Cause for Concern ✓

seven

second stunning aesthetic by the lovely ladyofstars

FRIDAY. 01. OCTOBER.

TYLER Walsh was as handsome as he'd ever been but his smile reminded Max of a shark, waiting for the right moment to bite and leave him bleeding, drowning in a red ocean. Tyler Walsh smelled fear like a dog.

Max tore his gaze away and looked out into where the night stretched before them. He imagined dying under this sky; a deep, thick crimson spilling like paint over a black canvas.

"Thought it was you," he said, the shark grin faltering into a small smile.

There was a discomforting disquiet in his gut. Max didn't look at him. His knees were against his chest, his arms crossed over them and his chin resting, digging comfortably, on his folded arms.

More and more people were finding their way back inside which meant the two of them had more than enough room to sit a few feet apart from each other without being disturbed by anyone trying to get past them, without getting in anyone's way. They had as much room to spread out as they could possibly need, but Tyler's leg pressed right up against his. He was taking a cigarette out of a box.

As an afterthought, he held it towards Max. "You mind?" He asked, pausing before he could dig a lighter out of his pocket.

Wordlessly, Max raised his brows and tried to swallow the mountain in his throat.

"Great," he said, pulling the lighter out and sparking the cigarette under a cupped hand, successful on the second flicker. Burying the lighter back inside his pocket, he inhaled and blew the smoke back out into the night. "Didn't expect to see you here."

Here? Max hadn't expected to see him anywhere ever again or maybe he hadn't expected anything; maybe he'd just hoped and prayed and hoped and prayed. Clearly, any and all of his prayers had gone unanswered. Spited, even.

He couldn't even be grateful for the warmth that Tyler provided. The closeness of his body meant that heat was definitely being shared between them but he probably would've chosen to freeze to death before he would choose to accept warmth from Tyler. Now he didn't feel like he had much of a choice. Whatever was happening felt like it was out of his control, unstoppable.

"You didn't want one, did you?" He asked after taking another drag. Every time he spoke, his eyes danced over to Max but as soon as he received an answer in the form of a vague facial expression or a barely audible hum, his gaze fell back in front of him, staring directly ahead.

For a meagre second, Max shook his head and Tyler nodded at him, taking the cigarette back to his pink lips. There was a laugh on his face, smile spilling wider when he tried to bite it back. Prick. "Lot quieter than I remember," he said, nudging into Max softly. He was relaxed and snug. Of course he was.

On the other hand, Max's body was stiff as a board. If he opened his mouth, he feared no words would come out. If they did, he feared what they would be. A few minutes before, he pulled his sleeves over his hands to try and warm them up. There was a storm inside him draining out all of his energy. The dread in his gut somehow managed to suck some of the exhaustion from his bones and their combined forces washed over him in nauseating waves. Pathetically, he almost thought he could cry.

A silence hung between them, heavy enough that you could feel it on your shoulders, heavy enough to drag down the sky. It was thick, unmissable, tense— so quiet it was loud. Neither of them spoke and, if he didn't know Tyler as well as he did, he would probably be questioning if this was a signal for the end of the exchange. Based on his previous experience and the thudding anticipation building inside him, he knew it wasn't.