twice - and see him increasingly more drunk. At some point, people (equally drunk) have started coming up to him; some would spill his drink or spit in it, some would try to start fights.
That Max didn't like. Sure, seeing Brad miserable and slightly gloating at that was nice, but once things started to get physical, shit stopped being funny.
"Guys, look," he said to PJ and Bobby. The unfolding situation was: Brad, barely conscious, sitting with his head back and eyes closed - maybe he was asleep? - and a bunch of stupi -looking frat guys adding something to his drink. Max furrowed his brows.
"That's not right," he mumbled under his breath. He looked to PJ and Bobby, who also seemed displeased with the situation. "Do you think I should..." he trailed off because he wasn't sure WHAT he was supposed to do.
"You should go warm him," PJ suggested. Bobby nodded along, showing his approval.
"What- why me? Why don't you go?"
"Look, like it or not, he's your problem at the end of the day."
"My problem? And what did I do!" Max argued.
"You're the one he had a problem with. Man, I don't even think he remembers Bobby or me," the man explained. It was hard to argue with that point, though Max still didn't like it.
Finally, he gave up.
"Fine. I'll go make sure he doesn't die or anything," he proclaimed before heading towards the upperclassman.
"Brad? Hey, you alright? Can you hear me?" he gently shook Bradley's shoulder. What he got in response was a low groan. "So you're alive, that's good."
"Goof?" Brad slurred, struggling to open his eyes.
" Uh, yeah. You doing okay? You don't look so fresh."
Brad glanced down at himself, then an equally slurred laugh burst from his chest.
"Noo, I'm nooot," he chuckled out. Max furrowed his brows.
"How much have you had? Can you stand?" Max was properly worried now. Brad was in no state to get back home himself, and he wasn't sure if letting him sleep here was a good idea, either, considering how many people hated his guts.
Brad tried to stand up but stumbled almost immediately. Max caught him, but the cup, along with its contents, spilled all over Bradley.
"Shit- I'm taking you home. You've had enough," Max informed. Brad's crooked smile grew even wider.
"Ooooh, baby Goof, always so chivalrous," Brad sang. The last word was barely comprehensible.
"Whatever. Please don't fall," he commanded as he searched for his friends in the crowd.
Once he's finally found them, Max gestured to Brad hanging from his shoulder and made a motion towards the door. Bobby gave him a thumbs up as a way to let him know he has been understood.
Once they were out the door, Max helped Brad sit on the sidewalk with a groan.
"Right. Okay. There you go."
Bradley, to his annoyance, almost immediately fell flat on his face. Max had to duck in order to catch him.
"Brad, hey, stay with me here." Max snapped his fingers in front of Bradley's face. "Is there anyone I can call?"
No response. Annoyed, Max started searching through the upperclassman's pockets. Triumphant, he pulled out a cellphone, only to realize the battery had died.
Max groaned again.
"Brad, can you answer me?"
The upperclassman looked at him with a hazy look in his eyes. He seemed to be thinking about something really hard, but instead of giving a response, he hiccuped.
"Jesus, you're useless. Do you live on campus? Can you walk there?"
Bradley shook his head slowly, then, without warning, vomited all over Max's shoes.
Shocked, Max couldn't contain the "what the fuck!" that escaped his lips. Bradley groaned yet again.
"Ugh. 'm sorry. Goof, I'm sorry," he began apologizing. Wordlessly, Max wiped Brad's mouth with his own sleeve.
"Eh, it's okay, I was going to get new shoes anyway," he lied, trying to help Brad stand up and keep him upright.
"Nno, 'm sorry for EVERYTHIN. Godd, I'm sush a FUCKING DICK!" Brad yelled out, causing Max to look around to see if there were any witnesses to this pathetic mess.
"Right. Thanks, now let's get you home," Max changed the topic quickly. Truthfully, he really didn't feel like having this conversation, not now, not ever. But Brad insisted.
"No, I'm a fffucking azshole, you should jus leave me here to die," he lamented.
"No one's dying. Can you tell me where you live?"
"Out of town. I drove here, but-"
"But what?" Max demanded, annoyed.
"I dunno where my keys are."
For that, Max almost dropped him.
" What do you mean, you don't know?"
"I mean I. DONT. KNOW," Brad yelled, but then looked at Max and seemed to get embarrassed. "Shit. Sorry. I'm an asshole again."
Max rolled his eyes.
"At least it seems like you're sobering up," he remarked. For a few seconds, they stood there, Max trying to think of something and Brad trying not to fall.
Finally, Max sighed, defeated.
"Shit. I guess there's no choice. I'll bring you to my dorm," he thought out loud. As the words escaped his mouth, he felt Brad's body tense up, like he was trying to stand up straight.
"Goof! Ohhh, baby Goof, you're ssso good, so kind. You're an angel, Goof, d'ya know that? A cherub," Bradley continued, slurring as Max tried to walk.
"Yeah, whatever. Don't fall."
"Ya know, when I first saw you, I thought; wow, this guy, he's so nice, he's got the face of a litral cherub. No way he'll say no to me. And then you did! I was so sur- surp- suprise- I was ssso shocked, Goof, you don't even know."
"The face of a cherub?" Max laughed. Brad didn't seem to register he was making fun of him, however.
"Yeah! An, ya know, the funny thing is, I don't even like skating! I just do it to impress my dad, but it doesn't matter anyway, he hatessss me," Brad went on, moving his body around as he spoke, nearly making Max stumble.
"Oh, I'm sure he doesn't hate you-"
"He does! He hates me cause I'm a faggot, an he wasted the family name on me instead of my brotherr," he continued to overshare. This caused Max to miss a beat in his walk, making them both stumble to the ground.
"Shit! You're- Sorry. Are you okay? Shit. You're gay?" Max fumbled with his words.
"Oh, yeah. Biiiiig faggot. The biggest," he said while rolling around awkwardly on the ground, trying, and failing, to stay upright.
Max stared at him, flabbergasted at how this could possibly be the same person that burned down the X-games. He seemed so... fragile now. It was almost sad.
Unable to bear the sight any longer, Max pulled Bradley up, slinging the man's arm around his shoulders and securing his waist.
"Come on, let's go."
"Where're you taking me?"
"My dorm. You'll catch a cold out here," Max commanded, and Brad listened.
It took them twice as much as it would Max alone, but he didn't mind. All he cared about was that they were both safely inside.
Max gently placed the upperclassman on his own bed, figuring that Brad probably needed it more than him. He can sleep on the floor for one night, he won't die. He then ran to the communal kitchen for a glass of water.
Brad's head seemed to be as heavy as lead, so he gave in and opted for holding it while he drank, which was probably equally humiliating to them both. Bradley tried to grab the glass but failed.
"Oh, come on, you can hold the glass yourself," Max said, handing the water to Brad, who immediately spilled it all over himself. Max sighed. "Guess not."
After helping the upperclassman out of the soaked sweater, he decided on handling the glass himself this time. If Brad had anything against this arrangement, he didn't say. Water trickled down his chin as he hydrated himself. Max felt like he was taking care of a sick grandma or something.
"You're not gonna puke again, are you? Cause I'd rather you do it in the bathroom," he asked. Brad just shook his head. "Great. Goodnight, then," Max said before switching the light off. He created a makeshift mattress for himself out of a pile of clothes he'd been meaning to wash and changed in the dark. Brad was facing away from him, anyway.
He lay down, covered himself with a spare blanket, and was ready to doze off when a pained yelp came from his bed.
"Goof?" Brad's voice cut through the silence. Exhausted, Max sighed.
"Yeah? What do you want?"
It took Brad a couple of seconds to reply.
"Thank you," he said before covering himself completely with Max's duvet, not even giving him a chance to reply. Stunned, Max chose to go to sleep as well.
He was awoken in the middle of the night by Bobby and PJ coming back home. The light turning on was almost like a flash bang, and Bobby was singing something, which, in Max's barely awake state, was comparable to a turbine jet in volume.
"Jesus, turn it off!" He hissed. PJ stopped dead in his tracks, having delivered Bobby safely to his bed.
"Why are you on the floor?" he asked, turning off the light.
Max turned to the bed, afraid Bradley might have left, but no - he was clearly still there, his full body now covered completely by the duvet.
"It's... a long story."
"Wait, is that..." PJ strained his eyes. "Don't tell me that's Brad."
"Fine, I won't tell you," Max snarked and turned his back to PJ, who gave a pained groan.
"Man, are you serious? This is the guy that nearly killed you at the X-games! And you brought him here?!"
"What else was I supposed to do, let him hit his head on the sidewalk and die?!" Max retorted.
"Ask yourself if he'd do the same for you. Goodnight," PJ scoffed before climbing into bed and pointedly covering himself with the comforter.
Max's head fell into the makeshift pillow, ready to go back to sleep, when he noticed that Bradley was not, in fact, asleep, but instead was staring at him.
"Um," he startled.
"Goof?" the upperclassman whispered. He sounded sorrowful.
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
Maybe, had he been less tired or more awake, Max would've replied. But now, all he had to offer was a nod of acknowledgement before drifting back to sleep.
The second time he woke up was in the late morning. PJ was gone - Max recalled something about an early brunch date, and Bobby was out cold. He glanced at Bradley, but the duvet covering him from head to toe made it difficult to assess his current state.
Max decided to get something to eat. Now that he thought about it, he wasn't sure when he'd last eaten. Him or Bradley, for that matter. Probably would be good to bring him something to eat as well, given how the contents of his stomach had landed on his shoes yesterday.
He opted for cereal and toasted pop-tarts. Anything more ambitious would've fried his brain at this time.
When he came back to his room, Brad was already awake and sitting on the bed, clearly confused.
"Uh, hi," he greeted Max, bewildered. "Where am I?"
"My dorm," Max explained, passing Brad the bowl of cereal. "I think you were roofied, so I brought you here so you wouldn't die."
He wasn't actually sure if Brad's drink had been tampered with or if he'd drunk it, but he figured he'd save him the additional humiliation. Yesterday was humiliating enough.
"Ah. Hm, guess that tracks," Bradley hummed, stirring his cereal. Suddenly, he stopped, scanning the room.
His eyes fixated on the sweater draped over a chair. He stared at Max, then at the bowl, then at Max again.
"Um, yesterday, we didn't...?" he gestured between them. It took Max a second to understand what was being insinuated.
"What? No! What?! Course not! You think I'd take advantage of you like that?" he yelled, offended.
"No, not really. Just making sure. If I thought you were dangerous, I'd probably have pepper sprayed you," Brad shrugged.
"You carry around pepper spray?"
"Yeah, with my..." he patted all his pockets. "Um. My keys. Where are my car keys?" Brad stood up and began frantically searching through Max's bed.
"You didn't have them when I asked. No idea where they are," Max answered nonchalantly, biting into his pop-tarts. Bradley sighed.
"That's just... perfect." He stopped for a moment, patted himself again, and pulled out his phone. "It's dead. Of course. What time is it?"
Max checked the alarm clock. "Almost eleven. "Why, got anywhere to be?"
"Yes, actually," Brad said, continuing to chew the now soggy cereal.
"What, you work?"
"No, it's -" he hesitated, "I've got an anger management class, actually."
Max breathed in sharply. That wasn't an answer he was expecting.
"Oh. That's...Good?"
"Maybe. It's mandatory, so I can't really skip. But I've still got some time." Brad shrugged before setting down the empty bowl and shifting his focus to the now probably cold pop-tarts.
Max didn't pry; he figured it was the aftermath of the whole X-games fiasco. Maybe it was even a good thing, giving Brad some sort of counseling; the guy clearly needed it.
They sat in silence as Bradley finished his breakfast. The feeling of responsibility that Max had felt yesterday was beginning to fade, and now the whole thing was starting to feel extremely awkward. He wasn't sure what the appropriate response was to this situation - a guy who nearly killed you and a couple other people last year was in your bread, eating a pop-tart. What do you do? Max wasn't sure if he should ask him to leave, ignore him, or attempt small talk.
Brad finished the meal, and, thankfully, he seemed to have the answer. After dusting himself off and grabbing the sweater, he seemed ready to leave.
"I'd better go now," he announced.
"Okay."
They stared at each other.
"Uh, Goof?"
"Hm?"
"I... Thank you. You know, I'm glad you didn't leave me there. I don't- can I make it up to you, somehow?"
"Oh! Um, I guess if you really want to, you could replace my shoes?" Max suggested. Brad raised a brow, confused. Max opened the door to show him where he'd left the dirty shoes, to which Bradley grimaced.
"Right. I'll write you a check or something. Er, sorry about that," he mumbled. Max, unmoved, just waved his hand. "Um. Bye."
"Bye," he replied, and, without any further ado, Bradley left him.